To Me, You Were Like the Sun (2)

"No— wait. Why do you... why on earth do you have that?"

The Demon King's eyes landed on the space the Flame Demon had swallowed—and only then, belatedly, did he grasp what it actually was. He recoiled, eyes blown wide open.

This is, well...

No good, then.

Cariel.

Sad to say, your journey ends here.

To run into something this absurd at the very threshold of the beginning. You really are cursed with the worst luck imaginable.

"Good grief. It's beyond ridiculous."

"Middle Realm folk really do have something wrong with them, now and then. The world is swimming in perfectly ordinary mortals and thoroughly mediocre talents—and yet once in a great while, things like this come crawling out."

"And honestly, she could've just clobbered you like the sweetheart she supposedly is and talked some sense into you, and that would've been that."

The Demon King clicked his tongue and shook his head lightly.

The fire raged and churned with terrible fury, and yet it burned nothing, eroded nothing, devoured nothing. It simply flooded outward. But that thing—once upon a time, it had been fear itself. The terror displayed when the being called the Omniscient and Omnipotent strode across the world and seized it in his grasp. One of the seven absolutes.

Right there, before us now, stands a child who seeks to carry on your will.

A child who seeks to carry on my will.

"Which comes first—being a knight, or being a hero?"

"Then what's a hero supposed to be?"

"Can you only ever become one thing?"

Many words passed between them. But none of it was mere illusion conjured in the head, nor idle delusion.

On a green meadow, a girl sat with her back against the trunk of a great tree. A girl sitting there, quiet and thoughtful, asked:

"Then does that mean I can never become a hero?"

And the boy, holding out the branch he'd been carrying, answered her:

"Then I'll give you this one."

"......?"

The girl's blue eyes went round. She accepted it and shot him a look of pure puzzlement.

"Now you're a hero too!"

.......

....

Wood cannot overcome fire. That is simply a matter of compatibility. But what about stone? Exposed to a flame of such extremity, even stone melts without fail. At that point, water and wind alike are no more than specks of dust. Everything I had ever learned was dissolving into foam. How could the chill that freezes lakes and rivers hope to stand against a fire that swallows mere kindling whole? The resolve I had rehearsed over and over, stored away and planted with such care, was meaningless now.

No. That isn't right. It isn't meaningless—it has been made meaningless. But then, who is it that sets that standard? It was me. Only ever me. Strike a rock with an egg, and the egg breaks. A perfectly self-evident truth. Throw a hundred eggs, a thousand, ten thousand—the rock will not so much as tremble.

So what, throw a million? A hundred million? ...For that, there isn't enough time. Not enough will. Not enough opportunity. The world does not offer chances without end.

"Whatever you may have gained, this is where it ends, in the end."

If you cannot surpass even this, how could you ever glimpse the boundary of the world—the boundary that even I stand guard over? Perhaps, even now, you haven't yet given that place a single thought.

"But it could become so at any moment. Anytime, anywhere, some unknowable malice might come for you like a nightmare, seeking to swallow you whole."

Even if a new Demon King invaded the continent, he could protect her—so long as he stood beside her. But if he was not beside her... then even from the blade of some nameless lawless man, even from a single stray monster, he would be unable to shield her, unable to save her. Suppose he overcame even that without trouble. What if a greater trial came crashing down? What if malice fell like a sudden shower on an overcast day and pronounced a sentence of death?

What would he do then?

"When I think of that, I find I simply cannot bear to send you away."

The girl who had become the Flame Demon itself—and yet, even within it, had not lost the small blue flower bud blooming vividly at its heart—let her desolate verdict melt away into the fire.

The crimson blaze slowly turned a deep, deep blue. No—even that, too, faded, sublimating at last into pure, unblemished white. And at some point, the whole world found itself sealed inside a wall of blinding white fire.

But this did not mean the end.

Even now, from the hand curled around the hilt, the sensation came through whole and unmistakable: the firm, leather-wrapped grip of a sword that no longer felt trustworthy. If he'd worn thick gauntlets, perhaps the strain on his wrist and the shock that had rattled every joint of his fingers would have carried less lingering weight, and he might have managed some semblance of readiness. As he was now, even the act of holding a sword looked precarious.

She could shatter him head-on. She knew it—knew too that even that would not extinguish his longing or his will. And so she sought to break his will instead. To snuff out his heart.

