Everyone Out of the Arena (3)
As a hero, as someone who'd lived through the first playthrough, there was one word I truly despised. Sacrifice. Dying in place of someone else for their sake.
I understood the mindset of those who sacrificed themselves. They must have something worth saving so dearly that they'd offer their lives for it, no matter the cost. ...Completely ignoring the feelings of those left behind.
"Is that really what you're saying right now?"
I couldn't help but let a sharp edge slip into my voice.
"You're going to hand over the Goddess's blessing—the very source that's kept your sense of self intact all this time—and devolve into one of those things like Helma or the arena residents?"
"I've been that way from the start. They're no different from me."
"Why? Are you just worn out? Can't handle watching the world loop over and over alone anymore?"
"As if."
Chekhov's face flushed slightly at my words. She glared at me with an expression like I'd struck a raw nerve, her emotions bubbling up.
"If I were going to give up my sense of self over something like that, I would've handed the blessing to some strong-looking candidate long ago. I'd have just kept living on as the arena's manager, oblivious to my own death."
"Then why...?"
"I told you. I've placed my bet on you. Because I saw hope in you, I trust you enough to entrust you with my blessing."
"......."
"I don't know how much you've learned about the Tutorial or the angels. ...Care to chat for a bit?"
"Of course."
Chekhov snapped her fingers, and the glasses—hers and mine—refilled with water.
"I don't know how much time has passed, but across 29 arena stages, a full three years have gone by. The shortest stage lasted ten days; the longest, a whole year."
"How the hell did one take a year?"
"Just like the people already in the arena, the reserve heroes summoned back then gave up fighting and decided to just breathe and survive. Oh, I won't mention which round out of respect for their honor."
"......."
"The arena was similar in nature to the angels' hero training grounds. The difference was that I gathered living stragglers from our world and tried to rehabilitate them, while the angels pulled souls from other worlds and turned them into warriors. Different goals, but the environments meshed well. That's why we were taken in by the Goddess and the angels."
"Your souls got bound."
They drag souls from other worlds and raise them as heroes. So what about this Tutorial stage? Sure, recreating goblins or monsters might be doable somehow, but making thousands of blatantly living humans move around like real people in a place like this? Even if the angels whipped up some AI program, could they make it this convincingly human?
They probably could. But there was an easier way.
"We all died. The demonkin raided the arena, which was positioned in the rear lines, and no one survived that day."
"The arena was basically a rear-guard base."
"And our souls were collected by the angels. Everyone else lost their memories, but I alone retained all of mine and kept doing my job. Honestly... running the arena and raising heroes aren't all that different, are they?"
"Forging warriors."
A place to steel the will to fight demonkin and the Demon King's army in extreme conditions. Whether they were natives of that world or isekai transplants—what did it matter?
"Just to avoid any misunderstanding, getting summoned by the angels and having our souls bound was a form of salvation and protection. You know why, right?"
"Because souls bound by the Demon King's forces get forcibly turned into undead puppets?"
"Exactly. They become wraiths."
The Demon King's army has those who bind souls to create immortals or puppets. If the angels hadn't taken in Chekhov and the arena folk, Tutorial A-rank difficulty or not, they'd have been consumed as the Demon King's vanguard wraith brigade, slaughtering humans in that world. Or turned into soul bombs.
"Become dolls endlessly repeating your mortal life whenever summoned? Or get used up by the Demon King's forces and discarded like trash? For someone who hates the Demon King, the latter's an unacceptable path."
"I'd have done the same."
"So I agreed to cooperate as manager. Right up to now, without passing this miracle to anyone else."
Chekhov spoke matter-of-factly. She seemed utterly without attachment to life, like a bedridden elder who'd long awaited death and now finally welcomed it.
"You cleared this A-rank stage—the first ever—and transferred the obtainable Goddess's blessing to your woman. That's a rule common to A-rank and higher stages, but... the blessing I'm giving you means something different."
"......."
"You can use the Goddess's blessing in the most reliable way possible."
No. This was the strongest lingering attachment, a dying wish passed to someone who could resolve it.
