Chapter 41
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 41
The Nameless walked. He walked toward Lindveil, toward home. Toward the place where he was born, raised, and loved.
With every step, terrible memories resurfaced—memories he couldn't tell if he wanted to forget or simply could never forget. Memories he had seared into his own flesh with a branding iron, ensuring he would never forget.
Trapped inside a burning temple with the other villagers, he had watched through a crack in the wall. His wife had already been brutally slaughtered, and his young son was being dragged away by savage bandits.
"Daddy!"
That desperate cry, like the bleating of a young lamb. He pounded on the wall until his knuckles shattered and howled like a wounded beast, but his son was murdered before his eyes.
When one of the temple’s burning walls collapsed, the Nameless managed to drag himself out, but the tragedy had already concluded.
He held his son’s corpse and wept until his voice grew raspy, until he forgot how to speak altogether. The agony of the burns covering his face was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
The Nameless squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his gaze blazed with raw, searing vengeance.
Far in the distance, beneath a gloomy gray sky, lay the ruins of a secluded village. A village flanked to the north by grand, snow-capped mountains. A village that had once known a peace unrivaled anywhere else.
His body was battered and broken. His gear, covered in scratches and claw marks from the undead, hung in tatters from his battle with the necromancer.
Yet why did the faces of those two boys flash through his mind now? The Nameless shook his head violently, trying to dispel the thought.
How many years had he lived clinging to nothing but burning vengeance? The time had finally come. He would kill them all, even if it meant dying himself.
Whether to steel his resolve or to lash himself onward, the Nameless walked toward the temple to kindle his final flame.
One side of the brick temple had collapsed, its walls riddled with blackened, scorched scars.
As he stood at the doorless entrance, he saw three men inside. Three members of the Ehrenberg Quintet: Hanet the Iron Bulwark, Ghost the Ghost Sword, and Mad Dog Steiner.
"Who's that? How did you get here?" Steiner asked.
What need was there for words? Instead of answering, the Nameless drew a throwing axe.
His body was broken, looking ready to collapse at any moment. His equipment was ruined. He faced three opponents, each a powerhouse famed across the empire.
But so what? He had spent years fueling his entire being with the fires of revenge. He had lived solely for this moment. How could he possibly back down now?
It wasn't courage, nor was it madness. It was pure vengeance. Nothing more.
Whir—Clang!
Whir—Clank!
The Nameless hurled throwing axes in rapid succession, but Steiner tracked their trajectories with ease, casually sidestepping them. He then picked up one of the axes from the ground and threw it right back.
Whir—Clang!
The Nameless ducked to dodge, but a voice suddenly echoed from behind him.
"Where are you looking?"
He spun around, but a burning pain erupted in his side. At the same time, Steiner shouted a desperate warning, his instincts screaming that getting close to this man was a fatal mistake.
"Ghost! Don't!"
The Nameless was already being consumed by his own fire; a simple stab to the flank couldn't extinguish it. Pain? What did pain matter?
With the sword still lodged in his side, the Nameless whirled, grabbed Ghost, and bit viciously into his throat.
The cloth visor covering Ghost’s helmet meant nothing against such ravenous force. A chunk of flesh was torn away.
"Aaargh!"
But it didn't end there. Still wearing his helmet, the Nameless snapped his head back and delivered a brutal headbutt.
Crack!
The sound of a crushed face was unmistakable, but that wasn't what killed him. The cause of death was a broken neck.
His face mangled and his neck bent at an unnatural angle, Ghost died instantly.
Blood gushed from the wound as the Nameless pulled the sword from his side. He stood firm, unshakable, the flames of vengeance blazing fiercely within him. A sword in one hand, an axe in the other.
"Y-You..." Hanet stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief, overcome with shock at Ghost's senseless, gruesome death.
Losing his mind, he charged at the Nameless without even raising his wall-like shield. Heavy thuds echoed with every step of his massive frame.
The Nameless retreated outside, intending to use the narrow entrance as a bottleneck. In that brief moment, Steiner rushed to check on Ghost. He had hoped to use a potion if there was any breath left, but Ghost was already dead.
