No Turning Back
Once she had left her seat, Kareha moved to the farthest corner of the hall, determined to avoid any further bother for the remainder of the banquet.
He had no desire to be surrounded by the powerful and dragged into the swirling currents of politics.
As the festivities reached their height, the Emperor entered.
Cloaked in a long mantle, his robust frame radiated an overwhelming presence. The entire assembly bowed as one; with a simple gesture the Emperor bade them rise and be at ease.
"This gathering is held to honor the hero who saved the western frontier."
His voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder. Applause erupted from every corner of the hall.
The Emperor gave a slight nod to the chamberlain at his side. The man stepped forward bearing a small, ornate casket. Within it lay a sword specially crafted and set with jewels.
"Kareha. As a loyal swordsman and officer of the Empire you have rendered distinguished service time and again. This blade was forged at my personal command; it embodies the glory and pride of the Empire. Accept it."
When the Emperor himself extended the weapon, Kareha sank to his left knee and bowed his head.
"I thank you, Your Majesty. I shall never forget this honor."
The Emperor raised him to his feet and clapped him on the back with a smile.
"Continue to serve this nation with all your strength."
The sight sent the crowd into raptures. Nobles looked on with envy; soldiers swelled with pride. The power and station he had dreamed of since boyhood were already almost within his grasp.
Yet deep in his heart a cold shadow he could confide to no one had taken root.
Is this truly the path to peace? At some moment I cannot foresee, the Demon King may appear without warning and shatter everything. And without the Hero, the whole world may simply collapse.
He forced the feeling down. Amid the congratulations he had to smile brightly. Still, an unreadable unease lingered in his eyes.
As the banquet drew toward its close he slipped quietly away. More than the flattery or the ceremonial honors, he needed time to think about what must come next.
The path to the palace gardens was silent. Moonlit statues and fountains cast dreamlike shadows across the stone. Alone there, he slowly drew the jewel-set sword.
The blade caught the light with exquisite beauty, yet it also held a chill of killing intent. The true war he foresaw had not yet begun.
"Having come this far, there is nowhere left to retreat."
He spoke the words to himself in a calm, level voice. At this moment no clear sign of the Demon King had yet appeared. In the novel, however, the Demon King's resurrection was an absolute, impending despair.
That night he retired to a private chamber to rest. Sleep never came. Premonitions of disaster and memories of his previous life tangled together until his mind roared; nightmare followed nightmare until dawn.
You have clearly intervened in history. Because of you the Hero is not being born, is he? Is this world nothing but a toy to you? How do you intend to deal with the Demon King without the Hero?
He stared at the books stacked in the corner of the room and cursed his own fate. Yet no amount of regret or torment could reverse what had already been done. The future itself could never be predicted with perfect certainty. All that remained was to prepare more thoroughly, to move more relentlessly, and to seize whatever measure of control he could.
At last the first pale light of morning seeped through the window. He rose, straightened his attire, and prepared himself. Once the day's business began, military councils would reconvene and documents and orders bearing his name would pile high throughout the capital.
"Carrying a secret no one else knows, I must live out my life in this empire."
He regarded his own face in the mirror. Once those eyes had held the pure passion and fear of childhood; now a cold, clear realism lived in them. That did not mean he had lost courage. Drawing upon both the knowledge of his past life and the power he now held, his resolve to find a way to halt the age of the Demon King only grew harder.
His life could no longer be explained by the simple plot of a novel. He himself might become the great axis around which history twisted. Yet he could not abandon the challenge. The thought that he might become a hero of another kind flickered through his mind; he crushed it at once.
"I cannot become the Hero. The Hero will be someone else. I must wait for the one who will appear someday... or rather, the one who will be born."
A small, hollow laugh escaped him.
"But will that Hero even be born according to the original design?"
He gathered his document case and stepped out of the room. The councils and duties soon to begin, and the future he himself would shape, awaited him. Even if destiny had already been written, he refused to let this world be driven into ruin.
Several months passed.
