Simón Original – Ruin
Sshaaaak!
Shaaak!
The Sword of Ruin swung again and again. The swarming plant-type monsters and the falling white apples were shredded apart with every flash of the blade.
Focus. Focus!
Simon's eyes were locked on a single point. At the very top of the tree, he could see Figaro's stunned face.
[You monstrous—!]
Figaro's arms moved, and massive tree trunks lashed out like whips.
[Impossible! This is grave blasphemy!!]
Simon dodged with quick, precise footwork.
"Blasphemy, is it?"
Everything he had witnessed on the way here flashed through Simon's mind.
The ruined village.
The villagers, drained of their nutrients.
And Sasha, buried alive with only her face left exposed.
"Anyone could see it was YOU!"
A colossal slash tore outward, sweeping away the plant-type monsters and tree whips in a single stroke.
Distance remaining — bring out everything I've got!
The moment Simon opened his badge-shaped holy subspace, Akalion bounded out on all fours as if he'd been waiting for exactly this.
Simon leapt onto his back and poured divinity into the great beast's body.
"Let's go! Akalion!"
-Grrraoooowww!
Akalion broke into a full sprint.
Simon locked his legs tight around the beast's torso, leaving dodging and charging entirely to him, and rode like a lancer as he prepared a new white spell.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
More white apples came raining down.
The corner of Simon's mouth curled up as he spread his white magic circle.
Thank you, Professor Farahan!
⟨ Farahan Remake – Lance of Glory ⟩
A multitude of holy lances shot skyward and collided with the falling white apples, triggering forced detonations.
Akalion, having seen the first apple explode, had apparently caught on immediately — the clever beast veered skillfully clear of every blast radius as he ran.
[Ghhk!]
Figaro crossed his arms, and once more tree trunks came hurtling in.
Simon thrust both arms forward.
Divine Barrier.
A massive shield of Guardian arts unfurled, safely caught the incoming trunks, and deflected them aside — and Akalion burst through the gap.
[Just what in the world are you?!]
Figaro's eyes burned crimson. The boy's proficiency was such that he could pass for an active Priest.
Eighty percent!
Simon's eyes widened.
He was truly almost there. Figaro was visible to the naked eye now.
[Damn it all!]
Figaro, watching Simon charge toward him, felt fear creeping in.
Why are the Paladins I requested from the Federation taking so long?!
Under the Federation's system, they were obligated to descend and protect the Saintess unconditionally the moment she appeared.
And that was the very core of the plan Figaro had dreamed of.
They could not fault him — a man — for becoming the Saintess. Because this was the Goddess's choice.
The Goddess's power must never be doubted; it must be accepted exactly as it was.
He had wanted to make them feel the contradiction.
And yet...!
He had chosen science and research to push past the limits of religion. And yet.
Then what in the hell is THAT supposed to be!
A monster that neither theology nor religion could explain.
Something had burst forth right before his eyes, openly mocking every truth he held.
I cannot give up like this!
Fortunately, the closer the creature drew to his true body, the stronger and more varied the means available to him became.
Figaro readied a white spell.
Formation of White Flame Amplification.
White magic circles of pure white flame spread across the tree's trunk everywhere, and from each one enormous tree trunks erupted skyward.
Every trunk was steeped white with divinity.
[Begone!]
The trunks poured down like a barrage of spears. Simon held his Divine Barrier steady.
KWAJIK!
The first trunk to arrive shredded the Divine Barrier like a sheet of paper in a single blow.
Simon wrenched his head aside just in time — a thin line scored across his cheek and blood sprayed.
Its power is on a completely different level from before!
Simon immediately dismissed the barrier, seized the Sword of Ruin from his back, and swung. The pursuing trunks split apart with cracks of splintering wood.
[!]
This time it was Figaro whose expression froze.
Even though this entire tree was the body of Sasha, the Saintess's vessel, the trunks cut by Simon refused to regenerate.
Figaro understood.
If a blade cut you directly, even a Saintess would die.
[Terrifyingly, magnificently made!]
A monster born as if for the sole purpose of slaying Saintesses.
[From the day she was made Saintess, you are more than worthy of her — a fitting enemy, indeed!]
Formation of White Flame Amplification.
Figaro doubled his magic circles and pulled out countless reinforced trunks.
He was desperate too.
FWOOMPH!
Then a trunk erupting from the ground caught Akalion's hind leg before he could dodge. The trunk swung the great beast clean into the air.
"Fall back! Akalion!"
Simon leapt down from Akalion's back and clung to the tree's body once more.
