Chapter 196: Hero (3)
Chapter 196: Hero (3)
Zeppelin Gold considered this situation a "jackpot."
His original plan had been to take whatever modest achievements Arhan managed, package them beautifully, and inflate the rumors. Once Arhan was hailed as a hero, Zeppelin intended to lease him out as a high-end mercenary when external powers fought their proxy wars on the Southern Continent. He would rake in fame and astronomical profits, using Arhan as a golden billboard.
However, Arhan hadn't just achieved something "modest"; he had performed a feat of true heroism. There was no need for inflation. There was no need to lift a finger to spread rumors, as the entire Southern Continent was already chanting Arhan’s name. Furthermore, by utilizing the Golden Star, Arhan had not only recovered his sword but had even secured the opportunity to welcome an entire Order into his territory.
He was nothing less than the goose that laid golden eggs.
Since Zeppelin himself had invested heavily in Arhan’s territory, its rapid development was directly linked to his own pockets.
‘At this rate, a proxy war might not even be necessary.’
Arhan had utterly shattered the balance of power in the Southern Continent.
The momentum was so overwhelming that the Crusader Order had collapsed before external forces could even intervene. With the Holy Empire now defending the Southern Continent, it seemed the land would return to its former state as a sovereign noble territory. If that happened, Arhan would become a hero in his own right. No—considering the unique, fervent nature of this land, it wouldn't even be strange if a new religion centered on Arhan was born.
‘Even the Conquest Army of the Great Land was no match for the Lord. Their core forces likely haven't crossed over yet, so now is the perfect time to sweep them all away. There’s no need to hesitate; we could seize the initiative all at once...’
If his mercenary group stepped forward with Arhan leading the charge, the total normalization of the Southern Continent was within reach. That would be a monumental achievement. The religious populace would surely embrace the name of Arhan, their literal savior. He might even secure exclusive trade rights to this vast territory. If that happened, Zeppelin Gold could surpass his siblings and secure a definitive high-ranking position within the Red Bank.
Zeppelin Gold was lost in a sweet, golden dream.
All of this was possible because Arhan was a "true hero" who didn't need to be "manufactured." Zeppelin looked at the residents of Antoine gathered among the ruins. Children huddled together, eyes wide with lingering anxiety, while the adults tried to reassure them even as they cast wary glances at Zeppelin.
Under normal circumstances, these people would have vanished into the cracks of history.
Beings who would have crumbled into dust without leaving a single word behind.
Every single one of them had survived because of Arhan.
Yes.
Arhan Caravan was a true hero.
‘I’ve grabbed hold of a golden lifeline.’
Zeppelin Gold felt a surge of pride and joy. He even dared to think that this massive business venture might conclude more easily than expected.
Of course, he was wrong. Zeppelin Gold did not yet understand the bottomless greed of external forces, nor did he realize how desperate this opportunity was for the "Great Land," which had been confined to the Eastern Continent for far too long. He truly didn't know a thing.
*
"Gah... cough... ugh."
Aaron had fallen straight into the trap. Despite gaining immense power through Descent, he had lost his left arm and right leg to the sword glowing with Demon Ore. I looked down from the edge of the pit at Aaron’s broken form. He was gasping, writhing where he had been slammed deep into the earth.
Just as it had been with Ismael, a blade forged from Demon Ore could not finish off a Proxy Warrior using Descent in a single blow. However, it could certainly inflict a mortal wound.
‘He’s nothing more than a rat caught in a snare.’
A mortally wounded Proxy Warrior. In that state, he wouldn't even be able to crawl back to the surface. If I used the Third Steel once more to deliver a finishing blow to the writhing wretch, this fight would be over. I had absolutely no reason to descend into that pit to face him. Even in that pathetic state, my sword couldn't reach him from up here.
"Aaaagh! Damn you! Daaaaamn you—!"
A cry of bitter resentment echoed from the depths.
One might call my tactics cowardly. But what did it matter?
