Sylvia, That Tragic Fight (1)
It happened a thousand years ago. Sharon was born the eldest daughter of a commoner who ran a swordsmanship dojo.
“Sharon. You must inherit this dojo.”
From the moment she was old enough to understand, those words were drilled into her. It was only natural. Common sense. Destiny. Inheriting the dojo—that was her life, her purpose. In that era, freely choosing a profession was rare; taking over one’s parents’ work was simply expected. Fortunately, Sharon had been born with genius talent, and she knew it herself.
By the age of five she already possessed the skill to defeat adults in sparring matches. By around ten, no one except her father could stand against her. That she would inherit the swordsmanship dojo seemed as inevitable as the sunrise. She rose each morning to train and never stopped until night fell. She had lived that way for more than ten years. Who could possibly defeat someone who combined such talent with such effort?
“Remarkable, Sharon. At this rate you might not only inherit the dojo—you could make a name for yourself throughout the Empire.”
Her father would praise her like that. Everyone around her treated her as special, and Sharon grew accustomed to that treatment. Then one day came.
“Sharon. Today you will spar with Jeanne.”
“Jeanne?”
Jeanne. Sharon’s younger sister. A frail little girl only one year younger. Jeanne was a peculiar child. For one thing, her hair was red. In the Sarubia family, where black hair was the inherited norm, that color stood out. On top of that, her body was so weak she lived on medicine, so she had nothing whatsoever to do with swordsmanship.
Because she was the second daughter, there had never been any thought of leaving the dojo to her, and their father had never even considered teaching her the sword. But when Jeanne turned ten, he decided she ought to gain at least a little experience. Perhaps it was merely a whim.
“Sharon and Jeanne. You may be sisters, but you must not hold back.”
Not hold back? Sharon found it a little amusing. Her opponent was her younger, frail sister—someone who had never even held a sword. If she truly did not hold back, she would kill Jeanne. She would have to go easy. Just a light strike to the wrist, she decided.
“Jeanne. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“Sister… I’m so scared.”
“Don’t be frightened. Your big sister will guide you properly.”
Their father’s command of “Begin!” rang out. Sharon charged, and the match ended in an instant.
“This can’t be…”
—With Sharon’s defeat.
“H-how is this possible? Jeanne! What did you just do?!”
When she came to her senses, Sharon was lying on the ground staring up at the sky, while her father, unable to hide his astonishment, was firing questions at Jeanne. The joy of a master who had discovered astonishing talent seemed to care nothing for the despair Sharon must have been feeling.
“You… you were this much of a genius? Why?! Why did you hide talent like this?”
“Well… because Sister is the one who will inherit the dojo. I was afraid that if I stood out, it would hurt her…”
“What nonsense is that?! The strong one inherits the dojo—that’s only natural! From now on, you are the successor!”
Just one day.
In a single day, ten years of effort were overturned. After that spar, their father never paid Sharon any attention again. No matter how desperately she trained, Sharon advanced only at a snail’s crawl. Jeanne, by contrast, soared past her on an eagle’s wings.
“Jeanne! Let’s fight again! Fight me again!”
“Sister… I’m scared.”
“Shut up! What’s there to be scared of?!”
Sharon demanded rematches again and again, yet she never won even once. No—it would be more accurate to say the contests never even became real matches. Only later did she understand. When Jeanne said she was “scared,” she meant she was afraid of hurting her sister.
Once she realized that, Sharon stopped asking for spars. She simply left the family in silence. And as a vagrant on the streets, she heard the rumors that drifted on the wind.
—Did you hear? Jeanne became the commander of the Imperial Knights!
—Truly incredible!
—You know Jeanne? They say she’s the strongest swordsman in the world!
—The greatest knight in history, apparently!
—His Majesty the Emperor granted Jeanne a title!
—Is that true?
—Count Sarubia!
—A count!
—Amazing!
—That’s not all! They say a Hero Party has been formed!
—Jeanne is the knight of that party!
—The saviors who represent all of humanity!
—Truly magnificent!
Shut up.
Shut up shut up shut up shut up.
No matter how hard she covered her ears, the name Jeanne kept reaching her, until Sharon lost her mind.
“Be silent. That girl—I’ll surpass her someday.”
“Huh? Who are you?”
“If anyone speaks Jeanne’s name in front of me, I will not leave them alive.”
“Kyaaaaaaah!!!”
