The Storm Rages On
The storm continued to intensify. Night Dew rubbed his arms, covered in goosebumps. It wasn't from the cold. It was instinct. The sharp intuition of a mage who saw the future was warning him. Flee. Run now. Night Dew ignored the alarm bells of his instincts. He had work to do.
Night Dew had overheard the entire conversation between Ellis and Marhal. He lacked superhuman physical prowess, but he had a knack for eavesdropping. Even he was shocked by the truth that spilled from the self-proclaimed Hero's guide. That demons were artificially created beings, and Princess Soila had fallen into someone's trap to become the Demon King who destroyed the West? It was hard to believe, even hearing it from the source. It seemed more plausible that the man was a pathological liar with delusions, and everything was a fabrication.
But Night Dew couldn't dismiss Marhal's words. The name Soila Muesilrigo wasn't something a mere delusional patient would conjure. The same went for Hero Basta. It was a tragedy. Something that shouldn't have happened. But it was reality. The scent of damp earth pulled Night Dew back to that reality. Before him stood a knight holding a burning sword amid the storm. There was no killing intent from the knight. It seemed he'd abandoned any thought of fighting.
"Hey, mage."
"What is it?"
"Is this part of the future you saw too?"
The question struck right at the core from an unexpected angle. Night Dew's composure cracked. Strekl sneered at him.
"Guess not."
"So you know about karma too. It's not easy to reach that level without understanding it."
"Don't change the subject. I'm asking if you saw this."
He hadn't. In the future he'd seen, Ellis spoke with the man standing there, then died to a surprise attack from a demon in her moment of carelessness. Night Dew didn't know the details of their conversation. He only remembered Ellis's final scream. But the future had changed. Ellis hadn't died. And in the future he'd seen, it wasn't raining. Why? What had altered the future? He'd glimpsed hundreds of large and small futures, and they had all become reality. Sometimes the future tried to shift. When it did, his magic reacted without fail, and Night Dew worked to steer it back on course. But this time, there'd been no omen. The future had simply vanished. The mystery and history he harbored showed no response. It was as if his future-sight magic had disappeared.
"Is that your answer? You're not as composed as you seem. Or is it the words of someone who relies only on the future?"
"Then you understand this phenomenon?"
"A little."
Marhal had said he'd forgiven the Demon King. If you asked settlers who'd lost their homes whether they could forgive the demons and Demon King, most wouldn't even utter the word. Strekl was the same. Forgive demons? No. He couldn't. He'd lost too much to them. He couldn't even joke about forgiving them. Marhal had lost his homeland to demons. His family. Five hundred years of Bachea Empire history. The man who should hate demons more than anyone had forgiven the Demon King. He'd said the unspeakable words to her face. Acted on them. Accumulated that karma. Strekl didn't know the weight of that resolve. He didn't even want to know, honestly. It was a burden too heavy for a mere mortal like him. One thing was certain: Marhal was the only one in the world qualified to hold the Demon King accountable. And he'd forgiven her.
"What the hell is going on? What's happening here?"
Night Dew was a mage. A soul devoted to exploring mysteries. The type who'd throw away his life for curiosity. He couldn't bear Strekl's attitude, as if he knew something. Something here had changed even the future? A mystery unfolding that even he, a mystery tracker mage, couldn't sense?
"Suppose someone stabs you in the gut. You barely recover and get out of bed, and now someone's trying to stab the same spot again. Could you stand for that?"
"What do you—"
"Imagine it. You couldn't, right? You'd want to kill the bastard."
Strekl had heard the truth of that day from Marhal. The alliance of two empires, and the betrayal. The West had fallen to the Muet Empire's scheme. And now the Empire was trying to drag the barely reviving West back into the mire with the same method. Marhal didn't even need to move. Before he could react, the history within him responded first. It raged. Strekl had witnessed the manifestation of history, the fury of history. The heavens stirred. Thunderclouds heavy with rain gathered and descended to earth. Reverse Heaven. Enraged history defied the natural order.