Just as he had draped himself in legendary equipment and brought a horde of allies, no one in war listens to complaints about cowardice. The only thing that matters is the result. I had simply chosen the most efficient path to victory against a Proxy Warrior.
"You... you son of a—!"
By now, the War Mages had all fled, chanting teleportation spells. They had judged the situation hopeless. The only ones still fighting were the Crusaders—holy knights rushing toward certain death to save their Proxy Warrior. Men possessed by a twisted, fanatical faith. It wasn't particularly pleasant to watch them die while trembling.
I ran my hand down the flat of my blade and looked back at Aaron.
However...
"That crazy bastard..."
Aaron was gone. When I checked the bottom of the pit, the earth had been hollowed out. The Proxy Warrior, even after using Descent, had chosen to flee.
‘And he talked so big about never running from a sinner.’
He was a madman in more ways than one. I leapt down into the pit and, invoking Gaia’s authority, I quickly located Aaron tunneling through the earth to escape. Aaron’s body was shrouded in magical light. It wasn't a miracle, but the power of a high-level magic tool. I ignited the Flame of Doubt to strip the magic from his body, but it was too late. The activation was faster than the dispelling.
"..."
In the next heartbeat, Aaron vanished.
‘Damn it.’
I had won, but it was a victory that left a bitter aftertaste.
And then...
"Do not worry."
Someone tapped my shoulder.
"I shall go and bring this to an end."
Standing there was the old monk.
*
"Heh... gasp... haaa."
Aaron crawled pathetically through the dirt.
He had saved his life by activating a magic tool at the critical moment. Now, a voice filled with terrible, divine rage was pouring into his mind.
「Why did you flee? Why?!」
"If... if I had... stayed... I would have died!"
「Yes, and you would have returned to my side! But at the very least, you could have taken one of his arms. The arm of the Descendant of Steel, no less!」
"How... how can you throw away my life so easily?"
「That was the role given to you, Aaron.」
The Son of Sin and Punishment. The God he worshipped spoke with a heart of ice.
「A Proxy Warrior can be replaced. Even if you perish, another will rise. Had you fought to the end, I would have detonated your very soul to inflict an irreparable wound upon him. Then, I would have sent another Proxy to repeat the process. Do you understand? I intended to grind his soul to dust, over and over, until he was dead.」
"How... how could you..."
「It is for the sake of true justice.」
The words uttered by the Son of Sin and Punishment, the Great Chief God, felt incredibly alien to Aaron in this moment. A thought surfaced from the depths of his heart. He felt he finally understood why the respected Proxy Warrior Ismael had betrayed them. If one was to be used as a mere tool and then discarded, how could they remain loyal until the end?
As these blasphemous thoughts swirled in his head, Aaron wept.
「I thought you would entrust everything to me, yet in the end, you succumbed to your own cowardice.」
As Aaron sobbed, the Great Chief God read the inner recesses of his heart. He felt as if he were being stripped naked. Amidst terrible shame, Aaron continued to wail.
「Take your own life. If you do, I shall not abandon you.」
"O, Son of Sin and Punishment..."
「Die quickly. I shall appoint a new Proxy Warrior. If you die now, I will receive you into my embrace. But if you harbor blasphemous thoughts to the end, I shall strip you of your qualifications. Then, after death, you shall wander the abyss for eternity—unable to return to the embrace of any god.」
That was a fate more terrifying than death itself.
However, Aaron could choose neither. Even though he knew there was a world after death, he was too afraid of the act of dying. In the end, all Aaron could do was sob. Before the heartless voice of his God, Aaron felt like a helpless child.
And then.
「...Fine. Someone has arrived to end your life. You cowardly wretch.」
An old man appeared in front of the pathetically crawling Aaron.
「If only you had resembled half of that man, I might have been satisfied.」
"..."
「I envy Rebrua, most desperately.」
The old man was blind.
Behind the old man with empty eyes, the desert night was coming to an end. The bright sun, driving away the darkness, rose as dawn filled the world. The rising sun made the old man look as if he were one with the light. Perhaps that was not an illusion.
