But the way that Kurgan stood tall there, that gallant figure unmoved even by a mortal wound to the neck—it was so noble and powerful that Garfiel couldn't help but shudder. A true champion among champions.
" "
Finally, slowly, Kurgan turned to Garfiel.
The war god quietly crossed his eight arms before the warrior lying on the ground looking up at him. "—Marvelous."
With a single word in a deep, solemn voice, he commended his opponent.
"Ahh…"
He did not even have the time to respond.
As Garfiel's eyes widened, Kurgan's body suddenly collapsed.
His body crumbled like sand as the hero transformed into a mound of ash. With an all too abrupt end, the dead warrior returned to death. It was a merciless conclusion.
"…Heroic doesn't even begin to describe it…"
Garfiel muttered in dismay at how the war god disappeared, turning into a pile of ashes.
Kurgan had not clung to a shameful life. It was only natural for the result of their deathmatch to end in such an unfulfilling way.
Which was why Garfiel could not help but be struck by a naive, immature, and weak sense of sentimentality.
"Ahh, crap…I'm seriously…gonna die…"
Having bled out too much, Garfiel laid down on the floor and exhaled slowly.
Absorbing power from the earth with his blessing, he gathered as much mana as he could to heal his wounds. It had been a fight where a normal person would have died a hundred times over at least. His instincts were telling him that if he passed out, he would die.
But even so, as he was trying to heal himself, his mind was slowly, gradually drifting toward a white emptiness—
"Gorgeous Tiger!"
What stopped him was a teary voice.
His brother and sister were running through the puddles to him. Other people seemed to be running over, too, but all he could see was the two of them.
They looked like they were crying— No, they were crying.
That made sense. Anyone could see that Garfiel's condition was not good. And an expert would only be able to say it was a miracle he was still alive at all.
Garfiel had undoubtedly been straddling the line between life and death for too long.
But for just this one moment, not as a warrior but— "…Don't go cryin' over me."
Without realizing it, he smiled like an older brother to his younger siblings, who did not know the truth.
Hearing that, his brother bawled, and his sister blushed furiously.
"D-don't be stupid! I'm not crying! Just get some rest! We'll—we'll… find a healer for you…gh…"
"I…gotta do somethin'…first…"
Garfiel shook his head as his little sister managed to both be worried and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. His face still covered in blood, he tried to reach into a pocket in his waistcloth.
It was no good, though. His arm was too weak. He could not even do that much.
"Is this it, Gorgeous Tiger…?"
Seeing that Garfiel could barely move, his brother pulled what he was looking for out of the soaked and bloody pocket—the conversation mirror.
The metia that had been handed out before leaving in expectation of a difficult fight.
Lust had not been waiting at the control tower—so where had she gone?
"I gotta tell…"
"I-I'll do it for you."
Hearing Garfiel's wheezing words, his sister took the mirror from their little brother's hand and activated it. There was a faint light in the mirror as it connected to another mirror.
"Wh-what should I say?" "Hold it…here… I'll…"
Garfiel's sister nervously held the gleaming mirror to Garfiel's face.
Looking into it, he waited for a response from the other end.
Praying that his comrades were okay.
The mirror flashed in order to deliver the message he had to send—
3
—Barely hanging on, Garfiel's prayer reached out into darkening night of Pristella.
"Run, run, run, run, run, run!"
Three people were racing through the night in a desperate flight.
Exposed to the depredations of the Archbishop of Lust, who had abandoned her tower, they were now careening through the darkness with their collapsed headquarters at their backs.
"—Ngh."
Swinging his sword, Al cut into the swarm of demi-beasts, already covered in a sheen of black blood as he ran.
He didn't have any attention to spare for the path they were taking. He had his hand full dealing with the swarm of demi-beasts leaping at him. While he was holding down the rear, the other two were running falteringly over difficult terrain.
They were moving slowly, and it was just a matter of time until the demibeasts caught up to them.
" "
After setting the demi-beasts in motion, Lust promptly left and had long since disappeared.
It was hard to trust her sneering declaration of being done for the day, but the three of them had no time to bother investigating it, either.
—They were just fighting, killing, and running in order to stay alive.
All things considered, that was really all living was. The heat of the blood, the crying wounds, the prayers falling on deaf ears, and the dreams unfulfilled came together in the night sky.
And the demi-beasts continued to chase as the three of them ran with all their might to escape impending death—
"—Very well, merciful as I am, I shall grant thy request."
That instant, a flame scorched the night sky as the dying throes of the demi-beasts echoed.
The three of them stopped to see what had happened. And when they did, what they saw was a crimson woman descending slowly from the sky— "—Horde of the lost drowning in unending dreams, gods without praise." A certain poetic verse crossed pink lips.
It was a beautiful voice, like a goddess descended from the heavens above. Her hair, like the sunset, spread across her white back as she stood there.
She smiled while holding a red, gleaming blade in one hand and a mirror glimmering with a white light in the other.
"I ask not any poor praise—simply call my name."
As she said that, she swung her blade, unleashing a blazing flame across the cityscape.
The demi-beasts touched by the spreading flash were swallowed up in the ensuing inferno and turned to ash. It was genuine mercy and simultaneously a lamentation.
For those demi-beasts, who were victims whose bodies were used unnaturally, their lives twisted incomprehensibly, their souls warped irrationally.
"Kill every last one of them! Grant them a proper death!"
"Of course."
She nodded in response to the knight with flaxen cat ears, who cried out in pain.
The man in the black helmet slumped to the ground, watching the woman in a kimono wheezing as she tried to catch her breath.
The crimson woman raised her sword high in the air and brought it down on the demi-beasts as if splitting the moon.
The blade fell on the beings whose lives had been toyed with, who had been pulled from death, whose flesh had been torn away from their rest into pitiful and twisted fates.
"Such a living death is unsightly—so I shall slay every last one of you."
"—Raaahhhh!"
The demi-beasts howled, having lost even the instinct to fear death and avoid pain. The swarm did not hesitate to throw their lives to waste as a flame to scorch the whole city swelled, cremating all of them at once.
"—Pitiful people who desire despair and mistook prayers for wishes."
The voice of a goddess rang out again, reciting another poetic passage while she swung her crimson blade as if in a dance.
They were not her words, though, but the words of a bard who had recorded a poem for posterity. However, the feelings imbued in it were unfaded, overcoming the walls of time to console the pitiful beings. "—Thus ends the farce with thunderous applause!" The flame purified all.
"—A parting ovation!"
—They were returned to ash without leaving anything behind. It was a true act of mercy.
