Farewell, Everyone!
“What, what?”
The atmosphere, which had been heating up like it was about to explode at my sudden shout, cooled in an instant.
I spat out my words like a rapid-fire rap.
“I'll turn myself in, so please spare me! Lock me up if you have to. But please, save me from this crazy murderer!”
“But that thing in your hand... no matter how I look at it...”
“Yes! It's a demon sword! I stole it because I coveted it! But I never imagined she'd charge at me to kill me like that! I'll drop this sword and surrender. So...”
Mid-sentence, I hurriedly hurled myself away.
However, the demon sword flew feebly without piercing anyone, rolling to the feet of the knight at the front.
And the hero, who had grabbed my tail, swung her sword mercilessly once more.
Farewell, Jacob. It was fun hanging out with you.
Though Jacob ended up as a bisected hunk of meat, I believe his feelings were the same as mine.
“How dare you swing a sword in front of whom—!”
The knight bellowed upon seeing a citizen murdered helplessly right in front of him.
That's how it must look in their eyes.
A petty thief who stole a demon sword out of greed. Sure, it's wrong, but is it as bad as destroying the city?
That thief tried to surrender, and he died without even finishing his sentence.
Meanwhile, his pursuer rampaged, mercilessly wrecking the city, and even swung her blade without hesitation in front of them, the city's guardians. 'How dare she.'
Even if there was a crime, the punishment was for them—the city's power holders—to decide.
Not some unknown outsider!
“Heh heh, don't get heated, Captain. We can just capture her and interrogate slowly, right?”
“The torturer's right. We can squeeze info out of her after she's paid the proper price.”
So, it was only natural for the three to turn hostile toward the hero.
“That black sword... and at her waist... no way!”
The Moon bishop, connected to the Vatican and the church lines, seemed to have noticed something, but under their fierce glares, he had no choice but to join the fray grudgingly.
First, the mage began his incantation.
As his low hum rode the wind across the entire city, 'coincidentally,' the breeze shifted toward the hero.
The uncontrolled flames still gnawed at the city, belching black smoke.
That smoke swirled straight toward the hero.
“Hup!”
In that instant her vision was obscured, the Moon stigmata on the bishop's cheek gleamed.
Stigmata symbolize the bond between human and god. In this era where gods are severed from the world, it's the only channel for divine power.
Like a conductor, the bishop swung his hand, and Moon divine power formed into icy spears.
With a chilling momentum that could pierce steel plate, they shot toward the hero.
“Pay the price—!”
Finally, with a slight delay, the knight charged in his heavy armor.
The silver spear tip, pointed and unwavering like its master, linked in precise gear-like thrusts.
A combo powerful enough to snap an ogre's neck in one go targeted the hero's life.
And I, discarded like trash on the ground and fading from their attention, sneered at the sight.
The hero swung her sword casually, humming lightly like a child at play.
The next moment, a stronger gust blew away the smoke trying to block her, and the razor-sharp ice spears lost power as they neared, melting away.
Finally, the hero's indifferent sword tip met the knight's thrust perfectly.
Clang.
A bizarre clash rang out, and both figures froze like a paused button.
The next instant, the spear shaft snapped in half from the middle.
“Impossible...”
From that single exchange, the three realized their opponent was an absurd monster.
The Moon bishop muttered blankly, more shocked than he imagined.
“My attacks didn't land at all. Like my power was rejected... Then you are!”
A phenomenon when two worship the same god but a vast gap in divine power exists between them.
The god the bishop serves refuses to attack a higher being.
And who could outrank a bishop, let alone an unknown face? It narrows to one identity.
“He... Hup!”
Exercising final restraint, the Moon bishop swallowed his words.
After the clash, a strange tension hung between them again.
They couldn't ignore the city destroyer.
But they couldn't dare challenge the overwhelming power either.
As they hesitated, the hero spoke.
“Sorry for harming the city. I only came to seal the demon sword. Before that trash... ahem. Before that sword causes more damage, I need to retrieve it.”
The hero speaking so calmly! Ah, Aries must be feeding her the lines.
Definite, from how she glared at her waist mid-'trash.'
“Demon... sword?”
“Come to think of it, where'd that thief toss his sword?”
Too focused on the fight, they belatedly noticed I'd vanished.
Yeah, I'm not an idiot lingering to spectate.
I laughed inwardly while gazing at the receding scenery.
My escape plan was a success.