Whenever Sharon found someone praising Jeanne, she drew her sword and committed murder. To silence the voices. No… she no longer knew what for. She was simply consumed by madness.
Sword-Drawing Demon Sharon
At some point that nickname began to stick. Hunters were dispatched from the Empire to capture the woman who drew her blade for no reason and slaughtered people, but they too all fell to Sharon’s sword. Sharon was simply too strong. It seemed no one could stop her.
Sharon killed, and killed again.
Killed, and killed again.
By the time the number of people she had slain surpassed a thousand… she found herself wandering aimlessly along a riverbank and suddenly realized she had gone a hundred days without eating anything, doing nothing but murder.
“I… how did I end up like this… how…”
On nights like this, old memories would suddenly surface. Like a wave that could not be held back, her father’s face rose before her.
You are the child who will one day inherit the dojo.
“Urgh!!!”
Sharon retched violently. She collapsed and shed tears, but she had already walked too far down this road to ever turn back.
“Haa… haa… My life is over now. I… I can never… haha… live a normal life again… It’s all because of Jeanne… If only that girl hadn’t existed, I… I would never have become like this. Why is someone like her stronger than me… If I had been stronger than Jeanne, everything would have gone well…”
That was when it happened.
“Do you wish to become stronger?”
“Who’s there?”
Without even the sound of footsteps, someone approached. A young man in his mid-twenties—cold, yet strikingly handsome. Wearing a fedora and a suit, he stroked the hair of the collapsed Sharon as he spoke.
“I heard rumors that a demon had appeared in a region where no demons had ever been sent, so I came out of curiosity… and it was you? Quite an interesting specimen. You could become even stronger.”
“W-who are you… Get away from me.”
“Inferiority and rage. Hatred and resentment… I can feel all of it from you. I shall make you a demon. Then you will grow strong. I am thinking of selecting about four powerful demons to serve as my Four Heavenly Kings. You will be a candidate.”
“I said get lost!!!”
As always, Sharon drew her sword. But in the next instant, her arm was severed. With terrifying speed, the man’s hand-blade had sliced through it.
“Aaaaaaagh!! My arm!! My arm!!!!”
“Do not worry. Once you become a demon, the arm will grow back. Far more convenient than a human body.”
“You… who the hell are you!!!! What are you?!”
“My name is Noah. Noah Azazel. Commonly known as the Demon King. Heh… meeting such fine material has put me in a good mood today. Will you simply die of blood loss like this? Or will you become a demon and slaughter even more humans?”
“Haa… haa… I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!!! I don’t want to die!”
“I thought as much. That baseness is precisely the qualification of a demon.”
“Urgh!!!”
This was Sharon Sarubia’s final moment as a human. She soon felt the shock of her heart stopping. Then her hair turned red, her eyes became a deep crimson, her fangs lengthened, and horns sprouted from her head. She had become a demon.
“Haa… haa… What is this…? Power is overflowing through my entire body… Is this what it means to be a demon…? Pfft… Puhaha. W-with this much, I can beat Jeanne!! I can beat Jeanne!!! Hahahahahaha!!!!!”
“Yes. Fight and fight again. Kill and kill again. That… is work done for my sake.”
Thus was born the demon Sharon. Yet Sharon’s dream was never fulfilled. Jeanne died of illness before they could ever reunite. Only her final words were delivered to Sharon.
Someday… a descendant with the same hair color as mine will be born and stop you, Sister.
“Even in death you stubbornly get in my way… What a tiresome girl. Fine… overcoming that prophecy will be the way I defeat you. Very well, Jeanne… let us keep fighting. Let us settle once and for all who is the true successor of the dojo!”
Even though that dojo had long since collapsed and vanished, Sharon could not let go of her attachment. After becoming a demon and rising all the way to the rank of one of the Four Heavenly Kings, she continued to wait. For the moment when the descendant Jeanne had prophesied would be born. And after long years passed, at last—a red-haired Sarubia was born.
Sylvia.
Sylvia Sarubia.
After countless feats of valor she joined the Hero Party, and Sharon was certain she was the very protagonist Jeanne had foretold. Now Sharon’s purpose was simple.
To face Sylvia in single combat, and kill her without fail.
That… was the only way to defeat Jeanne.
“I shall be waiting, Sylvia. My descendant… I will kill you without fail.”
She could feel the presence of the Hero Party drawing ever closer to the region of Matellu that she ruled. The war would begin soon. The great war that had been prophesied a thousand years ago.
The war that would cast Sylvia into the depths of hell.