The Clone's Message
"And that death was only natural. The fool was far too stupid and reckless."
The fool?
The way he spoke of himself as if he were someone else made us all tilt our heads in confusion, yet none of us relaxed our guard.
"Are you Raiven… yourself?"
Rowell asked carefully. His voice, appearance, and the faint aura he gave off were certainly Raiven's. But the way he spoke of his own death as though it belonged to another, and the subtle differences in his presence, set him apart from the Raiven we knew. The overwhelming pressure and intimidation that once radiated from him had diminished considerably. It wasn't just the passage of time; something about him felt… faded.
A clone?
Raiven had never possessed such an ability. If he had, our final battle would have been far more difficult.
—Well, what do you think, Hero?
A chill ran down my spine. Those words. Yes, those were the very words he had always thrown at Rowell like a habit. If this wasn't Raiven, then who could it be?
I glanced toward Rowell. Standing a few steps behind him and Bagloros, I couldn't see his expression clearly, but I could imagine the complicated, conflicted emotions he must be feeling.
During the Great War, Raiven had been obsessed with Rowell.
It began the day he first appeared before us in that form, when Rowell shattered his fangs. Back then, it was only the three of us—Rowell, me, and Aegina—and we didn't yet have the holy sword Grandias. He had overwhelmed us completely. If the fight had continued as it was, we would have been annihilated. But in that crisis, Rowell shone. Like a miracle, he broke one of Raiven's fangs and left a shallow wound.
Yet that was all. Raiven could assume countless other forms, and such a minor injury wouldn't have affected the outcome. Surprisingly, however, he took a step back. Revealing his broken fang, he smiled as though he were genuinely delighted. Then he asked for Rowell's name and simply left.
Later, Orcan explained it as the moment the sword within Raiven's soul had rung. According to his tribe's beliefs, everyone carries a sword within their soul, and that sword rings only once in a lifetime—when it meets its true counterpart. That counterpart, he said, was a genuine enemy who could clash with the sword, elevate one another, hone its edge, and temper it into something stronger.
Whether Raiven truly thought that way, we never knew. But he clearly enjoyed crossing blades with Rowell and devoted himself to it. There were several moments when he could have ended Rowell, yet he never did. Instead, he seemed to take pleasure in watching Rowell grow stronger.
Even at Ankhakti Plateau, where he held overwhelming numerical superiority, he chose to duel Rowell directly. After a long battle, when Rowell's sword finally inflicted a fatal wound, he withdrew with his troops.
He was different from Georges. If Georges had shown us kindness, it wasn't for the Demon King or the evil god, but for his own sake. Raiven wanted Rowell to become stronger, and each time Rowell did, he would appear in a new form to block his path. He relished those moments and took joy in both his own power and the existence of the one who could withstand it.
In the final battle, he was the first to stand before Rowell, without relying on other commanders or subordinates. As if the fate of the world or victory meant nothing, he focused solely on the duel, as though that single moment was everything. Even in the instant of his death, despite his defeat, he closed his eyes with a deep sense of satisfaction.
That was why, to Rowell, Raiven was more than just a powerful enemy. He was an opponent who had to be defeated, a wall that Rowell had to overcome, and at times, the most dangerous teacher of all.
As Orcan had said, they were true counterparts who elevated and refined each other. Now that such an existence had appeared before us once more, what must Rowell be feeling?
Considering the storm of emotions surely raging inside him, I didn't know what to say. But one thing was certain: even so, Rowell showed not the slightest opening.
"…It seems you are not."
Rowell answered cautiously. At those words, Raiven—or rather, the being resembling him—bared his fangs in a smile.
—Correct. Well guessed. As expected of the one who defeated him.
"…Who are you?"
In response to the question, the being who looked like Raiven silently swept his gaze over us. He was still smiling, but unlike before, the smile now felt somewhat lonely and bitter.
—I have no name. If I must give one, then R-21. I am the first clone of the Beast Army Commander Raiven, a lowly messenger meant to convey our will to you before disappearing.
"A clone?"
The moment the word left my mouth, I realized my voice had been too loud, but no one seemed to care. A clone. And the first one at that. Moreover, the mention of "our will" implied there were others.
"A clone? Who on earth, and how…!"
Homunculus creation and memory implantation for cloning certainly existed. But all such methods were ultimately imperfect, little more than substitutes capable of limited tasks under restricted conditions. The stronger the original, the more drastically the clone's completion rate dropped. The clone's false body simply couldn't contain that power.
Yet who could possibly replicate a demon, especially one of the highest-ranking demon commanders?
—Raiven himself. In the demon realm, he despaired at being unable to grow his power any further. If he couldn't increase his own strength, he decided to increase his numbers instead. From the moment he descended to the surface, he focused on creating precise and stable clones of himself. Without anyone in the Demon King's army noticing, he cultivated us using countless magical beasts and test subjects.
My entire body trembled. Countless Raivens. Even if they couldn't perfectly replicate his original power, the mere thought of the consequences was terrifying.
—But he foolishly abandoned us. Though imperfect, he turned away just before he could truly multiply himself.
The voice carried both anger and sorrow.
"Why did he do that?"
At that moment, in response to Rowell's question, killing intent flared in the clone's eyes, and his rage erupted. Bagloros stepped in front of Rowell protectively, dark energy gathering in his hands, but the clone—Raiven's clone—did not move from his spot. It was as if his task was not yet finished.
