The Unreachable Radiance
“He really is amazing.”
“Of course he is!”
Aegina answered Anak’s unconscious murmur with pride. Her eyes, gazing at Rowell, shone with love and admiration for her husband, and Rowell continued to live up to that gaze with a magnificent display.
Black beams, flames, countless whips and claws glowing with dark light. Every attack raining down on him carried enough force to tear through fortress walls and split the earth, yet Rowell’s figure within that storm moved with the beauty of a dance.
“At this rate, it feels like Rowell could save the world all by himself again.”
Anak had simply voiced the thought that came to mind, but after recalling the illusion Urshus had shown him, he decided it wasn’t entirely wrong.
The overwhelming army of Urshus that had covered the world. Their power. What he had seen in that vision was certainly comparable to the Demon King’s forces of the past. And against such enemies, Rowell had fought to the very end even within the illusion, finally pressing the holy sword Grandias against Anak’s own throat—the very throat that had become Urshus’s passage.
Though the illusion had ended in tragedy, a single thrust or slash would have been enough to save the world.
“Don’t say things like that, Anak. Rowell has become this strong only because of his companions’ help and trust. Besides, hearing that from you—who has stood by him the longest—Rowell himself would be the last person to wish for it.”
Though it was something that could have been brushed aside, Medrup deliberately refuted Anak’s words. He didn’t know about the vision Urshus had shown, but from experience he could tell that the subtle emotions on Anak’s face were anything but pleasant.
“That’s right, Anak. If another crisis comes, we’ll all have to combine our strength again. Isn’t that so, Bagloros?”
“Yeah.”
Anak could only smile at his companions’ words. Their consideration and sincerity warmed his heart and filled it with emotion and gratitude, yet at the same time his reason quietly added a rebuttal in his mind.
Thank you, Aegina. But eventually, past a certain point, I probably won’t be able to do anything more than watch like this.
Anak recalled the final battle against Nyx. Of course, before climbing the Tower of Destruction where Nyx resided, he had trained separately with the others to face a god, and that had made him stronger. His spell precision had improved, as had his control over his summons. Naturally, he had formed contracts with several more powerful summons in advance.
Up until they reached the top of the tower, he had certainly been of some help. The countless monsters born from the tower’s immense mana and the remnants of negative emotions that could not form Nyx’s body, along with the creatures and demons summoned from the demon realm by Nyx himself—against those, he had been useful. The powerful summons that answered his call had played their part. But that was all.
When they reached the summit and finally faced Nyx, who had descended into the vessel, both his summons and Anak himself were powerless. Before that overwhelming force, they could offer almost no help. They could only protect themselves—or rather, even that proved impossible.
Of course, the same had been true for Orcan, Aegina, and even Bagloros. Though the degree varied slightly, their strength meant almost nothing against Nyx. Lauti’s holy power and Medrup’s magic had some effect, but even those could not deliver a decisive blow or greatly influence the outcome.
In the end, the one who defeated Nyx was the hero’s power alone. His will, his soul, had perceived the gap and the absolute difference between the material world and a transcendent being called a god, and created a miracle.
Yet there was one reason Anak felt even more miserable than the others: unlike his companions, he had given up.
His own power that had no effect whatsoever. His companions, far stronger than him, desperately dodging, blocking, and protecting one another. Medrup’s greatest magic being stopped. And Rowell falling again and again. Faced with all that, Anak had surrendered.
While the others fought to the very end and believed in Rowell, Anak alone despaired in his heart, gave up, and accepted death. Under the excuse that it was meaningless, he stopped summoning and simply allowed himself to be protected.
And what he ultimately witnessed was a miracle. Rejoicing and moved by that fact, he was once again disappointed in himself.
If the faith and belief his companions had shown, their final resistance, had been nothing more than the baseless conviction or fanaticism that ordinary people hold, or a desperate struggle born of denial and escape, then even if the result had been the same salvation, he would not have felt such disappointment or pain.
But theirs had been nothing of the sort. They too had felt despair, had been overwhelmed by powerlessness. Fear and death had pierced through every part of their bodies.
They could have died at any moment, and everything could have collapsed at any moment. They knew better than anyone that their faith, their convictions, and their efforts could all become meaningless. Yet they did not give up. They did not break. They did not shatter.
Even in that situation, they did not lose hope or courage. And that hope and courage were not the cheap, commonplace things so easily spoken of by so many.
It was something ordinary people could never understand, something insignificant fireflies—mere talented geniuses, as Anak put it—could never imitate. It belonged only to the sun, the moon, and the stars.
They could never be the same.
The truth he had never once forgotten, the truth he had always known, pierced his heart once more, sinking deeper than ever before.
