The Final Boss Takes a Break(?)
If I go out there now, I'm absolutely fucked.
That was the conclusion Juhan had reached.
Why? Because it would be a completely meaningless, dog's death.
That was exactly how the plot of the novel he had read played out. Juhan knew that the moment he poked even a sliver of his body outside, a relentless barrage of arrows would rain down on him.
The cause of his impending doom was none other than the elf woman glaring with wide, fierce eyes just beyond the threshold.
Is that... Yuria after all?
He could catch glimpses of her movements through the crack in the fractured space.
Perhaps because his perception now transcended that of a mere mortal, Juhan could clearly feel the emotions of everyone waiting outside. And those emotions matched the descriptions in the novel to a tee.
She was scanning the area, her head swiveling left and right. The mind of that elf archer was utterly consumed by a single, burning intent: the absolute second Juhan showed his face, she was going to unleash a devastating storm of arrows. According to the novel, that opening volley alone had dealt a non-trivial amount of damage to the boss. If he recalled correctly, it shaved off about ten percent of his total HP.
And standing right next to that crazy elf was a young man adjusting his grip on his sword.
To think I'd actually see Karius in the flesh...
From Juhan's perspective, this guy was Public Enemy Number One.
The protagonist of the story. The one who would deal the most damage to the final boss and ultimately deliver the killing blow. That was none other than Karius.
He looked like he was trembling slightly right now, but that was a trap. In the novel, this guy was written as a rare, certified battle maniac. The lore dictated that the moment a fight broke out, he would completely forget what fear even felt like.
And then there was the other woman standing next to Karius—Rona. She was shaking like a leaf right now, but she was a lunatic who would soon be screaming in panic while simultaneously plunging a dagger straight into Juhan's throat.
Of course, it didn't end with those three. There was also a psycho saintess, a gloomy rogue, a knight who would charge at him while sobbing... He didn't feel even a shred of joy at seeing the protagonists of his favorite novel in real life.
The moment he stepped outside, every single one of them would throw themselves at him like rabid dogs. Even the nameless extras trembling in the back would probably try to get a piece of him.
To begin with, the world-building of this universe was completely screwed up. At least, it was for Juhan, who had unfortunately reincarnated as the final boss.
The basic premise of this world was that a century-long war with the church had left the entire population utterly devastated and hardened. The second layer of this lovely setting was that children were taught to hold weapons before they could even walk.
It was literally a world of living weapons.
You protect your own damn self.
Got mugged? You should've fought harder. Got stabbed? You should've dodged. Shot by an arrow? Stop whining and pull it out.
A world where such psychotic logic was considered common sense—that was the core of the universe Juhan had been dropped into. And they expected him to just walk out there? Out of this cozy, warm cradle of a pocket dimension?
Having fully grasped the situation, Juhan didn't need even a single second to make his decision.
First, let's get the hell out of here.
He was going to run. If he stepped outside right now, there was a one hundred percent chance he would die. In fact, Juhan was highly confident. Confident that he would absolutely, positively not survive.
Granted, the final boss's body he had possessed was undoubtedly extraordinary. It was the final boss, after all. But the one currently at the steering wheel of this body was Juhan, a completely ordinary guy.
Unlike the original boss who put up a legendary fight, Juhan would probably just stand there like an idiot, shouting, Wait, how do I move? How do I use this skill? before getting brutally slaughtered. It was a foregone conclusion.
"Oh, Lord! Please!"
Then what about that fanatic woman over there, desperately calling out to him?
Who gives a shit?
Naturally, it was none of his business. His own life was hanging by a thread; he didn't have the luxury to worry about anyone else.
Honestly, that crazy woman was the root of all this anyway. Who told her to go around performing random summoning rituals? Did she even know what kind of monster she was pulling out? Well, she pulled Juhan out, so his point stood.
Having made his decision to flee, Juhan realized that the entire thought process had taken less than ten seconds.
B-but...
However, he immediately hit an unexpected snag.
Where the hell do I go?
Where on earth was he supposed to run? No matter how much he looked around, the scenery was completely identical.
Up, down, left, right, front, back—it was all the exact same void. It looked as if whoever created this pocket dimension had gotten lazy halfway through and just copy-pasted the entire background.
