White Light
White light.
Seven years had already passed since he possessed the game.
In that time, countless questions had risen, and no small number of answers had come with them. Yet the answer to whether this place was truly the world inside the game still eluded him.
Not that he meant to say this was not the world of Reincarnation Sword God.
Lucia, who carried Kylie’s past life, existed. Siriel and every other figure from the game were present without exception. The guardians of Dawn Castle, the weaknesses of the magic beasts, the sacred relics and equipment—all of it matched what the game had laid out.
And still, differences remained.
People spoke lines beyond their scripted dialogue, and sword techniques appeared that Shiron had never known. Even so, he wanted to confirm it for himself.
The first pattern that began the moment he encountered the Blood Vampire Swordsman.
Originally, that slash couldn’t be blocked.
With the sword already drawn, the instant the foot stepped forward, the only response he knew was to dodge. That was the pattern Shiron understood.
Yet he blocked it, plain as day.
The pattern that inflicted massive damage if you stood in its path, the one you supposedly could not defend against, had been broken.
His wrist throbbed from the heavy blow, but petty pain was nothing. Why else had he gone all the way to the seminary and earned his priesthood?
At least the swordsmanship I’ve learned all this time wasn’t wasted.
Whether you could do something or not decided the match.
When something different from what he knew appeared, trouble often followed—but cases like this he could welcome with open arms, no matter how many times they came.
The more tools you had, the better. The system failing to apply properly was a stroke of luck. Shiron—
Kagagagak—
“Your expression isn’t looking good. Did I wound your pride somehow?”
Right in the middle of his positive thoughts, the Blood Vampire Swordsman suddenly spat out something incomprehensible.
A crooked, sneering smile, one corner of the mouth lifted, eyes curved into thin arcs. Shiron wondered again what could possibly be so amusing.
“Swing your sword a little heavier. You think you can put any strength into it like that?”
“Can’t you just shut up?”
Thud! Mid-swing, Shiron kicked the Blood Vampire Swordsman square in the gut. He had put everything into bursting the man’s stomach, yet Andrei only slid back about ten paces.
So it really had to be a Holy Sword after all? If he could only use mana, he would have killed the bastard long ago.
No. Right now this is the time to test my own strength. I need to see how far I can go.
Shiron steadied his breathing and fixed his gaze on Andrei. Most of the enemies he had faced until now died without lasting more than a few exchanges, so there was a great deal to watch for.
Look at him now. Strength drained from the Blood Vampire Swordsman’s body for an instant, then he sprang toward Shiron. The speed was just barely trackable by the eye. But he could take it. Clang! A thunderous crash shook the air as if the building itself might collapse, and the floor beneath his feet shattered into fragments.
At the same time the force transmitted through the blade grew heavier.
“Hah.”
Shiron regulated his breath once more. He had confirmed how long this body—this mana-less husk—could hold out. Trading further blows would serve no purpose.
Power gathered in the hand gripping the hilt. A faint light climbed the blade, and Andrei’s brow furrowed.
What is this sudden force…
Andrei’s face twisted. His wrists, which had been receiving the sword, began to sting. The flames that fluttered with every swing of the blade were lethal to a demonkin like him.
That did not mean he would retreat, yet the fact that he had taken a solid hit remained unchanged.
“Hup!”
Shiron poured every ounce of strength into a downward strike. Whether the opponent blocked or not did not matter. The important thing was the attempt to seize the initiative of the exchange.
Kwaduk!
Because the blow had been honest and straight, the other man blocked it easily. So what of it? The floor caved in under the force of that very strike. The vampire’s face, long exposed to holy power, blackened, and Shiron could feel that his remaining strength was no longer what it had been.
Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
Shiron hammered his sword down on the Blood Vampire Swordsman without pause.
White flames coiled around the black blade. Sacred fire that inflicted fatal wounds on mere contact erupted outward.
Knees melted by the heat could no longer support the weight and collapsed. Amid the relentless chain of strikes that left no gap, the enemy’s flustered reaction—unable to figure out how to escape—was merely a bonus.
You’re never getting out.
Bang—! He brought the sword down with all his might, and the sound rang louder than before. The vibration of hard objects colliding traveled all the way to his skin. Wooden splinters and marble tiles flew; in the crater left in the ground, the thing that had been the Blood Vampire Swordsman was gone.
A corpse melted by the holy sword that had pounded it. Leaving the silent remains behind, Shiron turned his eyes to the staircase leading upstairs.
Why isn’t she coming out?
Camilla Rodos.
A vampire who had received a blessing that allowed her to stand even under the sun. Even so, she preferred dim rooms and only ever prowled the night streets.
