Those Who Exist (4)
Bang!
Deathbringer moved alongside Kankan and succeeded in killing several of them.
He had wondered whether only the one who had attacked the priests was like that, but there was no chance of it.
Every single one of those the Inquisitor had called a nuisance was stirring up incidents—killing the strongest nearby, stabbing commanders, and the like.
“These bastards are weird somehow.”
“I think so too.”
There was even this kind of strangeness.
First of all, Deathbringer discovering them himself was nothing unusual. He was used to this sort of thing.
But after he found them and pointed them out, the fact that Kankan could not properly perceive the target was clearly a bizarre phenomenon. If it happened every single time rather than once or twice, all the more so.
“Damn it. I stab with the blade and it turns into a non-stab? That’s just too much.”
On top of that, the enemies ignored some of the attacks. Even when Kankan managed to register them and strike, the wounds either failed to appear or came out tiny.
Even though Kankan had clearly landed the blows properly.
“You attack them just fine—why can’t I…!”
“Beats me. Maybe you have to hit them without them knowing.”
Or perhaps it was the presence of the holy relic. Deathbringer temporarily handed the relic to Kankan. Unfortunately, nothing changed.
“So it’s not this?”
If it wasn’t the holy relic, what on earth had created the difference? Too random for constitution, far too strange for coincidence… Ah, wait.
Deathbringer suddenly ran his fingers along the flat of the sword in his hand.
It had never been purified, and Archmage had even coated it so it could not be purified; the blade clearly held dark power. Even someone as ignorant of auras as he sometimes wondered, Can I really use this thing?
A sword like that might well possess the ability to affect this phenomenon, right?
“…Hold this for a second.”
“Why the sword…? This smells nasty, though. The blade itself is clean—what’d you smear on it?”
“What are you on about.”
After that, Deathbringer looked again at the one he had found. Hard to see. It definitely existed there, yet its presence blurred the moment he paid a little less attention, as if it would slip away…
“What? I can see it fine.”
So that was the cause. Deathbringer snatched the dagger back. Exactly as expected, the enemy became clear again.
“What the hell is that sword?”
“I don’t know either.”
He already knew it was made of dragon scales—hard yet light, impossibly sharp, and the edge never dulled. He had stood right there and heard the entire explanation.
But he had never imagined it possessed an effect like this as well.
Had the mage who applied the coating known? What about the Demon Knight who had given him the sword?
If Archmage had known, he would have said so, so he must not have. The Demon Knight, though… circumstances suggested he had handed it over without knowing and simply gotten lucky, yet it would not have been strange if he had known. That man had far too many secrets.
Pook!
“Anyway, as far as I remember, this guy’s the last one.”
Deathbringer fluidly drove his blade into the final target’s back. Piercing the exact spot of the lungs left the opponent unable even to scream.
While the man was still like that, Deathbringer cleanly severed the neck as well. As long as he did not know what tricks these things were hiding, thorough execution was best.
“Y-you!”
The soldiers who had been confronting the target rounded their eyes.
“The priest said there were traitors hiding among us and ordered me to deal with them.”
After seeing this scene several times, it had already grown boring. He nonchalantly produced the holy relic, showed it, then urged his steps onward.
In an emergency, and with the men having actually been face-to-face with the enemy, no one bothered to question the authenticity of the relic.
“Is that the end?”
“Inside the walls, yes.”
Deathbringer said so while pointing outward. Targets still remained at the defense line toward the city center.
Kwaang!
“…No way they’re there too—no. Of course they are. The few I know of weren’t even posted on the walls.”
“Well, yeah. But do you actually have the confidence to go over there and survive?”
The mages had raised earthen walls to replace the shattered gates, yet no one knew when they might be breached.
Moreover the city was already crawling with demons that had successfully entered—not through the gates, but via the underground or the air.
The lack of signal flares suggested the final defense line had not yet been broken, but that fact itself offered little help. They were not heading for a safe zone; they had to push through the demons and hunt the traitors.
“Honestly? No.”
And the biggest problem of all was the pair of sand leopards that had been the first to enter the city.
With the other demons he was at least confident he could extract his body and escape; those two, however, did not seem manageable.
“But we still have to go.”
“…You sound like a hero.”
“A Nordah warrior never yields to fear.”
“Mindset perfect for getting yourself killed.”
Yet there was no other real option.