CHAPTER 4
THE LOVE SONG OF THE SWORD DEVIL—FRAGMENT
1
A sharp attack, flying sparks, a white-haired man and red-haired woman dancing in the moonlight.
Their performance was fate as they continued to compose a miraculous display of swordsmanship.
" "
Stopping the attack of the beautiful and sweet, young Theresia's blade head-on, Wilhelm clenched his jaw, feeling the steel rebound in his hand from the force of her blow.
How long had passed since the start of the battle?
Seconds, minutes, hours? Garfiel, who had embarked with him on the fight to rescue the city, was nowhere to be found.
Wilhelm could feel in the air that Garfiel was still locked in a battle to the death with the corpse soldier, Eight-Arms Kurgan. In the distance, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the control tower that had been their goal disappearing from the sky as it collapsed.
That youngling had undoubtedly completed the mission, no thanks to this failure of a Sword Devil.
If so, then it was a stroke of good fortune, and he could not begin to express his gratitude.
Because thanks to him, Wilhelm van Astrea would be able to challenge his limits once again.
"Raaaaaaah!"
A date with a sword, an impossible reunion, a desecration of the loving time he had spent with his wife.
Wilhelm roared, resolved to destroy this false paradise in order to bring that moment to an end. And Theresia swung her peerless blade to meet the Sword Devil head-on.
—Her expression remained unmoved.
She was always quick to smile, quick to get annoyed, quick to pout.
When silent, she was beautiful like a sword, but she was hardly ever silent.
She was a woman like a field of flowers blooming in the warm sun.
—Except now, there was sadness. Sadness and nothing more.
"Even when worry and doubt fill your mind before taking up the sword, it ends once you draw your sword. You always understood that far better than I ever did."
In order to defeat Theresia, he had to achieve a level of swordsmanship that surpassed hers.
That had been Wilhelm's conclusion at the time, and the Sword Devil had in fact achieved that feat through ascetic training, shedding every bit of himself until all that remained was a single sword.
And having experienced that, he could state with confidence:
—Your swordsmanship is marvelous, but there's a cloudiness in the strength of your blade.
"Do you remember when we parted? Before the expedition, you shook free from me when I tried to stop you. When you gave me this unhealing scar on my shoulder? —I have never forgotten what passed between us then." There was no answer. He never expected one.
It was just a rite Wilhelm used to reflect on that day. He remembered the day a sweetly throbbing wound that refused to heal was carved into his shoulder, forever engraving that moment into his mind.
The words Theresia said after pushing Wilhelm away to go on that fateful expedition.
—When I come back, let me finally hear your answer.
"I've come to fulfill my promise—!"
His swords cried out as they repelled Theresia's longsword completely.
He could read it. He knew the arcs it would take. He knew where she would aim like the back of his hand.
He knew with loving detail just how her sword would flash and reach forward.
"Rrrrrghhhhh!"
Her habits were the same. Her techniques were the same.
The desperation to reach her level, the searing drive that scorched his soul when he swore to defeat her and steal the sword from her hands.
It was the same swordsmanship as that of the woman he had dreamed of all those days. The same swordsmanship as that of the woman he loved with all his heart.
" "
Her beautiful visage was utterly unmoved by Wilhelm's plea. Silent and emotionless, she continued her attack. And the Sword Devil's two swords cut down every last one of them.
This was the love of his life, the one person he could picture even with eyes closed. That was exactly why he loved her without averting his eyes.
"—Hngh."
From above, slashing back, a thrust, a twist, two crossing slashes at the shoulders—
Blocking an attack aimed at his head, he deflected the reverse slash, dodged the following thrust, turned his body with the returning twist, locked blades with the first and then the second crossing slash before mounting a counterattack.
There was a trace of emotion in Theresia's eyes as she watched the Sword Devil— No, it was just his imagination. It was nothing more than a remnant of his weakness being evoked by the scene that was repeating itself.
Yes, the same scenario had occurred once before. In which case, the result would also be— "Theresiaaaa!!!"
And as they locked blades so close together, they could see themselves in each other's eyes. Wilhelm created his greatest chance of victory in their tryst.
Unleashing an attack with all his strength to draw the curtain on their impossible reunion—
—Or at least, he attempted to end it.
"Ngh."
The swell of emotion caught in his throat as he saw her usual expressions.
Her tears, her anger, her pout, her smile—all those and more always appeared on that same lovely face.
Casting all that aside, Wilhelm thrust straight at her neck and chest—
" "
That moment, a figure appeared out of the corner of his eye.
With his extreme focus, it would normally have been impossible for an extraneous thought to interrupt him. He was a swordsman in the middle of a life-and-death struggle. That was how the Sword Devil should be.
That was how he should have been. He should have been able to manage that much.
—If only that figure had been a stranger.
"—Pops?"
There was some distance between them.
That questioning murmur should not have been audible to Wilhelm. And yet it sounded almost as if it was being whispered in his ear.
The red-haired, blue-eyed man was looking at him.
—Heinkel Astrea was watching in the moment where everything hung in the balance.
He was watching, stunned at the sight of his father, Wilhelm, trying to kill his mother, Theresia.
" "
And in that moment, Wilhelm's attack wavered.
He had unleashed what should have been a decisive blow that contained every bit of his strength.
A blow that would bring a close to this battle and end this nightmare.
But there was a screech of steel on steel; as what should have been a mortal blow was transformed into an ungainly slash. The failure to seamlessly join his mind, body, and technique resulted in a failure to end things.
—Why had he noticed?
No, why had he not been able to ignore it?
If he had not noticed Heinkel or if he had been able to ignore him, if he had been able to stay resolute in loving Theresia and Theresia alone, he would not have allowed such an unsightly mistake to occur.
I vowed to steal Theresia away from the god of the sword if it took all my life. And yet I blunder like this?
"—Ngh."
His focus was broken, and now something was lacking in their resumed duel. An impurity had seeped into his blade. The Sword Devil, who had forged himself into a pure steel blade, was already no longer there.
All that remained was a lone, aged swordsman crossing blades with his beloved wife while his only son watched—
Because of that, what happened next was only natural.
"—Ngh?!"
Stopping the force of her longsword, Wilhelm took a half step back from the impact. The moment he tried to push her back, her slender frame twisted before his eyes, creating a momentary opening. His upper body wavered, which created a gap.
An instant later, he watched as the longsword pierced his right leg.
" "
It pushed clean through the old swordsman's thigh, but the blade was stained by only the barest amount of blood. There was no unnecessary destruction, passing through the muscle and network of nerves, a feat of supreme skill that stole away the function of his leg while doing nothing more.
