#004 Witch
#004 Witch
Splash.
The cliff.
That place was truly mysterious.
As a Demon King, I had faced countless heroes, and I had sent countless heroes falling from cliffs.
To be precise, the cliff was where I drove heroes after surrounding them.
And about 3% of Heroes survived the fall.
As for where that 3% figure came from, I could only call it statistics.
If I threw a hundred heroes off, almost exactly three of them would always survive and come back stronger.
Five hundred years ago, I killed countless people who called themselves heroes, yet strangely enough, about 3% of the ones who fell from cliffs always survived.
What kind of place was a cliff, really?
Normally I never gave it any thought, but right now, it was a place that held meaning for me.
A place where I could find freedom.
A place where I could escape being controlled by some human black mage.
At the very least, an escape route where I wouldn't be trapped in a woman's body and subjected to vile acts by some lich!
'That son of a bitch, looking at me with those eyes.'
Zepar.
The bastard tried to take me.
The phrase "take me" could mean several things, but to be specific, he had tried to turn me into his "female."
He tried to dominate my soul and steal my mana.
He intended to turn me into a slave who thought only of Zepar, then steal my mana and make me his underling.
'Disgusting bastard.'
I would have my revenge on Zepar without fail.
Merely for daring to imagine something so revolting toward me, the bastard deserved death, and though he was already dead as a lich, I would shatter his Life Vessel to pieces and burn even his soul so it could not pass to the underworld.
But first, before any of that....
"Kgh—!"
Surviving this violent torrent was the immediate priority.
'No pursuit! There's none, but...!'
Zepar did not chase me by leaping off the cliff.
He probably never imagined I would throw myself off a cliff.
Because my heart had been pierced.
Because I was undead.
Because I was a corpse that had to move according to his commands.
But I moved my body by my own free will.
'I took control.'
I made this body my own.
I anchored the mana flowing from my soul into this flesh and synchronized every sense so my soul could receive the body's sensations.
Now this body was mine. I could do with it as I pleased.
'Trying to control an undead with nothing but a heart.'
Zepar may have assumed he could control this body by using the heart as a ritual tool, but my soul could take control faster than the heart could.
If you cannot avoid it, accept it quickly.
I decided to accept this as "my body" and protect it as such.
The problem was that, as I recognized it as my body, the body's senses were gradually synchronizing as my own.
"Fuck!"
'It hurts like hell!'
Water was filling my chest through the hole.
The pain of my lungs being torn surged over me, and my whole body ached as if it would burst.
Caught in the torrent, water was pouring into my body.
Water was pouring in through the hole where my heart had been pierced.
I was using mana to hold water inside my body.
'I have to take in as much as the blood I lost.'
The blood could not be restored.
Because there was no heart.
Instead, I could make water flow through my whole body in place of blood.
Now that I was already undead, what needed to dwell in the water that would flow in place of blood was....
'Mana!'
Before I was summoned, this body had lost all its blood through its mouth and heart from the moment its heart was ripped out.
To make this body move as much like a human body as possible, I needed to circulate mana through it using natural water as the base.
'At least until I gather enough strength to switch to another body!'
To keep this non-undead body from rotting away after its heart had been ripped out, I had to keep mana flowing through it.
But it wasn't enough.
Even if I ignored the pain and hastily forced water into my body, I needed an organ to circulate that water.
Without a heart, the fluid inside my body would eventually drain out again.
So something had to take over the heart's role—
"!!"
I shot straight upward.
So I wouldn't lose it even in the torrent, I thrust my hand hard toward the ceiling.
Sploosh!!
I shoved my hand into the body of a slime clinging to the cave ceiling.
Squish!
From inside the creature, whose strong acidity seemed like it would melt my hand, I seized a hard object and ripped it out, yanking downward.
Squelch!
And I drove it into my chest.
Into the empty place where my heart had been, I drove the Mana Stone I had stolen from the slime.
Whoooom!
My heart began to glow.
I wrapped both arms around my chest and focused my entire mind on my mana.
The river water I had absorbed would become blood, carrying mana instead of oxygen and keeping the flesh from rotting.
So, please.
'Let me get out of this safely.'
I didn't know where the torrent would carry me, but as long as I didn't end up trapped in a woman's body and fucked by some pathetic lich, that was enough!
Whoosh!!
I surrendered my body to the light visible in the distance.
And then.
"Ah, a waterfall?"
I was swept out with the waterfall and plunged down.
Gurgle.
* * *
Hero Village.
It was a small forest village of fewer than a hundred people, with houses clustered around a central square.
What made it unusual was its five-hundred-year history.
Was it a village honoring the hero who fought the Demon King five hundred years ago? No.