Deathbringer plunged into the city together with Kankan. Intestine worms waited for prey beneath the ground; flying-type demons perched on rooftops ready to snatch humans—but they had no choice.
“Muwang, why…!”
And they arrived at exactly the moment Muwang joined the defense line and raised the sword of betrayal.
It was an incredible coincidence, and for one particular person it was the perfect opportunity.
“Hey, you bastard!!”
Kankan, seizing his chance for revenge, planted himself in front of Muwang. Right beside them a sand leopard was collapsing an entire building while fighting off the city troops.
“This time I’ll stop you for sure!”
That, however, was Kankan’s story. Deathbringer, who had sprinted there with him, froze solid after discovering something else entirely.
“M-my lord, what in the world are you fighting…!”
Far away, a figure standing atop the wall roof was contending with a vast black current.
[What? Why a nightmare…?]
Hearing the word “nightmare,” I flinched a little on reflex. Yet all that drifted about was black fog—powder clumps?—and nothing else actually happened.
Instead the flying demons and other small fry grew frightened and backed away.
This seemed unexpected even for Duke, the Great Demon of Sloth; that side looked slightly flustered as well.
[I can feel the nightmare. Fears that would drag one into thick despair and resignation. Yet why…]
Duke snapped its fingers. Even that attempt failed to work properly; the black current tried to take shape, then scattered with a soft poof.
[Why…?]
I had no idea what was going on, but it looked like an opening.
While we briefly conversed I scraped together every scrap of magic that had refilled. The two-hander dyed jet-black charged straight at Duke.
“Die.”
My sword carved through Duke’s body. Instead of bleeding, that flesh instantly turned to powder and scattered.
The black grains, like a sandstorm, next formed the shape of a bear. The black current swept over me.
Bang!
Never mind that attacks were not connecting—if I let that hit me, the result would not be pretty.
So I roughly shoved it back with Ground Crash. The wall roof shook violently, yet thanks to careful force control the ceiling did not collapse.
And I achieved what I intended.
[Show me your nightmare.]
Duke, however, was persistent.
At its gesture some of the retreating mist took form.
Like dry ice laid across a stage, what had been resting calmly atop the wall roof soon spread horizontally even into empty air where no roof existed.
If the intent had been to make it impossible to tell where the roof began and ended, it was a rather clever move.
[Yes. This is how it should be.]
Though that did not seem to be what Duke had truly been aiming for.
Oppa.
“…!”
A single figure rising through the sliced smoke in midair took on color, a more precise form, and finally moved its lips.
My body, about to attack once more, screeched to a halt.
Son.
And the figures that appeared were not limited to one.
After a girl who looked about six or seven came a middle-aged man, then a woman of similar age. After them appeared a young man and woman who seemed around Dev or the Inquisitor’s age.
Why… why only you…
But… who the hell are you people?
I broke into a cold sweat inside as I stared at them—eye sockets pitch black, blood pouring endlessly from their mouths.
They would have been hard enough to recognize under normal circumstances; with special effects like that layered on, how was I supposed to know them? They did not even look familiar; they felt completely brand-new.
[How does it feel to have survived alone after your family was wiped out?]
What? Family?
Why only you…?
Oppa, it’s so cold here…
Why… why did you leave us behind…
They were family?!
We wanted to live too.
Why did only you survive?
…Ah. Right. My memory is a little fuzzy after so long, but they do look similar to the people from the opening video.
Aigoo, I clearly never did any of that, so why does my chest prickle like I committed some unforgivable sin?
I hardened my face firmly as I watched the false figures approach. Duke seemed to think I was shocked by them, but…
It wasn’t that. Not at all.
Son.
I really never expected it to drag out the family from the character setting. Of course if it had brought my real parents that would have been its own special kind of heart attack. Anyway.
“Fa-ther.”
Even if the inside looked like this, I could not let the outside match. I forced power into both eyes until they were ready to burst with blood vessels and finally tore my lips open.
The concept was that he felt revulsion at having survived alone after leaving his family behind, so of course.
Oppa…
“Irena…”
Is the youngest sister’s name actually Irena? Tsk. Might have gotten it wrong. Please let Duke not notice.
Along with that thought I covered my face with empty hands and cried out as if wailing.
“I-I’m sorry.”
Normally this would be the moment to drop to my knees and despair a little, but with no one coming to help, maybe I could skip a bit.
No—depending on interpretation that could be seen as insulting the family, so shifting the development from despair to rage shouldn’t count as character break.