Yet after all this racket, the complete lack of reaction was a little strange.
Judging by the way he called her “Master” earlier, she should definitely be here… Did she run away in the meantime?
Creeeak—
She had not run. From the staircase Shiron was staring at, the sound of someone descending step by step reached him. Fresh from combat though he was, his stamina was still ample.
Outside, Seira was making sure no one could escape, so that was fine as well.
Creeeak—
Shiron tensed and raised the black iron sword.
“…I have to run.”
?
What did I just say?
Suddenly.
His heart hammered wildly; cold sweat poured down. Creeeak— creeeak— creeeak—
“Fuck.”
Shiron spat a curse. Killing an Apostle before the coming-of-age ceremony was impossible. Even Lucia had not yet undergone her ceremony. How could Shiron, who had not undergone it either, possibly kill an Apostle?
Useless emotions and thoughts flooded his mind without warning.
“So this is what panic feels like…?”
He exhaled roughly and fought to gather his wits.
He had not been able to kill the Apostle on the first try. Lucia had been the same, and Shiron even more so. First he would burn the opponent’s full strength into his eyes, then run, run…
Useless thoughts.
Kkeudeuk— Teeth left marks on his tongue.
Shiron drove away the crushing pressure on his shoulders. His thoughts settled once more.
He had come here both to witness an Apostle’s power with his own eyes and to kill that Apostle. If there had been no chance from the start, he would never have come.
Preparations were complete. The only presences he sensed in this building were himself, Seira, and Camilla Rodos.
Camilla Rodos was alone. There were no unforeseen threats.
“You’re holding up better than I expected. An ordinary human would already be a wreck by now.”
“…Is that so?”
“You’re a little special, aren’t you?”
Creeeak— creeeak— The hair-raising sound of footsteps descending the stairs grew louder. Under the moonlight, a woman’s figure gradually emerged on the steps.
Pale skin, a semi-dress that left her chest brazenly exposed, and blood-red eyes sharp enough to raise gooseflesh.
Camilla Rodos. The appearance matched the woman in Shiron’s memories exactly.
“But you’re not panicking as much as I thought you would. Have we met before, by any chance? Or have you fought vampires before…?”
Whoosh—
The smell of blood rushed to his nose. The metallic reek made his stomach turn. No—it was not the smell that made his stomach turn.
Shiron felt a searing heat at his back.
“What a good boy. It must hurt, yet you don’t even scream.”
Camilla Rodos thrust her face close.
Fresh blood, as if just drawn, stained her hands. She began to suck the crimson fingers with wet, smacking sounds.
“How curious. There’s holy power dissolved even in your blood… How is that possible? Even a cardinal shouldn’t be like this.”
Could he be a hidden child of the Holy Emperor? If not that…
While she savored the blood, a faded page from long-ago memory suddenly surfaced.
She knew this taste.
Camilla’s face twisted in rapture.
Prien. The house the Lord had warned Camilla about in a prophecy—
“Is it Prien…? Yes, it is. It’s Prien. But why do you have holy power? Originally you were supposed to have the power of prophecy, weren’t you? Answer me. It’s bothering me.”
“…Can’t you tell from the priest’s robes? I’m a priest, so of course I have at least some holy power.”
“Hmm, I see. I never go outside, so I didn’t even know clothes like that were priest’s robes.”
“Camilla Rodos.”
“Oh, yes. That’s my name.”
Camilla pushed her face even closer and locked eyes with Shiron.
“Did Andrei tell you? Or is it that special power of yours?”
“If I answer, will you let me go? I really need to use the bathroom.”
Shiron tried to brazen it out, but Camilla paid no attention. As if the frozen Shiron did not even register, she clasped her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.
“Lord, I thank You for granting me this day my daily bread.”
“…?”
Shiron’s eyes flew wide. What the fuck did this bitch just say? Daily bread?
Camilla split her mouth into a wide grin. Then she interlaced her fingers with Shiron’s and smiled lewdly.
“Don’t be so afraid. I’ll eat you so it doesn’t hurt.”
Murderous intent rolled off her as she spoke.
Die? Here? He could not die so meaninglessly.
Shiron laughed hollowly.
I never thought I’d actually have to use this.
He moved the sword he had stashed somewhere on his body. His body itself would not move, but fortunately the storage ability still activated.
Beneath the sleeve of his forearm, the blade of the Holy Sword slowly peeked out.
Let’s see if you can survive biting this too.
And so the maw lined with dense teeth yawned open—
Kwadudeudeuk!
A pillar of light crashed down from the sky.