Protagonists Always Arrive Late
"Good thing the Northern Hero stopped her charge."
The Northern Hero had been barreling toward the Maou Castle at breakneck speed. But now she seemed to be taking a brief rest, halting her advance and lingering in one spot for several days. Seizing that opening, Rahatrik had dispatched a large contingent of troops. That should at least tie her feet for a while.
Rahatrik adjusted her posture as she reviewed the Empire's forces once more.
The Empire's true strength boiled down to the heroes and just ten Swordmasters...?
What the hell, so many?
Were they some kind of golden generation? On a continental scale, there were only officially twenty Swordmasters in existence, and the Empire alone claimed half of them. A realm that even a lifetime of mortal effort might not attain. Even with the rare talent of one in ten thousand, it took until one's thirties or forties just to reach the threshold.
"Goddamn Empire."
Then, now, always. The Empire had always been a thorn in her side.
Rahatrik spat curses as she recalled the Swordmasters of the Empire.
First, the Sword Saint Belia Valkrod von Nordenvault. The Empire's famed swordsmanship house that had produced Sword Saints generation after generation. The current Duchess of Nordenvault was said to be the youngest Sword Saint in history—a prodigy of staggering talent.
Next, under the Imperial Treasury: Director of Collections, Thousand-Mile Eye Elishia Bernhardt, and her deputy, Dragon Slayer Serena Lindelra. Best not to dwell on why the Treasury had two Swordmasters. Just thinking about it made her nonexistent head ache.
Then there were various knight order captains and those now teaching at the Academy. Ten Swordmasters in total.
Of course, not many had made it this far. The Treasury's Swordmasters would guard the Empire's interior, as would the other knight order captains. They'd pour their strength into defending the capital and the provinces.
Real threats: three.
The Sword Saint, the Dark Dragon Knight Order Captain, and the Control Sword who had returned from the Academy. The heroes... well, those slippery ones would have to remain wild cards.
The biggest problem was the Control Sword.
"She should've just stayed comfy teaching at the Academy..."
Rahatrik murmured, stroking her long-vanished neck. Memories of that monster—who had helped sever it—sent chills rippling through her undead form. To instill such dread in a being who had abandoned humanity to become a monster, an undead no less... Her fear of those things hadn't faded one bit.
"Last I remember, she was a white-haired geezer. Rejuvenated, huh? The goddess's power? How amusing... very."
Rahatrik called for her adjutant.
"Good call planting spies in the Empire and Holy Kingdom. We'd have taken double the damage otherwise."
"Is this Control Sword that dangerous?"
"She wields bizarre dark arts. Stay sharp."
A undead calling something dark arts? The adjutant gulped, eyes trembling as she stared at the Control Sword.
Those eyes, blood-red like fresh slaughter from long ago. Her once-thinning white hair had turned pure silver-white, cascading to the ground. Her tall frame had shrunk to childlike stature—easy to mistake for a kid on the street. If not for those wide hips and the oddly flickering aura of menace.
A strange sensation. She knew it instinctively. This was the endgame.
This battle was just the opener. Endless clashes would follow. The war to end the interminable conflict was about to begin.
"Let's get started. The final war."
It was an honor to take that glorious first step.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
"Here she comes."
"That's one of the Four Heavenly Kings, Rahatrik."
The Sword Saint and Dark Dragon Knight Order Captain groaned softly.
A colossal slash that rent the sky. Trailing it came the Maou Army's elite soldiers. Not the rabble any knight could dispatch—the true forces hand-raised by the Four Heavenly Kings themselves.
Their massive invasion evoked that day five years ago.
"The Maou has existed since ancient times. She merely hid her power. Over centuries, the continent slowly declined, and rulers—from the Empire to the kingdoms—summoned heroes to subjugate her."
"And five years ago, that Maou launched a full-scale invasion."
"Yes. Accelerating the continent's decay."
The Control Sword, Lubelia Chronit, drew a greatsword far larger than her tiny frame and smiled.
"Been a while since I swung with all my might."
"An honor to witness the famed sword of the Control Sword with my own eyes."
"Heh, the youngest Sword Saint says so—makes an old bag like me wanna try harder."
The Control Sword looked up at the sky. Moments ago shrouded in clouds, it now lay cleaved straight. Moonlight spilled warmly through the rift.