—It was because of you, Hero!
He bared his fangs and raised his claws as though he might lunge at any moment, yet he remained rooted in place. It seemed he still had something left to do.
—The fool believed that dueling you could elevate him to greater heights! If he hadn't been so obsessed with you, he never would have met such a pathetic end. He could have surpassed his own limits!
At that anguished cry, I scanned our surroundings. If any hidden enemies were lying in wait, now would be the time for them to reveal themselves.
"…What do you mean by 'messenger'?"
Rowell was trying to maintain his composure. I could feel that he was swallowing back the words he wanted to say. After all, Rowell had fought the final battle against Raiven and taken his life. No matter how much this was Raiven's own clone, hearing someone desecrate Raiven's death could never be pleasant.
I heightened my soul synchronization with the dark elementals, focusing my mind on even the slightest movements around us. With Orcan and Master Medrup absent, I had to fulfill at least my share of the responsibility. Aegina was also gathering her strength, ready to leap into action at any moment.
—Exactly as I said. This is merely a greeting, a declaration of our will, and a warning of what is to come. We will eliminate you, Hero. We will defeat the one the original could not, proving that his judgment was a mistake. And in doing so, we will surpass him and truly claim the name of Raiven!
In that instant, between the conviction and fury flashing in his eyes, I thought I caught a glimpse of faint fear. Suddenly, he charged at Rowell. His speed was so great that even an arrow loosed from a bow would seem slow by comparison; my eyes could barely follow it.
But what was certain was that Rowell had dashed forward, passing right by Bagloros who had been shielding him. For a brief moment, light glinted off the blade of Grandias as it left its scabbard. Then Rowell's entire body transformed into a golden flash. It wasn't the cold, arrogant light that rejected everything unlike itself. It was a warm, embracing light, like the sun itself.
Within that radiance, the two seemed to pass right by each other. Even now, I'm not sure if I truly saw it, but I thought I witnessed them brush past one another—smoothly, swiftly, as if it had always been that way—without any special impact or clash.
And that was the end of the battle. The light faded, and Raiven's and Rowell's movements ceased. As if emerging from a mirage, the unreal gradually took on reality and revealed itself.
I realized I had been holding my breath. It had all ended in a single breath.
—…So this is what it means to be the Hero.
The clone of Raiven, standing still in place, muttered those words as if hollow, then collapsed powerlessly to the ground. His two horns had been severed, and a long gash ran from his shoulder across his entire body.
Clearly, as a clone, his abilities were incomparable to the original. Even though the wolf form was the weakest among Raiven's many shapes, and even though Rowell had grown stronger after battling Raiven, fighting the Demon King, and facing the goddess Nyx, this opponent shouldn't have been someone he could defeat in a single strike.
"Anak. Bind him. And we'll need to treat him to some extent. I held back, but I can't be certain it was enough."
Rowell said as he turned around. Grandias's blade glowed brightly in his hand, shining far more intensely, as if the sword itself was rejoicing at having fought after so long.
Truly, he was the Hero of Light, Rowell. From the moment I first met him, I had never doubted his extraordinariness, but seeing the Hero in his truest form after so long stirred new emotions within me.
"Ah, got it."
I raised my hand, summoning several spirits while slowly casting binding spells. With Master Medrup absent, this was something I had to handle myself.
—You have no intention of finishing this…?
"…There are still many things I need to ask you."
—Yes. I suppose so.
There was a short, strange sneer in his voice that made me uneasy, but I continued casting the binding spells anyway. If I wanted to treat him quickly, the bindings had to be completed first.
—But it's meaningless.
"……!"
Suddenly, his black body began to boil. Like black lava, parts of his flesh bubbled up and started melting away, as if chocolate left on a flame.
"Anak!"
A startled Rowell rushed to my side. But because the embedded barrier would activate the moment anyone made contact, even Rowell couldn't move me directly. Instead, he deployed a new barrier around both of us using Grandias.
—…Heh. Don't worry. I can't harm you anyway.
"What…!"
His body was transforming into black liquid, slowly crumbling away. Facing our bewildered expressions, he continued speaking in a sunken voice.
—…This is why I remained as a messenger. I am the first clone, the most imperfect and unstable prototype.
After briefly examining him and confirming there was no danger, Rowell dispelled the barrier and began pouring healing magic into him, but it had no effect. This wasn't a matter of treatment or healing; his very composition, his existence itself, was collapsing.
—…Why do you grieve, Hero? I have done what I was meant to do. I have fulfilled my purpose.
Yet despite those words, I could see fear flickering in his eyes. No matter how much of a clone he was, and even if he knew of his own death, fear inevitably accompanied it.
—The rest of us will bring you down anyway. You will die by our hands, and we will prove ourselves.
Those hollow, empty declarations carried no sincerity. Only a forcibly clung-to false conviction sustained this final act of bravado. And just as his body was about to completely collapse, his eyes suddenly found peace, and he murmured in a small voice.
—…But, Hero. I was glad to fight you. I can understand, to some extent, the foolish original's feelings…
He didn't finish his last words, but we understood what he had wanted to say. His body transformed into black liquid and melted away completely, and that black liquid quickly vanished into the air once more.