Heroes' Assault on the Cruel Sword Saint
The girl wielding a sharp Japanese sword, the Amanomurakumo no Tsurugi, adjusted her stance and glared at Rahatrik. What the hell is this bolt from the blue?
Three months had passed since she'd been summoned from the eastern Kien Kingdom. She'd been living the easy life as a hero, taking on simple jobs like slime hunts, bandit extermination, and wolf pack subjugals. She'd thought it was just your standard world-summoning event and was thrilled about it—until she was suddenly thrown into a war. Against someone who looked incredibly strong, no less!
My fourth form, the Rotating Slash, didn't work... No, I definitely felt it connect?
The sensation of slicing through flesh lingered in her fingertips. The skills bestowed by the goddess and the instincts honed through years of training all screamed that her attack had landed.
The fourth technique of Honoichi-ryu Issen: Geppō · Rotating Slash. It boasted the greatest cutting power among the six forms that defined the style—a full-body draw that channeled every muscle from toes to fingertips into a single, devastating slice. And yet, her opponent was regenerating without a care in the world.
"A Four Heavenly King right off the bat? Come on! I haven't even cleared the main quest yet!"
She drew her sword from its sheath and settled into her stance. That last attack had been a blind-spot ambush, but even that had been detected at the last second, allowing only a glancing blow. Aya-me knew full well it was foolish to attempt an iaijutsu quick-draw against someone faster and more perceptive than her.
I'm not some idiot like my senpai.
She steadied her breath and unified her mind with the blade. In that brief, fleeting instant, she became one with it.
"Hoh?"
Rahatrik noticed the shift and corrected her own posture.
"Honoichi-ryu Issen!"
Just as she exploded the mana gathered in her legs and shot forward like a bullet—
Kwagagagagak!
Dozens of magic circles unfurled across the sky, raining down beams of raw mana that pierced straight through Rahatrik's body.
"Wha—?"
The assault came without warning. Beams of pure, violent mana in deep purples and blues—not fire, lightning, or ice, but unadulterated destructive pillars of magical force. Rahatrik, struck dead-on, let out a hollow chuckle.
"Grand Sage?"
A woman with flowing blue hair stood imperiously in the sky above, her eyes gleaming with power amid hundreds of expanding magic circles. The first thought was the Grand Sage. But upon closer inspection, subtle differences emerged—tiny incongruities only discernible after decades or centuries of brutal combat.
"Who are you."
It was absurd. Her appearance, the feel of her mana, her habits, even the sequence of her magic circles—it was all identical. Like a perfect copy of the Grand Sage. But one faint dissonance betrayed her as an impostor.
"Who are you."
"U-U-Ugh...!"
The woman resembling the Grand Sage—Nia—faced Rahatrik's killing intent head-on, her face crumpling as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Yet her eyes never stopped glowing with focused mana control, and the circles around her continued bombarding the enemy relentlessly.
"H-Hueeeeng! D-Do something about her quick! Y-You're the hero, right?!"
Nia's wail echoed across the battlefield. Rahatrik faltered for a split second at the sheer brazenness of it. And in that gap, two attacks slammed into her.
"...!"
"First Form! Arō · Daishinsei!!"
Kairan severed one of Rahatrik's regenerated arms—her right one, no less—while Aya-me drove her blade into the Dullahan's solar plexus. Kairan kept swinging relentlessly, denying any openings, as Aya-me fell back to probe for weaknesses.
A seamless pincer attack, flowing as if rehearsed in advance. Kairan created the breach; Aya-me exploited it with blinding speed. It was still clumsy, but the framework was solid enough to draw a smile from Rahatrik.
"Impressive."
A quiet voice, but the pressure within it was overwhelming.
"Dullahans have a weakness: we can't unleash our full power right from the start. I've had that tendency since my human days, and it carried over even after becoming a monster. As a result, it takes time to ramp up."
Her tone was serene. The mana that had churned like a volcano moments ago calmed in an instant, like the eerie peace before a cataclysm.
"Want me to spell it out simply?"
"Grk...!"
"Ah, ugh..."
Rahatrik laughed. No mouth or face, but the blue flames substituting for her head flickered as if grinning.
"It's Phase 2."
■■■■■■—!!
A maelstrom of mana erupted like a massive storm. The sudden pressure hurled the two heroes flying back.
"Come on, then."
Rahatrik gripped her sword. The blade, once glowing blue, deepened to near-black.
"I am Rahatrik. The Cruel Sword Saint. The Demon King's hero."
* * *
At the site where Rahatrik clashed with the two heroes, a short distance away, Karni stood guard over Eli.
The mass reinforcement blessing—for what looked like thousands of troops—took considerable time. Protecting the vulnerable Eli during her prayer was Karni's role, assigned by Kairan herself.
