The Sword Saint's Farewell
The world had turned black. This was no metaphor for the state of his heart. It was the brutal reality confronting Adrean after he had lost the use of both eyes.
“I… I hardly know what to say….”
The priest kept his head bowed, voice trailing off into a mumble.
“Why? Is it so grave that you can’t even speak it?”
“……”
“Tell me.”
With a gentle, coaxing tone, Adrean urged the priest who was trying to seal his lips in silence.
After a long hesitation, the priest exhaled the words as though they were his last breath.
“It is… yes……”
A short answer. Yet it was more than enough.
The priest slowly lifted his head. A white-haired elder. Eyes burned pitch black. Eyelids melted away in a grotesque ruin. The brave right arm that had once gripped a sword on the battlefield was now severed at the shoulder, and the gentle left arm that had lifted fallen comrades lay pale as a corpse. The body, cracked like old timber, was so riddled with wounds that no one could tell where to begin treatment.
To speak plainly, he looked more horrifying than an undead crawling out of its grave.
“What about treatment?” Adrean asked calmly.
“……”
The priest fell silent once more. It was his duty to offer hope to the sick, yet he could not bring himself to give any in the face of such a wretched sight. A lie here would only deepen the despair. There was no hope.
The external wounds were not the issue. Those could have been healed. Even a severed arm could be reattached with Holy Power. The true problem was the curse that had spread throughout Adrean’s entire body. Foul mana coiled around him like a tangled web of veins.
“I’ll go see the Saintess for a moment.”
Adrean rose from the bed.
Thud!
But the instant his foot touched the floor, strength fled his legs and he pitched forward.
“Lord Sword Saint!”
The priest cried out in alarm, catching Adrean and easing him back onto the bed.
“Heh heh… I’ve shown you all an ugly sight.”
At Adrean’s awkward chuckle, the priest bit his lower lip.
And inside the infirmary, the knights held their breath, swallowing wave after wave of grief at the sight of their Sword Saint brought so low.
The Sword Saint. Adrean van Rycard. Mentor to the hero and hero of the empire. Only days earlier, in the Battle of Black Sand, he had thrown himself in harm’s way to save the hero from mortal danger. He had taken the Demon King’s magic directly. To keep it from spreading across the battlefield, he had absorbed every ounce of it. This was the result.
Miraculously still breathing, yet no different from a dead man.
“Haa……”
Adrean let out a long sigh, and the faint smile he had been wearing slipped away with it.
“Ahem… Why are you all crying in the corners like that?”
He had known from the start.
“Anyone would think this was a funeral.”
Even without sight, he could sense them through mana. The familiar energies of comrades who had fought beside him for decades. The loyal mana of the knights who had always served him. And the mana of the hero who looked up to him as a father.
“Louis!”
Adrean turned toward the presence of the hero, Louis, and spoke in a stern voice.
“Stop crying. Seeing you like this only embarrasses me.”
“I-I’m… sob… I’m sorry.”
“Ahem, I told you not to cry, you fool.”
The young hero, not yet a man, could not hold back his tears. His master had ended up like this while trying to protect him. He blamed himself, loathing his own weakness.
If only I had trained harder…!
But it would have changed nothing. The Demon King’s power had been beyond imagination, and in that moment only the Sword Saint could have stopped the spell. Because he had blocked it with his own body, the hero and hundreds of knights had lived.
“I’m not dying. I’m still full of fight.”
He tried to raise his right arm to prove it, only to realize belatedly that the arm was gone.
“Whoops. I forgot I don’t have a right arm anymore.”
Adrean burst into loud, hearty laughter. It was meant to be a cheerful joke to ease the mood, yet it only made the air heavier.
Sobs echoed through the infirmary.
Adrean wore a bitter smile.
…It hurts.
He acted fine in front of them all, but inside it felt as though a club were smashing his heart and a saw were ripping through his guts. Only raw willpower kept him upright. He could not close his eyes yet. There was still so much left to teach the hero. And so many enemies left to defeat.
“Lord Sword Saint……”
The infirmary door opened and the Saintess entered.
“It has been a while, Saintess.”
Adrean greeted her with a bright smile.
“Could you examine me? I cannot see, so I have no idea what sort of mess I look like right now. Hahaha!”
He tried a self-mocking joke, but the room remained ice-cold.
A touch as warm as spring sunlight settled on his chest. The Saintess’s Holy Power flowed into him. A burning heat mixed with his blood and spread through every limb. But it lasted only a moment. In seconds the heat cooled and vanished.
“…………I am sorry.”
The Saintess withdrew her hand, voice trembling on the edge of tears.
That was explanation enough. Of course he already knew his own condition. Adrean understood it better than anyone. He knew treatment was impossible.
He had clung to one last sliver of hope, but… in the end the Saintess had simply confirmed the truth once more.
“Ahem. I see.”
“Lord Sword Saint……”
“Call me by name. I am no longer the Sword Saint. How can a man who cannot hold a sword be called by that title?”
