The Dawning Light
"Give up. No one is coming to save you."
Blonde elves surrounded the black-haired man, who knelt bound in heavy chains.
"Shut your mouths, you damned knife-ears," the man spat, his gaze a volatile mix of disbelief and seething fury.
"...Taking your life is of no consequence, though that pleasure must wait until our objective is secured. Be grateful that an inferior creature such as yourself is granted even a few remaining moments after daring to utter such insolence."
At the male elf's haughty words, the black-haired man scoffed. "Ha, grateful? Don't make me laugh. What, are you not even afraid of the Demon King?"
"Hmph. We simply harbor no delusions that inferior races could ever slay him. Unless, of course, they were subjugated beneath our rightful rule."
"And so? What's going to happen to me now? Torture won't get you much."
"I would gladly tear that insolent tongue from your throat, but for now, you will remain alive. We will render you utterly helpless, then cast you into unending darkness."
Hearing that, the black-haired man curled his lips into a gruesome, ear-to-ear grin.
"Oh, really? What a shame. That's not quite my style."
"...Hmph. Clinging to vain hopes to the very end?"
"Watch and see."
The man tilted his head back toward the ceiling, drew a sharp breath, and smashed his skull against the stone floor.
Crack!
Fresh crimson splattered across the flagstones.
The elves froze, struck dumb. Paralyzed by sheer, incomprehensible madness, none of them moved to restrain him. Even as blood poured in torrents from his shattered forehead, the man raised his head with that same ghastly, fractured smile—and slammed it down once more.
Crack! Thud! Crack! Thud!
Those watching forgot how to breathe.
With one final, violent plunge, bone gave way with a sickening crunch. Brain matter oozed across the floor, yet even in his final stillness, the man's torn lips remained frozen in that horrific, mocking grin.
"Ah, fuck... What a terrible dream."
I dragged myself out of bed. Maybe it was because I had turned in so late, but my head felt dreadful.
"...Why the hell am I reliving old memories now?"
Dammit. Just thinking about it brought on a throbbing migraine. Shrugging off the all-too-familiar phantom pain, I began smoothing out the bedding. A single strand of white hair caught my eye against the pillow, and I picked it up between two fingers.
It looked completely different from my original color. Or rather, the exact opposite.
Still, as far as side effects went, it wasn't the worst. Gaining a few strange markings and having my hair turn white was a small price to pay. It wasn't a patchy, sickly gray, either; it was a pristine, brilliant white that caught the light like winter frost beneath the moon. Setting aside the fact that I had to keep it hidden, it was actually quite striking.
Fine. Let's just pretend I dyed it to mark the second act of my life.
Pushing the nightmare from my mind, I finished tidying the room. It was time to leave this city. Waiting to receive my custom sword and armor had already cost me far too much time. Thinking of the blade and plate safely stowed inside my subspace inventory, a satisfied smile crept onto my face. With those on hand, I wouldn't have to worry even if my holy power and mana ran dry.
I swung my pack over my shoulder, checked out with the innkeeper, and stepped through the door.
Outside, a brilliant blue sky and the unfettered wind were waiting for me. Letting the breeze guide my steps, I set out down the road.
Sein gripped the hilt of a sword. It was a familiar wooden practice blade—the very same weapon she had used while instructing Einzel.
Looking down at the weathered crossguard, regret sank deep into her chest.
She had understood nothing. When she taught him the sword, she had simply taken pride in how steadily he improved, clumsy though he was. She had loved the fierce, earnest focus that settled over his features during their lessons.
What kind of man had Einzel been before her?
He was never a prodigy. Compared to an ordinary foot soldier, he was decent, but measured against the lofty title of Hero, his growth had been absurdly sluggish. Yet slow as he was, he never ceased advancing. Even when he failed to cross the wall, he stood square before it, refusing to look away.
It was the same with magic, holy miracles, and archery. He had possessed no innate genius to reach the apex of any discipline, yet his eyes had always stayed fixed upon the summit. He was unyieldingly optimistic. Whenever a brutal skirmish came to an end, he would smile and say, I'm just glad we survived.
He knew patience. He swallowed his fury and conquered his terror. At times, he had displayed a superhuman will, pushing past moments where anyone else would have collapsed into dust. He was a true leader. He had always been the first to extend a hand, understanding the hearts of his companions far better than they understood themselves. Even when his hand was slapped away, he had never stopped reaching out.
Yet the Imperial Palace had declared him guilty of unspeakable atrocities. They claimed he had abused his authority as the Hero to commit vile, depraved crimes. They accused him of colluding with the enemy, groveling before the Demon King, and offering his loyalty in secret. When those "truths" came to light, the Empire had recoiled in shock.
