The Past Promise
Pector's mind suddenly snapped into focus, as if struck by lightning. He looked up at the sky. A colossal meteor was plummeting toward them, roaring like thunder. This was no ordinary magic. It was commanding nature itself. Could it be that while wielding Sword Magic, he was also moving the heavens? Still, victory remained possible. A meteor meant nothing if it didn't connect. The man surely had no intention of dying alongside him. He would likely guide its descent to a suitable point and withdraw at the perfect moment.
Yet the mage showed no sign of retreating.
“!!!”
Was he truly planning to die together? Would he really take the hit right alongside him? If so, the calculations had to change. Even if they were struck simultaneously, he—with his magic immunity—would have the higher survival rate. He wasn't sure if this was magic or raw physics, but at least his armored body would endure far better than an exposed one. Besides, magic of this scale couldn't be cast two or three times in succession. If he blocked it, victory would be his. That was what he believed.
The meteor hurtled down, aimed precisely at Pector and the man. But right before impact, it vanished.
'He erased the meteor?'
The man did not miss the instant of Pector's shock.
“If you noticed I was using Sword Magic, you should have realized this as well.”
Thud!
A heavy surge of mana drove between the plates of armor. It had been the briefest of instants. While Pector was busy calculating after seeing the meteor fall, the mage had struck.
His flank throbbed. It was a pain the Pector of Despair had never felt once since becoming one of the Four Heavenly Kings. In that moment, sensing defeat, Pector felt his heart strangely lighten in proportion to the numbness spreading through his side.
“...No way. Was the meteor also a trick to deceive my eyes?”
“No. If you had seen through my feint, I intended to bring the meteor down for real. I was weighing the odds—which would survive? You, with your magic immunity, or me, shielded and reinforced.”
That meant he could not teleport far enough to escape the meteor’s range. It proved the man’s mana was not limitless. Indeed, no matter how powerful, freely controlling teleportation, Sword Magic, and even Meteor would be difficult. Moreover, hadn’t he previously annihilated his own subordinates? The silence around them suggested no other demons remained in the area except Pector himself.
If he could endure this once, Pector might have won. That was what he had thought. Yet now it all felt utterly hollow. Fighting an opponent who gambled his own life—it was a flawless defeat.
“Think rationally. If I dropped it as-is, I would die too, and the surrounding land would be scorched. There would be no point in coming to the rescue.”
“So that’s how it is. Heh heh heh. Placing even your own life on the scales. What an interesting man you are. I have one question. Why do you elevate the Hero so highly?”
“Because the Holy Sword chose the Hero.”
Was it truly that simple? Yes. This descendant of the Godslayer had been in the Land of Destruction. There was no way the Holy Sword could have selected this man. How could it possibly choose a descendant of the Godslayer? Perhaps, foreseeing a future where this half-baked Hero and the man would meet, the Holy Sword had chosen the half-wit instead—to drag him into a world of chaos.
“Perhaps this generation’s Holy Sword chose that half-baked Hero, which is why you emerged from the Land of Destruction.”
“Who knows. If I had known the Hero was like that, I wouldn’t have come out. But I’ve come this far. It would leave a bad taste to quit now.”
An inescapable sense of responsibility, then. Yes. That wasn’t so bad.
Pector gazed up at the sky. The meteor that had been falling moments ago had vanished without a trace, leaving only clear blue expanse.
This sort of defeat wasn’t bad at all.
“Very well. I am the defeated. Since you have brought the Pector of Despair to his knees, the right to take my head belongs solely to you.”
At Pector’s words, the man appeared to ponder something deeply. Then he sheathed his blade and shrugged.
“I’d like to, but I’m not particularly interested.”
“What do you mean? Are you mocking the defeated?”
Whether it was the Demon King’s army or the Four Heavenly Kings, it was only because he served the Demon King. At minimum, Pector believed he could claim the rights of the vanquished. Was the man before him, as victor, refusing to show mercy and simply toying with him instead?
Anger flared, but the mage’s eyes remained utterly calm. As if it were not mockery, the mage spoke to Pector with care.
“The Demon King has appeared many times throughout history. The same with the Four Heavenly Kings. How did you become one?”
“I don’t know myself.”
He truly didn’t. At some point he had become one of the Four Heavenly Kings. At some point he had begun following the Demon King.
“Exactly. The Four Heavenly Kings don’t even know why they became what they are. The records of their subjugations are also vague. I find this place suspicious.”
Until moments ago, the man had been eagerly laying out his theory about the Four Heavenly Kings to the very enemy he fought.
“What are you thinking?”
“Whether killing you would make me the next Four Heavenly King. The Demon King and the Four Heavenly Kings. The successive Heroes who fought them. The complete absence of national records. It’s like a dark age where history was never written. That feels suspicious.”
“I see.”
It was not an impossible line of reasoning. Pector himself did not know how one became a Four Heavenly King. His memories before that time were extremely faint to begin with.
“You said I hold the victor’s rights, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then appear from time to time and attack us. I need to raise that half-baked fool at least a little. You’ll grant a request of this level, won’t you?”
