The Demon of Greed

Raiga.

The Knight King who had formally inherited the name of the Palga — the Eight Houses.

Among every master of the Eight Houses across the ages, he stood supreme. Overflowing talent paired with an insatiable hunger to grow stronger. Through relentless, obsessive swings of his blade, he had at last reached the realm of Gang.

The realm everyone called the end — that was the realm of Gang.

A supreme seat no one but the founding master of the Eight Houses had ever attained. When Raiga forged an extremely pure Sword Gang, he trembled for a single moment — and in that same breath, he understood.

Not an end, but a beginning. I have only just stepped up to the starting line.

He was nothing more than a man who had finally taken his place at the true starting line. After that, Raiga slaughtered the monsters of the Abyss. He killed those who called themselves gods. The Deep Abyss. The Judge of Darkness. The Hybrid Skin Queen. The Dusk Ghoul. One after another, he cut down the masters of domains humanity had failed to conquer for centuries — all in pursuit of the ultimate pinnacle of true martial arts.

Among them were beings who could produce a Gang similar to his own, yet none of them satisfied him. The Gang they created was impure. It had never touched the truth. It was nothing but a counterfeit wearing the skin of Gang.

I'm thirsty.

And so the thirst drove him mad. Was there truly no one who could satisfy him? Was there no real monster left in this world who could push his martial prowess further?

It was around then that the name of Wilhelm began to echo across the continent — the title of Knight King, the same as his own. But the two never met.

Gather the Fragments of Ruin. Ensuring that Ruin never awakens again — that is the mission of our Eight Houses.

The karma borne by every master of the Eight Houses. Sealing the Fragments of Ruin so that the Empire would never fall — that was Raiga's destiny. The bloodline of the Eight Houses had failed to protect the Old Empire once. They could not afford to repeat that sin.

And so the thirst remained unquenched as time continued to flow.

Baal. The monster standing at the pinnacle of every technique. The purest concentration of power itself!

And then he met him. In a place he had never expected, he came face to face with the one who had completely mastered Baal. Above all else… the Gang that creature displayed carried the same pure mana as his own.

A perfect form. A natural balance and circulation. The moment he saw it, his entire body itched with the urge to cross blades then and there. But he could not. To wage battle inside the Imperial Palace where the august Emperor resided was high treason. The Golden Mask and the rest of the Death God Religion would never have stood by and watched.

So he had resigned himself to it — until now.

Fate, is it?

The bastard had walked into the domain of the Eight Houses of his own free will. Only those who possessed the Hidden Trait Mutation could even perceive this place and set foot inside it. Yet the odds of a human surviving while carrying the Mutation Hidden Trait were less than one in ten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thousand. And only those who survived could become successors of the Eight Houses. The ability granted by Mutation was not merely seeing a hidden path and stepping onto it.

Those who possess Mutation can kill one another and steal the ability.

Using that trait, the Eight Houses had passed down their power across generations. Perhaps that goat-masked figure had used the same characteristic to completely master Baal.

Regardless.

It still falls short of my Sword Gang.

That it had faced his Sword Gang head-on and not shattered instantly was worthy of praise. But that was all. A clash of Gang against Gang. Watching it tremble precariously with every collision, it was clear this was nothing more than a Sword Gang propped up by Baal's power — a realm not achieved through the man's own strength alone.

"Tsk."

He clicked his tongue softly. He had expected so much from the one who seemed to have completely mastered Baal. In the end, it was not enough to quench his thirst. Perhaps this thirst would never be satisfied, not even until the day he died…

Hm?

In the midst of that mounting disappointment, Raiga found himself tilting his head at a certain moment.

His presence changed?

Something had shifted. In the contest of their Gangs, the goat's Sword Gang — which had been wavering — began to stabilize. The will behind it grew thinner as well. That was…

He poured himself into the sword. He became the sword itself.

Unity of body and blade. And that was not all.

…Unbelievable.

Realizing the goat's state, Raiga could only shake his head inwardly. What was this bastard?

He's gaining enlightenment while fighting me?

Had he ever seen such an insolent creature? It went past absurdity into pure exasperation. With an opponent who could sever his neck in a single stroke standing right before him, the man was absorbing enlightenment. A mass of openings from head to toe. The goat was wholly absorbed in completing his Gang based on what he had just realized — his mind not on the duel at all, but somewhere else entirely.

What in the world was he? There had been many who felt a wall through crossing blades with him, but…

No one has ever gained enlightenment while matching swords with me.