Meanwhile, Hanet pursued the Nameless outside, swinging his enormous fists.
Thud! Smash! Boom!
Whish! Slash!
The Nameless barely dodged, hacking and slashing at Hanet's forearms. Against such a colossal body, the strikes were far from fatal.
"You bastard!" Hanet roared, raising both fists high.
Steiner drew his sword to join the fray, but a youthful voice suddenly rang out.
"Mister!"
"Misteerrr!"
From a distance, Rickert and Boribori were sprinting toward them. At the sight, the Nameless froze, his eyes wavering. He felt the fire of his vengeance begin to flicker. No, no...
In that moment, Steiner’s gaze darted between the Nameless and the two approaching boys. A despicable, cunning plan formed in his mind, and he broke into a sprint toward them.
As he ran, Rickert realized the man charging at them was Steiner.
"I'll handle him! You get to Mister!"
"Okay!"
Rickert drew his sword while Boribori circled around Steiner to keep running.
Steiner drew a longsword, and a crimson light erupted along the blade. He was a Swordmaster.
Rickert knew instinctively: if his sword met that blade, it would be cut in two.
The two charged at each other without slowing, crossing paths in a single exchange of blades.
Swish!
Two swords sliced through the air. After that one clash, Steiner realized it too. This is no mere brat. Goosebumps prickled his spine.
But he was pressed for time. Ghost was dead, and if he didn't rejoin the fight, Hanet might be in danger. He forced himself to ignore the chilling anomaly.
Leading with his sword of light, Steiner took a bold step forward. It was a stance only a Swordmaster could execute—an absolute fusion of offense and defense, wielding a blade of light that could sever anything.
As the sword swung down in a diagonal streak, Steiner realized for a split second that Rickert was empty-handed. The boy had let go of his sword.
Something is wrong, flashed through his mind. But there was no backing out now.
Just as the sword reached its peak velocity and maximum power, Rickert caught the flat of the blade between his palms as if seizing a bolt of lightning and twisted it sharply.
The momentum of Steiner's attack was turned against him. At this rate, his wrist would break. He let go of the sword.
Incredible reflexes, but meaningless now that he was disarmed.
Holding the blade, its light now faded, Rickert tossed it into the air, caught it cleanly by the hilt, and leveled it at Steiner.
Steiner’s heart sank.
"...You bastard. You're a mage."
Undone by a trick so nonsensical he'd never even heard of it, that was the only conclusion he could reach.
Humans fear what they don't understand. Now disarmed, Steiner simply turned and fled, abandoning the comrades who had been his family for years. How he had ever become a Swordmaster was a mystery; he was a despicable coward through and through.
No matter how high his mastery of the sword, Rickert would never lose to a scoundrel who had forgotten the very soul of a swordsman.
Rickert raised the sword high overhead until the blade rested behind his back, tightened his core, and hurled it with everything he had. The form was flawless.
The sword shot forward, skewering Steiner cleanly through the back.
Thwack!
"Gah!"
Rickert swiftly retrieved his Meteoric Iron Sword, gave chase, and swung at the collapsing man. Steiner frantically looked back and yelled.
"Wait!"
Rickert cleaved his neck without a moment's hesitation.
Slash!
The headless corpse of Steiner crumpled to the ground. It was the pathetic end of a man who had once desperately sought divine punishment, only to abandon it halfway and ultimately reject it. A pitiful end for one of the famed Nine Swords of the Empire. Was it carelessness or a gap in skill? In a battle to the death, nothing declared victory more clearly than the living and the dead.
Perhaps Steiner's downfall was that he had lived dishonorably and acted dishonorably to the very end. He could have faced the Nameless, but instead, he charged at two young boys. Then he turned tail to save his own hide.
He lived like shit, and he died like shit. That was his life, and that was his death.
Meanwhile, with his blazing vengeance wavering, the Nameless was pushed into a corner. Confused, his footing tangled, and he took a full blow to the head from Hanet's fist.
With a sickening crunch, his helmet was knocked off, revealing his heavily scarred, burned face.