So look at this. This is what the world's wall is—so towering, so impossibly high.

...Little child. Did you truly believe you could bear this?

"......"

Step.

And so he went on. Being unable to bear it was no reason to fall down. So long as surrender never whispered itself into his own mind—no one had ever forced it upon him. It wasn't even an echo of defeat.

"...Right."

And what I need to see with these two eyes right now is not my own wretched state.

And El—neither is it the miracle-like devastation that girl has put on display. To become what she is now—how much, just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how much, did that woman... did that girl... endure the agony. How much had to be sacrificed to arrive here? Devoting, bearing, enduring—was that how she came to be this? It wasn't that I meant to think about it. But the moment the realization dawned on me... the wall standing before me was neither frightening nor dreadful. It wasn't even shocking.

It was sad. Endlessly, unbearably lamentable. Heartbreaking. I know, because I have walked that road myself.

"How much did you..."

The pain of growing strong is a realm granted only to those whose will to bear it runs deep enough. Or, if such will is lacking, one has no choice but to patiently pour out time, and years, and weight. And even then, one falls a single decisive step short. Or half a step. With that alone, we tumble from heaven into the pit. I died a hundred deaths, and only at the ninety-ninth did death finally become terrifying to me. Because laying bare one's true heart—showing one's real self—was something I still hadn't understood, not even a handful's worth. What must you do, and how, to want something more desperately, to need it more urgently? Even when I yearned with everything I had, even when I felt it down to the bone—I still didn't know what that was. I simply didn't know. And that was why I was afraid. Everything I had walked through until now was like mere spume, like bubbles bursting. No—if it had at least been the dew of early dawn, it wouldn't have been this bitter, this unjust...

.......

"Halt."

El. She speaks. The heat grows fiercer with every step closer. He can hardly breathe. The air already pressing into his lungs scorches him from within, and now the heat strikes his skin directly—his whole body burns as though pierced by a thousand needles.

Pain is eternal. Until you escape it, the pain continues. I understood that better than anyone.

He answered.

"By whose leave?"

A dry voice slips out, in a wretched, threadbare shape. But whether I go or stop, whether I yield or press on—

I am the one who decides.

"Did I not bid thee halt?! Dost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thou take this situation for a jest?! My resolve! What scheme hast thou, that thou wouldst mock it now?!"

"...Hardly."

Suddenly, he sees it—a small hill, and atop it, the figure of a young girl, young and terribly young. Even now her face is a ruined blend of fury and frustration, weeping wretchedly. And yet, the girl had severed herself, once and for all, from the unilateral ending called collapse.

And so—

"Canst thou truly see it through! To the ver—y end!"

As if waking from a long reverie. For those perched at the edge of hell, the reality they are given is pitifully narrow indeed. Above all, she was angry, it seemed.

Why don't you understand. Why won't you acknowledge it. I am thinking of you, like this!

...He felt that heart, keenly and completely. Which was precisely what made it all the more absurd. This clumsy girl simply didn't know any other way, and so she had only ever run herself ragged in the one direction she knew. Because she knew how frightening the world was. Because she had to protect. And yet she never had the leisure to spare. And even so, she could not afford to fall. ...So she advanced.

"......"

Truly—it was the procession of the sun itself. He had thought her the sun. But even that, he suspected now, had been an understatement.

"You did ask me to show you, didn't you? That sublime... what was it you called it, again?"

It had come up only moments ago, but perhaps because the phrase didn't sit naturally on his tongue, he faltered for a moment.

"Cariel. I saw through the true nature of that technique long ago. With such a thing as that, thou canst do nothing against my flame."

"El. Who ever said what, exactly?"

He knew. At the very least, this much he understood with certainty: that flame was the one she had chosen herself, with her own hands, to stand against the malice of the world face-to-face. And if that was so—then with what resolve had he meant to stand against the world? To speak precisely:

Hero among heroes. The Radiant Knight. Beloved of God. Foremost of all warriors. Slayer of the Demon Realm. Bane of Demon Kings. Greatest knight of the continent. Strongest being on the continent.

His epithets were beyond counting. But in the end—

He was my father.

The greatest benefactor the world had ever given me—and, to me, the object of a resentment without end. I no longer had any intention of denying that. But this situation was another matter entirely.

"El. Come at me with everything you have."

