Chapter 1
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 0
Chapter Title: Prologue - The Fake
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“A long time ago, my grandmother told me a story…”
I heard the faint, dying gasp.
This child was dying.
I sheathed the Supreme Holy Sword Aradamanthel and knelt before them on one knee.
“That when the Abyss overflows into the world… the gods… will send a Warrior…”
It was the work of the Uruks.
The child’s spine had been shattered by a mace. Even if they miraculously survived, they would never walk again.
“You’re that Warrior, aren’t you…?”
A Warrior, you say…
I shook my head with a bitter smile.
It was a forgotten name. A name that could not exist in this land of tears, abandoned even by the gods.
“But… how did you… do that…?”
The child’s gaze shifted over my shoulder.
To where the corpses of the hundred or so monsters I had slain, the Uruk vanguard, lay scattered like trash.
“I did it, yes, but I’m a fake.”
“A fake…?”
Warrior.
The one who sealed the Abyss in the age of myths and ushered in an era of light.
Unfortunately, I am not so grand a being as to be chosen by the gods.
Besides, this world was neither kind nor gentle enough to birth such a being in every era.
“The Light Dragon Orthodox Church calls fakes like me ‘FakeWarriors’.”
FakeWarrior. Literally, a fake hero. That’s right, a fake.
An artificially created warrior.
The crystallization of humanity’s desperation, born to resist a cruel and tragic fate.
“It means I don’t have the power to grant your wish.”
I cannot raise the dead. Nor can I split the sea with a single strike.
All those great deeds belong to the age of myths—the story of a true Warrior.
I was, and always would be, a fake.
“Then… then… do they get to live however they want…? Without any punishment…?”
Killing, plundering, raping.
The Abyss, and the servants of the Abyss, were always like that. They snatch away the precious daily lives of humanity.
As if scorning the effort and toil of every single person who had lived each day to the fullest.
“They killed my mom, my dad, my grandma, my brother, everyone in the village… and still…”
The child began to weep quietly.
Their breath was already fading, so where did such a desperate cry come from?
“I hate it… that in the end… all I can do… is cry like this…”
Over those falling tears, the image of my younger self, sobbing and crying, flickered.
Just like this child, right now.
On that day the stars stole everything from me and cackled, the day I could do nothing but cry.
“If only I… if only I had… even a little power… like you…”
What did they want? To live? To receive one final comfort?
I didn’t know.
And because I didn’t know, there was only one thing I could do.
“Whatever you’re hoping for… I probably can’t create an unrealistic miracle.”
That trembling hand.
To take the hand they reached out amidst their dying breaths.
“But I can promise you this one thing for sure.”
“…?”
“I will pay them back in kind. For everything they did to you and your family.”
Quietly.
Faintly, ever so faintly.
The pulse that had been thumping, thumping, beating so harshly through our clasped hands, scattered. It scattered and vanished.
“…”
Slowly laying the child’s hand on the ground, I let out a short sigh.
It was the height of summer.
The season when volcanic ash blankets the world in black.
On the threshold of that season, crows descended upon the dead, a black mass tearing at their flesh.
It was then.
“Kisayka o tto shiem?”
“Olbera shi ge meruk.”
A voice like a saw scraping against iron.
I turned around, and as expected, the main Uruk force was in sight.
They were pouring into the village entrance, the chainmail on their armor clanking ominously.
Their eyes held different expressions.
Anger at the one who killed their comrades, interest in a strong opponent…
But there was not a single shred of guilt for those they had plundered and killed.
Right.
You were always like this.
*Zing.* The Supreme Holy Sword Aradamanthel burst from its sheath, roaring fiercely as it unleashed a crimson sword aura.
“Kishiro mao karedan da?!”
One of them suddenly asked.
It was a monstrous tongue, meaning, *Who are you?* Their voice was thick with caution.
I answered.
“I am Kaisen Alter Aradamanthel.”
