Chapter 22
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 22
Garot had been close when the monster threw that punch. She’d been running right toward Uin—surely close enough to be caught in the shockwave.
“Garot…”
Lying broken on the ground, Uin mumbled her name again.
Damn it all. A Hero’s Intuition was only ever accurate in the most useless ways, far more precise when predicting misfortune than good fortune.
Before she could stop it, the Hero's mind was already picturing Garot's death.
And then.
“How do you expect me to hear you if you whisper like that, Lady Uin?”
A familiar voice answered.
At the sound of the voice, the girl slowly forced her half-closed eyes open. Her vision was a blur. Whether from tears or pain, she couldn't tell, but everything was a hazy mess.
Through the haze, the person she'd been worrying about most came into view.
“Pull yourself together. As expected of a Historia, you’re miraculously alive in a situation where a hundred lives wouldn’t have been enough.”
“Garot…”
You’re alive.
“You really should thank me, Lady Uin. Seriously. If I hadn’t cast a protection spell back then, we’d already be planning your funeral.”
A citizen of Survey Rose watching nearby helped Uin sit up. Only then could she spit out the mouthful of blood she'd been holding back. After she coughed up a thick, sticky mixture of blood and saliva, control slowly returned to her body. Though she trembled violently, she could finally move her limbs again.
The broken Hero, sprawled on the streets of Survey Rose, slowly turned her head toward the source of Garot's voice, moving as carefully as if she were handling a fragile infant.
“Ah…”
Fortunately, it wasn't an auditory hallucination. Garot was sitting right beside her, a worried expression on her face.
“Ga… rot…?”
At the same time, Uin realized she no longer needed to ask how Garot had survived.
“Garot… your… arm… your right arm…”
The price of that survival was written plainly on her body.
“Your right arm… Garot, was this… because of me?”
“Don’t make a fuss, Lady Uin. We’re alive, and that’s what matters. Ah, don’t try to touch it. Even with numbing magic, it hurts like hell, okay? I might actually be in more pain than you right now. Do you have any idea how hard it was to stop the bleeding?”
“Because of… because of me… your right arm… why…”
“Lady Uin, please pull yourself together. I’m not going to die. You don’t die from losing a single arm, for goodness’ sake.”
“But why… Garot, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Because of me, you… I’m a failed Hero. I’m sorry…” Uin trailed off into a choked sob.
“Ugh, you’re so frustrating! Are you going to keep doing this, Lady Uin? Were you always this exasperating? It’s not like you can tear off one of your own arms to give to me, so why are you crying so much?”
Uin’s response was a string of broken sobs. “Garot, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I…”
“Lady Uin.”
“I… I…”
“Uin Historia!”
Garot’s sharp cry cut through all other noise.
“Get a grip! You’re the Hero! Do you think anyone wants to see the Empire’s Hero crying like a pathetic baby? Huh? This isn’t your first time seeing someone get hurt or die, so why are you making such a scene? Besides, losing just an arm is a bargain, understand? Frankly, if I’d been a second slower, or if you’d been a second slower reaching for me, what do you think would have happened? We should be grateful we’re still in one piece! Do you even know who that was? The monster that crashed the auction—that was Swallow of the Primordial Core! The Black Disaster, Swallow!”
“……W-what are you talking about, Garot? Don’t joke around. There’s no way a monster like that would come here…?”
“I don’t know the reason either. But I am absolutely certain.”
As a Pursuer, Garot knew.
The sensation she'd felt upon seeing the male monster, the traces she'd perceived—they weren't a trick of her imagination.
“It really is Swallow. The ancient monster, the Black Disaster Swallow.”
The monster, the one who looked like a black-haired man, was covered in the traces of the Hero, Bern Hishultz.
The traces of Bern, who was supposed to have died in the Primordial Core, were fresh—less than a month old. They clung heavily to the very ground the monster stood upon.
“The situation is far more serious than I thought.”
Ominous thoughts swirled in Garot’s mind.
The Empire might fall.
Swallow. The Master of the Primordial Core. An ancient monster that might have lived for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years.
In truth, almost nothing was known about him. Beyond his name and his dungeon, there was no reliable information.
Descriptions of his size, form, and deeds varied wildly across myths and historical texts, and Garot believed most were lies. The accounts were mostly oral traditions, undoubtedly embellished over time. Above all, she highly doubted anyone had ever laid eyes on the monster Swallow and lived to write about it.
Yet, Garot was certain. The entity Uin had fought was Swallow.
The reason was laughably simple: Garot had seen it with her own eyes. Beneath the monster's feet, there were distinct traces. Clinging to him were bizarre, alien remnants that only a Pursuer like her could perceive—an indescribably repulsive aura.
The traces clinging to the monster belonged to Bern.
And they were thick and fresh—less than a week old.
Had Bern even encountered any other monsters in the past week? No. Aside from his subjugation expedition into the Primordial Core, he hadn't made contact with any other beasts. Therefore, the monster bearing Bern's traces could only be his final opponent: Swallow of the Primordial Core.
Despite such definitive proof, Garot’s mind was a tangled mess.
Aside from that single piece of evidence, too many circumstances made absolutely no sense.
Why had the Swallow appeared in the middle of the Imperial Capital? Why was he in such perfect condition after fighting Bern? Why was he targeting the Guillotine’s Tooth? Why did he take human form? And if he had come to eradicate humanity, why had he brought only a single magic-wielding monster with him?
“If it really is Swallow… then we have to try even harder to stop him.”
“Ha, did getting hit scramble your brain too?”
Garot had meant there was no hope of victory, but Uin had taken it as the exact opposite.
“……We need… reinforcements. No matter how much of a monster he is, this is human territory. Cough. We have the home-ground advantage.”