Pector was stunned. The man intended to make use of him even though he was not the Demon King? It only made him more intriguing. What would this man do if he broke the promise?
“What if I don’t keep it?”
“Well, some say promises exist to be broken. But you don’t seem like the petty type who would stoop to that.”
To speak so plainly.
“Then can we fight properly once more next time?”
“If the opportunity arises?”
“Good. Then I shall look forward to that day.”
Having resolved to fight again someday, Pector withdrew.
After the Demon King’s death, Pector—who had not seen Noah even once—lamented.
“Did you truly die?”
Did you break our promise and die? No. There was no way you had died. He refused to believe it. You must not be dead.
“I don’t believe you would leave me behind and die first.”
“I am now preparing to attack humanity, breaking the promise I made with you.”
It had not been an explicit promise, but refraining from attacking humanity had been an unspoken understanding. In Berta he had attacked because the Hero Party was present, but he had pushed forward believing Noah would be there.
Now that it had come to this, there was no other choice.
“After all, this is the very reason for my existence as one of the Four Heavenly Kings.”
He belonged to the Demon King’s army. It would make no sense for one of the Four Heavenly Kings to do nothing against humanity.
Yes, Noah. How long do you intend to stay hidden? Let’s see how long you can remain silent.
“So come and stop me.”
He had heard the Empire’s prince was currently on a tour of the realm. Capturing him and declaring war on the Empire—would the man truly remain idle? Though he had brought only a small force, it was worth trying.
Having resolved to strike at the Empire, Pector ambushed the prince’s party as they passed near Karhem.
Side Story: Hero Party
The Hero Party stopped at the imperial capital only to waste their time. At first they had expected to receive the Saintess’s help. Of course, after hearing that the Saintess possessed exceptional beauty, Eugene’s motives were not entirely pure.
But the Saintess was not at the church. Instead, armed nuns who clearly found the Hero Party bothersome ignored them outright.
“Why are you looking for the Saintess here? Tsk.”
“The Saintess isn’t here. Go meet the old man. We have to go hunt orcs.”
Their habits seemed rather revealing—perhaps they had shortened them for ease of movement during hunts.
“The Saintess accompanied Prince Aslan on his procession. Hmm. Since she’s from Ashtar, you might obtain information if you head toward Ashtar territory.”
The pope’s movements looked strangely stiff. For the leader of a nation’s faith, he could not even rise from his seat to greet the Hero Party. He appeared terribly haggard; it didn’t seem right to ask such a man for support.
Thus, the Hero Party left the capital and took a detour around Ashtar duchy.
“Do we really have to search for the Saintess like this? Can’t we just get help from the pope?”
“Does that dying face look capable of helping us?”
“Ah, that’s true.”
“Sigh. To begin with, the Empire’s Goddess Church is a religion that isn’t even properly recognized by the Holy Kingdom. There’s no point seeking help from such people.”
Cyria sighed as though she couldn’t believe their ignorance. Eugene wanted to snap back at the dismissive tone, but it was true he had proven himself inferior to Noah, and lately they hadn’t even shared a bed. Irritating her further seemed unwise. Ever since he had been shown to be weaker than Noah, the women held the upper hand.
“Let’s find the Empire’s Saintess first.”
“Yes. For now, Noel’s suggestion seems correct.”
They had been traveling toward Karhem for some time when—
“What is that?”
A woman on horseback was galloping toward them from afar.
“That is the Holy Sword. Ho. Are you perhaps the Hero party?”
The woman spoke urgently.
“Who are you?”
Since she recognized them, perhaps she was one of the Hero’s admirers. She might prove useful in locating the Saintess.
“Please, you must save Prince Aslan! He has been kidnapped by Pector!”
Hero Eugene’s head throbbed. She had charged in without warning, confirmed their identity, and immediately begged for help. And the opponent was Pector. The memory of their miserable defeat at his hands flashed vividly before them.
It wasn’t only Eugene. The elf Ella and Saintess Cyria felt the same. The Hero Party that had been utterly crushed. The decisive cause of losing the kingdom’s trust. To fight that monster again?
They had already been rejected several times while chasing after Noah. Of course, back then their goal had been finding him, so they had withdrawn at appropriate moments. But this time they were being asked to rescue the prince from that same Pector?
Ella and Cyria were already exhausted from repeated defeats. Their morale was at rock bottom, and they wanted to avoid fighting one of the Four Heavenly Kings.
They were considering ignoring her when—
“You must help! Captured alongside the prince is Shariel of the elf tribe!”
“What? My sister?”
“Saintess! Prince Aslan has been recognized by the Holy Kingdom—by His Holiness the Pope himself. You cannot abandon him like this!”
“Ah.”
She would have preferred to let it slide, but with the noble elf bloodline and the Pope’s personal recognition involved, she could no longer remain idle.
“He should have just stayed shut inside his house. Is that prince truly an idiot, sticking his neck out for no reason?”
The words slipped from Eugene’s mouth, and everyone present found themselves nodding in agreement.
Yuria, who had come to request the Hero Party’s aid, felt a sharp sting at his words. After all, it had been her idea to head toward Karhem while ignoring Olivia’s advice, all in an attempt to rebel against her.