Aradamanthel is the name of my holy sword.
The middle name, Alter, is an ancient word given to FakeWarriors, meaning ‘proxy.’
Put together, it means Kaisen, the proxy of Aradamanthel.
“And I am going to kill you.”
This humble name.
And this desperate, wretched cry.
This was the fate I wished for myself on that day the sun and moon hid in fear, and only the stars looked down on my tears and laughed.
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Night the Stars Laughed
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My mother was a ‘fake’ warrior.
I think the first time I heard that story was the year I turned four.
“Kaisen, your mommy here was a hero who left her name in world history, you know?”
“A he-wo?”
“A vixen? Yes! I was like a vixen, too. The men used to line up for me. And why wouldn’t they? I’m pretty, I’m kind, and I’m incredibly strong!”
Back then, I knew nothing.
Nothing of the battle-scarred path stained with grief you had to walk through tears to become such a hero.
I just listened, my eyes shining, without understanding a word of it.
“FakeWarriors can’t get pregnant because of the side effects from body modification, you see? But your dad was so virile, he got me pregnant after sleeping with me just once.”
“Aileen… what are you telling a four-year-old?”
“Quiet, you. Is being good in bed all you’ve got? Anyway, I found out I was pregnant about three months before the final battle. You have no idea how surprised I was.”
They say that when FakeWarriors are commissioned, they forsake all family and lovers, swearing an oath to live and die as a blade for the world.
My mother broke this oath.
To give birth to my sister and me.
So after leading the final battle to victory, she faked her own death and came to this remote corner of the world to start a family with my father.
“People say I performed a great many miracles on the battlefield, but…”
Whenever she finished that story, my mother would hug me tightly and rub her face against mine, as if she couldn't handle how adorable I was.
“Kaisen, you and your sister are the greatest of all the miracles I’ve ever created. Hehehe. So Mommy has to protect you and cherish you for the rest of her life.”
As if to prove her words weren’t a lie, my mother had incredibly sharp hearing.
If I so much as let out a small groan in my sleep, or tripped over a stone, she would come rushing from anywhere and everywhere to soothe and comfort me.
Whenever, wherever.
“Hmm?”
It was the year I turned seven.
I happened to be watching my mother practice her swordsmanship.
As a young boy who knew nothing, I was just staring blankly at her elegant swordplay when she suddenly pointed the tip of her sword at me.
“Kaisen, what does it feel like to have your life threatened by someone?”
A vague, indistinct fear welled up, and my eyes filled with tears.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?”
Then, my mother spun around and pointed the sword away from me, in the opposite direction.
“Now, what about when someone is protecting your life?”
The sight of my mother’s back then.
The way she smiled as she glanced back over her shoulder…
Was it because it was so radiantly gentle? My tears stopped without me even realizing it.
“Now, look.”
My mother then came over and placed a small wooden sword in my hand.
“A sword can be a tool to kill others, but it can also become the power to protect others.”
“…?”
“Kai, how do you want to use this sword?”
Back then.
If I had answered that I wanted to protect my mother with this pitifully small power, unable to even hold a sword properly…
Could I have twisted the wheels of my fate, even just a little?
I don’t know.
I probably never will.
From the moment I was born, the wheels of my fate were already pulling me toward a place where a sword could not reach, a place a sword could not cut.
“By the guidance of the light, we meet again, Raminea Alter Aradamanthel.”
The prelude to the summer that would cast a shadow over my life appeared in the year I turned thirteen.
A delegation from the Papal Office had come to find my mother in this remote village. The last rays of sunlight shimmered nobly on their golden armor.
The Papal Office knew my mother’s real name, and they said they had been watching all along, knowing she had faked her death to desert.
“How ridiculous. To think a warrior who graced a page of an epic heroic tale has been living in a rural village, doing nothing but hunting.”
“I wouldn’t take that crap even if you gave it to me now.”
“Do you think we came all this way to play with words?”