"Ah..."
Her eyes caught the colossal mana storm in the distance. Even watching from afar made her hairs stand on end, chills racing through her body, her heart turning to ice.
"Scared?"
"...Father."
"Heh, yes. It's me."
The one embracing her from behind with gentle warmth amid her terror was the head of the Valkrod house, Duke of Nordbalt, the Sword Saint herself—another monster. Their relationship was awkwardly familiar, always marked by sternness, but this embrace felt profoundly tender.
"You've grown so much."
"I-I... um..."
The Sword Saint, Belia Valkrod von Nordbalt—Karni's father—ruffled her hair affectionately.
"Watch closely. Witness your father's power."
"Father."
"You can reach this level someday."
Vague words, grasping at clouds. It was her father's habit to speak disjointedly, so Karni simply nodded.
Belia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she was gone. Only her mana lingered within that raging storm.
* * *
"This is overkill."
"What's overkill?"
"Two heroes, three Swordmasters? Anyone'd think I was the Demon King."
Rahatrik chuckled. Even for capturing the Demon King, this was excessive. They'd always sent just one hero—or a single hero party, at most. That was the pattern.
But this time feels different.
Dozens of hero parties. Most had crumbled to fear and quit adventuring, but more than five still remained. Add in the solo heroes, and she'd need both hands to count them.
Overkill indeed.
The current Demon King couldn't even be called strong without heavy sarcasm. Back in the day, Rahatrik had wounded her so badly the Demon King had teetered between death and tea time. For eons she couldn't even recall, the Demon King had focused solely on recovery. Five years ago, deeming herself healed enough, she'd launched the Great Invasion.
It had failed spectacularly, of course.
"You're Demon King material yourself."
"Is that so? What an honor."
Rahatrik surveyed her encirclement: three Swordmasters—Sword Saint, Control Blade, High-Speed Blade—two heroes, and the Grand Sage doppelganger carpet-bombing from above.
"Surrounded, huh?" she muttered softly.
A no-escape scenario. How to break out? Who to target first? Her mind accelerated.
"Then... the weakest one first."
Rahatrik moved. Mana beams chased her from the sky. Dodging the divine punishment raining down, she unleashed a barrage of sword ki.
Tenkū Karen.
Thousands of sword auras filled the space, hurtling toward Aya-me.
"Honoichi-ryu Issen..."
Aya-me calmly drew her blade—
"Fifth Form. Aien Zatsuki."
—and began parrying each assault one by one.
Fifth Form: Aien Zatsuki. Among Honoichi-ryu's six techniques, one of only two defenses—and the sole counter. Not impossible like the third form, but fiendishly difficult to execute consistently. Simply block with identical speed, power, and angle.
This is insane.
Summoned to this world, she'd gained every perk imaginable. Her body was superhuman; her dynamic vision enhanced dozens-fold.
Even so—even so—
I can't block them all.
She couldn't. An attack saturating the entire space? Impossible. A normal sword would have shattered. If she weren't a hero, if she lacked her master's once-in-a-millennium talent, if she didn't wield a divine blade—she'd be shredded rags by now.
"Khk..."
"Hm?"
"A-Aaaargh—!"
Her desperately deployed fifth form shattered. Her prized absolute defense crumbled. As her vision narrowed, Aya-me saw the two Swordmasters blocking Rahatrik's strikes—and dozens of mana beams pouring down on the Dullahan from above.
* * *
"Hoo, ha..."
"A-A-Are, are, are you o-okay...?"
"Ah... Nia."
"Y-Yes? N-No? S-Sorry!"
"No, I called you."
"...Ah."
Kairan gave a wry smile at Nia's dumbfounded expression.
—"I wanted to enjoy this longer, but time's up."
—"Where do you think you're going!"
—"Sorry. But we'll meet again."
—"Rahatrik!"
—"See you next time, heroes."
The battle had been so fierce the gates of death loomed visibly. Yet it ended on a sour note: a time limit.
"Feels unsatisfying."
"B-But we survived... right?"
Nia cast a minor healing spell. Not as fast as Eli's, but quick enough.
"If not for Eli's blessing, I'd be dead."
The mid-battle Radiant Blessing had saved her skin multiple times—one nearly bisected her horizontally.
"Ah... that other hero?"
"Hm? K-Kairan, you mean?"
"No, not me. The other one."
"Ah... over th-there..."
Following Nia's gesture, Kairan spotted Aya-me collapsed in a crater.
"Why's she like that? She seemed to pull herself together at the end."
Aya-me had rallied in the final moments, but now she was out cold in the pit again. Kairan frowned.
"Sh-She got hit by stray fire... and passed out again..."
"Ah."