Wilhelm shuddered as he experienced that demonstration of skill on his own leg. He could not say whether it was a shudder of frustration, aspiration, yearning, love, or all of them at once.
He did not know. But what he did know was the fact that he had been defeated.
"Ngh…ugh…"
The blade slipped noiselessly from his leg just the way it had entered. Feeling the pain and loss of blood, the old swordsman groaned as he dropped to his knee.
As long as the blessing of the grim reaper was active, the wounds on his body would never heal. The cut on his stomach, and this hole in his leg. He would keep bleeding until he died.
"…Mortifying…"
A dull throb seared his brain as a single grieving word passed his lips before a cry of agony had time to emerge.
A white-hot blaze seemed to consume his body, but he could ignore the pain. He could endure that. But the despair he felt at his powerlessness, at his foolishness—that was not something he could overcome.
—Who could escape from the hell of one's own name?
" "
Dropping one of his swords, Wilhelm pressed his hand to the wound.
His lifeblood was flowing out. The wound would never heal and, in due time, would transform the man named Wilhelm into a dried-out and tragic corpse.
It was an inescapable fate.
But—
"I shan't go alone…"
—with one hand on his wound, not knowing when to give up, he readjusted his grip on his other sword.
He lost, and that could not be helped anymore. But he could not die while leaving Theresia like that.
"Theresia, I…"
Gripping her longsword, Theresia looked down on Wilhelm as he knelt in a pool of blood.
As expected, there was no emotion in her eyes. To the very end, she did not remember anything, did not think anything—a beautiful goddess of death who had come only to claim Wilhelm's life.
He had to stop his wife. If he could not even do that, if she turned her blade on Crusch and Subaru, the people to whom he owed so much—
If it is not enough to merely burn the last of my life, then let my soul be destroyed in death, too.
Even if his head was removed the moment he attacked, he would stop Theresia.
The final flame ignited in Wilhelm's eyes as that resolve grew in his heart
—
"—Theresia?"
—but that moment's resolve did not come.
In the silence, Wilhelm felt fear at Theresia's empty eyes. And the Sword Devil, who had accepted that final duty as a swordsman and as her husband, experienced a terrible, instinctive shock.
There was no need to finish off prey that had taken a mortal wound.
It was the cold and rational decision of a goddess of death and not the pride of a woman who lived by the sword. "Wa…it… Wait, Theresia!"
Without realizing it, Wilhelm had shouted in fear.
Forgetting the pain of his wounds, Wilhelm tried to grab onto Theresia. But she took half a step backward, evading his hand. She was beyond his reach. And she turned her back, her red ponytail swaying as she grew distant.
Slowly, as if Wilhelm shouting behind her was beneath her.
—Her feet were carrying her toward Heinkel, who was standing stockstill.
"Eep."
After defeating the enemy who stood before her, her fiendish blade welcomed the arrival of a new quarry. Cutting down the man she did not recognize was her husband, she would next cut down the man she did not recognize was her son. And so—
"Stop, Theresia! Do you… Do you think I'll allow that?! Fight me! Look at me… Look at me! Look at me, Theresiaaaa!!!"
He roared Theresia's name. Like a desperate animal, he forced strength into his leg, beckoning more blood loss as he called after her. He shouted, anger welling in place of the love that always filled his voice when he spoke her name.
But she did not turn back.
She wielded a technique that took full advantage of the reaper's strength, her feet carrying her toward Heinkel. And gulping as she approached him, Heinkel drew the sword at his waist with a quivering hand.
"No way." He shook his head like a child in denial. "You're lying, right?
'Theresia'? That's impossible…! It can't be Mom…"
" "
"No! Even if it isn't Mom…th-there's no way Dad would lose… Shit!
What is this?! What the hell is going on?!" The young Theresia was drawing closer.
Heinkel refused to acknowledge that as his mother. Trying to reject the scene before his eyes as just a nightmare, Heinkel was left sputtering a meaningless stream of words.
His knees shuddered, and he could not focus as he weakly gripped his knight's sword. There was no way he could face the former Sword Saint for even one clash like that.
If nothing changed, Heinkel would unmistakably be cut down by Theresia.
Wilhelm could not allow that to happen.
"Theresia! Here! I'm still alive! If you're going to kill, then kill me first!
Heinkel! You can't face her! Run now!"
Driving his sword into the ground, Wilhelm used it as support to lever himself to his feet. The bleeding worsened, and his head felt like it was about to split from the pain. But he pressed forward, leaving a trail of red in his wake.
Far. She was too far away. Slow. He was too slow.
Wilhelm would not make it in time again. Just like before.
"Ugh, ahhHHHH!"
The moment the tip of Theresia's blade quivered, she drove Heinkel's sword from his hand.
The blade that clattered across the pavement was named Astrea.
Ironically, it was the blade that Wilhelm himself had passed on to Heinkel.
"S-stop…stop, M-Mom…"
Losing his sword, Heinkel fell backward to the ground, cowering in fear. Desperately trying to scoot backward to escape the nightmare before his eyes.
But the eyes of the mother from his youth bound him, halting his trembling fingers, paralyzing his heart, not allowing him to get away.
—The reaper's blade extended up into the sky as if to split the moon.
In that critical moment, Wilhelm could do nothing, forced to watch as his wife was about to cut down their son.
He called out, but his voice did not reach. He stretched out his hand, but it was hopeless.
He could not reach her.
"Theresiaaaa!"
The Sword Devil, who had devoted everything to the sword, had no power left save to shout.
The blade swung down emotionlessly in order to claim Heinkel's life— "That's enough."
That voice suddenly but unmistakably tore through the impenetrable curtain of despair.
There was no trace of hesitation in that dignified tone nor the slightest hint of mercy. It conveyed an absolute supremacy that bent all before it and imposed an overwhelming sense of presence on everyone who heard it.
Wilhelm, Heinkel, and even Theresia were swallowed up by that voice.
The next moment, one man descended from the sky, landing gallantly before the reaper.
" "
Red hair like a crimson flame, eyes blue as the vast skies. His white clothes stained in blood. Heroic was the only word to describe him.
Slowly, he stood straight after landing.
It was the Sword Saint. The ultimate blade—Dragon Sword Reid— gleaming in his hand.
—The Sword Devil heard the god of the sword's scornful laughter ringing in his ears.
2
—The Dragon Sword Reid was a sword shrouded in mystery.
It was a famed heirloom passed down through the generations of the Astrea family, which produced each Sword Saint, but it was unknown how the first Sword Saint obtained the weapon.