“Does this sound like a game to you?”
As my mother’s eyes narrowed chillingly, the official sighed and looked back at the southern sea.
“Summer is coming. A very harsh summer, at that. It might already be upon us.”
“…”
“The Abyss is stirring. The shadow of the Black Church has appeared across the continent. From the Tersia Archipelago, we receive only news of successive defeats.”
Already in the Tersia Archipelago…?
At those words, even my mother, who had remained impassive since their arrival, raised an eyebrow for a moment.
The Tersia Archipelago was the midway point between this continent of Akrad and the Demon Realm.
It was easier to think of them as islands that served as a breakwater for the current human sphere of activity.
“It’s not even late spring, let alone early summer. Don’t lie.”
“It is the truth. And yet, humanity is divided and fighting amongst itself. A judgment has been made that we need a hero to serve as a focal point.”
“…”
“I am speaking of you, Raminea of the Crimson Flame.”
“…”
“Did you not swear an oath as a Warrior?”
“…”
“Please answer. Do you truly believe this is where you should be in a situation like this?”
The day the delegation arrived, my mother cried all day long, facing the cold night breeze.
Why did she cry?
Why did *she* have to be the one to cry?
It was this world that was wrong, not her.
“Actually, there’s something important I need to tell my princess and my prince today.”
And the next morning, with a face raw and red from tears, she called my sister and me to her and gave us one last smile.
“Raminea Alter Aradamanthel. That’s Mommy’s real name.”
Alter Aradamanthel.
This title was not a noble family name.
Alter was a draconic word meaning ‘proxy.’ In other words, it meant the proxy of the Supreme Holy Sword Aradamanthel.
“I always told you, didn’t I? That Mommy was a super amazing Warrior. Well, it seems people need Mommy again.”
“What does that mean, Mom?”
“It means I have to go back to the battlefield, Ratel. This place probably won’t be safe anymore, either.”
“Mom.”
“They say the Tersia Archipelago is under attack… Ratel, Kaisen, you two go on ahead with the delegation.”
Unlike me, who couldn’t immediately grasp the structure of the conversation, my sister, who was always so bossy and full of herself, had a serious expression, and even her voice trembled.
“What’s that supposed to mean? No. Why do you have to go fight? The battlefield is dangerous! You come with us, Mom. We can just run away again.”
“I can’t. The Light Dragon already knew where I was. He was just turning a blind eye until now. He’ll know wherever I run.”
Light Dragon Haraderiman.
The leader of the Papal Office, a divine dragon who manages this world in proxy of the gods who have left.
His divine power was absolute.
“Ratel, so promise me. That no matter what happens, you’ll cherish and love Kai, your little brother. In my place.”
“No, I don’t want to! Why? Why do you sound like you’ll never come back? Why are you talking just like Dad did?!”
“And Kai, treat your sister like your mother—”
At that moment, I stopped listening to my mother and ran outside.
I.
I just.
I just wanted my mother not to leave. I just wanted tomorrow to be another ordinary day.
The fact that I hid in a different place than usual, the fact that I didn’t return from there until evening…
It was just.
Really, it was just.
I only did it because I thought if I did, my mother wouldn’t be able to leave while looking for me…
The only thing I knew then.
Was that my father, who had died of an illness when I was ten, never came back, no matter how much I called for him, waited for him, or cried for him.
So I was just afraid my mother would become like that, too.
How could a young child have known?
That my actions would lead to my mother’s death…
“Kubeche ou tokose! Kill everything that walks on two legs!”
When I woke from my sleep, volcanic ash was swirling hazily all around.
Under the ash, a fleet of warships filling the horizon was being pushed toward the coastline by the sea breeze and high tide.
Right.
Back then, I knew nothing.
Not the fact that it was the prelude to an invasion by the Uruks, one of the six great demon races.
Nor the fact that my mother had been looking for me and ended up confronting them.
“Mom.”