Bayola was half out of her mind. Her eyes, staring at the sky from where she sat slumped on the ground, were half-glazed. No intelligence in her pupils. It had been like this since hearing the Demon King's name. Marin slapped her cheek. Hard enough to knock out a normal person's teeth. Bayola's head snapped to the side. Rainwater on her face sprayed everywhere.
"Hey! Snap out of it! Wanna die?!"
Marin looked up at the sky. Clouds were descending. She had no clue what phenomenon this was. They had to run. They couldn't get near those clouds. She yanked Bayola by the collar.
"Didn't you run from the palace to survive? You gonna die here, you idiot bitch?!"
"Sis... Soila sis is the Demon King? No way... No way that's true!"
"Who cares who it is! Clinging to the dead changes nothing!"
"You don't know, you don't understand!"
"What?"
Marin's eyes turned red. Her hand shifted from Bayola's collar to her throat. Marin straddled her and squeezed with both hands. Bayola's face went pale under the superhuman grip. Faced with death's threat, her reason returned. The first thing recovered Bayola saw was Marin's face. Wet hair clung to it. A raindrop followed Marin's gaze and fell onto Bayola's face.
"Don't know? You think I don't know? My parents died as demon bait. Grandma's illness worsened without money for treatment, and she passed at home. I lost my home, my homeland, my family! What more do I need to know? What more do I gotta lose to satisfy you?!"
"Marin."
The voice from the side made the red glow fade from Marin's eyes. She froze. Then slowly turned her head, like a kid caught playing a prank.
"Lord Marhal, this is..."
"Take Bayola and run first. As far as you can."
"Got i—"
Marin, about to obey, spotted the Reverse Heaven descending from the sky. Fallen clouds formed a human shape. Black body, blue eyes crackling with lightning glaring down at them.
"Lord Marhal?"
Marhal grabbed Marin's arm and pulled her up. Then gently pushed her back.
"It's fine. Go. I've got something to handle."
"That's... not something humans can fight."
"Places like the Demon King's castle were crawling with those things."
"But Lord Marhal, you..."
"A guide has to be able to protect at least himself. And you think I've been slacking for over ten years? Hugo! Back them up."
Marin pulled Bayola to her feet. Hugo protected the two. The trio moved away from the storm's center. Marhal took a deep breath.
"Well, what now."
Ahead: one deranged knight. Behind her: one demon cowering in fear. Above: one mystery born of history's fury. His heart pounded. The karma within the man called Marhal raged. The resentment he'd barely suppressed erupted, urging him to claim blood for half the world. Curse it! Curse it! Curse the world! Blood for blood, half the world for half the world! You never should have forgiven! Sound the prelude to belated vengeance! A curse that would drive an ordinary person mad. But Marhal wasn't ordinary. The last successor of the Bachea Empire's five hundred years. An emperor unfit to rule lacks the people's heart, but one swayed by it lacks the right to govern.
"Marhal Muneduus is here."
The wind stopped. Falling rain hung in the air. For the first time since the Bachea Empire vanished and Marhal reclaimed the Paulownia Crown from the Demon King, the emperor's name resounded, and the world bowed. But one being opposed the emperor's will head-on. The Reverse Heaven giant bent at the waist. Wind blew, and suspended droplets fell to earth again. A massive hand extended, finger pressing down to crush the demon. A demon that might take a knight order to subdue burst under the cloud finger and died. Beside it, mad Ellis laughed maniacally, throat tearing. The giant's gaze turned to Ellis. To it, formed from the West's grudges, she was a sinner who couldn't be overlooked, just like the demon.
"Enough."
The giant paused at Marhal's word but only briefly. Its will was firm. Kill the woman. Kill the fleeing vermin. Exterminate all life in the East. The price of spilled blood must be an equal measure of blood. The giant began spewing black clouds from its body. Demon black mist. At that scale and speed, it'd blanket the Border in less than a day. Marhal furrowed his brow. Even the falling rain bowed to the imperial presence, yet this insolent giant defiled it. The Pen of Responsibility slipped from his sleeve into his hand.