In addition to its unknown origin, it was a sacred blade that could only be drawn by the Sword Saint. And on top of that, even the Sword Saint could not draw it except in moments it deemed necessary.
There were past Sword Saints who never once saw its naked blade.
It was a legendary object said to have slain witches, dragons, and demon gods. There was no end to the tales associated with it, but the only thing that could be said for sure was—
—once the Dragon Sword was drawn, it had never once been sheathed without first cutting something.
"—Reinhard."
He was standing there with the sheath in his left hand, and the Dragon Sword in his right hand.
It was none other than Reinhard van Astrea, the current Sword Saint, who scowled at the scene before him as his red hair fluttered in the wind.
His dignified, gallant figure overawed even Wilhelm.
There stood his grandson, the man who had inherited the blessing of the Sword Saint and been given the role of the kingdom's blade as a knight in the royal guard. In truth, it was the first time Wilhelm had ever seen him standing on the battlefield.
After losing Theresia in the expedition, Wilhelm had left the Astrea house in order to claim his revenge. And during those fifteen years, the discord between his son and grandson had remained unresolved.
Because of that, Wilhelm had never once faced his family properly since his leaving. He never once allowed himself to see his son's corruption or his grandson's growth and sense of responsibility.
—Because of that, he felt overwhelmed by Reinhard's presence.
The one standing there was the very embodiment of the Sword Saint.
Granted the honor of drawing the greatest sword ever made, graced with all the love of the god of the sword, the person who stood atop the summit that every swordsman so desperately dreamed of—he was the Sword Saint.
—And seeing Reinhard like that, Wilhelm remembered.
The pain was long forgotten. What he remembered was something far, far more distant.
It was the feeling that he had when he first saw the Sword Saint Theresia's blade dance.
In that moment, Wilhelm had felt the unbridgeable distance between him and the pinnacle of the sword. He had mourned his lack of talent, his inability to step into that realm of sword skill.
But even so, he had not allowed himself to rust away and instead swung his blade, constantly swinging his blade, until he finally managed to stretch his fingertips to the edge of that summit. He had proven that there was no distance that could not be overcome.
—How narrow and small his world had been.
The quality was different. The height was different. The weight was different. It was different in every possible way.
It was not something even remotely in the realm of achievable.
It was something that quite literally lived in a different world from everyone and everything else.
" "
Theresia readied her sword after taking her distance from the Sword Saint. She had been on the verge of cutting down Heinkel but now turned her blade toward the new enemy that had just appeared.
The emotionless, moving corpse that was Theresia van Astrea had already lost all pride and honor—because of that, she did not notice.
She did not realize what she was trying to face off against.
"Wait! Theresia! Look at me, Theresiaaa!"
The Sword Devil started moving again, trailing a path of blood as he dragged his leg behind him.
As if unable to hear his shout, Theresia did not so much as glance at Wilhelm. The clash of blades where they had sought each other so passionately was treated as if it was an illusion that had never happened.
Wilhelm ignored the humiliation and the sadness. He could not allow himself to falter.
If he did not call out to her, if he did not stop her now— "Wh-what's going on…? Why…? Wh-what did I do…?"
Right behind Reinhard, Heinkel was clutching his head, bemoaning the madness of the world.
Heinkel had his hands full with himself, so he did not see anything that his son was doing.
He could not accept the fact that his son was facing off against his mother in order to protect him. His mind had gone past the limit of its ability to comprehend what had happened just before Reinhard arrived.
He had no hope of resolving the situation. He never had, even from the start.
Heinkel could not be relied on.
So all Wilhelm could do was cry out.
"Rein—"
"—The dead cannot move. There is nothing that remains on this earth for the dead. I refuse to allow such absurdity."
Wilhelm's pleading was silenced by Reinhard's resolute voice.
Emotional rhetoric could not begin to match even one of the countless important duties that the Sword Saint bore.
Wilhelm fell silent as Reinhard readied the Dragon Sword, pointing straight at his opponent.
By chance, his stance was a mirror image of Theresia's.
" "
—The Dragon Sword's unclouded blade gleamed brilliantly.
It was the acclamation of the sword. The ultimate sacred blade was emanating a voiceless blessing. Joy at the opportunity to be drawn, and delight at the fortune of being able to face off against one who had previously wielded it.
The air froze as a weighty tension filled the street and overwhelmed everything.
Wilhelm's body was heavy, and he struggled to breathe in the weighty atmosphere as he opened his mouth.
Unsure what he should say, he was scorched by the feeling that he had to say something, anything.
—Ironically, that became the signal for the two sword masters.
"Stoppppp!"
His voice could not reach them.
Even his voice was left behind as the two clashed.
" "
Theresia's blade howled as she advanced, approaching Reinhard with a perfect slash.
It was possibly the most perfect slash he had ever seen from Theresia.
The strength of one's opponent could draw out the latent strength lurking inside even a sword master.
And Wilhelm might have felt jealous that it was not him who managed to draw out every last bit of the hidden strength inside Theresia.
Were it not for the fact of this one brief instant that it happened in.
An explosion of emotion welled up from his breast and escaped his lips
—
"Don't kill her…"
The emotions he had sealed away, the intense feelings he had suppressed,
the love that he had not allowed himself to wish for broke through the dam and flooded out.
Theresia was right there.
The woman who had set his heart racing, who had made him take notice of the world beyond the sword, the one woman in all his life for whom he would gladly trade everything.
The woman he loved more than anything. She was standing right there before him. The woman whom he had never once told that he loved her—
"That's my Theresiaaaa!!!"
He said something that should never have been voiced.
Prioritizing his own emotions on a battlefield where a moment's distraction was fatal was unforgivable.
It was an action that defiled everything, tarnishing the pride of a swordsman, the honor of warrior, and the upright manner in which a battle should be carried out.
It was just the voice of one man.
A man who desperately wanted the woman he loved to not be stolen away from him.
And his desperate cry was—
"—Grandmother died fifteen years ago because of me."
Theresia's slash closed in on Reinhard. In that instant, the Dragon Sword still had not moved. Theresia's long blade erupted in light.
"This is just an imposter."
—The Dragon Sword Reid traced a brilliant arc.
CHAPTER 5
THERESIA VAN ASTREA
1
How surprised would you be if I told you that I fell for you from the moment we first laid eyes on each other?
2
"—Brother, the next Sword Saint is your daughter, Theresia."
With those words, the previous generation's Sword Saint mercilessly revealed his niece's deception.
That was the day Theresia, at the tender age of twelve, received the blessing of the Sword Saint.