In my anxiety, a cold sweat wouldn’t stop. As I returned to the village, I could only burn the chaotic scenery into my retinas.
“Noona.”
Black smoke billowed up from the direction of the village.
Endless screams, dull thuds of impact.
Volcanic ash scattered so thickly that I couldn’t tell one direction from another.
“Mom.”
And the soldiers of the Papal Office delegation, who had appeared to the admiring gazes of the villagers, were now scattered everywhere, their limbs torn apart.
What.
What in the world.
What on earth had happened?
Amidst a tragedy that a mind ignorant of the turmoil of the times could not even imagine, a rough hand suddenly grabbed me.
It felt as though a mountain had moved to seize me; that was my first encounter with an Uruk warrior.
The creature dragged me to the shore where countless warships were docked. My mother was there.
“GWAAAAAAAAAAA…!”
“HARRRRRKKKKKKK…!”
A single shortsword painted a bloody flash in the air.
At the end of that flash, heads spun, spewing blood.
A mountain was being built from the Uruk warriors who fell mercilessly.
At that moment, my mother looked like a red flower blooming over a blood-soaked meadow.
I had never seen such a beautiful sword before.
And amidst that beauty.
My mother had single-handedly beheaded a hundred Uruk warriors and was now fighting another hundred.
*Pzzzzzzzzzzzzzt…!*
A mysterious energy coiled around the short blade of the sword, shimmering in crimson.
The manifestation of a sword aura.
The symbol of a swordsman who has reached the pinnacle.
My mother must have intended to have my sister and the delegation find me, while she bought time here against the enemy’s main force. But even that plan was ruined because of me.
“Horoku nena shi. Don’t move, human.”
An Uruk shouted.
The Uruks were a warrior race that had revered victory since the distant age of the Abyss. But that was different from following honor.
In most cases, the Uruks would stop at nothing to achieve victory.
“M-Mom…”
That was why the Uruks enjoyed taking hostages to threaten the FakeWarrior corps when they fought. Just like they were threatening my mother by capturing me then.
It wasn't because they knew I was her son, but simply because they often used such methods.
As my mother stared blankly this way while cutting down the next Uruk, the one holding me roared again.
“I told you not to move!”
Would I have frozen at this point?
But my mother did not yield to the threat.
Instead, she found another way.
A way to save me, the only way for both of us to survive this.
By moving her head, her gaze, in a span of time that wasn't even an instant.
*Shweeeeeeee— Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!*
The next moment, my mother fiercely threw her shortsword at ‘that method’.
It was so fast that even the Uruks, hardened by countless battles against their own kind, reacted a beat too late.
“Ogure wira Irishina ro Raminea (My name is Raminea of the Crimson Flame).”
The shortsword’s blade quivered as it embedded itself deep into the ship’s bow, right next to the target’s face.
“Hishime ki KALTAKE ro gimarasu (I challenge you to a Kaltake).”
The Uruk warriors, who had been enraged by her brazen targeting of their chieftain, began to halt one by one.
“Crimson Flame…?”
“That human wench…?”
There were two reasons for this.
One was that my mother had identified herself as Raminea of the Crimson Flame.
To the Uruks, who revered battle and victory, the strong were worthy of respect.
And Raminea of the Crimson Flame was a hero of humanity, said to have wiped out and driven away most of the Uruks who had come to this land last summer.
“KALTAKE…?”
And the other was because of the Kaltake.
Kaltake was a battle custom passed down among the Uruks since ancient times.
A barbaric law of battle that transcended all laws and common sense.
A fair one-on-one fight.
The victor of that battle is deemed to have done the right thing, no matter what they had committed.
But there was a fatal problem.
It would absolutely not end until one of them was dead.
“That’s ridiculous—!”
Before the Uruk holding me could even shout.
“—Greeshe (I accept).”
The chieftain accepted the duel by pulling the shortsword from the ship’s bow.