Was it the village where the hero was born? No.
This village had a Holy Sword.
In the village square, a Holy Sword was planted upside down, a sword that could not be drawn except by a rightful hero.
That was why it was Hero Village.
To be precise, it was the village where a hero would be born.
But if such a village existed openly, the Demon King's remnants or the Demonfolk would never leave it alone to let a hero be born.
After the Great Demon King fell five hundred years ago, Demonfolk appeared from time to time calling themselves Great Dukes of the Demon Realm or claiming to be the Great Demon King's descendants, threatening humanity.
Even if they were not on the Great Demon King's level, they threatened humanity by destroying entire kingdoms.
Yet Hero Village was safe.
Why was it safe when it called itself Hero Village and possessed a sword that might have been the Holy Sword of a Hero who might have defeated the Great Demon King?
—Is this really a Holy Sword?
Why?
Five hundred years.
—A Holy Sword no one can draw, they say. I shall draw it and corrupt it into a Demon Swoooord!!
—Surround this village! If we kill them recklessly, some relative who left the village might awaken as a hero! So take them hostage and kill anyone who comes to draw the Holy Sword! ...What the hell, why hasn't anyone shown up in thirty years?
—Ugh, this is a Holy Sword? Disgusting.
—Hahaha! Saintess! Draw the Holy Sword! And then I'll kill you! ...Why can't a Saintess draw a Holy Sword? Are you really a Saintess?
Many things had happened around Hero Village, but it was because no one could draw the Holy Sword.
—This is total bullshit, goddammit.
The village chief even offered prayers toward the Holy Sword planted at the altar, vowing to uphold a tradition passed down for five hundred years, but the Demonfolk dismissed the village as nothing but bluster and paid it no mind.
The sword was quite sharp and beautiful, but the passage of time had begun to rust it.
Who could dare call a sword that had become an eyesore a Holy Sword? Unfortunately, no matter how anyone tried to repair or move the sword, not a single person could touch it.
The sword called a Holy Sword was truly strange.
Truly, no one could draw the sword.
Neither a renowned Mercenary King nor a Grand Sword Master could draw it.
Even a great scholar who had mastered magic and studied every ancient artifact could not figure out this bizarre sword.
If anyone had drawn the sword, they could at least have repaired it, sharpened the blade, or moved it, but none of that was possible.
In five hundred years, at least one rightful hero should have appeared, yet not a single one did.
And so, despite the village chief’s family denying it, one idea had become accepted as historical fact.
Hero Village...
Was nothing more than a "tourist village" built around a sword with some special curse on it.
And then.
In this small village, there was a young man with golden hair and blue eyes—Arthur Lucius.
Lucius.
He had no surname.
Commoners had no surnames, and his name was the only evidence left to him as an orphan.
One might expect an orphan like him to have some special past, but there was no way to find out.
Aside from being somewhat better-looking than others, no noble ever came looking for him, and no beautiful woman ever showed up calling him "Young Master Lucius."
He was just a slightly handsome young man who was good at hunting.
He was a hunter and lived a short distance outside the village.
He had once lived with the grandfather who took in the orphaned Arthur, but after the old man died, he lived alone in a remote spot, hunting animals.
That day's hunt was fishing.
Humming a tune, he was waiting for a big catch.
Waiting impatiently for a bite was a mindset a fisherman should not have.
A hunter must wait for the prey to approach the bait on its own.
But then.
"...Huh?"
Far away, he saw something floating along.
Drifting and bumping against rocks jutting up here and there, it looked exactly like a corpse.
"No way, a person?!"
Lucius left his fishing rod and immediately jumped into the water.
Not caring whether his clothes got wet, he swam with excellent skill toward the floating object drifting downstream.
"Hey! Are you okay?!"
"......Don't shout...."
The red-haired girl lifted her head from where it had been submerged in the water.
She was a flawless beauty, but eerily pale, with no sign of life in her.
She looked just like a doll.
In particular, her jewel-like red eyes were striking enough to seem uncanny.
"My head's ringing...."
"Ah, um, you're being swept downstream right now...."
"...Ah."
The girl firmly shook her head.
"I'm not a drowned corpse."
"......Yes, right."
"I was floating down the water because moving was too much trouble."
"......."
Lucius had picked up something strange.
"More importantly, how long are you going to keep holding onto me?"
"Huh? W-whoa!"
Startled, Lucius snatched his hands away.
Even in the water—or perhaps because of it—he could clearly feel the sensation.
Slosh, slosh.
"...Well, whatever. Hey."
The girl grabbed Lucius's wrist.
"You picked me up, so you take responsibility."
The girl called herself "Bel."