—That was the day the world collapsed around Theresia.
The Astrea family was a famed house that gave birth to each and every generation of Sword Saint.
In honor of the great feats achieved by the first Sword Saint, Reid Astrea, hundreds of years ago, the Astrea family had long borne the honor of serving as the sword of the Kingdom of Lugunica.
Because of that, male or female, no member of the Astrea household lived a life untouched by the sword.
Theresia was no exception. And because of that, she did not like her ancestor Reid Astrea. In fact, she hated him.
Theresia was scared of the blessing of the grim reaper, which she had been born with.
The wounds that she caused others would never heal. They would simply bleed forever. When she realized the power of that blessing, the young Theresia became scared of even herself.
And so to not allow anyone to find out about her blessing, she chose to seal away her strength.
—Going about life without ever injuring anyone was far more difficult than she had imagined once she had decided on it.
Even if she did not intentionally try to hurt someone, there was still danger lurking around every corner in daily life. Her blessing did not pick and choose, and a careless accident or a thoughtless action could happen at any time.
She wanted to keep her blessing hidden, which meant she hated the household's mandatory sword training.
—I must not hold a sword. Because I am a reaper.
Driven by powerful determination and gripping fear, Theresia tried to distance herself from the sword. She used any excuse to avoid training, and eventually, her family gave up on trying to make her wield a sword.
And so finally, she achieved peace of mind, far removed from the fate bestowed on her at birth. Casting aside the sword, she was allowed to live like a normal girl, choosing to spend her days admiring flowers.
—The blessing of the Sword Saint transferred to her one day while she was in the middle of tending to the garden.
"Take up your sword, Theresia."
When Theresia hid herself away in her room to try to conceal that she had inherited the blessing, her uncle mercilessly dragged her out against her will and gave her that instruction.
Her hair and clothes were a mess, and she was sobbing, but her uncle forced her to stand in the garden and said it again.
"Take up your sword, Theresia."
Even though she furiously shook her head and refused over and over, her uncle forced her to grip the wooden sword. Finally giving up, she limply held it in her hand. Grabbing her head, her uncle forced her to look in front of her.
It was her eldest brother. Theresia had two older brothers and one younger brother. The eldest was kind, the sort of person whose good nature showed on his face. He doted on Theresia, and she adored him.
—So full of openings.
She was stunned to realize the thought that crossed her mind when she looked at him.
But ignoring her shock, her uncle ordered her brother to fight with Theresia. To crush his little sister with the wooden sword in order to demonstrate his talent.
"There's no way I can do that," he shouted.
"Coward!" her uncle berated him.
Scorned by the Sword Saint he had looked up to all his life, her brother twisted his expression into a terribly pained grimace. Her two other brothers, who had also been brought out into the yard as witnesses, wore similar pained expressions.
Finally, though he was still visibly hurt, a sorrowful resolve filled her eldest brother's eyes.
She could sense it. He intended to swing the wooden sword in his hand so as not to hurt Theresia. She could tell it from the stance he took, from where his eyes were trained, from the very air that hung about him.
With Brother's skill, it shouldn't be difficult. If it's him, he can put an end to this farce.
"—That's enough."
Theresia returned to her senses to see a wooden sword land, sticking out of the ground far away from them. There was a sense of marvel in her uncle's voice that made it clear the match had been decided. After all, Theresia's wooden sword was pointing straight in front of her, right at the throat of her dumbfounded eldest brother.
"The next Sword Saint is Theresia. There is no mistaking it."
Her uncle's voice as he said that and the way her brother's eyes looked into hers broke Theresia's heart.
She shook her head, crying out as she threw the wooden sword aside and cradled her head. Howling like a wild animal, she tore at her red hair in despair.
Screaming, half mad, desperately mourning and regretting everything, Theresia became the Sword Saint.
3
The time and effort that her brothers had devoted to the sword was mercilessly crushed before Theresia's genius.
Time and effort were meaningless before an overwhelming, natural-born talent. And she found her brothers pitiful. Despite being shown the vast gap between them, they still could not abandon the sword.
Why were they still swinging their swords, even though they would never reach her no matter how long they spent on it?
Why, when they could just do anything they wanted? When they could be forgiven for abandoning the sword?
Even if it was no longer an option for Theresia, they at least could live in the world they wished to live in.
Take up your sword, Theresia.
Ever since that day, when Theresia defeated her brother and became the Sword Saint, that voice in her ears never disappeared.
Ever since then, she had not once picked up a sword. Disobeying that voice, she kept trying to distance herself from the sword. But the sword would not let her escape.
It was hell. The inescapable hell of her own mind.
But even those hellish days were nothing compared with the true hell that awaited.
The kingdom's largest and bloodiest internal conflict started—the Demihuman War.
It began with a trivial incident, but it grew more serious with each passing day.
The kingdom had a deep-seated scorn of demi-humans to begin with. The sparks of discontent among the demi-humans ignited the kindling that had been there all along, leading to an explosive civil war whose raging flames consumed the entire kingdom in a matter of days.
Having spent a year trying to put out the flames with nothing to show for it, the kingdom finally acknowledged the unprecedented nature of the problem and decided to send in their strongest weapon—the Sword Saint.
—With her first deployment at hand, Theresia was curled up, clutching her knees, and trembling all alone in her tent.
Because it was her first deployment, she was sent out at the head of a massive host of kingdom forces. Most soldiers volunteered to take part in hopes of fighting alongside the current-generation Sword Saint in her first battle. The constant refrain of callous confidence at having the Sword Saint on their side battered Theresia's heart.
And she could not share her unease with anyone—
"—Theresia, are you scared?"
The one who noticed was her eldest brother, who had accompanied her for her first battle.
Ever since what happened that day, Theresia had intentionally avoided interacting with him—no, not just him. She distanced herself from every one of her brothers, and her parents and her uncle, too, avoiding them all as much as she could.
It had been almost two years since she'd talked to the kind older brother whom she loved so much.
She hung her head, unable to bring herself to say anything. Her brother just sat next to her, wrapped a strong, reliable arm around her shoulder, and gently patted her head.
Theresia's emotions broke free, and she started sobbing.
She thought she wasn't allowed to complain. She had thought she couldn't allow herself to do that to the brother she had so terribly defeated of all people. But even so, she couldn't hold back.
She clung to him, crying as she said that she was scared, that she didn't want to fight, and that she was sorry.
"You're my precious little sister. If you don't want to do something, if something scares you…then I will protect you. Because I'm your older brother."