He stood two and a half heads taller than the other Uruks, who averaged seven feet in height.
From his long hair and beard hung the grotesque fangs of the Uruk chieftains and human warriors he had killed.
“If you are truly the Crimson Flame, that is. Your death will be a great achievement for our tribe.”
A human slave who followed him translated.
It was an old man crawling on all fours like a dog, his hands and feet bound in shackles. He must have been captured in the Tersia Archipelago.
“But I heard that all FakeWarriors have white hair and carry a weapon called a holy sword?”
When the Uruk chieftain pointed her own shortsword at her neck, my mother snatched it back and replied mockingly.
“This is dyed. And I’m not one to use a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken.”
“Your spirit is good. But you have no proof that you are the Crimson Flame.”
The Uruks once again placed their hands on their weapons.
The tension was palpable.
But my mother did not panic. Nor did she explain herself.
Instead, she gestured with her eyes.
At the countless corpses of the Uruks who were dying or already dead by her sword, and at the small shortsword she held.
“…”
The chieftain seemed to stare silently at my mother’s arrogant gesture with his arms crossed, then the next moment, he burst into hearty laughter.
“Did you hear that! You useless whelps!”
His laughter was so loud it drowned out the translator’s voice.
“The Kaltake between Raminea of the Crimson Flame and I, Valkaro, begins now!”
“WUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
A roar, a crucible of roars.
Hundreds of Uruks let out frenzied cheers and began to surround Valkaro and my mother in layers.
This wasn’t just to watch.
It was one of their barbaric customs, meant to prevent either from escaping before one was dead.
“I will lend you a weapon if you wish. I have a few swords we took from the humans.”
Valkaro’s weapon was an oversized single-edged axe.
It was so heavy and large that two Uruk warriors could barely move it, grunting and groaning. He was said to have killed 87 other Uruk battle chieftains with that monstrosity.
Facing that axe was my mother’s weapon, a slender shortsword. It was less a weapon and more an object she always cherished like a treasure.
“I told you, I don’t use a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken.”
“Hah!”
And so the bloody battle began…
To anyone watching, the outcome of this fight was obvious. At least, it seemed that way to my eyes, which were ignorant of combat at the time.
But it was not so.
My mother’s crimson sword aura, which easily deflected Valkaro’s axe blade, whipped around like a storm, and blood erupted.
From Valkaro’s forearm, his side, his right cheek.
Afterimages of the sword, seeming to multiply infinitely.
My mother’s swordplay was so elegant and fantastical that the Uruks, who had been cheering wildly, fell silent one by one.
*Does she look like a red flower? Is that why she’s called the Crimson Flame?*
“Was the rumor true…?”
“They say the number of Uruk chieftains the Crimson Flame has cut down is countless…”
Perhaps feeling anxious about the flow of the battle.
Valkaro, who had begun to be pushed back by the relentless assault, suddenly raised his single-edged axe high, aiming for a single decisive blow.
My mother must have been waiting for that very moment.
“SHeGAaaaaaaaaaa—!”
And she would have timed that moment perfectly to end the fight.
If I hadn't screamed at the moment her sword aura flashed.
If the Uruk, who couldn't bear to watch his chieftain die, hadn't cowardly gripped my spine as if to crush it.
If that scream of pain hadn't shattered my mother’s concentration…
I shouldn’t have screamed.
I shouldn’t have let out even a single sound.
“Kai…?!”
Raminea was the strongest FakeWarrior in history, one who had no openings. But at that moment, she was not a FakeWarrior; she was a mother.
The moment she heard the scream of her son, more precious than anything in this world, her concentration wavered.
Her sword form wavered.
When concentration is lost, the sword aura naturally loses its form.
It all happened in an instant.
The axe blade, which should have clashed with her sword aura, plunged deep into my mother’s shoulder without any resistance.
*Pshuuuuuuk*……………….
It shattered her collarbone.
Tore through her organs and muscles.