“If it hurts, shut your mouth. Yes, we need reinforcements. But not to fight—we need troops to coordinate an orderly evacuation.”
“Garot, for a Hero to run away in the face of evil…”
“Lady Uin, there’s no winning this. You were knocked out in a single blow, don’t you get it? Look at yourself. Does this look like…”
As she spoke, Garot swayed. Blood began to seep from the severed stump she had hastily sealed with numbing magic. It was a crude, temporary measure, and she knew the wound would soon fester if left untreated.
“Garot…? Your w-wound is…”
“This is what happens because you won’t listen to me, Lady Uin.”
Garot suppressed a wave of pain. I wish it had just been a clean cut. Her right arm hadn't been severed; it had been obliterated by the shockwave. If it were a clean cut, they might have been able to reattach it. But pulverized like this? No healing magic in the world could restore it.
“……Let’s stop arguing. We don’t have time for this. I need to go to the Dungeon Subjugation Union Headquarters right now. I need proper treatment to stop the bleeding, we need to request reinforcements, and we have to report this to the Imperial Court. Lady Uin, you wait here.”
Uin didn't answer, her silence confirming she was already plotting something. Expecting as much, Garot pushed herself to her feet. Still unaccustomed to her missing right arm, she stumbled, struggling to find her balance.
“Stay still.”
Garot steadied herself and extended her left hand toward Uin. Particles of refreshing energy materialized between them, drifting through the air.
Intermediate Magic, Whispers of Light.
Low-tier Magic, Cure.
“This won’t heal you completely, so please don’t go running around thinking you’re fine. I can’t do anything about internal injuries. If you don’t get treated in time, you’ll be crippled for life, so don’t do anything stupid.”
Uin coughed, spitting out a clot of blood that had lodged in her throat. With one last warning, Garot cast another spell, and blue mana enveloped her own body.
“Please, don’t run off somewhere strange. Just wait here.”
Soon, riding the currents of mana swirling around her, Garot vanished from Uin’s sight.
“Excuse me, if I may ask… are you perhaps the Hero?”
After Garot disappeared, the Survey Rose citizen who had been supporting Uin asked. At his question, the onlookers who had gathered in a circle around Uin began to murmur.
A Hero—did she even have the right to call herself a Hero in this pathetic state?
Hesitating for a moment at the citizen’s question, Uin replied.
“……I am Uin Historia. Please, run away from here. Right now.”
“What? What do you mean…? And why is the Hero in such a state? More importantly, you mentioned Swal-something earlier, what was that…?”
“There’s no time to explain. Run… run! If you stay here, everyone will die. Run as far away as you can, as far from the center as possible, right now!”
She poured all her remaining strength into three words: “Everyone will die.”
Blood trickled from her lips. Garot’s healing magic must have been working, as the pain was less intense, but she was still a battered wreck.
Whether it was the sight of the blood-soaked Hero or the raw sincerity in her voice, the murmurs morphed into screams. Panic spread through the crowd like wildfire, and the citizens scattered in all directions.
No one stayed to help her. She wasn’t disappointed or resentful. It was just… now that she was completely alone, the reality of the situation finally sank in. Moments ago, she'd been wondering what to have for dinner. How had she ended up like this?
She forced herself to stand. Her thin legs trembled violently. As she took a step, a sharp pain, like stakes being driven into the soles of her feet, shot through her.
Just as she was about to take another step, the sound of a collapsing building echoed from afar.
Please, don’t run off somewhere strange. Just wait here.
Garot’s warning flashed through her mind.
That monster was not an opponent she could defeat by blindly rushing in. The best course of action was to evacuate the citizens and save as many lives as possible.
She knew this.
“……It’s hard,” she whispered to herself.
Knowing what was right, yet being unable to do it.
A Hero must never retreat. The citizens of the Empire could flee, but the Hero could not. If the Hero—the very symbol of the Empire’s hope and will—turned tail and ran, then all hope would be lost. The moment that faint flame in the people’s hearts was extinguished, everything would end.
Garot was right—there was no chance of victory. Especially not now, with her gauntlet, the ‘Imitation of Apocalypse’, shattered.
But Garot was also wrong. Anyone could help evacuate the citizens; it didn't have to be the Hero.
So, if she could buy even a little time for them, if she could hold Swallow back for just a moment longer…
Dragging herself forward one painful step at a time, Uin’s eyes fell upon a cane, likely abandoned by a fleeing old man.
Uin smiled bitterly. With a wry chuckle, she picked it up, using it as a crutch as she began to limp toward the sound of the explosion.
* * *
A thick cloud of dust, mixed with stone and soil, billowed into the air. The completely collapsed auction house, once considered one of the most beautiful structures in Survey Rose, had lost all its former glory and was reduced to a mere pile of rubble.
The sight of a building that had graced the streets for a century collapsing so helplessly could be considered art, in a way. Even the sunken ruins, if viewed through a certain lens, were a work of art.
—Yes, a work of art.
“Dammit…”
A curse echoed from within the ‘work of art’. Soon, two arms burst through the debris, tossing several large boulders aside. Clearing away the stones, Swallow emerged, coughing repeatedly. His deep scowl made it clear he was not in a good mood.
“Melju, what did you say the name of that spell you just used was?”
“It is Reconstruct, a high-tier magic that causes a Ground Collapse.”
“Was that really the only thing you could think of using in that situation…?”
“Come now, Lord Swald. Do not blame Us for such a thing. You were the one trying to look cool, saying ‘Let’s begin,’ so We simply cast the most plausible spell. If you were going to complain, you should have specified exactly what magic to use.”
“I trusted you to handle it on your own.”