Progress: ninety percent.
Distance remaining: ten percent.
Now Simon was running alone, his white mantle of divinity streaming behind him as he swung the Sword of Ruin at everything in his path.
SHRAAK!
SHK!
SHRAAK! SHRAAK! SHRAAK! SHRAAK!
Anything that moved before his eyes, he cleaved down without leaving a single thing behind.
Hoo!
Even his divinity was beginning to run dry now.
Divinity wore down the mind far more than Jet-Black did. His head throbbed and his vision swam.
[You monster!]
Figaro shrieked in revulsion.
"No matter what happens—!"
Simon thrust his free hand, the one not gripping the greatsword, backward. Divinity flared up and became a holy lance.
"—I'm taking Sasha home!"
Ribbons of divinity flew in around the holy lance, coiling around it and forming the shape of a drill.
Lethe Original — La Escrime.
THOOOM!
With a thunderous roar, the spinning lance of divinity launched forward.
It was the image he had seen exactly once on the train, brought to life in reality.
[Guuh!]
Figaro raised tree trunks before himself, throwing up a defensive wall.
KWAKWAKWAK!
The empowered holy lance tore through the trunks and bored deep — then stopped, by the barest hair's breadth, right in front of Figaro's throat.
His blood ran cold. Figaro sucked in a startled breath and stared dead ahead.
Simon was right in front of him now.
"Distance remaining!"
Simon charged, greatsword leading.
"ZERO!"
[It won't work!]
The instant Simon lunged at Figaro, he sensed something wrong.
White apples — which shouldn't have been able to roll up here, at the very top of the tree — were scattered all around him.
[Detonate them all!]
A blinding light bloomed from every white apple at once, triggering a massive holy explosion.
KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAAAM—!
An explosion of white flame that purified all impurities while sparing the Saintess alone.
However.
Somehow, Simon was airborne.
As long as it doesn't hit me dead-on!
Tap.
His feet touched the ground.
I can endure this!
White flame of this caliber was nothing compared to Flema's.
"HAAAAAAAAP!"
Figaro was only a few steps away now.
Just as Simon, flying forward like an arrow, moved to swing the Sword of Ruin—
[Boy!]
He froze, one step short. His gaze snapped downward, and there it was: a tree trunk, coiled tight around his waist before he'd even noticed.
"Ah!"
Figaro was right there in front of him!
It was a painfully close distance — but at this range, he might just manage to force the swing anyway.
Simon stretched his arm as far forward as he could and swung the greatsword.
SHK!
A searing, white-hot pain flared through his right arm.
Simon's vision spun.
...!!
A human arm was soaring high into the sky. The Sword of Ruin was still clutched in its hand.
The moment he realized it was his arm, pain crashed over him so viciously that his consciousness reeled.
Ggghhk!
Simon clenched his jaw against the agony — and in that instant, the tree trunks wrapped themselves around his body.
[Careless of you, at the very last moment!]
Figaro clenched his fist.
[I'll give you credit for nearly killing me by a single step!]
The trunks began to tighten, hard enough to crush every bone in Simon's body. If not for Pier's Bone Armour, he would already have been squashed into pulp.
[Boy! You won't last long!]
Cracks spidered through Pier's Bone Armour with snapping sounds as it threatened to burst apart. And on top of that — he had lost his right arm, and the Sword of Ruin with it.
Haah. Haah.
The moment his consciousness began to blur, Simon saw Sasha — the girl with only her face left, positioned even further ahead than Figaro.
She was still unconscious, her eyes closed.
Sasha...!
Simon stretched his remaining left arm toward her.
!
The instant he touched her.
Space itself transformed.
Not the top of Figaro's tree, but an absolute void — a pure, pristine white space. Freed of the trunks that had bound him, Simon stood unbound and whole.
[Hello~]
At the sound of someone's voice, Simon turned around.
He saw a girl with hair half white, half red. Dressed in a colorless dress, she sat upon a throne.
[We've been tangled up with each other so much, I wanted to meet you at least once.]
"You are..."
Simon's voice trembled.
"...Who?"
The corners of her lips split into a long, widening smile.
'In your human words, I suppose you'd best call me the Essence of Purification.'
So that's the Essence of Purification?
She spoke like a person. She moved like a person.
[This form is an avatar I conjured, and this place is a mindscape I conjured as well. What do you think? Rather grand, isn't it?]
"...There's nothing here."
[The final form of Purification — absolute nothingness. I interpreted it in my own way. Ah, never mind all that.]
She rested her chin on her hand.
