Death, But...
“Now!!!”
When the elderly knight with graying hair spat blood and roared, a massive knight towering over two meters leaped into the air like the wind.
Soon, a warhammer as gigantic as his body, blazing with aura, smashed down like lightning onto the head of a monster ten times its size.
Kwaaaaang!
The explosive boom echoed across the entire battlefield, signaling the end of the seven-day-and-night battle.
“Heh, heh heh heh. You really are something when it comes to raw power.”
Cough.
The elderly knight, Eschard von Valentia, slumped down and barely managed to raise a trembling hand, giving a thumbs-up.
The giant knight, Tiny, walked toward him with a calm expression.
“I told you, didn't I? Anything that gets properly caught by me goes down in one hit.”
Despite his bold words, his nearly crushed hand trembled uncontrollably. He couldn't even dream of lifting his beloved hammer, now embedded in the ground after shattering the Beast King's skull. His quivering legs and dimming vision clearly showed the aftereffects of squeezing out his last drop of life force.
But he didn't want to show any weakness.
“Get up quick, old man... Ugh.”
He reached out boisterously to help the other up, but his legs gave way instead, sending him crashing down pathetically with a thud that rang in his own ears.
Embarrassing.
Unfortunately, he had no strength left to stand again. The drain on his life force had been faster than expected. The moment he slumped, his vision went pitch black, seeing nothing more.
Damn it.
He had wanted to die fighting coolly to the end. But he'd shown the most unsightly side of himself—the one he never wanted anyone to see, especially not to the person he least wanted to witness it.
As Tiny bit his lip against the surging self-loathing, a frail voice rang in his ears once more.
“Heh heh, the mighty brute of a knight collapsing from exhaustion. Shame I can't see it with my own two eyes. Heh heh.”
“Can't see...? You too?”
“You 'too'...? Then you as well?”
Both had blocked the Beast King's final attack and delivered the blow that ended it—feats accomplished by wringing out their life force until their visions blurred. They realized it then.
The shock of the late realization was brief. Sighs escaped both their lips simultaneously.
“Ha, fucking hell...”
“Hmph... Damn it, now it's truly the end.”
From the mouth of the Sword Emperor, hailed as the continent's greatest knight, came words laced with despair. Silence hung between them for a moment.
Tiny hated the heavy atmosphere and tried to change the subject.
“We still took down the Beast King, though. The rest can handle the leftovers somehow.”
But that hopeful notion was easily refuted.
“The continent's top ten knights all laid down their lives just to barely take out the first legion commander. Even if they overwhelm the other monsters with numbers, what about the remaining legion commanders? And the Demon King?”
Legion commanders whom even aura—or power on par—could barely scratch. They weren't foes that sheer numbers could handle.
Yet those known to wield aura had all sacrificed themselves to fell the first legion commander, the Beast King Glutterni.
...No, not all of them yet.
“Damn it! We ain't dead yet, old man!”
“You think you can survive in this state? That'd be a relief.”
As if.
“...Damn, didn't the temple hype up some hero or whatever endlessly? They'll handle the aftermath.”
“You believe that? A kid barely twenty?”
“Hmph... Gotta believe something.”
Yeah, what else could they do? The end was truly approaching now.
They had given their all; there was nothing more they could do.
At least, that's what Tiny thought. But the other seemed to disagree.
“No, there's still something we can do. Not certain, but.”
“...Whatever it is, do it, old man. No room to hold back now.”
“One question first.”
“Ha, you old coot...”
If circumstances weren't like this, the two wouldn't have chatted so long. Bound loosely as two of the continent's top ten knights, Tiny—the so-called brute knight—stood out as an oddity. Called a free knight in polite terms, he was essentially a mercenary of lowly status.
At best, he was a slum orphan who rose to the pinnacle of continental knighthood through his own power. But he'd seen nobles who praised him to his face gossip behind his back more than once.
To him, Eschard von Valentia—the Sword Emperor, peak of the noble world—was polar opposite. Even without dredging up unknown past ties.
But.
No time to be picky. Not now.
His senses were fading fast. His body felt adrift in the air, sinking endlessly at once—a contradictory sensation. The moment it fully gripped him, consciousness would vanish.
Instinctively sensing it, Tiny focused his remaining strength on hearing and speaking. He'd outlast the Sword Emperor, utter one more word before dying.
“Ask away.”
Though futile pride drove him, he mustered a clear voice with all he had.
“Why's your name something so ridiculous? Tiny, with that build? Doesn't suit you at all.”
“You damn old fart...”
That was the question? He spat a habitual curse, then chuckled despite himself.
If his body worked, he'd have swung his warhammer at the Sword Emperor's head, whoever he was. But now? What did it matter?
“...I was really small as a kid. Our gang leader named me then.”
A story he'd never told anyone since, flowed out naturally. Like his narrow mind—named Tiny—had widened facing death.
Comrades...?
Comrades with a noble? He smirked at his own thought.
“As I thought. But why keep a slum nickname?”
Did curiosity spike near death?
“...To not forget.”
“Forget what?”
Pfft. Laughter burst out at that.
Couldn't say. Especially not to you.
“That's none of your business, old man. That's your dying words? You said you'd do something earlier.”
“That's why I need to know about you.”
“What... do you mean?”
Tiny felt his voice tremble unwittingly. Damn, strength fading. Sword Emperor still had some left.
Hold on a bit longer. Hang in there, body.