Everyone forgot that he had slain the Demon King. And Sein had forgotten too. Blinded by betrayal, she had joined the chorus of condemnation and cast him out.
And yet...
And yet, he had been someone who could return from death. A man who died over and over just to rewind time, trading his own mortal agony to overturn a history written in defeat.
Lena had wondered aloud whether his heart had simply shut down after being betrayed by the very humanity he fought to protect. At first, Sein had prayed Lena was wrong. She hadn't wanted to believe that hatred had broken him.
Now, however, she found herself harboring a far more wretched wish—she wished he truly had been corrupt.
She wished he hadn't spent countless lifetimes butchering his own soul to rewrite predetermined doom, only to be cast into the cold without a shred of gratitude. If that was the truth, she knew she would never survive the guilt.
Please. Tell me you were corrupt. Tell me you weren't a wrongfully butchered sacrifice. Tell me you weren't discarded after burying your suffering for our sake. Please don't let this guilt pierce my heart until I choke on my own blood.
It would have been so much easier if he had been a villain all along. It would have been better if he were the monster the palace painted him to be. A man who threw away his very existence to slay the Demon King, only to be abandoned by every soul he saved... Such a tragic fate was unbearable, and Sein could not accept that the world was so cruel.
She climbed the stone stairs, the unwanted truth stinging like needles against her skin. She hadn't wanted to witness records of him dying dozens of times just to claw his way through life. Why did I start watching these records in the first place? Right. To find out why he betrayed us.
...Do I even need to find a reason now? Can't I just bury it? What if I was wrong? What if we were all deceived? If he was cast out entirely innocent, what am I supposed to do?
Her expression twisted in torment. The righteous anger she once harbored had long since evaporated, replaced by hollow dread and suffocating fear. Outside the dusty training grounds, voices drifted in from the streets. Citizens cursed the fallen Hero who had sold his soul to demons, shouting that he ought to be burned at the stake. Those who had once defended him were now the loudest in calling for the pyre.
Sein could say nothing. She felt sickeningly, utterly selfish.
Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the dirt. What point was there in swinging a sword now?
After repelling the imperial forces, Grandis had barricaded herself within the Raven Citadel. A single archdemon could not topple an entire empire alone, and the Empire, having suffered heavy losses, was focused entirely on recovering its strength. An all-out war was not imminent, and Sein Luderan, the Red Duchess, was already the continent's strongest swordmaster.
She let the wooden sword drop to the ground, then forced herself back to her feet.
It was time to face the truth she so desperately wished to deny.
Deep within the Raven Citadel, the witch sat with legs crossed, holding a sliver of metal up to the dim light.
It was a fragment of the shattered Holy Sword.
Slowly, she unraveled the memories etched into the sacred steel.
"...So that was why. That was why you couldn't kill me."
To the demon race, Einzel Leonhardt had been an incarnation of pure terror. In swordsmanship, magic, divine miracles, and archery, he had possessed less natural talent than any of his companions, yet he wielded all four disciplines in tandem to butcher demons by the legion.
Specifically, that terror had begun after a certain battle.
Before then, he had been an ordinary Hero without any peculiar traits. But following that engagement, something in him snapped. Whenever he laid eyes on a dark mage or a demon, his mouth would split into a manic, unhinged grin. He would gouge out their eyes, sever their limbs, and fight with rabid frenzy—before suddenly dropping the smile and decapitating them in cold silence.
Every demon he crossed paths with was slaughtered beneath the weight of an unfathomable hatred. He became fear made flesh. Demons, who had long considered themselves superior to mortals, fled in terror before a single human. And whenever they ran, he would pursue them slowly, deliberately driving them to madness before snuffing out their lives.
Yet when Einzel Leonhardt first met Grandis, he had let her escape without giving chase. Instead of wrath, his eyes had held a quiet remorse and a bewildering, profound longing.
On their second encounter upon the battlefield, he had hesitated to swing his blade. Even while his allies fell around him, wracked by internal agony, he had held back. Only at the very last moment had he finally raised his sword against her.
...He knew me.
Through the records preserved within the blade, Grandis began to understand. She understood why every battlefield he walked upon felt as though the demons' plans had been read in advance. She understood how the mighty Demon King had ultimately fallen.
And the conclusion she arrived at was chillingly clear: during a timeline erased by his deaths, she and Einzel had shared a deep, unbreakable bond.
A bond close enough, and long enough, that his hand had trembled when ordered to cut her down.