What was enlightenment? It was the process of recognizing one's own shortcomings. But even that was only possible when the two combatants were of roughly equal skill. When the gap in ability was this vast, no one gained enlightenment from a few exchanges of steel. Feeling the wall of talent and skill and abandoning the sword entirely was one thing — but this?

"…"

Did that mean their skills were equal? Nonsense. He was certain that if he so wished, he could take the goat's head. The disparity in skill was unmistakable. So how was the man gaining enlightenment against him? Being treated this way was a first.

Then go on and grasp it. I'm curious myself what you've realized.

So he let him. He freely accommodated that enlightenment. Tonight was a night when the great moon lingered… and he could not deny that this was a dance befitting such a night.

How many more exchanges of steel followed after that?

It has stabilized.

The goat's Sword Gang no longer wavered even when it collided with his own. There could be no more perfect balance and circulation than this. But the completion of the Sword Gang was nothing compared to the change in the man himself.

"You… who are you?"

Raiga broke the long silence. He could not help but open his mouth and ask. The presence before him had become utterly different from the one he had first faced. It truly felt as though he were looking at an entirely different person. The way he gripped the sword, the way he planted his feet, even the rhythm of his breath — every single movement was different from before.

This was almost like…

Clang!

And so, when their blades met, Raiga was certain.

This is not power born of Baal's authority.

Baal's authority? Something like this could never be Baal's authority. Mere authority could never move him to such awe.

This is the crystallization of martial arts an individual built from the ground up. Breaking through every wall in sequence until finally reaching the extreme…!

Ah. This movement. This breathing and stance. This attitude ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠toward the sword. From one to ten, every piece of it had been built by his own hands. He had laid a foundation that would never collapse, then stacked the hardest bricks without a single flaw, raising an immortal tower like a fortress.

It was almost hard to believe this was the same goat who, mere moments ago, had been swinging a Sword Gang that looked ready to topple like a sandcastle in the wind. That immortal tower was the same as his own.

…No.

No. The bastard was not the same as him. He, after all, had inherited the power accumulated by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the masters of the Eight Houses. This one, by contrast, had created true martial arts from nothing. From a state of absolute emptiness, he had built a solid tower with his own hands. He had walked a path no one taught him, alone and in solitude.

Only then could Raiga understand.

Was I the one who was impure?

Even his own Sword Gang had never been pure. This man was like a creator who had forged existence from nothingness. Raiga, by comparison, had merely advanced a little further along the road the masters of the Eight Houses had already paved.

As proof, every time their blades met, his skin vibrated. Every nerve felt as though it were being scraped raw. Every single cell screamed. The openings vanished, and only the peak remained.

Ha!

Raiga let out a hollow laugh. Recognizing one's own insufficiency — was that not also a form of enlightenment?

What in the world is this bastard?

Talent beyond imagination. But he possessed that as well. The difference between them now was not decided by a simple superiority of talent. Something more fundamental. The very posture of craving power — the hunger itself — stood above his own. A being who seemed born solely to grow stronger… one who had cast aside every other desire and cultivated only power.

But could such a thing even exist? A human was supposed to possess appetites — hunger, lust, the need for sleep. To discard every desire and lust after power alone! Impossible. That was not human. And if a living being like that could exist…

"…Truly greedy, aren't you."

A greed that lusted after power and power alone! Was that not precisely what deserved to be called the true Demon of Greed?

More, more, more!

It felt as though I could reach it if I just stretched out my hand. The path Wilhelm had polished and walked. Beyond that path. If the path itself had been wrong, I would never reach it — but Wilhelm's pioneering could not have been mistaken. He would have advanced in the right direction. I was the one who had been his god. Though I had earned his resentment, I could not afford to disappoint him.

If not now, I will never reach it.

At the same time, I knew. This enlightenment was like smoke — the moment I looked away, it would vanish. I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not let this chance slip.

I do not know you.

All this time, I had been ignorant. I had known nothing. Wilhelm's heart. His true feelings. To think he had yearned for freedom so desperately. And just as I did not know Wilhelm, Wilhelm would not know me either.

If we had known, we could have been friends.

Of course, we could no longer meet. Wilhelm's body had fallen into the Demon King's hands. We would never cross paths again. But even so, it was all right. I intended to fulfill his mission and find him true freedom. That would be the only atonement I could still offer.

I kept advancing. In the manner Wilhelm had walked. Following the upright sword Wilhelm had swung.

You were not wrong.

I would prove that he had not been wrong — that he had been advancing in the correct direction. I had failed to answer him then, but now I could show him through action. I poured my soul into the sword. For the first time since becoming a player, I was able to load my will into it.

In that moment.