By the Emperor's command Adolf Kareha traveled the length and breadth of the empire, mediating border disputes as well as conducting inspections. Such duties were already familiar to him, yet they also gave him a deeper understanding of the empire's inner workings.
"I am told last year's harvest failed here and the people went hungry."
When he put the question to a local lord, the man nodded with an embarrassed face.
"Yes, I reported it to His Majesty, but support has still been insufficient... we are barely surviving."
Kareha immediately drafted a petition to the central administration.
"Though productivity in this region has fallen, taxes continue to be levied at the same rate as elsewhere. Relief supplies and agricultural aid are urgently required."
The knowledge of his previous life armed him with far more than military strategy. Administrative systems, economic theory, even basic medical principles—he drew carefully upon the learning of the modern world and adapted it to the realities of this one. The common people began to call him a reformist and practical official. In noble circles, of course, more than a few found his radical streak unsettling.
One day he visited a fortress on the empire's southeastern frontier—the strategic stronghold nearest the rival Liberia Empire. Within the massive walls, ancient defenses stood beside the ringing shouts of soldiers at drill.
"The southeastern border may prove the most dangerous of all."
While speaking with the fortress commander he studied the surrounding terrain with meticulous care.
"I have heard the Liberia Empire possesses formidable military strength. What is the recent situation?"
The commander's expression grew grave.
"Of late the Liberia Empire has steadily expanded its armaments. Our own empire will not yield easily, yet once fighting begins a prolonged war will be inevitable."
Kareha nodded.
"A long war benefits no one, least of all the common people who will suffer most."
The commander regarded him steadily.
"Yet so long as the empire has commanders of your caliber, Sir Kareha, the Liberians will think twice before launching a reckless invasion."
Kareha gave a bitter smile.
"I can only hope they never invade. War is never a good thing."
After inspecting the fortress he addressed the assembled troops. Beyond combat technique he spoke of protecting civilians behind the lines and of methods to lessen the exhaustion of prolonged campaigning—matters rarely emphasized. The soldiers were startled at first, then gradually persuaded by the force of his reasoning.
"On the battlefield both enemy and comrade are living men. Unnecessary slaughter and destruction will in the end devour us as well."
As he continued in this vein, several senior officers exchanged uneasy glances. An aging colonel muttered, loud enough for every man to hear:
"War is ruthless. Pretty words cannot cover it."
Kareha turned and met the old officer's eyes.
"Of course it is. Yet ruthlessness alone does not justify indiscriminate killing and ruin. If the empire is to grow stronger, needless devastation must be restrained."
A murmur ran through the ranks. He was no mere sentimentalist. The weight of countless victories on real battlefields gave his words iron authority. In the end the old colonel fell silent, then nodded together with his subordinates and answered in a rough, aged voice.
"You are right. If a young and able man like yourself labors for the empire, we shall follow that path as well."
His inspection of the southeastern border complete, Kareha turned back toward the capital. The standoff with the Liberia Empire remained a source of unease, yet no immediate sign of open war appeared. He found himself wondering what news had arisen in the capital during his absence.
"Has any special word come from the capital?"
He asked his adjutant. Riding beside the escort, the man rummaged through a slim dispatch case.
"The Imperial Palace commands that Sir Kareha attend an emergency military council the moment he returns. An invitation has also arrived from the Central Noble Council."
Kareha sighed.
"I was gone only a few days, and already the work has piled up like a mountain."
Yet that was his lot. Greater responsibilities and duties awaited him, and he could not refuse them.
As they reached the outskirts of the capital the evening sky burned red. Before entering the city he wished to ride for a short while across the open grasslands. He ordered the adjutant to take the soldiers ahead; alone he spurred his horse along the prairie road.
Vast green fields stretched in every direction; far off, the thin smoke of a village rose peacefully into the air. Behind that peace, however, anxiety still crouched and waited. The Savior of the Heavenly Sword, the novel he had once read, was already flowing down a path markedly different from the one he remembered.