" "
"It was disappointing when I lost to you. But it turns out I really do like the sword. I'm grateful for being born into this family, for my little brothers, and for you, my little sister— I'm grateful to the sword for all of it."
When she heard her brother say that so confidently with a smile, Theresia cursed her own foolishness.
She had thought her brothers were fools for still swinging their swords after losing to her. She had looked down on them, assuming they were just clinging to the sword because they didn't have anything else.
She had looked down on the elder brother whom she loved and whom she should have respected, just because of her talent with the sword.
Who was the real fool? It was her. It had always been her. And the god of the sword was the biggest fool of them all.
Why did he not grant his blessing to someone who loved him so?
Why did he grace Theresia, who continued to avoid the sword?
"There's no need for you to fight. After all, you're a kind girl who wouldn't even hurt a fly."
She was happy about what her brother said. So she took advantage of that kindness. She entrusted everything to him.
In her first battle, her eldest brother died protecting the main camp where Theresia was.
Theresia did not swing her sword once. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
Take up your sword, Theresia.
Disobeying the voice she continued to hear, Theresia did not swing her sword.
And for several more years, Theresia did not once touch a sword.
4
Theresia's first battle ended in a massive defeat.
The shameful truth of the new Sword Saint's first inglorious battle was buried and covered up. The existence of the Sword Saint was a pillar of moral support for the entire kingdom. The last thing the kingdom wanted was for the truth to get out.
And so Theresia was not scorned for fleeing in the face of the enemy, and she continued to hide away in her shell.
Her kind and gentle oldest brother, Thames, who would listen to any of her requests no matter how difficult.
Her other older brother, Carlan, who could be a bit ill-tempered but was always the first to apologize when it was time to make up.
Her cute little younger brother, Cajiress, a scaredy-cat and a crybaby who always clung to Theresia when he was young.
They all went to battlefields to fight in Theresia's stead, and they all died.
—I was always burdening you. I'm sorry, Theresia.
Her uncle, who used his status as the previous Sword Saint to raise the spirits of the army, died as well.
She wanted to be able to hate her uncle. If it were not for him, she might have been able to hide that she had inherited the blessing of the Sword Saint. Were it not for that, her brothers would not have had any reason to be so determined to protect her, and maybe none of them would have died in the internal struggles.
It would have been easier if she could think that. But she knew that was not true.
Her uncle understood the weight of the title of Sword Saint better than anyone.
He had experienced the same thing that Theresia had. That was why he had left those final words of apology. He understood how much was being asked of Theresia for the sake of the kingdom and how cruel that fate was.
That apology kept her from being able to hate him anymore.
So then who was left to blame? There was no one left to blame save herself.
Her foolish self, who could do nothing but cry despite having inherited the blessing and title of the Sword Saint.
Take up your sword, Theresia.
She still heard the voice, even after her uncle who had said it to her had died.
Trying to escape the voice, Theresia left the manor and wandered outside.
—Five years after the start of the Demi-human War, Theresia turned nineteen.
The capital had grown dull and lifeless from the drawn-out civil war, and a pall hung over the streets. Avoiding such a dark stroll, Theresia's feet carried her to the edge of the capital, to a neighborhood of ramshackle buildings.
The construction had been stalled because of the war, so half-built buildings were simply left standing. As a Sword Saint who was unable to fulfill her role, she felt an affinity with those husks that could not fulfill their role as buildings.
Her sigh dissipated into the clear, cool morning air as she headed to an open space in the block of abandoned buildings. It was an empty space unfit to even be called a plaza. Sitting down on a stone step, she looked over the crumbling wall.
There was a field of bright-yellow flowers growing wild and untended.
A secret place unknown to anyone. Taking advantage of that, Theresia had spread flower seeds there. She did not have the willpower to take the time to manage the flower beds at the manor that had faded.
She just came to watch the results of the seeds that she had scattered on a whim. That was why she brought herself there.
"…Growing up this well even though I didn't water you? You're amazing."
The flowers were strong. She spent her time lamenting her own weakness, but the flowers faced the sky and spread their petals, blooming beautifully.
That strong, noble manner of life almost made her cry.
—That was when she noticed a thorny presence approaching.
"Oh, pardon me."
Theresia's morning sanctuary was rudely disturbed by the arrival of a person with a dangerous air about him.
Someone almost saw her tears, but she forced herself to act calm, feigning ease as she spoke and began to face the person who had intruded on her hideaway.
When she turned around, she was stunned.
" "
He had long brown hair tied back behind his head. A well-appointed face, but a prickly expression. A lithe and tempered body, and a ferocious aura that seemed to well from every pore.
It was true she was surprised by his unfriendly demeanor, but there was a shock much greater than that.
—In her eyes, he looked like a drawn sword.
It was as if there were a hot, tempered blade of steel glaring straight at her.
That vision set Theresia's heart racing. There was a moment's confusion while she was unsure what had happened. But embarrassed at the thought of him realizing, she opened her mouth in order to feign calm.
"To think there would be someone coming here so early in the morning.
What brings you—?"
" "
It was quite the greeting.
Theresia spoke up in a friendly tone, but the man merely responded with his silent presence. It was pure hostility toward Theresia.
She quickly grew disinterested. If he was going to be like that, then Theresia was not going to hold back.
See how he feels when that aura he's so proud of doesn't work.
"…What is it? Why the scary face?"
Hearing her say that, he looked almost disappointed.
On that note, he apparently marked Theresia as an amateur so utterly removed from battle that she didn't even notice the aura about him.
And it was not as if he was entirely wrong. Theresia had no real combat experience, nor had she spent much time swinging a sword.
If she was able to fight, she would have been stronger than anyone, but she was effectively just a girl utterly inexperienced in combat.
"What's a woman doing in a place like this so early in the morning?" He responded with coarse, unvarnished words.
The first time she heard him speak, he sounded annoyed, but his voice was easy to recognize and hear.
—Theresia felt her pulse race slightly again.
5
After that, he and Theresia met each other frequently.
Not because they made a promise or because they particularly thought they wanted to.
Theresia just sat on the stone steps and looked out at the flowers while the man immersed himself in practice, swinging his well-crafted sword— The two of them being there at the same time became a common sight in that hidden little plaza.
" "
Feigning disinterest, Theresia stole glances at his swordsmanship and could not help but be astonished.
Even as flattery, his swordsmanship could not remotely be called polished.
To Theresia with her blessing of the Sword Saint, there were several obvious flaws. Feeling frustrated by the number of shortcomings in someone else's swordplay had become a bad habit of hers, but even considering how lacking his skill with the sword was, there was an intensity of emotion that more than made up for it.