In the end, what he would show her was not some shabby excuse meant to dilute her distrust.

"Don't really get it, but... whatever. It'll work out somehow."

Nothing but a simple will, and a simple conviction, to crush that distrust head-on. Even if the time they'd shared had been brief—

In the end, all he had to offer was his sincerity. That was all.

"No... these bastards. All of them, together..."

When he had seen the deep, bottomless blue of the Flame Demon, and then the eruption of fire dyed pure, immaculate white, the Demon King had simply given up on comprehending any of it.

"Cariel really ought to just settle down and become some doting, henpecked husband. If she'd been around when I invaded, I'd have been the one in mortal peril, you know. Honestly, would it be simpler for him to just ask the Imperial Princess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to beat her own father senseless? ...Wait. If he did that, what would happen to the contract?"

And so, watching on with half interest and half resignation—

That lunatic was walking straight toward her.

"Is he... begging that woman for mercy?"

Because the whole question came down to whether that woman gave up on him or not. This was not a situation where anything Cariel did or said could change the outcome. It wasn't even a desperate, despairing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gulf. It was simply—impossible, plain and simple. If an ant carrying a truly lethal venom bites a human being, death is certainly possible. All the more so if allergies compound it.

But even that has its limits. Grant that a venomous ant kills a man, or leaves him bedridden for a year. ...Would it ever, in anyone's wildest imagining, bite a dragon to death?

"Thou dost still underestimate those two, methinks."

"Huh?"

No. Not this again.

"Elder, seriously—no, of all the countless elders there have ever been, why must it be a nobody like you who speaks...?"

Even in a state like this, things that stole his breath kept happening one after another. What on earth was the heavens playing at?

The Crowned Old Spirit, though still a hazy shape, stood far more distinct than before. Not that anyone remained to see him—the black-haired boy was even now steadily walking down the road of pure white flame. Slow as a maggot wriggling through mud, agonizingly labored; staggering, his whole body so overheated that it was burning away, the smell of scorched flesh trailing in his wake. Probably even that much of him was being seized by the fire and erased as they watched. Ordinarily, exposure to that thing would leave behind not even ash. Whether the girl was being careless, or deliberately holding back out of consideration for him...

...Whatever. What did it matter.

"Underestimate, you say?"

To the Demon King's question, tinged with gold, the hazy figure of the old man gave his answer.

"The Imperial Capital was both a shackle and a fence to that child, it was."

...Huh?

"The child who stepped beyond the fence has just now loosed the shackle. Now—behold."

"Opportunity and catalyst were thine to give, and thus it became possible."

The black-haired boy who had finally, against all odds, reached the Imperial Princess—forcing up his drooping eyelids, dragging a held breath into lungs that refused it—

gripped the sword, and squeezed.

And in a truly instantaneous moment—

the limpid white that cradled the pure white, and the branch of deepest, blackest night—

crossed.

.......

..........

The Demon King's jaw fell open, endlessly, without limit.

"He's... he's gone beyond the generations."

No—more than that.

"Without even Elbart, how in the world did that brat use that? He was never even taught it? No—you can't use something like that just because someone teaches it to you!"

Through the heart of the pure white, a brilliance of deepest black split the night sky and cleaved the world in two. And what was born of it was a coincidence of truly strange beauty. The white that rose vertically sublimated upward toward the heavens, while the black trajectory stretching horizontally carved its line across it—an inverted cross divided into black and white, brilliantly, magnificently devouring the darkness of the night sky.

Truly—a trajectory of darkness that crossed the world. The Treacherous Dark Star, cleaving and swallowing Radiance whole. The secret art of the one who had been his comrade in one age, and in another had styled himself his servant. Something he had witnessed only four times in all his living years—and now, of all things, he was seeing it from beyond death.

"The world really is messed up beyond saving."

The Middle Realm was, as ever, the stratum the gods doted upon. Well—they had constructed it as a wall, a dimension made to shield themselves, so favoring it was only natural, provided their heads weren't broken.

"Still. This is enormously, egregiously wrong. This is exactly why every last one of those Demon King brats got themselves slaughtered."

As expected, my own way of invading was the correct one. And at the same time, it had been proven beyond doubt that the Great Demon King's words were true as well.

Having become certain of that, the Demon King curled his beautiful lips upward, and up, and up.