"Bright moon tonight."
Swordmaster. The pinnacle realm for any swordsman. Some whispered of Grandmasters beyond, but that was unofficial—just a title of respect.
Hence the vast gaps among Swordmasters. Lumping together those barely at the threshold with those who had transcended it.
Among them, the Control Sword reigned supreme. A monster with centuries under her belt. Hero of repelling the elven invasion. Heads rolled the instant she gripped her blade; she dominated battlefields alone. One step from her could flip the tide—hence, Control Sword.
"Not just that."
The Control Sword slowly circulated her mana.
Hundreds of troops charging from afar. A light warm-up, she thought, channeling mana toward the front-runners. Dozens froze.
"First."
She swung. Dozens of heads arced into the air.
"Old age, y'know? Tough to cleave movers. So stop nice and still for me."
"Damn old hag! You've transcended swordsmanship!!"
In a blink, Rahatrik closed in and slammed down her blade.
Clang!
Fierce clamor. But the blocker didn't flinch—just widened her eyes in mild surprise.
"You. That hero from back then?"
"Remember me?"
"How could I forget? My gravest sin."
"Then die?"
Clang! Clang! Scraaaape!
Dozens of clashes in one breath, sparks flying everywhere.
"Can't. Atoning and dying are different."
"Talky old monster...!"
"You're too fast, though."
Freeze a bit. Rahatrik's strike—her whole body—halted.
Seizing the gap, the two Swordmasters struck.
Imperial Standard Swordsmanship, Form 1.
Valkrod Style One-Sword Technique.
"Ngh...!"
Downward cleave.
Pure Void · Single-Point Thrust.
Strikes infused with Swordmaster essence. Clean slashes piercing mana armor and flesh alike.
Lucky them—if their skill had been sloppy, leaving jagged wounds, regeneration would've lagged. Their precision let her heal as if unscathed.
"...! Dodge!"
The Control Sword spotted Rahatrik's anomaly first. As expected of one who'd devoted ages to blade and battle. She sensed the subtle shift and leaped back.
The two Swordmasters followed, but escaping the attack radius proved tough.
Heavenly Wheel Slash.
Centered on Rahatrik, a massive circular sweep. Her unique sword art, slicing space itself. A divine technique born of hero-born power sharpened further by monstrous senses.
"Impressive, Swordmasters. Just scratches, eh?"
"Dullahans take time to reach full power! Especially this one—old human habits make it worse! Finish her before then!"
"Call it a slow starter. Nice ring."
Boom!
Rahatrik stomped the earth fiercely. The shock disrupted the Dark Dragon Knight Order Captain's stance. Rahatrik pounced.
"Kghk...!"
A kick to the gut sent the captain flying far off.
"Huh?"
"Hrrgh...!"
A Swordmaster through and through—the airborne captain unleashed a massive slash.
"Not bad...!"
Aerial strikes lacked punch, of course. Rahatrik blocked one-handed with her slash, ready to counter—
"Cut!"
The instant she landed, a blade shot from the ground. Blindingly fast—unseen even by sharpened eyes for a split second.
Eight? No, fifteen? Fast. Vanished in that instant.
Fifteen strikes too swift for sight. Only then did her epithet click.
High-Speed Sword, was it?
She favored Imperial forms but her signature speed made it seem wholly distinct.
"Fun!"
Joy welled from Rahatrik's depths as she swung wide.
"Tch."
The Control Sword halted the descending blade midway, following with a slash that severed both arms. Rahatrik blocked the barrage with kicks while regenerating.
Too much facing three Swordmasters at once?
Then—a massive light plummeted into the battlefield's heart.
"Teleport? That feel... a hero."
"...Karni?"
The Sword Saint sensed it too, naming a member of the hero party.
For a moment, all four gazes locked on the hero party.
In that instant, quick footsteps pinged Rahatrik's senses.
"Honoichi Style, First Strike."
A woman approached, murmuring the technique name softly. Rahatrik kicked toward her—just as several slashes pierced Rahatrik's torso.
"Form 4. Convergence · Spinning Slash."
Jet-black hair, dark eyes, wielding a katana from fading memories—a girl.
"Urk... Did I land one?"
Another hero was there too.