Unfading Memories
Some memories remain etched in the mind like titanium that never corrodes, like mercury accumulating in the body—persistent, refusing to fade. The unforgettable memory of being twelve. The day the flower garden and the fairy-tale world that seemed eternal came crashing down. The price her foolish older brother paid for eloping with the empress of the mighty Lydorphia Empire was an invasion. Imperial troops marched to conquer her tiny kingdom, a nation whose name would soon be erased from history.
Compared to the vast Lydorphia Empire, which ruled over dozens of great cities, Jeanne's homeland had been nothing more than a minor state with a single city as its territory. A kingdom in name only. The emperor, robbed of his wife, had been consumed by rage and surrounded the walls with a hundred thousand soldiers—more troops than the total population of Jeanne's country. Defeat was inevitable. The imperial army's torches burned so brightly at night that sleep was impossible.
The royal family hid in the palace, lamenting the doomed fate of their nation. Even young Jeanne was granted a separate palace as a refuge. That was the first time she had ever heard the word "death." The first time she began to truly comprehend the skull-shaped specter of mortality.
"The princess will surely die. We might live, though."
The maid who had always catered to Jeanne's whims suddenly spoke to the frightened child hiding beneath the bed.
"It was your brother who angered the emperor. Someone as insignificant as me isn't worth killing, so I'll probably survive. But you, Princess, will be executed without fail. Do you know what a guillotine is? It slices the head clean off. Just like cutting a potato."
"I... I don't want to die. I'm scared... I want to eat strawberry cake. When is teatime?"
"There is no cake or teatime after death. Whether you're a king or a commoner, once you die, your flesh rots, your skin peels away, and you become a skeleton buried in the ground."
In the pitch-black separate palace where not even a lamp could be lit for fear of discovery, Jeanne thought about death for the very first time. The illusion that life would continue forever was just that—an illusion. The threat of death had always been woven into the fabric of their world.
The same maid who had first introduced Jeanne to the concept of death was the first to perish, impaled by the spears of soldiers who stormed the palace. Jeanne herself was taken prisoner and came within a hair's breadth of execution, only to survive by sheer luck. That harrowing experience transformed the already timid girl into a petty coward obsessed with survival above all else.
Jeanne's life after that was never smooth. She crossed the threshold of death multiple times.
"Stay still, Jeanne. You're only eating because of my father, you know? A princess of a fallen kingdom!"
"P-please stop, Brother! We may not share blood, but we're still family, aren't we?"
"Family, my ass! Once Father dies, I'll become the head of the ducal house. And when that happens, I'll make you my concubine... Think of this as earning points with the future head of the family."
"Eek!"
The eldest son of the ducal family that had adopted her pressed a dagger to Jeanne's throat. The young master, who had long eyed her growing body with unsettling interest, had finally lost control of his lust. Fortunately, the duke heard her screams and intervened. It was the decisive moment that led to her being sent to the knight academy.
If the duke hadn't appeared in time, what would Jeanne have done? Would she have fought to protect her chastity, even at the cost of her life?
—No. She would have knelt before the cold blade and accepted her unjust fate. Because nothing terrified her more than dying. Because she was someone who would do anything to survive.
Life at the knight academy was isolating and grueling, but Jeanne endured. She survived by any means necessary. To avoid death. To keep on living.
—And now, the footsteps of the reaper, closer than ever before, echoed chillingly in her ruptured eardrums.
"GRAAAAAAGH!!! Who the hell shot me with an arrow?! How dare you shatter the arm of Mapharlok, King of the Balrogs! I won't forgive this!"
"...It wasn't me... P-please... spare me... I beg you..."
"You're still a member of the Hero Party, aren't you?! You're comrades with the one who shot me!"
"No... I'm just a woman with no connection to the Hero Party... Please let me live..."
"Don't make me laugh! I saw you call the Hero 'my lord.' And now you're lying without even wetting your lips? Even among demons, lying is considered dishonorable!"
Jeanne's skull, already subjected to repeated full-force poundings against the ground, had suffered severe damage and was now concussed. Desperately clinging to her fading vision, she chased after Werther's retreating back.
"Lord Werther... Please... I'll do anything you ask... *cough*! The party is disbanded, my power is gone—what am I supposed to do now...? I can't return to the knight academy or the duke's mansion... *cough*!"
Blood streaming down her forehead pooled in her eyelashes before falling like tears. It was too late for regrets now, but there had been a time when she maintained a good relationship with the porter. For the first month after they met, they had been quite close—until Jeanne deliberately distanced herself from him to reinvent her image.
"I want to live... I want to live I want to live... I don't want to die... Someone save me..."
"Who cares. Die."
"..........."
Mapharlok smashed Jeanne's head against the rock as if cracking an eggshell. The woman who had screamed so loudly with every blow made no sound this time. The surface of the rock was stained crimson with blood, and the former knight lay limp on the ground, motionless.
"No way...! J-Jeanne...!!"
"This can't be happening!"
"Aaah... I don't want to believe it!!"
The Hero Party approached, bracing for the worst. Theresa, who had been preparing to cast healing magic with joined hands, gasped and held her breath. The spell wouldn't activate. Because there was no life left to heal. In other words, Jeanne was dead. Biologically dead. Just to be sure, they checked for a pulse, but there was no heartbeat.
"Kuhahaha! Why bother checking? Did you really think I, Mapharlok, couldn't kill a single insect caught in my grasp? Don't look so shocked. It's ridiculous to think you wouldn't die fighting demons. This isn't some children's game. Our lord Bael died too, didn't he? At your hands. Did you really think you'd be the only ones with zero casualties? In this world?!"