"Promise me. Please defeat the Demon King."
"I'm killing him anyway. Only way I survive is by killing the Demon King, then live out my days as a noble, banging away in peace. In a peaceful world."
Kill the Demon King. Same direction.
"One thing I want to ask. Why do you want the Demon King dead? Chekhov, you're a vampire. Aren't vampires classified as demonkin?"
"Demonkin, but on the human side. Vampires have factions, and I was with the ones who didn't want humanity wiped out. And now... even if just for revenge, I crave the Demon King's death."
Back when she ran the arena, it was for humanity. And now—
"I was killed by the Demon King and his minions. The judges you saw, all the arena residents—they died with me."
For revenge.
"Even if my soul is wretched and weak, revived by angels molding me a body, it wouldn't help much. But the sturdy souls of heroes crossing from other worlds? That's different. If I can't plunge a blade into the Demon King's heart myself, what choice do I have but to entrust the future to someone who can wield a holy sword or whatever?"
To Chekhov, I was her avenger, the one who could appease the souls of the arena's first unjustly slaughtered residents.
"Hero Yoo Si-woo. I don't know if you're truly a regressor. Whether your info came from a regressor or you're hiding something else and just pretending to fish it out of me—I can't be sure."
Chekhov approached me.
"But I believe in you. I believe in the goodness inside you, and the sincerity in your vow to kill the Demon King."
"What if I fail?"
"Then no one can beat him. If even you fall, humbly accept death."
Her hand stroked my head as she spread wings from her back and floated over—gentle, merciful, utterly exhausted.
"It's fine. I'm just returning whence I came, a bit sooner than expected. Unlike the others, I'm returning the special favor from the Goddess to where it belongs and fading into an ordinary wraith."
"......."
"I don't know what'll happen in the next arena... but it'll probably get busy. Incompetent angels might open theirs recklessly, thinking theirs will be different despite your results, only to get wiped out. Well... rest easy. As far as I know, you're the first one Shemiri's fucked across 29 arenas."
"Some consolation, huh."
I steadied my breathing, calm.
"Objectively, I'm in no position to empathize or comfort you on your situation. You know that, right?"
"I do."
"I didn't know, but I've killed dozens of humans in this arena. Indirectly, because of me, hundreds, thousands more will start dying."
"If you know about the Tutorial—"
"I didn't know there were beings aware it's a Tutorial, but I knew the stages looped and recycled."
Chekhov nodded curtly.
"I see. Then even if you visit again, you'll walk the same path."
"I'd do it even more thoroughly. Now that I've tried it once. So no condolences for those I killed or your choices. Instead."
I placed a hand on my chest. Over the flesh filling the hole Helma stabbed.
"I'll carry your will. Promise. I'll kill the Demon King."
"That's answer enough, hero."
Chekhov smiled, hand on her chest.
"Hero, depart. Take that unbreakable will to survive this arena and leave. Achieve what you set out to do. This arena is for raising the spirits of broken losers. To put it in terms you'd like..."
"Terms I'd like?"
"It's a clinic for erectile dysfunction. Not a place for studs like you to linger."
"...Is that my image?"
"It is. Among the reserve heroes I've seen in 29 arenas... you were the most virile male."
"Then you can guess what this stud has to say."
Thud.
"Memories reset at the end anyway. No reason not to go all in."
I'd gotten the Goddess Points. But separately, there was something else to claim from Chekhov.
"You made me your hero, right? Sacrificing your life, your self. Since we're doing this, mind giving me two more things?"
"Two more?"
"Yeah. First."
I pointed to my chest.
"Imprint your color on my mana. Blood Magic. Can you?"
"......Unexpected. You could get a mark from someone stronger. Not a wraith like me, but living ones over there."
"I judged getting your mana color from you is most effective for killing the Demon King."
"I see. And the other?"
"Obviously."
I raised the hand from my chest and lifted her chin.
"Sex."
"...What?"
"One fuck before leaving the arena."
Leaving's leaving. Gotta do what needs doing.
"A quickie before memory wipe seems fair, right?"