Chapter 118
Chapter 118
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Demonic Sword Forte (19) - Repetition
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"You fucking idiots."
Those were the words spat by the sage toward the messengers who had fled without giving a firm commitment on reinforcements.
Pina tried to soothe the fuming sage.
"They must have their own circumstances."
"Circumstances my ass. They just don't want to step up themselves and hope someone else handles it for them. That's their mentality. Hell, some of them probably want to wait until the others wear themselves out fighting the Demon King, then stab them in the back and snatch all the gains."
By now, Pina had come to understand the sage's character to some extent.
He despised humans. Distrusted them utterly.
He loathed humanity, scorned their ugliness, and sneered at their actions.
"Hero, this is all pointless. Even if we bust our asses fighting like this, you think we'll get a proper reward?"
"I'm not doing this for some reward."
"That's the stupidest mindset! You gotta grab everything you can—why play the sucker voluntarily?!"
The irony was that, for all his hatred of humans, the sage never left Pina's side.
He insisted it was merely for observation, but Pina suspected there was more to it.
After all, if it were truly just observation, there'd be no reason for him to help her in all sorts of ways.
The sage excelled in spells manipulating plants, rocks, and other natural elements—useful in battle, but even more so in daily life.
A single tap of his staff on the ground conjured a cabin on the spot, and long branches bore fruits that kept hunger at bay for a full day with just one bite.
With no proper base to call their own as they roamed territories seized by the Demon King, life would have been far harsher for Pina without him.
Yet no matter how capable the sage or how sharp Pina's swordsmanship, limits existed.
They struck and retreated, toppling Demon King forces, but such tactics only worked on the outskirts.
To storm the Demon King's strongholds and end the war, the overwhelming numerical disadvantage was insurmountable.
Changing that required an army on their side, but the central nations kept delaying mobilization with one excuse after another.
The sage's complaints and laments grew daily, but Pina never stopped fighting.
And as time dragged on, the situation worsened.
Initially dismissing their exploits as minor border skirmishes, the Demon King's army now mobilized serious forces to hunt the pair down as damages mounted.
It was then, when Pina truly thought they were in danger, that it happened.
"Hero, I'm truly sorry for keeping you waiting so long."
The saintess.
The woman who had once begged for just a little more time finally joined them.
Not alone, but at the head of a sizable force.
"Who are these people...?"
"They're the ones who wish to fight alongside you."
As if in response to the saintess's words, the troops behind her saluted Pina and the sage in their own ways.
Their armor and weapons were a mismatched lot—some in regular army gear, others in hunter's garb, priestly robes, or even farmers clutching sickles and plows.
Pina, initially puzzled, soon recognized familiar faces among them.
Refugees they had rescued while battling the Demon King's forces.
Those who had fled their lost homes and nations in ragged despair now returned with resolute expressions.
"Heh. Fallen kingdom soldiers, temple priests, and refugee rabble. You've scraped together quite the ragtag bunch."
The sage's tone dripped sarcasm, but Pina could sense it.
He was impressed, in his own way.
She was about to chide him for his rude words when the saintess spoke first.
"Yes, we might well be a ragtag bunch. We lost to the Demon King and fled in disgrace. Even those who came from foreign lands joined as individuals, not as organized forces."
But, she added,
"Still, we want to fight. We want to stand against the Demon King. We can't bear just living day to day, leaving everything to you two."
Pina gazed at the saintess's face.
Shadows still lingered there.
Guilt as one of the royals who had sparked this chaos. Terror that her identity might be exposed at any moment.
She still hid who she was—an act some might call cowardly.
Yet here she was.
Knowing Pina and the sage were aware of her secret, knowing exposure would end everything, she hadn't abandoned it all or fled. She came to fight alongside them.
Of her own will, not pushed by anyone.
Pina saw it as courage, and even the sage merely clicked his tongue without his usual barbs.
And so, the hero's party and their allies finally assembled.
What followed were breathless, hectic days.
At some point, Pina—once shifting between spectator and performer—realized she existed solely as the performer now.
The story no longer skipped scenes as before; time didn't leap forward abruptly.