“It’s almost over.”
Anak pulled his mind from its thoughts and focused again on the wondrous sight before him. The clones had already dwindled to almost nothing. Because he had dealt with each one thoroughly, the rate at which they decreased hadn’t changed much, but as their numbers fell, Rowell’s movements became far clearer.
Without a trace of fatigue, his movements were beautiful—and at the same time, burning hot.
An overwhelming difference in strength. A victory whose outcome had already been decided. In such a situation, even burning fighting spirit would normally cool. Yet not a single one of the clones fighting Rowell now had lost their will to fight. On the contrary, every time their blades clashed, every time their attacks were blocked and they were wounded, their fighting spirit only grew stronger.
That was possible only because their opponent was Rowell. Beyond being the original’s rival or the hero who saved the world, Rowell was elevating their strength and uplifting their souls through the very act of clashing with them.
A pure battle where they merely struck against one another. Within it, victory and defeat gradually lost meaning, and when the result finally came, no lingering attachment remained in their hearts.
That was the only thing the hero could give to the clones.
“……”
Rowell raised his sword once more. All the clones that had stepped forward had finally fallen, leaving only half their original number. But what remained now were only the final forms and those close to them—forms from when Lyburn had begun fighting in earnest, not the half-playful ones from before.
—I remember. So I knew. But even so, seeing it with my own eyes, I can’t help but be impressed again and again.
“Would it have mattered if you all came at me at once?”
Contrary to his relaxed and playful tone, the hero’s voice carried gratitude.
Even if all the clones had attacked together from the beginning, there was no guarantee they could have defeated the hero. There were differences in the clones’ sizes and combat styles, and most of Lyburn’s forms were meant for fighting alone rather than together.
But one thing was certain: if they had all rushed him at once, even the hero would never have been able to fight the way he just had.
He couldn’t give each one a battle suited to them while going easy. Reproducing past tactics would have been impossible. The moment he went all out, most of the clones would have been swept away meaninglessly without even being properly recognized.
That was something the hero himself would never have wanted.
—…But let me say this in advance, hero.
“Reproducing the past against us now is impossible. Because—”
—Unfortunately, we no longer possess the power to make that possible.
The clones’ voices and eyes held deep regret along with a certain darkness. No matter how excellent the clone-making technique or how superior the materials, perfectly reproducing the power of high-ranking demons was impossible, as they had already said.
Forms that didn’t fully reveal their power could imitate it to some degree. But once they began using their full strength, the gap between clone and original became overwhelmingly vast. Therefore, even if they wished it, reproducing past battles was impossible.
If they tried to reenact them anyway, it would only be a clumsy, unsatisfying imitation. Knowing this, a bitter look naturally appeared in the eyes of the clones who had been watching the hero’s fight.
“That doesn’t matter.”
But the hero smiled.
“Come at me with everything you’ve got. Isn’t that what’s important?”
In that moment, a memory that wasn’t their own—one belonging to the original—surfaced in the clones’ minds. It was the memory of the day Lyburn and the hero first fought. When Rowell had been desperately thinking of ways to let at least Aegina and Anak escape amid the overwhelming difference in power, Lyburn had said exactly that.
‘You should know by now that petty tricks are meaningless. Come at me with full power. That is what matters for a death without regret.’
The darkness and bitterness in the clones’ eyes scattered.
—Well said, hero!
With that enormous cry that shook the entire fortress, the five-headed dragon clone—the final form—slowly rose from where it had been leaning against the wall. Not only the final form, but the jackal-headed clone specialized in mana manipulation and nearly all the remaining clones began to draw up their mana and power.
“To think I’d hear those words returned to me in this moment!”
—You’ve become quite arrogant, hero!
And every remaining clone charged straight at the hero. Rowell, too, hurled himself toward them.
Along with blood-red mana bullets, one of the dragon heads spewed a black breath. The moment Rowell dodged, the attack struck Medrup’s barrier directly.
“No need to worry, Rowell!”
“We trust you!”
Of course, the barrier blocked the impact. Still, even though its power was weakened compared to the original, it was the breath of a final form, so small cracks began appearing throughout Medrup’s barrier.
“My, I’ll have to reinforce the barrier further.”
Even as he said this and swung his staff, a new barrier was immediately layered over the old one.
“Bagloros, stay put.”
Anak and Aegina grabbed Bagloros, who was trying to dash out in that opening.
“I told you there’s nothing to worry about. Did you forget what Rowell said?”
“…No.”
Bagloros was no longer in his boy form but in his combat form. His expression was hidden, and his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Yet as Anak and Aegina looked at him answering that way, they both thought of a disappointed puppy and realized anew just how well they understood Bagloros.