"Do you fear a heartless god?"
The old man—the old monk—was closer to the sun than anyone else in this world.
"Do not think of fear as something shameful. Everyone in this world harbors fear. That is why the brave are praised. It is natural to be afraid; those who stand against harsh trials despite that fear are the ones lauded as heroes."
Standing there was the Proxy Warrior of the Sun. The greatest Proxy in history, Monk Butcher.
"You are a pitiful soul. Your God drove you out, those dwelling within drove you out, and the world drove you all the way here."
Monk Butcher looked past the crawling Aaron. The place Aaron had fled to was the Vatican—the headquarters of the Crusader Order. Butcher looked toward the Vatican with a sorrowful gaze. In his eyes, he saw not the magnificent shell of the building, but the greedy beings lurking within.
"It is not your fault, pitiful Proxy Warrior."
Seeing Aaron crawling while gritting his teeth, the Crusaders of the Vatican swarmed out. Exerting superhuman strength, the knights instantly surrounded Butcher and swung their heavy maces. Butcher did not dodge a single blow. There was no need. The body of a monk trained to the absolute limit was as solid as a fortress wall.
Clang!
With a sharp crack, the maces shattered upon impact.
The Crusaders stared at Butcher with dazed expressions. Butcher drew a Taiji symbol in the air, and in the next moment, the Crusaders all collapsed to the ground. None of them were injured; Butcher merely looked down at the fallen men with pity.
"The Sun is not heartless. Whenever you wish, the Sun will be with you. Pitiful Proxy Warrior, if you fear the world beyond death, come to the side of the Sun."
The old monk, appearing all by himself, overwhelmed the Vatican alone. Only then did the Crusaders realize that this monk was the most powerful Proxy Warrior of the Sun in history, and the greatest Proxy currently in existence.
While everyone was overwhelmed, Butcher heard an intense voice. It was not the voice of the Goddess he served, but the voice of the Son of Sin and Punishment. A voice commanding him to kill His Proxy Warrior as quickly as possible. A voice shouting that if Butcher became His Proxy, He would give him anything in the world—everything he desired.
To Butcher’s ears, that voice sounded like a spoiled child trying to possess a new toy. The Son of Sin and Punishment regarded a Proxy Warrior as nothing more than a tool.
"You will never obtain a satisfactory Proxy Warrior that way, O Son of Sin and Punishment. A Proxy is not a tool, but someone to be cherished..."
And then...
"...!"
Butcher felt a terrible sense of foreboding emanating from the Vatican building.
「My Butcher, run!」
An indescribable dread washed over him. Something from beyond was watching him. Butcher realized instinctively: the moment he looked back at it, he would die. Because that sight was not permitted to him.
「Run, quickly!」
The sun was rising. Dawn had broken, but from the moment he felt 'it,' Butcher felt as if time were rewinding and the deepest night had returned. It was violence, it was war, it was terror incarnate—it was a War God descended to earth.
Butcher, momentarily frozen, muttered, "What... what have you summoned, you people?"
In the next moment.
「Flee!」
Thwack!
With a heavy thud, a long spear impaled the ground beside Butcher. Butcher had not even seen the trajectory of the spear as it flew. A flag depicting a pitch-black horse fluttered at the tip of the spear, and the shaft was stained with fresh, red blood.
That blood had leaked from Butcher’s own body.
"...In such a tedious place, you are at least a decent old man."
Butcher looked at his own body. Beside the spear shaft lay Butcher’s arm, mangled and rolling on the ground. As blood dripped steadily, a massive man walked out from the darkness.
Butcher knew that man.
"Do you wish to know war?"
The Master of the Eastern Continent. One of the Six Masters, and at the same time...
"If you wish, look upon me, old slave of the Sun."
One of the Seven Chief Gods. The Proxy Warrior of the Father Who Never Sleeps.
The Descendant of Khan was there.
"I am always welcoming."