The impact sent his mind reeling, and he collapsed to the ground. But then, a youthful voice rang out once more, jolting him back to awareness.
"Daddy!"
Daddy. Daddy. Daddy...
Until now, Boribori had called him that half-jokingly, out of simple affection. But in this moment, the cry came from the bottom of his heart. Having never known a father's care, the Nameless was truly no different than a real father to him.
The nonchalant touches, the unspoken affection—it didn't matter that he couldn't speak. Boribori felt everything through those hands.
Seeing Boribori, Hanet thought this was perfect. A cruel idea took root in his mind. He ignored the downed Nameless and moved to grab the sprinting boy.
Watching this, something boiled up from the deepest depths of the Nameless's chest, and the words he had lost burst forth at last.
"Child! Stand back!"
But Boribori channeled all his mana into a powerful punch, and Hanet's giant, reaching hand was knocked violently backward.
Bam!
Hanet was stunned by the unexpected force, momentarily panicked. In that opening, the Nameless used Ghost's sharp sword to slice through Hanet's Achilles tendon.
"Aaaaaargh!"
A fatal weakness was exposed. Just as Boribori stepped forward to finish Hanet off, the Nameless suddenly scooped the boy into his arms and began sprinting away.
He threw away his revenge, threw away everything, and fled solely to save Boribori. He didn't need to—he could have killed Hanet—but in that moment, the Nameless could act no other way.
No, he had to. Absolutely. No matter what happened, even if his body were torn apart and burned to ash...
Perhaps it was precisely because the act was so irrational that its true meaning shone all the brighter.
Blood gushed from his flank. Whether from blood drowning his throat or his breath giving out, only choked, agonizing rasps escaped his mouth. Through it all, he kept muttering words buried even deeper than his burning vengeance.
"Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me..."
Boribori felt the desperate affection of that grief-stricken father with his entire soul, tears streaming down his face.
"D-Daddy..."
"Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me..."
The Nameless spent the final ember of his life not on the revenge he had so desperately craved, but on saving Boribori. He didn't get far before his knees buckled and he collapsed.
Startled, Boribori threw off his pack, his hands trembling as he pulled out potions. He hurriedly stripped away the Nameless's tattered equipment to tend to the wounds, but he saw a body already beyond repair. This was far beyond what potions could mend.
"I... I forgive you. I forgive you! So... so please, please don't die..."
Tears poured from Boribori's eyes, choking his voice. With shuddering hands, he poured potions over the wounds.
His hands refused to cooperate. Boribori clamped his mouth shut, desperately swallowing his sobs, but uncontrollable tears still cascaded down his cheeks.
Lying there, watching him, the Nameless reached out in his final moment and wiped away Boribori's tears with a gentle smile.
"Don't cry... child..."
With a long, soft exhale, his arm fell limp. His unfocused blue eyes gazed into the gloom beyond the overcast sky.
Rickert, having already finished off Hanet, rushed over and stood watching, a bloody sword in hand. His eyes wavered.
Though the Nameless was clearly dead, Boribori didn't stop trying to heal him. He just kept murmuring, "Daddy, Daddy..."
His jaw trembled so violently from crying that he couldn't chew the herbs properly, so he forced his mouth shut with his hands to crush them. His heart felt as though it were being torn apart by sorrow.
Rickert closed his eyes, his eyelids quivering. Tears wet his lashes and overflowed, seeming to melt away the resentment he had once harbored toward the world.
He was saved, Rickert thought. He must have been. I'm certain of it.
The cruel shackles of destiny placed upon humans could only be inflicted by other humans, and they could only be redeemed by other humans.
Every tragedy and comedy began with humanity and ended with humanity. Thus, humans were the saddest beasts of all, caught in the trap called destiny.
Yet in his final moments, the Nameless cast aside the vengeance that had consumed his soul, transcending fate itself.
In doing so, he became a father to Boribori and a mentor to Rickert. He became the very person both boys so desperately needed.
Truly, a noble and grand human being.
The wind was cold. But winter, whose end they had so longed for, was now finally drawing to a close.
Arc 8 – Ballad of the Nameless Beast. End.