Days as the 'hero' were so dense and vivid that, despite knowing this was the Sky Academy's fabrication, Pina often lost certainty.
Was she Pina of the Valestia family?
Or the 'hero' who felled the Demon King centuries ago?
Were the sage, the saintess, her comrades fighting beside her now, and the times laughing with them—all mere fiction?
This experience, so real, so intense—really?
Pina struggled to cling to her true self, but it was no easy task.
Days battling the Demon King as the hero.
Syncing breaths with countless others, desperately pressing forward, thrashing amid desperate struggles—these days were drenched in color.
The hardships and joys of Pina Valestia's dozen-odd years paled before their intensity.
And the demonic sword in her hand dismissed Pina's anxieties with ease.
Don't shrink before the hero's life.
Theirs shone with brilliant, intense light, yes—but that was no reason for Pina to surrender her own.
The power for that. The demonic sword for that—Forte declared without hesitation.
So Pina did just that.
"Tsk tsk, you pathetic lot. You call this a base?"
"Everyone! The sage says he'll build the structures himself, so you all rest—please step aside!"
"Wha—hey, you bastard! Who said you could decide that!?"
"Ah, he's getting shy, so avert your eyes and ears, everyone!"
"I said no!!"
Sometimes, she translated the sage's abrasive-but-effective words to amuse the group.
"Um, Hero? If it's not rude, may I ask what those lumps of meat and hide are? Some kind of deterrent to keep the Demon King's forces away?"
"...Th-they seemed sick of just fruit, so I thought I'd try cooking, but, uh."
"...I'll help. I sneaked into the kitchens a few times as a kid. And Hero—don't hack at meat for eating with a greatsword."
"Got it."
Sometimes, with her clumsy skills, she hunted and cooked to delight their palates.
"Hydra! Normal decapitation makes two heads grow back! Hey, fake saintess! Right after the hero severs it, cauterize the stump with a blessing!"
"Doesn't seem to be regenerating?"
"What?"
"Ah, thanks to the demonic sword—er, the sword's power!"
Sometimes, she slew monsters that would have claimed countless lives, saving the doomed.
"Send reinforcements? Why should we?"
"Leaving the Demon King unchecked will plunge the entire continent into chaos. Your Majesty and the Eisen Empire will suffer heavy losses too."
"Demon King this, Demon King that—it's just one devil at the end of the day. What was it, saintess? From what I've seen, you can grant favors too—gahk!?"
Sometimes, she beat the lecherous emperor senseless with her sheathed blade when he made indecent proposals to the saintess under the guise of aid.
Pina couldn't have done it alone.
But with Forte at her side—a powerful, versatile demonic sword—her aid turned countless tragedies into comedies.
And at last, they reached the Demon King's castle.
"Heroes, we wish you the best of luck!"
"Leave this to us—head inside!"
After advancing inward, leaving the clash of steel behind,
The saintess paled at the transformed castle of her former home; the sage clicked his tongue repeatedly, tense for the battle ahead.
Filled with dread, Pina quietly opened the door.
The throne in the deepest, highest chamber.
There sat the Demon King.
A black existence.
From head to toe, encased in ebony armor; even the magic swirling beneath the helmet was the same hue.
As if darkness itself had taken form, donned armor, and masqueraded as a person.
Pina felt an indescribable wrongness in that figure.
In the hero tales she knew, the Demon King was evil incarnate.
Loving violence and slaughter, reveling in human screams and agony.
Mocking heroes' quests, tempting them to corruption with sly words.
Yet the Demon King before her showed no interest in them.
No rage at their interference, no mockery of their efforts, no glee at worthy foes.
In that inorganic, cold gaze, Pina vaguely discerned the truth.
It was a number.
A gaze that viewed wars, rule, and the countless lives lost merely as figures on paper.
Thus, the great evil was termed 'Slaughter.'
The Demon King rose.
And in the next instant, Pina's head flew, severed.
Her vision spun dizzily.
Her comrades collapsing, unable to withstand even one blow from the Demon King.
As darkness encroached, the voice of her trusted demonic sword rang out.
"We will triumph."
The 'hero' declared confidently to his comrades.