I didn't bring it to use like this.
Marhal pointed the quill pen at the giant. The giant's body halted. Its blue eyes fixed on Marhal. Lightning-forged eyes, gaze as intense as thunderbolts.
"Your king entrusted it to me. You entrusted it to me. And this is my choice. You denying it?"
You lack the right to be our proxy! We never made that choice! We'll find a new proxy! A new master of history!
The Reverse Heaven giant broke free of the Pen of Responsibility's power and moved. Its target: Ellis. Black mist enveloped her. A sight that dredged up bad memories for Marhal. Identical to the birth of demons, the birth of the Demon King.
"...What a pain."
Drawing the Paulownia Crown here would mock the emperor's symbol. Marhal approached nearby Strekl.
"Not running?"
"If that thing goes berserk, nowhere's safe. That's what it wants—world's end. Right?"
"Can't argue that. Lend me your sword?"
"As long as it returns to its owner."
Strekl handed over his sword. Flames reignited in Marhal's hand.
"This sword's true master is Strekl, no matter what anyone says. I'm just borrowing it."
"Appreciated. But you know swordsmanship? Thought you said your own strength was pathetic."
Aside from a few tricks, Marhal's physical abilities fell short of a low knight. If even half his accumulated history had gone to his body, he'd crush Strekl with one hand. But real Marhal couldn't even block Cliff the Wild Dog Knight's ambush.
"Complicated reasons, but basically yes."
"Exception now, huh."
"Yeah. Not a good thing."
"Can tell."
The cloud giant spewing mist from its whole body looked ready to end the world tomorrow.
"During my travels, and for years after. Learned this and that. Swordsmanship, miracles, magic, thievery."
He'd guessed from seeing Marhal use magic and miracles. Still, Strekl couldn't suppress the shiver. Swordsmanship, magic, thievery, miracles. Things anyone with money could learn. Even church miracles, strictly controlled, could be bought from corrupt priests for basic wound healing. It wasn't the skills—it was who taught them. If Marhal learned something, the teachers were set: Hero, mage, saint, thief. The superhumans called inhuman, their techniques and history.
"You know? That Hero—more Demon King than one—first grabbed a sword when he heard demons were devouring the West. Said it was to save people."
"Fits the name."
"Think so too. Spent all he had on a decent blade, and first day holding it? Cut iron."
"...What?"
Strekl doubted his ears. The Hero's extraordinary nature was well-known. Guessing he 'accumulated well' wasn't hard. Otherwise, no human could cleave the sky. But iron on day one? A talented human inheriting a solid lineage's history, training over ten years to barely reach that realm—on day one?
"Day two, killed a notorious mercenary terrorizing a village. By month's end, could cut things his sword couldn't even reach."
Marhal had inherited that monster's history. Marhal had forgiven the Demon King. Ended the slaughter that devoured half the world and the inevitable revenge drama to follow. Not enough. Demons were special. History without rememberers loses power, but demons' history retained strength even if all vanished. He sought to vent that grudge. Needed a vessel for lost demon history—Marhal's history. Normally, Marhal sealed demon history with his own. Something no Hero, thief, saint, or mage could do. Only one in the world. Only Marhal.
The chains binding Marhal vanished. Dormant history reared its head. The true history of the man Marhal revealed itself. Fire clung to the sword. Not the massive blaze Strekl wielded. The relic's flames dwelled in the blade, reddening only the edge. Strekl knew instinctively: that was the sword's true use. One who wielded relics freely needed no showy flames. Just an unbreakable blade.
"About a year. Learned swordsmanship from that damn monster. Got to mimic him."
Marhal spread his feet front and back. Not a sword stance—like hurling a heavy object. Marhal swung as if throwing the sword. The sky split.