Porter: Johann 12
A monster born when the resentful thoughts of an evil spirit possess a corpse. The stronger the original owner's power in life and the deeper the evil spirit's darkness, the more formidable the Death Knight becomes.
Even heroes can't underestimate a Death Knight. Heroes who wield flames infused with evil-purging power have an elemental advantage, but Death Knights are so powerful they shatter even that matchup. Only the most exceptional evil spirits can become one. Let your guard down, and you'll rust on its blade.
"Rise!"
The hero shouted with fiery resolve, shaking off his fear and rallying his comrades' spirits.
His cry ignited his sword in roaring flames. The blaze lit the dark cave, surging toward the demonic knight that had crossed the threshold of death. The crimson flames, gleaming brilliantly, began to shift beyond their limits into a searing blue.
The hero went all-out from the start. There was no room to hold back.
"......"
The Death Knight's sword twitched slightly, aimed at the hero.
Preparing an attack?
The hero swallowed hard, bracing for the next move. Against an opponent whose full strength was unknown, countering rather than striking first seemed wiser. His focus peaked.
A split-second silence blanketed the area—heavy, terrifying. The Death Knight's hollow eye sockets stared at the hero, evoking an inexplicable unease like button eyes on a stuffed doll.
Scrape!
The Death Knight lunged. The hero, locked on it, still lost track in its explosive acceleration. Losing sight of the enemy brought a wave of dread: when will it strike?
First, guard...
He raised his sword—pure instinct. A heavy impact slammed his wrist simultaneously. Something had clashed with his blade.
Clang~!
The sound echoed like shattering glass. Sword met sword. The shock, like crashing into a carriage, nearly buckled his legs despite bracing them. His body slid backward.
Biting his lip, the hero sharpened his focus. Thankfully, he kept his balance. A mistake like that wouldn't be mere "mishap"—it'd be death.
"Hero! You okay!?"
The mage's voice. She was supposed to support with water magic, but the Death Knight's speed made her spells useless. She stamped her feet, watching anxiously.
"I'm fine here! Mage, stick with the priest and fall back!"
"B-but..."
"If it targets you, you're done! Don't worry about me—I'm the hero, remember!"
He forced a calm expression, swallowing his fear deep down. Even a hero was just flesh and bone. Facing such an out-of-spec monster, terror was inevitable.
But instead of voicing it, he channeled his stigma's power, raising his sword. The clash had given him a rough read on its strength and speed.
Its power and speed are just within my limits. A prolonged fight is a loss.
He had to end it fast, all-in. Steeling his will, the stigma responded. Light traced its deep scars.
The flame power etched on his forearm granted strength proportional to his resolve. And now, his intent to slay this evil swordsman burned at 120%.
"Power of flames! Heed my call! Treasure of the justice-bringing goddess who purges darkness and illuminates light! Lend me the might to annihilate evil in response to my voice!"
His hair crackled and singed. The stigma's power warped even his body.
"......"
The Death Knight gripped its sword tighter. Though an undead lacking higher thought, its instincts screamed: that technique was a threat.
Let it finish, and it loses. Failure meant no satisfying its deep bloodlust.
Decision swift: eliminate before completion.
A dark purple aura opposite the hero's flowed from the Death Knight—like oil spilling from an open barrel, it blanketed the area in an instant.
"Hero... you think he'll be okay?"
The priest murmured worriedly, spectating the hero and Death Knight's clash. Johann didn't answer, just placed a hand on her shoulder.
"This isn't the time to watch. We need to run now."
"Eek!? B-but the hero..."
"We're running for the hero. If that Death Knight turns its blade on us, we're dead. We clear out so he can focus."
The priest's eyes widened at Johann's blunt reply.
"The hero's fighting so hard there, and we just bail!? I can't do that!"
The priest and hero were bound by deep friendship. He'd ended her boring monastery life.
He'd laughed off her rookie mistakes, heroically saved her from brushes with death. Abandon him and flee? Unthinkable.
"Priest, calm down. The porter's right."
But the mage judged coldly. In this fight, they were useless—better to withdraw than hinder.
"Even you, Mage!? How can you say that!?"
The priest had never snapped at the party before. Now she fiercely voiced her feelings.
The mage found it novel—this laid-back priest had such fire?
"Don't misunderstand. We're not abandoning him. We're not becoming dead weight. My water magic and your spells are worthless against that thing."
She pointed at the Death Knight. Hero and monster clashed fiercely, auras blazing.
Each hero swing scorched the air with heatwaves; each Death Knight stroke spread its dark purple energy like plague.
Hero's flames repelled the purple aura; the aura snuffed the flames. This power struggle repeated dozens of times per second.
No way to aim spells—they couldn't even track movements. A miss might hit the hero. Buffs were impossible amid the frenzy.
"Watch out!"
Johann yanked the priest's collar. She tumbled backward.
"Ow!"
A dark purple blade slashed overhead, severing golden strands. She gulped.
"Th-thanks... Porter."
"Blind strike. Stay, and our heads go first."
The mage eyed Johann grimly.
"Porter. Favor: take the priest and escape?"
"M-Mage! What..."
"Priest, stay put."
The mage shut down protests. Her gaze was razor-sharp. Even fired-up priest wilted, silenced.
"Backtrack our path out. We cleared monsters coming in—no trouble leaving."
"You okay, Mage?"
Johann asked worriedly.
"I'll follow once the hero finishes."
"Mage! Then I stay too!"
"No."
Firm denial.
"You're weak. Honestly, I'm not much help either. But I might land a lucky punch on an opening. You? Not even that. You're no fighter."
"Mage..."
"You're weak. Fleeing weakness isn't shameful—denying it is."
Priest fell silent.
"Don't worry. Hero's strong—he'll finish quick. Wait at the inn."
Forced smile; no smile, no departure. Priest turned slowly, voice drained.
"Porter... please..."
"Yeah. Let's go."
Porter and priest headed for the exit.
Once gone, mage turned to hero—still fighting, struggling.
She'd bluffed "lucky punch" for priest; odds were slim. Staying was bravado.
But... can't leave the hero alone.
She watched him intently.
"......"
"......"
Silence hung between priest and Johann. Only footsteps echoed in the dungeon. Johann led; priest followed.
"Am I... weak?"
Priest broke quiet first—mumbled lament. Johann scratched his head, generic reply.
"Mage said it out of worry. Don't take it to heart."
"I know. But she's not wrong. I'm... weak."
Reflecting, her inexperience had dragged them down often. Hero's kindness covered it till now—but it might cost lives later. Mood sank deeper.
"Am I... doing this right...?"
Dying whisper.
"Hm... Not knowing your strength well, hard to say."
Johann scanned surroundings. Priest, hung up on mage's words, oblivious to their depth in the dungeon.