The Final Trial (1)
"Ugh..."
Leon squinted against the brilliant sunlight as he pushed himself upright. The rays pouring down were clear and pure beyond measure.
As he rose, the world around him came into focus.
A vast arena. A towering sacred flame. And a roaring sea of countless spectators.
Waaaaaah—!
The cheers that hammered against his eardrums shook his still-hazy mind awake.
The fog of memory slowly cleared.
The arena. The trial. The challengers.
The snowfields and his master. His comrades and the fiends.
All of it had been a trial granted by the gods—an arrangement prepared so that he might face the wounds of his past and step forward once more.
Truly, a merciful blessing.
That they would watch over a mere old man so carefully...
He tightened his grip.
The halberd in his hand suddenly felt heavy with meaning. An old, slightly worn weapon—his treasured companion, layered with stories equal to the years he had lived.
Now it also stood as the symbol of the duty he must carry onward.
"Lionheart!"
"Tony?"
Thud!
Antonio leapt down from the spectator stands, landing on one knee with a hand braced against the ground.
It looked rather hard on the joints, yet the pose was undeniably cool.
"Lionheart! Are you all right?!"
"Hmm? Haha! Why wouldn't I be? But why the sudden worry? You're making me feel strange."
"Well... you and your master..."
"Hmm?"
A single ominous premonition brushed through Leon's mind. In the earlier trials of Iscal and Friga, a massive mirror had risen to display their ordeals vividly before the entire crowd.
And Lionheart—he had been lying on the floor and simply stood up, as if waking from a nap.
Which meant—
"Don't tell me... everyone saw it?"
"Mm."
"By the Six Gods, please say no! Please! You mean they saw everything? From beginning to end? Even my younger days?!"
"...We saw it all."
Thud.
Leon clapped a hand to his forehead without thinking. Everyone has a past they would rather keep buried.
Shameful secrets. The wild antics of a reckless youth. Or the embarrassing traces of the days when one believed oneself the most special being in the world.
Things that make the whole body twist with the desperate urge to hide them forever.
And if those things had been laid bare before tens of thousands by the will of an almighty god...
What expression, exactly, was a man supposed to wear?
Boom!
Countless memories flashed through Leon's mind like portraits.
Thrashing like a beast while bound in ropes. Screaming through a gag. Declaring that he and his master together were the strongest. And then, for all that bravado, getting ambushed and fainting in the most undignified way...
For a moment the world seemed to spin. Yet cruelly, a paladin's keen senses still caught every whisper the spectators aimed his way.
"They say that man's a paladin, but I never imagined he was such a delinquent when he was young..."
"I figured there was some grand story behind losing one eye, but it was just a scar from getting jumped and knocked out?"
"Did you see his eyes roll back when he was tied up? Foam and everything. I honestly thought he was a real bear."
Dizzy.
His head truly swam. There was no time even to dwell on the guilt he had finally begun to shed or the duty that now lay ahead.
Reality was far too cold for Leon.
Pat.
Antonio quietly stepped close and patted his shoulder—a gesture thick with consolation.
It brought none whatsoever.
O gods! Why has my trial not yet ended?!
Leon stared up at the massive throne that still sat in silent vigil and loosed a soundless scream.
The great throne merely gazed down upon him in quiet indifference.
"Aahh—"
With Lionheart's trial finally finished, I stretched my body out long and worked the kinks free. His ordeal had been closer to a viewing experience than anything else.
Lionheart had moved on his own, fought well, and rescued his objective. After watching the old man's backstory-flavored trial, I was left with exactly one impression.
He cleaned up the mess he himself had made.
Young Lionheart had charged in yelling something like "Leeroy Jenkins~," pulled every aggro in sight, and wiped the entire party. The kind of story you still hear now and then in other raid games.
The only real difference was that in those other games people could revive—while the ones who died because of Lionheart never got that chance.
When every last one of the dead appeared at the end, I even teared up a little. Not a bad story, all told.
And of course, in this trial my skills had been sealed without the slightest warning.
I still can't figure out what the criteria even are.
It would be nice if the selection screen told you ahead of time. Instead it only informs you after the trial has already begun—inconvenient as hell.
Maybe I can use skills when I summon monsters inside the Coliseum itself, but the moment the map changes they get locked?
A reasonable guess. Friga and Hans had fought monsters summoned right in the Coliseum, while Iscal and Lionheart had been sent to entirely different maps.
Pure speculation, but it held together well enough.
Now only Kenis remained. My party's main dealer—and the only one carrying an A-Grade weapon.
I scrolled carefully down the trial list, weighing every option. Ideally I wanted something extremely easy so I could lock her into first place without risk.
But why do all the trials look like this...
◈ Demon's Trial(Recommended!)
◈ Trial of Hardship(Recommended!)
◈ Trial of Roots(Recommended!)
· · ·
◈ Trial of Eternity(Recommended!)
◈ Trial of Blood(Recommended!)
Every single name on the list was vicious. I was certain I had seen milder-looking options earlier, yet no matter how far I scrolled they refused to reappear.