Oops. Adrean realized his mistake. He had only piled more sadness atop existing grief. But the water had already been spilled, so he decided to settle everything here.
“It is time for me to step down… Listen, all of you.”
He let out a heavy sigh and continued.
“I recommend the 11th Knight Order Commander as my successor. His swordsmanship is truly excellent. I am sorry to burden you all. Still, is it not better to entrust the new age to young blood rather than old men like us?”
He turned toward the comrades who had stood with him for so many years. No one objected.
“Louis.”
“Y-yes…!”
A voice thick with tears. The boy still could not calm himself. It pained Adrean to see his young disciple like this, but some things had to be said.
“My sword now belongs to you. It is only plain iron beside that Holy Sword of yours, but I would be glad if you would take it.”
“Master… I…!”
“I am asking you.”
“Sob… Y-yes…!”
What else remained? The next Chief of Staff would be chosen by the Emperor, and the wealth in his vault would be donated to orphanages across the empire. There was nothing more to arrange.
“Stop wasting time here and return to your duties. You are all busy people. How can you idle away in a gloomy sickroom like this?”
Adrean gave an exaggerated yawn.
“I am going to take a nap, so come visit later.”
He tried to wave them off, then remembered he had no hand to wave and gave a small chuckle.
“……Thank you, everyone.”
He whispered his gratitude to the heavy footsteps leaving the room. The words carried many meanings—thanks for visiting, thanks for standing beside him until today.
This was a grateful goodbye.
“Adrean……”
The Saintess drew the blanket over him.
“Now rest easy.”
She must have known. That the flame of his life had already gone out. That he was only miraculously clinging to a few more moments. And that this was the hero’s final appearance.
Adrean smiled gently.
In the quiet infirmary he gave a soft laugh and slowly released the last of his strength.
“……They never listen.”
He could still feel their mana outside the door. None of them had moved; they were sobbing in the corridor.
“I suppose I must leave quickly……”
It had been a life without a single regret. Born the son of a serf, he had become a knight and offered everything for peace. He had won hundreds of battles and always stood on the front line against the Demon King’s legions. He had gained both wealth and honor through his deeds.
Yet it was still regrettable. He had wanted to slay the Demon King. Though he was not the god-chosen hero, he had longed to drive his sword into the heart of the monster that had destroyed his homeland. One could say he had lived for that alone.
But after decades of struggle, this was how it ended. He had sliced off one of the Demon King’s horns, yet the beast still lived, and so his dream remained unfulfilled.
“Suu……”
He drew in a breath. His body grew heavy. The taut string of his mind loosened.
Seventy years of life flashed past like a lantern show. A splendid but incomplete life.
If only there were a next time… I might be able to defeat the Demon King.
Unable to release his lingering attachments, the Sword Saint watched the final spark of his life flicker out.
A tiny ember remained among the blackened logs. It rose on a thin wisp of smoke, drifting into the sky until it vanished.
That was the end of the Sword Saint, Adrean.
Eyes opened.
It felt as though he had simply dozed off and woken again; his mind was hazy. The blurry vision, like looking through water, gradually sharpened as a cool eastern breeze swept it away.
A hill covered in blooming white daisies. Fish-shaped clouds swam across a blue sky.
I staggered upright from beneath the shade of a large tree.
“Where… am I?”
Was this heaven? It was quiet and peaceful.
I stepped out from under the tree and looked around. The wind greeted me. Golden hair fluttered and danced.
“……Huh?”
Something felt wrong. I tilted my head, and long locks slid across my cheek with a soft rustle. The color was a beautiful gold, as if it had drunk in all the sunlight.
I rubbed the strands between my fingers. So soft. Nothing like the stiff hair I had carried for decades.
“What the…? Huh?”
The voice felt even more wrong. A dainty, girlish tone rose from my own throat.
I was still blinking, trying to make sense of the situation, when—
“Elia!”
A girl in nun’s robes came running up the hill, waving at me.
“Elia?”
I looked around. There was no one else nearby.
The girl who had sprinted up the slope stopped right in front of me.
“Honestly! Napping here again?”
I blinked at her. What was she talking about? Why was she saying these things to me?
“Still half-asleep?”
“Uh, uh? Wait—who exactly are you speaking to?”
“You, obviously. And why are you talking like that? You sound like a grandfather.”
Well, I am a grandfather. A white-haired old man who had lived more than seventy years.
“Wake up and let’s get down there. It’s almost time for service.”
“Service?”
“Hurry, hurry!”
“Uh, uhh?”
The girl grabbed my hand and began running down the hill.
At the bottom stood a humble chapel. Still caught in her grip, I was pulled inside. The interior was spotless, and nuns were busy preparing the sanctuary.
“Elia!”
A middle-aged nun with an angry expression planted herself in front of me.
“You ran off without finishing the cleaning again!”
“Pardon? Me?”
“Who else would I be scolding?”
I glanced around. A few of the younger nuns were giggling in my direction. The girl beside me pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation.
Then my eyes fell on a mirror hanging on the wall. Inside it, a golden-haired girl was staring back at me, blinking stupidly.