“I’m sorry…”
Good. Direction decided.
I dragged my nails down my face as if clawing it open and slowly straightened my hunched back. Right now my eyes had to be flashing with light; I was sure of it.
My face was already a mask of blood, so whether tears showed or not was hard to say.
“…I swore I would not stop until I offered the heads of every last demon upon your graves—yet I allowed those devil bastards to desecrate you.”
[…!]
I raised the sword with the corners of my mouth lifted in a smile that looked ready to tear.
“Do not worry. Do not worry, Father, Mother, my brothers and sisters…”
Seogeok.
Immediately a jet-black sword light cut through the illusions and even sliced the Duke who had retreated behind them. Of course that, too, was an illusion.
[Ah—killing your family a second time?]
“Until the moment this life ends, I am the eternal avenger.”
[Pitiful, wretched souls… abandoned twice by the blood relative they trusted…]
Whatever Duke said, I smiled as if about to weep and refilled the sword I had swung with magic power once more.
“Death to every demon upon this earth.”
Tok. Some unknown liquid crossed my cheek and fell from my chin.
[Strange indeed.]
Duke, gradually realizing its method was not working, gathered the black powders back. It did not even wear a pitying expression—more like “if it works, good; if not, whatever.” That was a little annoying.
[This much should be enough to make one angry. Yet there is no sign Gretchen has been stimulated…]
And I still had no idea what it was talking about. Had it been trying to induce anger rather than despair? To stimulate Gretchen, the demon that, by setting, lived inside me?
Is she “Wrath,” so she gets stimulated when I get angry…? I already cannot get angry because of the Rage skill; from now on it will be even harder. Though what is there to get angry about in this place anyway.
[You.]
At that moment it suddenly shoved its face right in front of mine. The sword I swung on reflex carved through its body, but of course it was only another illusion.
[What contract did you make with Gretchen?]
…Having a face shoved that close is burdensome enough, but from this point on I could change Duke’s job title from “Sloth specialist” to “nonsense specialist.”
How exactly am I supposed to make a contract with a demon that only exists in the setting?
“Die.”
[Hmm.]
Separately, there was no reason to listen to that garbage. I swung the sword again; once more it passed straight through.
This is getting irritating.
Come on, even so—this is too much. How am I supposed to hit this thing? Whether I wrap magic around the blade and cut, or tear with my hands, it just scatters into powder??
Trying to grab it does nothing either. I even went all-out and launched Bombard, but only the demons flying around nearby suffered for it.
Is this thing only catchable with holy power? Or is it a mob designed so I cannot catch it right now??
I used every skill I possessed trying to touch Duke. Every single one simply pierced through; nothing connected.
The sole consolation—if it could be called one—was that Duke’s own attacks scattered after only a couple of my gestures.
[Not this. Not this either.]
The real headache, though, was that Duke did not limit itself to attacking. Instead of striking directly, it kept showing me various illusions formed from powder.
A black silhouette with goat horns kneeling, a few scenes that seemed related to the character’s past, and so on.
If those had tormented me, of course they did not.
Mental damage only works if you know something in the first place. All I know of the Demon Knight character’s backstory is a few sentences.
Apart from the family massacre, I do not even know what other incidents he went through.
Moreover Duke had not brought the full moments of those events; it had snipped out only a few scenes. From those I could not possibly extract any emotion—grief, despair, rage, whatever.
If there was any suffering born of ignorance, it was on the acting side.
Without understanding a thing, I had to deduce this and that just to avoid character break; I thought my head would catch fire. Later I abandoned the acting altogether and simply attacked like a man whose mind had snapped from rage.
[Strange.]
What’s strange? The one who cannot deal damage and has to play along with your weird little theater is me—you don’t see that?
[I know your type well. You easily fall into indiscriminate rage, self-loathing, frustration, and similar emotions. Even after overcoming a nightmare you create an even worse one yourselves.]
At this point shouldn’t Archmage or the Inquisitor feel something is off and come up here?
Please deal with this mob. Save me.
[Yet your nightmare is based on the past, and it shows not the slightest change.]
Please.
[As if it is not your nightmare at all.]
Hwaaaah. Nightmare this, nightmare that—none of it matters. Being stuck for dozens of minutes with a mob I cannot catch is the real nightmare!
[Even if a personality were split in two it would not turn out like this.]
My nightmare is you, you bastard!!