Awakening
Wilhelm's expression hardened slightly the moment the words left his mouth.
...Nabelung Forest.
The answer had slipped out unbidden to Randolph's question of when and where he had met "him"—the name Nabelung Forest flowing forth like a conditioned reflex.
But Nabelung Forest was the place where Wilhelm's memories began. The problem was that he had no recollection of meeting anyone there.
I was merely trapped, nothing more.
A pitch-black swamp of the mind. There he had struggled day after day, swinging his sword for over a month while cursing the bastard god who had seized his body and moved it at will.
Yet it was not only the answer he had uttered that defied understanding. A headache stabbed at him relentlessly, as if needles were pricking him without end.
Remaining Descent Time of the Complete Golden Rule: 1h 1m
But there was no time. Climbing the tower had already reduced what remained to a little over an hour. If he failed to settle this within that window, the trial would end in failure.
At the same moment, murderous intent flared in Randolph's eyes.
"...I cannot allow you to live."
Swaaaaaaah!
Spheres of mana rose like water droplets. Hundreds of them—every last one a Sword Hwan forged of rivers. Things with destructive power enough to annihilate even a god, they would erase Wilhelm the instant they touched him.
But that was not what Randolph desired.
Sssssssss!
The Sword Hwan gathered one by one, beginning to form a certain shape. In time they coalesced into the form of a giant hand.
"Supreme Sword."
CRAAAAACK!
The sky opened. It tore the void apart. What burst forth from the darkness was nothing less than a giant sword—the blade called the Supreme Sword.
The unique exclusive skill and Hidden Skill of the Hidden Class Supreme Sword Saint. A weapon only those who stood in absolute supremacy among Sword Saints could possess, a God's Sword that only a being of divine rank could wield.
The same sword that had crushed the Demon of Jealousy Sancha with a single gesture when that creature reached completion now revealed itself to the world once more.
"..."
Wilhelm quietly gazed at the summoned blade. It was so overwhelmingly superior that it surpassed every sword he had ever faced.
Randolph intended to pulverize Wilhelm with it, gripping the Supreme Sword in the giant hand formed of Sword Hwan.
"Is it not beautiful? This is the Sword of Fate once wielded by the God of Death. A work of Beyond Specs whose grade cannot even be determined."
"Death and life. A sword forged from the union of two fates."
"...You can see it? As expected—you have the talent!"
Randolph offered a brief murmur of admiration. Wilhelm had instantly seen through the history bound to the Supreme Sword—how this Sword of Fate could be summoned at all.
Abyss Labyrinth. Laily, one of the Six Heroes of the old empire, summoned there as its Boss. Yet he had existed in two forms. When he lost his reason he became the Supreme Dragon called Death; when he retained it he became the brilliant hero Laily who saved humanity. Laily accepted his other half, the Supreme Dragon, and through that union was completed as the Supreme Sword Saint.
It was the merging of those opposing fates that made the Supreme Sword usable—a blade bearing the destinies of death and life.
Why can I see this?
Wilhelm could not help but find it strange. How was he witnessing the trials Randolph had passed through? Moreover, he knew full well that the Randolph before him was not the one who had cleared the Abyss Labyrinth trial. That bastard god—the Sword of Fate was an achievement he himself had wrought.
Randolph smiled faintly.
"Then you must also know that this sword can never be blocked."
Wilhelm's expression hardened further. Randolph had chosen Death—literally delivering death upon his opponent. The proposition of death bestowed by the Sword of Fate was absolute. It could never be avoided, never blocked. It was as good as a certain death sentence.
"It was quite enjoyable, Wilhelm."
Gooooooooooo.
The Supreme Sword began to plunge toward the earth. Wilhelm raised his blade. Then the Supreme Sword swallowed him whole.
KRAAAAAAAAAAASH-!!
"Stay here, Your Highness. I will draw the soldiers away."
"D-don't go. How am I supposed to stay alone in a place this dark?"
"Endure for just a few days. I will return without fail. Without fail!"
It was a dark cave—somewhere in Nabelung Forest, an ownerless hollow. There an old knight patted a boy on the back and vanished into the dark.
But for a boy whose body had not even finished growing, left unclothed in a forest teeming with monsters, enduring for days on end was nearly impossible.
"H-hungry... thirsty... cold..."
Not even a full day had passed, and already the boy suffered. He could not understand why he had to endure such humiliation. He was the son of the emperor of the Arhon Empire—the most powerful and vast empire in all of Pangenia.
"I'm the real one... I'm the real one..."
He had been driven out. By a fake. The boy bit his lip. A meticulously crafted counterfeit modeled after him was posing as the genuine article, and no one believed the boy. Instead they treated him as the impostor and tried to kill him. Without the old knight he would have died on the spot.
But even if he had barely escaped with his life, could this truly be called living?
"I don't want to do anything. Why do I have to go through this?"
The boy slumped against the cave wall and gave up. From the start he had been a prince—a being who obtained things without effort, who shone even while doing nothing. This appearance, naked in a filthy, damp place, never suited him. Blisters on his feet, grime covering his entire body. This was the look of slaves.
It's a dream. A terrible dream.
The boy closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them he would return to reality—hoping to enjoy the same glory as before in the empire's embrace.
...But reality was cruel. When he opened his eyes, he was still inside the cave.
"When is he coming back?"
Moreover, the old knight who had sworn to return without fail never returned, no matter how long the boy waited. In the end, after drawing the soldiers away, he must have met his death.