"…A fool…"
—There was no impurity in his swordsmanship.
He devoted everything to the sword. It sounded so simple when put like that, and Theresia had thought that her brothers had done the same before. But it was something far more than that.
There really was nothing except the sword. That was where all his passion went. He had nothing other than the sword. He didn't love anything save the sword. He was like a steel blade that could love nothing else.
"…A fool…"
Watching his sword move out of the corner of her eye, Theresia could feel her cheeks getting hotter.
Theresia was the Sword Saint. The being placed at the pinnacle of swordsmanship, possessed of the Sword God's love—even if she had never wished for it. The summit that he was chasing with such single-minded intensity, his goal, was her.
It was just her imagination, but it felt like he was courting her.
"—A true fool…"
The Sword Saint Theresia could understand everything about a sword by looking at it.
She could see the true quality of any famed sword, sacred sword, demonic sword, and even the Dragon Sword itself. And she could freely use any of them with equal ease. There was no steel that would not lie bare in her hands.
Except him. He was the one blade that she could not freely wield. That was surely why she took such an interest in him.
"I am Wilhelm Trias."
It was three months after their first meeting that they finally introduced themselves.
No matter how many times they had seen each other, Wilhelm resolutely refused to ask her name. The only reason it happened when it did was because Theresia grew so exasperated that she made up her mind to ask. "I thought of you as Flower Girl in my head until now." How rude.
There was not a trace of consideration; he was always only focused on himself, getting satisfied with the littlest bit of conversation and then leaving, while Theresia's heart was just tossed about.
"Do you like flowers?"
"No, I hate them."
Even when she showed him her special garden, that was all the response
she got.
There was no mistaking he was physically incapable of being nice to anyone or deliberately saying something to make them happy.
She would erupt indignantly at that, but she was helpless because the next thing she would think was But it's because he's like that that he's so much like a sword…
The Sword Saint was being thrown off her stride by the existence of a blade that she could not control as she wished. At the time, she did not realize that it was also saving her.
"Have you started to like flowers?"
"No, I hate them."
"Why do you swing your sword?" "Because it is all I have."
At some point, that exchange became a standard feature of their mornings.
What answer was she hoping for when she kept asking the same questions?
Was she hoping for the same answer, or did she secretly wish for the answer to change? Or did it not matter, and did she just want to talk with him?
Unable to change herself, what answer was she searching for in Wilhelm? —And suddenly, without any signs, the answer came.
Theresia happened to be the first to arrive that day.
Looking out at the flowers as the wind blew, Theresia waited impatiently for him to arrive. By that point, she was aware of what her real goal was in coming to that little plaza.
"—Wilhelm."
Caught up in her faint emotion, Theresia turned when she sensed his presence.
Seeing him at the entrance of the plaza, she smiled as warmth filled her heart.
" "
That was the moment when Wilhelm's emotions ruptured the dam.
His eyes widened and his lips trembled as he covered his face with his hand. Surprised by his dramatic reaction, Theresia was about to run over to him when she stopped herself.
For most of her life, Theresia had severed her relations with other people in order to avoid hurting them. Because of that, she did not know how to respond when she hurt someone's heart.
Theresia the Sword Saint was optimized for injuring and killing people. She didn't have the power to save anyone.
"Wilhelm…"
Pushing aside her fear, Theresia suddenly found herself standing right in front of Wilhelm.
She was scared of hurting him. But the thought of losing him scared her far, far more.
She touched his trembling hand. Suddenly, feeling an unbelievable heat, Theresia realized it.
A sword was steel that had been tempered in ferocious heat in order to become even stronger.
Wilhelm was a sword. But he was incomplete.
And now, with that heat, he was in the process of changing, of reforging himself.
—If it's a sword I am dealing with, then as Sword Saint, I should understand.
If it's him, if it's this sword, then I should be able to want to understand.
"Have you…started to like flowers?"
And as she thought that, her usual question came to her lips.
If someone else were to see them, it would surely sound like an out-ofplace question. But it was enough for the two of them.
"…I…don't hate them."
And there was a new response to her usual question.
—Theresia had feared the day when Wilhelm's answer might change.
As if fearing being left behind while everyone else was moving on.
Scared that she might experience the terror of being left behind when he changed.
But that didn't happen. His change only made him all the more precious to her.
That steel, that simple blade, changing in order to become stronger only became all the dearer.
"Why do you swing your sword?"
So that question would surely have a different answer, too.
And that answer might just be the answer that granted Theresia salvation
—
"Because it is all I have… Because I can't think of any other way to protect things."
Yes, because he has nothing but the sword.
He'll be fine because that's the sort of person he is.
After that, their usual exchange stopped.
Instead, they spoke more, the topics changed, and the number of smiles steadily went up.
Wilhelm pushed himself with his clumsy conversational abilities, while she felt her feelings for him grow.
"I was granted an award and made a knight."
She would never forget the way he broke the news that day or the odd intensity in his demeanor.
Theresia had trouble dealing with other people and had spent a long time avoiding others, but she was not so stupid as to misunderstand the true meaning of what he had worked up the courage to say.
For a simple commoner to be recognized as a knight through sheer battlefield prowess was unheard of. So what had he hoped for in confessing that he had been awarded the honor of becoming a knight?
"I see. Congratulations. That's one step closer to your dream, isn't it?"
She understood exactly why he'd brought it up, so she intentionally responded in a disinterested way.
If she was not careful, she was going to start blushing, so in order to keep that from happening, she relied on the full strength of the Sword Saint's abilities to keep her calm and smile casually.
"My dream?"
"You are wielding your sword in order to protect people, right? A knight is someone who protects others, after all."
Wilhelm immediately nodded respectfully. He was always such a sourpuss, but every once in a while, he would respond with such childlike honesty.
—It would be nice if I was one of the things he wanted to protect.
She hated herself for being indirect about it as insurance, even though she was almost completely sure of the answer.
Even though she was sure that they both cared about each other, she was a fool who could not bring herself to act. She hated that about herself, and because of it, she made another mistake.
Thinking back on it, Theresia could not find a single time she had done the right thing.
6
Worried about his home, Wilhelm threw himself onto the battlefield alone.
The moment she heard that report, Theresia turned deathly pale. Without thinking, she sank to her knees. The servant at her side was flustered, but she could not respond.
Theresia immediately understood just how hopeless the situation was.
Take up your sword, Theresia.
As Theresia silently stared at the floor, she heard the familiar old voice.