My trait to erode and control others' souls is extremely potent.
For average folk, mere contact makes them a host; even remote influence is possible.
And while less efficient on animals than humans, domination is feasible.
“The sky.”
As expected, the hero—spiritually linked to me and most sensitive to demonic aura—spotted me first.
Sorry, too late.
When the city faced crisis-scale threat, the viscount dispatched messenger pigeons everywhere.
I ensnared one, eroding the poor thing while they wasted time fighting.
This world's trained pigeons are far sturdier than Earth's.
And I'm a light sword that can wield even child-level phantoms.
[Casting off all shackles and bonds of this world, off to find my happiness!]
Of course, animals' mental structures differ from humans, so efficiency sucks.
Each flap shed glossy feathers.
Even without extra strain, the soul damage from erosion couldn't hold.
Probably croak soon.
But it'll last till I escape the city.
[Be happy too, everyone~!]
Hya, too far now to see their faces—regretful.
But distance is plenty; even a flying hero can't catch me.
Got nearby cities from host memories, so... which way?
As I pondered happily, steering the pigeon—
······Whoa. Something tickles my ear.
Nah, I'm a sword—no ears. Hallucination.
······Awa.
The faint sensation sharpened.
Wait, for real?
—Come back.
And along the soul thread binding owner, weapon, me, and hero, a voice flowed in.
I called it a soulbound item simply, but owner-weapon contracts aren't that basic.
Non-owners can't even handle soul-infused weapons.
The spiritual thread enables intimate talk beyond casual mental waves I often used.
Mainly to whisper owners into madness.
Getting it reversed is fresh.
Seems this era's hero is a real idiot.
—Shut up.
I smothered the hero's faint whisper, swelling my spiritual presence.
The hero is strong. Power to shake earth, rend skies, behead demon kings.
But all limited to the material world.
—Even the lowliest have desires, but without will or wishes, sorry, the spiritual realm is my turf.
—God's puppet dangling on duty's string!
Decades as human, centuries as demon sword, thousands of souls devoured and subjugated.
My 'contracts' always end one way: owner's soul consumed by me.
Even I can't swallow a hero bloated with divine blessings.
Can't swallow? Then vomit.
—Daring to force me?
Raw, sticky emotions surged out: hate, disgust, irritation, rage, scorn.
Emotions that'd normally loop tormenting me in my sealed mind.
Now oozing through the breach.
Naturally, toward the hero's soul.
My spewed negativity soaked into her.
—Pathetic. Dyeing another's heart my color.
But souls are oil and water—unmixable.
Churning emotions birth insoluble madness.
Intimate soul links are this risky.
Of course, her fortified soul, armed with blessings, is an impregnable fortress even to me.
But she opened the gates herself with 'come back.'
—First time seeing a hero go mad. Unprecedented in isekai history.
Who could stop a rampaging hero? The world plunges into chaos again.
And that chaos is what I love most.
Plenty of idiots among victims desperate for power at any cost.
And ripping through that happy delusion—
—Come back.
A voice echoes. Impossible.
I'm still pouring emotions at her.
Time enough for my sword's sticky filth to taint her soul.
Yet her voice clings, unrelenting.
Come back. Those empty three syllables.
—No way!
Emotions rampage. I let them run wild.
Panic, fear, shock, horror, denial—like a deluge.
And through that black emotional torrent, a white soul stream backflows.
Piercing my black outpour, white touches me.
—Come back. Now.
Am I losing? Me, the centuries-old demon sword?
I who corrupted famed adventurers, noble knights, wise mages, steadfast paladins.
To a brat not even twenty...
Thought ended there.
My senses dragged from spiritual back to material.
Still clutched in the pigeon's talons, soaring.
No. Don't.
But lingering defiance drowned in the soul wave crashing over me.
Dazed, I heard the voice filling me.
—Come back.
Yeah, gotta go back. To my owner.
The dying pigeon mustered final strength, wheeling around.
In life's last moment, it flapped desperately toward its nest.
But struggling to carry its own weight with extra baggage.
Staggering, altitude dropping, city in sight—
Slip.
Talons loosened.
Sword dropped first, pigeon's mid-air heart-stopped corpse followed.
“Yup.”
Conversely, the white-haired girl on the ramparts leaped high.
Starry black eyes now held the pitch sword like night.
Air froze into a foothold; stomping it, she leaped again, snatching the falling sword mid-air.
“Caught it.”