Should I just run as far away as possible from where the voices are coming from?
Standing still was definitely out of the question.
"O-Oh, Lord... please answer me..."
Shuffling, rustling.
Holy shit.
The fanatic woman was actually crawling on her hands and knees toward the very rift where Juhan was hiding.
"P-please..."
It was a truly pathetic sight. She looked like an abandoned dog desperately crawling back to its master... but to Juhan, she looked like a grim reaper coming to drag him straight to hell.
Stay back! Stay the fuck away from me, you crazy bitch!
Thud, thud, thud!
Do or die, Juhan spun on his heel and bolted. He sprinted in the exact opposite direction of the rift, driven by a primal, desperate urge to survive that he hadn't even known he possessed.
Why is this stupid rift following me?!
But despite his sprinting, the tear in space refused to leave him. It hovered right behind him, as if glued to his back.
Aaargh!
In sheer panic, Juhan reacted purely on instinct.
Whoosh!
Letting out a choked shriek, he flailed his arms at the persistent rift. Like a man desperately trying to swat away a relentless mosquito, Juhan swiped at the tear in space with all his might.
He poured every ounce of his desperate will into that swing, silently praying with all his heart that the damn hole would just close.
"..."
It was a desperate, reflexive gesture made without any real expectation. Yet, did his frantic swatting actually do something?
W-what?
Juhan suddenly realized that the frantic voices from the other side had completely vanished.
It's... quiet?
He had no idea how he had done it. He didn't feel like he had cast a spell or used some grand power. He had simply wished with everything he had.
Please save me. Don't come near me. Just leave me the hell alone.
He had simply swiped his hand with those desperate thoughts. That was it.
...
And yet, miraculously, it had worked.
A profound, heavy silence settled over the void.
The rift in space that had threatened to drag him to his doom had quietly dissolved into nothingness.
Rona was dead.
It had taken only a single attack.
There was no excuse. It was entirely the fault of Karius, who had let his guard down.
Despite the summoning ritual being a clear success, the rift had shown absolutely no reaction. It was only natural that Karius, who had been staring intently at the tear in space, had begun to doubt.
Maybe the ritual failed. Maybe something went wrong in the middle. He had let wishful thinking cloud his judgment. In truth, everyone present had been desperately hoping for a failure.
And this was the price of his complacency.
"Rona."
"..."
"Rona."
"Stop it! Karius, stop..."
Before Karius lay the rapidly cooling corpse of his lover.
She was beyond saving. Absolutely beyond saving.
Karius, kneeling before Rona, knew this better than anyone. Even though Athena, the Saintess of the Saint Bistro Church, stood right beside him.
Even though the Saintess possessed legendary healing magic capable of saving anyone on the brink of death, as long as they drew breath...
"She is already gone... Karius," Athena whispered softly.
Karius couldn't bring himself to beg her. No, he couldn't even ask.
"May Helios guide her..." Athena murmured.
The woman collapsed before him was Rona. Her lower body was completely gone, as if it had been vaporized into thin air.
There was no light left in Rona's eyes. They were dull, lifeless, staring blankly into the empty air.
Slowly, Karius reached out and gently placed his hand on her cheek. A thin trickle of blood ran down the corner of her mouth, but her skin still held a lingering warmth.
Feeling that fading warmth, Karius gently clasped her hand with his other, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"...Fuck," someone muttered under their breath.
"..."
The rest of the party watched the scene in heavy, suffocating silence. No one dared to speak.
Everyone present knew the truth. They knew that Karius and Rona loved each other deeply.
Only Karius could truly comprehend the sheer, crushing weight of this loss.
"..."
For a long moment, Karius stared down at Rona, as if sorting through the shattered pieces of his mind.
Finally, he stood up and turned to Yuria.
"Yuria."
"...I'm listening," she replied, her voice tight.
His voice was flat, devoid of any doubt.
"No matter what it takes..."
There was no hesitation left in him.
"I am going to kill it."
The Great Catastrophe that was supposed to emerge from that rift—he was going to slaughter it, no matter what. The light in Karius's eyes had vanished, leaving them as hollow and lifeless as Rona's.
Though he still drew breath, he looked like a dead man walking.