The boy trembled. Cold. Agonizing. But outside the cave was dangerous. He could not bring himself to go out—a coward without even that courage, with virtually no grit to accomplish anything. Only then did he realize he could do nothing alone. But it was only realization. Simply understanding something does not mean everyone can change.
"..."
The boy was dying. He was tacitly accepting death. A sense of powerlessness—that he could not survive anyway—dominated his entire body.
Let's die.
He would die. No will to live, no need. Perhaps he really was the fake. His memories, his body—all of it could have been fabricated. Leaving this place would only lead to hell. Simply making it through the forest would not end it; the empire's pursuit was relentless. He would die anyway.
Chirp.
Chirp chirp!
It was then that a blue bird entered the cave. On the verge of death, the boy barely lifted his eyelids. Why had a blue bird come inside? When he laboriously extended his hand, the bird perched on his finger.
"Do you want to live?"
"...?"
An auditory hallucination? For a moment he thought he had misheard. The bird had spoken. But it seemed he had not misheard. The bird continued to chirp.
"If there exists a possibility of fulfilling one wish—even if you forget and lose everything—wouldn't you want to try?"
Fulfill a wish? Does that mean I could even become emperor? Heh. As death approached, he was seeing things.
"You possess excellent qualities. Sacred Blood, that is. Wouldn't it be a waste to die like this?"
Even so, the blue bird did not give up. Barely opening his cracked lips, the boy asked,
"What... are... you."
Then the blue bird said,
"I am the Operator of this world."
"Op...era...tor...?"
Operator. Someone who operates something. But he could not quite grasp what the blue bird operated.
"Game Master. One who exists erased behind the world."
At the same time, the blue bird's eyes shone sapphire blue like jewels.
"Won't you destroy the Heavenly Realm with me?"
Just before the Supreme Sword swallowed Wilhelm—in a moment like an instant—
Ah.
It rose. Memories. The veil that had been covering them was finally lifted.
I definitely...
There. In Nabelung Forest. I met the blue bird—a nameless being who called himself the Operator of the world. The Erased One.
But Wilhelm's memories did not end there. Originally his memories should have been completely erased. His memories, consciousness, and soul should have been encroached upon and locked away. Yet he had possessed them—memories, will. Not completely erased; he had merely started anew from zero.
I definitely...
The boy in the cave was Wilhelm. But he was completely different from the Wilhelm of now—so different one could not possibly think them the same person. He had been nothing more than a coward who gave up easily and possessed no courage at all.
And yet. And yet he had been.
Are you trying to say that you wanted to resemble not me, but you?
Sway!
In that moment the world lurched. Once more, Wilhelm fell into the swamp of memories.
What is he doing? With my body, this bastard.
He crawls out of the cave on the floor and licks dew from leaves. Picks up ants to eat. Chews raw grass until he gets diarrhea. For a full three days he does every bizarre thing imaginable, then suddenly starts swinging a sword.
Seems like a waste of stamina.
Frustrating. Even though it is clearly his own body, he cannot move it as he wishes. In the morning the other avoids everything, flees, and desperately seeks food. Then continuously swinging the sword becomes the entire daily routine. What on earth does he want to do?
I could swing it better.
In the swamp of the mind, Wilhelm swings a sword. As he follows the movements, there seem to be many excesses. He knows instinctively that simply swinging like that will hit a limit at some point. He modifies the swordsmanship as if compensating for shortcomings and continues to swing. Perhaps it is the manifestation of a competitive spirit. Honestly, the swamp of the mind is like a bottomless abyss—he does not want to do anything.
I can't lose.
If he does it, I do it too. No—I will achieve more than what he does. I cannot keep handing the initiative forever to someone inferior to me.
...What a thoroughly tenacious bastard.
But as time passes, he has to acknowledge it to some degree. Even to Wilhelm's eyes, the one occupying his body seems extraordinary. Does anyone usually work someone else's body this tenaciously? Moreover, he is desperately living out an utterly boring daily life.
But honestly, doubt remains. Can doing this really get him out of the forest? Nabelung Forest is a paradise of every kind of monster. There might be dozens, perhaps hundreds of species. Even if he has mastered all their methods, it is impossible. At best all he can do is crawl on his belly. It takes hours just to advance dozens of meters past the cave mouth—when will he ever escape this vast forest? It is madness.
...Heh.
But that madness, at some point, "he" begins to do. Crawling on his belly, carrying the food and water he has gathered, he starts to inch out of the cave. Of course Wilhelm expects him to give up after a while. Escaping the forest itself is a continuous trial. Indeed, crises where he nearly dies come one after another. After three days, all the food and water are gone.
Yet Wilhelm continues to marvel. The ability to spot openings, wait, and find opportunities is enough to raise goosebumps.
Is this as far as it goes?
But even that is as far as it goes. Supplies are completely gone, and he is too far from any base. No matter how great a superpower he possesses, even to Wilhelm it seems like the limit now.
Even so, "he" does not give up. For a full ten days, barely sleeping at all, crawling on his belly—he succeeds in escaping the forest!
He's insane.
It is the first moment Wilhelm feels awe toward him. If it had been himself, what would have happened? Could he have escaped the forest? Wilhelm shakes his head. This bastard occupying his body knows everything about the forest. Whereas he himself does not. If he had challenged it, he would have died a hundred times out of a hundred.
Then—this bastard occupying his body—
...Is this bastard a god?
...Truly, he cannot help but call him a bastard god.