[How about making a deal with me, Simon Polentia?]
"A deal?"
The moment she tried to rise from her throne, unseen white chains materialized and bore down on her.
[As you can see, I'm held here in an unstable state because of that creature called Figaro.]
"..."
[Sasha and I have been dragged into his little puppet show. It's unpleasant. It's repulsive!]
Simon drew a slow breath.
"What are the terms?"
[Set me free. All you need to do is cut Figaro down.]
Simon looked to his right. Even within this mindscape, his right arm was still gone, blood streaming steadily from the stump.
"Easier said than done."
She laughed, showing her teeth.
[I'll lend you my power. We join forces just long enough to see this crisis through. What do you say?]
Simon couldn't grasp what she meant.
"I'm a necromancer. Even if the Saintess's essence lends me power, how would that even work?"
[An excellent question!]
She clapped her hands together, laughing.
[You're a necromancer, a Legion's contractor, and — believe it or not — a boy! Ordinarily you wouldn't be given a second glance, and yet, oh so ironically—]
She spread her arms wide, grinning.
[—you have the qualification!]
"...?"
[You may not understand how extraordinary that is, Simon Polentia, but this is something truly akin to a miracle!!]
He had no idea what she was talking about. But—
"No time to be picky about means and methods, is there."
Simon lifted his head and looked at her.
"I accept your offer, Essence of Purification."
The corners of her mouth lifted.
[Take my hand.]
She was bound by the chains, unable to move.
Simon strode over and took her white hand in his.
[Let me show you. The absolute strongest.]
The world of nothingness lifted, and Simon returned to the world as it had been.
He was still bound in the tree trunks, and Figaro, victory all but sealed, was tightening them around his throat.
Nothing has changed, has it.
Just as he thought that—
[!]
Figaro's pupils wavered.
[No — how — how is this— huh?]
As if flustered, as if he'd forgotten something crucial, he frantically groped and patted at his own body with both hands.
...Ah-ha.
Only then did Simon understand. The identity of this power surging up from his chest.
And what he had to do next was simple.
This overflowing power—
'Release just the tiniest bit of it.'
FWOOOOOOOARRR!
A blaze of pure white flame, like a mountain incarnate, erupted across Simon's entire body. The tree binding him was reduced to ash in a single instant and scattered on the wind.
[Why does he have the Saintess's power?!]
Figaro screamed in rage and desperation.
Simon's hair turned snow-white, lengthening like a long mane and rippling like living flame. Both eyes blazed with brilliant golden light, and a canopy of white flame wound around him as if to shield him.
FWOOSH!
Flame rose from the wound where his severed right arm had been, and the arm regenerated whole.
The regeneration of the Pure White Flame.
[KUAHAHAHAHAHA!]
Pier's laughter boomed through the air.
[Now you're making a mockery of the very order of the world! BOY!!!]
Simon stretched his newly regenerated right arm backward. A house-sized mass of white flame blazed up within his grip and hardened into form.
It was a sword.
An aberration made of a substance that did not exist in this world. Its pure-white blade converged to a point, its edge tracing curves like living fire.
This was the authority Simon wrought through the power of the Essence.
Swhoosh.
A being who was both Legion Commander and Saintess raised the sword aloft.
That dazzling, burning white blade was so vast it seemed to touch the ends of the sky.
And then—
A miracle in the shape of a sword descended.
⟨ Simón Original — Ruin ⟩
SHRAAAAAAAAAM!
The sword of white flame passed through, cleaving all creation in two. Everything along its diagonal was swallowed by a colossal fissure of light and burned to nothing.
That single strike alone—
[Guhk—!]
—sliced cleanly through Figaro's rooted body.
[Ha, haha! AHAHAHAHA!]
Figaro's upper body, all that remained of him, tilted over. Hollow laughter poured from his mouth.
His torso struck branches on its way down. With a rustling of leaves, his body began to come apart.
As he fell, he stretched out a hand toward Simon.
The boy with hair like white flame looked down at him with expressionless eyes.
[I—]
Before him, the blueprint he had dreamed of his whole life, the ideal he had longed for, was being reproduced in perfect form. Figaro could not gather his senses.
[I was not wrong!]
'A man accepting the Saintess's essence?'
'Ridiculous.'
'Please, come to your senses.'
How many people had sneered when they heard of his ideal?
But look now.
In its most perfect form and shape—
It was that boy who had built the power of the Saintess.
[I offer you my respect, Legion Commander. No—]
His mouth moved one last time.
[—First Saint of all.]