The axe blade, having driven right to the brink of death, was stopped by Valkaro, who had sensed something was wrong.
“M-Mooooooooom…!”
My whole head swam with nausea.
Dizziness washed over me, and my heart beat uncontrollably fast.
Just then, Valkaro strode toward me, and with a roar, he smashed the face of the Uruk holding me into a mess of blood and bone fragments.
*How dare you defile my Kaltake,* he snarled.
“Mom.”
I didn’t even have the capacity to wonder why he had just killed his own subordinate.
All that mattered was that, thanks to that monster’s whim, the force holding me was gone.
The moment I collapsed onto the sandy beach, I had to scramble up and run toward my mother.
“Mom, Mom.”
I couldn’t see anything.
Only my mother, my mother… I fell, got up, fell again, and ran again.
I don’t know how many times I fell.
“Mom…!”
My mother was kneeling on the sand, Valkaro’s vicious axe still embedded in her shoulder.
“My Kai, you’re safe…”
Thank goodness.
Gods, thank you.
Thank you so much. She was still breathing. My mother was alive.
Yes, ‘still’… for now…
My eyes trembled with anxiety.
It felt as if a white-hot spike had been driven into my head; I couldn't think at all.
In a situation like this, what, what was I supposed to do…?
“Are you the Crimson Flame’s son?”
It was then.
I heard the translator slave’s voice, and then my body was lifted into the air.
The moment I was slammed back-first onto the sand, a massive shadow was cast into my memory for the rest of my life.
Valkaro.
The face of that creature, who looked me over from head to toe with menacing eyes, was seared into the depths of my memory at that very moment.
“Indeed, you resemble her upon closer inspection.”
This bastard…
The moment the translator slave relayed those words, rage surged within me.
“Let go! I’ll kill you! Let go! I’m going to kill you. I’ll kill you just the same…!”
Valkaro then broke off one of his own fangs. Then, he drove it into my left cheek.
What was that?
An unbearable, sharp pain made me scream again. It wasn’t just a physical pain.
“The mark of the hunted.”
The fang momentarily lost its shape and melted, mixing with my blood to be branded onto my skin.
A brand depicting a person impaled on a pole.
Hanging upside down, limbs dangling limp.
They actually used to hang the people of the villages they had finished slaughtering like that, carrying them as flags.
I didn't know it then, but this was the crest of Valkaro's clan, the Valkrush, a symbol feared not only by humans but by many Uruk tribes as well.
“To the Uruk, victory is paramount. But to win a Kaltake like this, especially against the legendary Crimson Flame, is nothing but a joke.”
“Shut up…”
“I have marked you as my prey. As long as you have this brand, those who fear me will never harm you. As long as you don’t attack first.”
“Shut up, shutupshutupshutupshutup shut up! Let me go, I’ll cut you to pieces right now…!”
How pathetic my struggles must have looked.
Valkaro, to you and your subordinates then.
How utterly contemptible did I, flailing like that, seem to you?
“I will let you live. Go. Grow strong and come for your mother’s revenge. The only way to cleanse my sullied Kaltake is to kill you after you’ve become a warrior.”
How pathetic and contemptible must I have been for you not to kill me, but to let me live?
Just how insignificant was I?
For you to pull the axe from my mother’s shoulder right in front of my eyes, command your men to gather the spoils and the wounded, and head north.
A burning killing intent was what pulled my body up as I stared blankly at your retreating back.
*I’ll kill you…*
At that moment, that was the only thought in my head.
I might have grabbed any weapon and charged at him.
If I hadn't heard my mother’s voice then.
“Kai.”
My body froze.
Forgetting all my anger, my killing intent, my hatred, I turned to look, as if enchanted.
My mother was sitting there.
“Could you come here?”
“Right now…”
“Please. Mommy doesn’t have much time.”
At those words, a pain like a sharp needle piercing somewhere deep in my chest flared up.
No…
My mother had the same smile as always on her face. But only the smile was the same.