"Come on. Isn't there anything that looks a little easier?"
Scroll—scroll—
The list kept generating new entries, but every one of them reeked of murderous intent.
Pick one of these and Kenis might not even clear the trial, let alone take first place.
Which would mean the tenth-place prize—the Unicorn—would go to her...
"Ugh. No thanks."
I couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of event would trigger if that virgin-obsessed Unicorn got paired with Kenis. Better to eliminate the variable entirely from the start.
Scroll—
I kept going down the list. Down and down and down, until I finally gave up and snapped back to the top. The farther I went, the more terrifying the names became.
What kind of bullshit is this...
I could almost feel a deliberate malice. As if the system itself was determined never to hand Kenis an easy trial.
"What was the least awful-looking one again..."
Life is full of unfair nerfs. It would be nice to overcome them all, but reality is rarely so kind.
This was a moment that called for compromise.
Trial of Roots still looks the most normal of the bunch.
Demon's Trial, Trial of Eternity, Trial of Blood—
Pick any of those and I couldn't even guess what might happen. For all I knew a demon would materialize right in the middle of the Coliseum.
Just in case, should I slap a buff on her first?
I remembered the imperial knight who had been dragged into the Backroom still carrying his debuffs. Skills might get sealed again, so better to prepare insurance ahead of time.
Paladin-exclusive skills... ah, here it is.
I meant to cast Trail of the Burning Proxy, but the trial began before I had the chance.
Trial of Roots
Challenger: Kenis
The timing had been a little too tight; I had no choice but to abandon the buff.
I simply folded my hands and prayed. If Kenis took first place now, everything would be perfect.
Rrrrumble—!
The ground around the Coliseum shook with violent tremors.
The final trial was beginning.
—Fwaaaah!
"Ugh! Ow, my eyes!"
A blinding light exploded from the screen—
Flash!
And the screen went dark.
"Hey! What the hell is this all of a sudden?!"
"Ugh. My eyes..."
Kenis carefully lowered the hand she had used to shield her face. Her eyes, still raw from the intense light, continued to protest.
The first thing she felt was the gentle warmth of sunlight. Everyday noises drifted to her ears—children racing about and chattering excitedly among themselves, the quiet laughter of lovers sharing soft conversation.
Peaceful sounds that soothed the heart.
The tension that had coiled through her body in anticipation of some monster bursting forth drained away. As far as she could tell in the moment, no danger existed.
Looking around, she found a familiar landscape. Neatly paved boulevards of stone, buildings in pale white tones, and the emblems of the Pantheon decorating the streets at every turn.
"The Holy City...?"
Kenis stood in the Holy City. Certain details differed from her memories, yet it was unmistakably Civitas.
"What on earth is this..."
She could not begin to grasp what trial the gods had given her, or what it was meant to signify.
But standing still would solve nothing. Kenis simply began walking wherever her feet carried her.
As she strolled, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, she felt a strange emptiness she could not name—something she could not quite put her finger on.
Something feels off... what is it?
The sensation of having lost something that had always been there. An inexplicable unease settled into a corner of her heart. Pondering its cause, Kenis pushed through the crowds along the main avenue.
Following the familiar road, she came upon a familiar restaurant.
Right at the Pantheon crossroads—her regular haunt. The place she visited every morning for a free Hero's Set.
Jingle.
Kenis opened the door and stepped inside. The usual fragrant aroma of meat and soup welcomed her.
"Welcome!"
"Huh? Um... has the owner changed?"
The man who greeted her was a stranger. He resembled the owner she knew, yet looked older, and the features of his face were subtly different.
Perhaps a relative of the owner she remembered?
"Pardon? No. I've been running this place for nearly twenty years now. What are you talking about..."
"Twenty years?"
"Miss, are you going to order?"
"Ah, yes... one 'Hero's Daily Morning Set,' please."
"What—what? What set?"
"Um... the Hero's—"
Bang!
"As long as I've got two eyes open in this shop, no such ridiculous menu will ever exist!!"
Driven out by the owner's sheer force of presence, Kenis stood dazed on the street. A dish she had eaten only that very morning simply did not exist?
What in the world is going on...?
Something was wrong.
It was the familiar scenery of the Holy City, yet everything was different.
Suddenly Kenis understood the emptiness she had been feeling all along.
No one recognizes me.
Even walking boldly down the main avenue without a robe pulled over her head—
Not a single person knew her face.
Where am I, exactly...
Confusion filled Kenis's eyes. Speculation after speculation tore through her mind.
Was this a world in which she did not exist? A what-if in which she had never been born at all?
"Ah!"
Far ahead, mixed among the crowd, she spotted a familiar silhouette. Hair of cold silver.
Her father—the paladin Demonic.
Thud-thud!
Kenis sprinted toward him at once. In a place where no one knew her, a place subtly different from everything she remembered, how joyful it was to meet a face she knew!
"Fa—"
She froze mid-stride.
Right beside Demonic stood a woman with red hair.
"Wh-what...?"
A woman whose crimson hair was the exact mirror of Kenis's own.