Theresa caressed the cold corpse, shedding mournful tears. This was war. This was death. This was reality. If they had believed that being the Hero Party meant they wouldn't die, they had been gravely mistaken. The Hero Party was a group that had been completely wiped out without exception throughout history. Otherwise, the final Hero Party that defeated the Demon King and became legends would still exist in this world. Since all their predecessors had died, it was now their turn.
"You're next, Hero. The one who killed Lord Bael."
"Aaaaaagh!! I-I had nothing to do with it! Werther told me to kill him, so I had no choice! Please spare me, Demon Lord! You can kill anyone else you want... Th-that's right! I'll give you internal information about Lydorphia! I'll devote myself to the Demon King's army! So please— Aaaaaagh! D-don't squeeze my head so hard! I-it feels like it's going to burst!!"
"Wow, this bastard is trash even by demon standards. I can't believe this guy's actually the Hero. How the hell did someone like this become the chosen one?"
"Aaaaaaaaagh!!!!"
Mapharlok lifted Leonhart's head like a trophy. The Balrog's sharp claws tore through Leonhart's scalp, sending blood streaming down.
"Is there no one willing to die in this bastard's place? I'll accept volunteers. If even one person steps forward to help him, I might spare his life. He's the Hero, after all—the hope of humanity. I'll give you the chance to die for him. Aren't you honored?"
"\"...............\""
"What? Not a single one? Hey! Beg them to save you! Put on an entertaining show for me!"
"Aaaagh!! Y-yes, Lord Demon! I understand!"
Leonhart spoke to his despairing comrades, forcing his voice into the most amicable tone he could manage.
"G-guys. Please save me... Okay? I-I'm the Hero. The hope of humanity... You know that, right? If I die... the D-Demon King will swallow the world, the continent of Pangaea... S-so... anyone, please die in my place. Okay? Then you'll go down in history as the hero who saved the world. I-I'll make sure you're remembered as a hero. So... please? Isn't there anyone who'll die for me?"
"..........."
"..........."
"..........."
Theresa, Cynthia, and Sharon all remained silent. Their faces had gone deathly pale, as if merely listening to Leonhart's words filled them with revulsion. It seemed they were barely restraining the urge to cover their ears.
Leonhart grew increasingly frantic.
"Hey, hey!! Can't you hear me? Die for me! You're my subordinates, aren't you?!"
"W-we're more like comrades than subordinates. Equals..."
"What the hell are you saying, Theresa?! You fucking— Hey! Don't you believe in God? Even if you die, you'll go to heaven anyway, so it doesn't matter, right? Die for me! If you sacrifice yourself to save humanity, you'll become a goddess like Saint Irene!"
"...Saint Irene died for the first Hero. The first Hero was the strongest in history—he killed the Four Heavenly Kings and left the Demon King on the brink of death... I-I'm sorry, but dying for you won't make you a goddess like Saint Irene..."
"You fucking bitch! Then... fine! Sharon! You save me!"
"Huh? I don't mind just saving you, but dying in your place is... We're not that close, are we?"
"What the fuck did you say, you slave elf bitch?! Do you want to go back to being paraded through human villages?! Save me if I tell you to!! That's an order!!"
"What is this... You don't have any power over me anymore... I'm not scared, and I don't want to die for someone who's threatening me... Yeah. Sorry, Leonhart."
"Sorry? Why are you apologizing? What does sorry even mean? It means you're going to let me die, doesn't it, you elf bitch! Uwaaaah!! After everything I did for you!"
"...Hmm. Sorry. I don't really remember you doing anything particularly nice for me."
"Kuh! That's why they say never take in yellow-haired beasts... Fine! Cynthia! You're the only one left! Save me! You'll become the legendary mage who saved the Hero!"
"Ah. I can't either. Sorry. 'You're the only one left' isn't really a compelling reason for me to sacrifice myself. I have things I still want to do while I'm alive..."
"You fucking bastards!!!! I'm the Hero!! If we're ranking who needs to be saved, I'm number one, right?! What happens to the Demon King if I die!!! Do you want humanity to be destroyed?!"
"Um... Leonhart. This might not be the right time to say this, but the Hero title is passed down through generations. Even if you die, the Church will simply receive a divine revelation and select the next Hero."
"Shut the fuck up!! Theresa!!!!"
Abandoned by his entire party, Leonhart thrashed about pathetically, urine soaking through his clothes. Mapharlok, who hadn't expected the Hero to be so universally despised, scratched his cheek before noticing a spectator standing apart from the farce—Werther, who had been waiting to witness Leonhart's final moments.
"Hey, Hero. Wasn't that guy your comrade too? Try asking him."
"Huh...?"
Mapharlok twisted Leonhart's head toward Werther. The last thread of hope left for Leonhart was now Werther alone.
"W-Werther... Werther. Y-you've always helped us. Honestly, I couldn't say it, but I was always grateful... In truth, you were our real hero... *sob*... I just couldn't be honest. I admit it... I'm a fool, an incompetent Hero, but... for someone like me, just once, just this once—won't you help me?"
"No."
"At least pretend to think about it, you fucking porter—!"
Mapharlok didn't give Leonhart time to curse at the porter. Balrogs were impulsive creatures by nature. His patience had long since run out. It had been quite difficult to hold the ant without killing it while adjusting his strength.
"I'm sick of this, you bastard. Just die already."
"S-stop...! Please stop...! H-hey, Werther! J-just this once, help me! M-my head!! You fucking— You're basically an immortal slime that won't die even if your head gets crushed, so you should help me at a time like this, you selfish bastard! Aaaagh!! I-it hurts!! It hurts, I said! Wait! It really hurts! My head is splitting! Ooooh!!! It's really cracking! I heard the sound of bones breaking!"
"You mean this sound?"
*Crack.*
With the sound of a skull splitting, brain matter scattered through the air. Another life had just met its end.