Anyone peeking in might mock his pointless pride at life's end. But that pride had carried him from slum rat to knightly peak.
So.
I won't crumble till the end.
Swooo.
As he focused, gathering mana, a calm voice continued.
“Why didn't you run? You had nothing to protect.”
“Ha, weren't you the one saying the Demon King Army targets the whole world?”
“Still, no need for you to fight this hard. You've suffered enough already.”
Pfft. What was this old man so curious about now?
He was starting to wonder himself, but no spare focus. He kept consciousness, answering shortly.
“Embarrassing.”
“What?”
“Hate looking pathetic. A man's gotta stand tall anywhere. Running? No way.”
“...Puhahaha! Hahahaha! You really...! Haha!”
Strength to laugh? Hearing it, Sword Emperor clearly had power left. Damn, if I'd trained mana properly from youth. Or at least started right.
I could've lasted longer...
No, maybe crushed the Beast King's skull solo. Not shallow pride—confidence based on fact.
Only slum-raised among top ten knights. Sole self-made in martial arts and mana cultivation.
Now regretting his origins, tough childhood.
“Good, that's enough.”
Enough for what, old timer?
The Sword Emperor, laughter ceased, spoke calmly again.
“Talent to reach top ten before thirty. Self-grown, no noble teachings. This treasure suits you.”
What treasure? Wanted to ask, but voice gone.
Damn.
My limit? From world's lowest to highest, always head high, proud. Especially against finger-pointing at his origins.
Result: slum orphan kills Demon King's first legion commander.
Pretty good life, right?
Feat for history. No regrets—
Like hell!
This was just step one; needed to hammer all legion commanders to Demon King.
Now crumbling at first. No history if no humanity to record it.
With Seven Great Relics—final bastion—gone, humanity faced extinction.
Damn it.
Grinding teeth in regret, Sword Emperor kept babbling.
“Come find me when you return. I'll make proper use of your talent.”
Crazy old man? Dying, yet... You'd follow soon.
“Past me won't believe you outright. So, tell him this.”
What about past?
“Daughter's fetal name is Layla. From my and wife's favorite flower.”
So?
“Truth is, I didn't like that flower much. That's the key. Don't forget.”
...Serious nonsense. Maybe dementia finally hit.
But.
“If your talent blooms fully, we can overcome this crisis. Yes, only way.”
With those words, a warm energy flowed.
...Wait, I feel it?
Senses gone? Baffled even as consciousness faded.
“Remember. Find me soon as possible. At Valentia Ducal House in Aslan Empire, no matter where you...”
His final words blurred as a brilliant white light flooded the world, vividly felt before consciousness slipped away.
* * *
A dream from long ago.
“Child, what's your name?”
A warm voice. As a gloved hand—pure white, would soil on his rags—approached, he flinched instinctively.
The gentle voice soothed again.
“Not to harm. To help.”
Though first time hearing it, it felt trustworthy. Like a comforting caress. Heart tickled, he opened his mouth unwittingly.
“T-Tiny.”
“Tiny?”
Nod.
Forgot boss's order to play mute and deaf.
“...So cute.”
Beautiful voice. Wanted to hear more, but intruder arrived.
“Miss! What are you doing! Don't touch filthy street rats... Ahem. Come here, please!”
“But he's pitiful. So small and young.”
“Not for you to worry, miss. If word gets out, I'm in big trouble.”
“...Still.”
“Aigoo. This way, this way.”
The frantic intruder's rough hand grabbed the white glove.
Then, slipping it into Tiny's bosom behind the intruder's back, it gave something and left.
Hard and cold. Before checking, a whisper.
“Find me with this. Then I can help. You know me?”
How not? Nod.
As Tiny nodded hurriedly, the glove's owner was led away.
- Aigoo, can't even help? He's so young.
- Told you, not your concern. Get near those kids, you'll catch disease.
- What...
Tiny stared blankly, then looked into his bosom.
A golden ring.
Th-this...!
Even ignorant child self knew it was valuable gold.
Why? Instinct screamed suspicion, but no one pranks a beggar kid so elaborately.
Then.
She can help.
Illusion of warm voice, heart pounding with unfamiliar 'hope'.
Help? For real?
No reason for noble to lie. If true, escape this life.
Not just me, sister too.
But he never found her owner.
“Ha!? This punk already scheming!?”
Whack. Thud, smack.
Tried hiding, but caught. Beaten near death by boss, ring stolen.
And lost his most precious childhood bond forever.
Learned then: undue kindness can be disaster to powerless.
If only hidden better. Not taken it.
That memory lingered vividly, endless regret and resentment even decades later.
* * *
“Tin, snap out of it. Please...”
Quiet, soft, endlessly missed voice.
Yes, this voice. Too longed-for, he opened mouth unwittingly.
“S-Sis?”
“Tin?”
Through labored eyelids, sister's face appeared. Pale without makeup—unlike work—but still beautiful.
Just like that final memory.
“...G-Good...”
Faint smile too.
“...Sis!!”
Overjoyed, yelled rising—but.
“...Ugh.”
Electric pain everywhere; couldn't even sit up.
Wrenched eyes saw small hands, feet, body—peerlessly tiny.
Body state matched memory.
Decisively.
“R-Really... good...”
Thud.
Sister collapsing in nursing pose.
“S-Sis...? Sis!!!!!”
His most painful past memory unfolded vividly before his eyes once more. All too real.