Everything, everything was different.
There had never been a gash deep in my mother’s shoulder, and blood had never endlessly flowed from it, staining the white sand.
“Come to Mommy… Come on, quickly.”
I finally took a step.
One step, then another. Walking, stopping, running, then stopping again.
It felt like something was constantly grabbing my ankles.
My life, my happy daily life…
It felt as if the moment I reached my mother, it would all come to an end…
As if everything would become irrevocably jumbled…
After hesitating and hesitating, when I finally reached a point where I would touch her if I fell, my mother pulled me into a fierce embrace.
“I’m so, so glad…”
My mother let out a sigh.
Not a sigh breathed from her lips, but one that came with a trembling voice, with a faint smile as she held her son.
“The most precious treasure in Mommy’s world…”
I began to sob painfully, like a trapped animal.
The name of the trap that ensnared me then was reality.
A trap called reality, from which there was no escape.
“Is Mommy sorry? There are so many things I couldn’t do for you…”
Slowly.
Really, very, very slowly.
My mother’s arms, which had held me more preciously than any gold or silver in this world, fell to the sand.
*Thud.*
My mother’s body leaned against her young son’s shoulder for the first time.
Her body was heavy.
Her heartbeat slowly faded, then disappeared altogether. At the same time, even her faint breathing could no longer be heard.
“M-Mom…?”
Gasping, I barely managed to open my mouth to call her name. Just rolling my tongue to make a sound felt like the world was collapsing.
The world…
When I called for Mom…
My mom’s laughter… *Yes, my son?* Her giggling laugh… should have naturally been there… naturally… naturally…
No answer came back.
Not then, and not ever again after that day.
Mom, Mom. After calling her name three times in a row, I finally broke down in the final silence, clutching my mother’s corpse and wailing my heart out.
The world was always ironic.
On the day my mother protected the most precious treasure in her world, her son lost the most precious treasure in his.
Half a day.
A full day.
One day, and then the next.
After crying for two straight days, I finally buried my mother. On a coastal cliff overlooking the sea.
It was a place my mother loved.
A place my father loved, too.
I remembered my mother’s face as she rolled around and played with her son here like a child.
But now, looking down at my mother lying dead in her grave, the world shattered into a blurry mess.
—*The most precious treasure in Mommy’s world.*
I don’t know when I bit my lip, but the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
I don’t even know what happened to my sister, Ratel. She probably died and became a corpse when the village turned to ash.
I was gripping my mother’s keepsake, the shortsword, so tightly that my hand felt hot.
*I’ll kill them…*
Just the same, one by one, every single one of them…
I brought a shovel from the village, now a ruin filled only with corpses, and covered the pit. As I covered it, I planted acorns.
So that someday.
I don’t know when, but someday when I will surely return here… I can find you.
“Mom.”
A half-hoarse voice came out, then broke off.
Emotion, emotion welled up, and my mouth wouldn't open easily.
Only after taking a deep breath could I finally finish my words.
“I’ll be back.”
Even if I have to cut and cut and cut, to make a path with the bodies of my enemies.
Yes, it was from that day.
That an endless summer began in the world, no, in my life.
“Kaisen Alter Aradamanthel.”
At that moment, a voice from reality suddenly cut through the curtain of my memories.
The boy who had buried his dead mother in the earth and in his heart, now a white-haired young man, lifted his head.
He had been staring at the countless Uruk corpses reflected on the blade of the Supreme Holy Sword Aradamanthel, a tachi that shimmered beautifully with a crimson flash.
“The Commander-in-Chief is summoning you.”
*Thwack.* He immediately flicked the holy sword to shake off the blood and sheathed it with a sharp, disciplined motion into its pure white scabbard.
The world called me a FakeWarrior. A long, long time ago, my mother was also called this.
The last flame to illuminate this crumbling world… meaning a fake hero.
“Yeah, I’m on my way.”