The voice that she had not heard for so long. Ever since meeting Wilhelm, since she started to have feelings for him, the voice had distanced itself from Theresia.
She had never once thought the voice was good. But just this once, it was right. The voice pleading with Theresia to wield her sword was correct. "—Take up your sword, Theresia."
Repeating the words herself, she stood up.
She had left everything to her brothers and pushed the responsibility onto her uncle, too, letting all of them die.
Because she had not fought, many people had died.
But she could not hand him over. Wilhelm alone was different.
That sword, that steel—that person is mine and mine alone.
"Take up your sword, Theresia. This time, I will."
—The front established around Wilhelm's hometown was on the brink of collapse.
It was a hellish battlefield where screams and shouts filled the air alongside the stench of blood and smoke. Experiencing that utterly appalling scene, Theresia saw memories of her bitter first battle flash in her mind.
Those memories had tormented Theresia countless times. She had even imagined herself standing on the battlefield, bearing the weight of so many people's expectations and brilliantly fulfilling her role as Sword Saint.
But the harsh reality easily crushed those beautifully imagined scenes.
" "
Suppressing the urge to throw up, Theresia searched for Wilhelm on the battlefield. Seeking his keen aura, she ran with bloodshot eyes through the battle, until finally, she caught a glimpse of it.
The moment she noticed it, she kicked off the ground.
She sprinted through the chaotic field of clashing warriors without a trace of hesitation. Passing over a mountain of corpses and a river of blood, she ran through the field of screams and shouts.
And she found him there on a battlefield dominated by a smell of iron so thick that it was hard to breathe.
Just then, she spotted a demi-human swinging a greatsword down at
Wilhelm, who was collapsed on the ground. Looking up with a bloody face, Wilhelm was watching the demi-human. His lips moved, and a quiet, hoarse voice escaped.
"I don't want to die…"
—It's okay. It'll be okay.
She could not hear anything.
She swung the longsword in her hands. It was light.
There was no sound. There wasn't even an impact as she easily severed the demi-human's head.
The sword was still up as the corpse collapsed slowly, missing its head. The next moment, Theresia's slender form attracted the attention and hostility of enemies from all angles.
She could see the paths of the hostility raining down on her. She could read it. Feel it on her skin. Slip through it.
Evading, Theresia traced the strange white line that she saw before her with her sword.
It was a mysterious thing. At some point, a white line had appeared, floating in the air. And even more mysteriously, she instinctively understood that she needed only trace the path of that line.
There was a gust of wind as the blade passed through the air, and the demi-humans in the path of the white line were split in two, erupting with massive spatters of blood.
Limbs were severed, heads were removed, stomachs pierced, lives reaped.
Having finally been given the opportunity, the blessing of the Sword Saint, the blessing of the grim reaper exploded.
"Lady Theresia…gh…"
There was a voice calling to her in the battle. It was the servant who had remained at Theresia's side throughout everything.
She had never abandoned Theresia, not when she turned her back on her role as Sword Saint, not after she ran in the face of the enemy during her first battle, not even when Theresia herself ceased to be able to expect anything of herself.
The servant always said it.
Lady Theresia, someday, given the opportunity, you will be stronger than anyone and be able to act as the Sword Saint. And I will continue to support you until that time comes.
She had been right. Theresia was stronger than anyone, better at killing than anyone.
—If only she had realized it sooner.
" "
The badly wounded Wilhelm was rescued by his comrades who had come to save him. He tried to resist, insisting on staying behind, but it was not to be.
Feeling relief as his presence grew distant, Theresia continued swinging her sword. Reaping more lives.
She could hear laughter. It was the same voice that she had always heard in her head— Theresia finally realized that it was the voice of the Sword God.
Theresia drowned out the laughter in the sound of shouts and death throes, trying to erase it from her head.
Only allowing herself to hear his voice pleading to live.
Pushing every voice save Wilhelm's away—
7
They had not made a promise to meet again.
But even so, she was sure that if she went to that plaza, she would be able to see him again.
"Mortifying."
Theresia stood silently as he spoke.
Theresia was also standing there, having just stopped the sword he'd swung with all his might by catching it between two fingers.
"Were you laughing at me?"
" "
"Answer me, Theresia… Answer me, Sword Saint, Theresia van
Astrea!!!"
She had not intended that at all. But there was no point in trying to explain it.
She dodged as Wilhelm lunged at her, and when he refused to give up, she knocked him down countless times, and finally, when he fell to his knees after being hit by the hilt of his sword, which she had stolen away from him, she finally spoke.
"I won't come here anymore."
She could not endure the hatred, the compassion, the negative emotions that filled his eyes.
"Don't wield a sword with a look like that on your face!"
It was Wilhelm who had devoted himself entirely to the sword, believing in the beauty of the blade and the preciousness of steel more than anyone else. She finally reached an understanding with her strength as she kicked aside his everything, trampling all over his strength.
It was none other than Wilhelm Trias who had given her the answer.
"Because I'm the Sword Saint. I never knew why before now, but I finally understand."
"Under…stand…ngh."
"Wielding a sword in order to protect someone. I think that is a good answer for me, too."
To protect people with her murderous power, her loathsome curse. To protect Wilhelm.
Protect him, protect her family, protect the masses, and protect the country. Become a worthy Sword Saint. A Sword Saint stronger than anyone.
Because I am the strongest. Because the Sword Saint is the strongest. "Wait…Theresia…"
She almost stopped at the voice that called out to her, but after mustering every muscle in her body, she managed to endure.
But even so, Wilhelm's voice still reached her ears. And her heart.
"I will steal the sword away from you. Forget blessings or roles. What it means to swing a sword… Don't look down on the beauty of a blade, Sword Saint…!"
He swore to steal it away.
Even then, that never-ending hallucination echoed in Theresia's head.
It was like the god of the sword was ridiculing the talentless swordsman who dared to dream of defeating the Sword Saint.
—As if it was ridiculing his beloved daughter whose heart was swayed by the faintest of hopes.
8
Sensing an overpowering presence approaching from behind, Theresia spun around instinctively.
There was a stir as the excitement and enthusiasm gripping the people attending the ceremony was shattered. Not heeding any calls to halt, a man— no, a swordsman had appeared at the ceremony.
It was both a memorial service and celebration of the end of the Demihuman War. This was also a formal introduction of the Sword Saint, Theresia van Astrea, into greater society, highlighting the one who had contributed the most to bringing the civil strife to an end.
Wearing a formal outfit and holding a ceremonial sword, Theresia questioned her sanity.
Theresia couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was impossible. It had
to be a nightmare, or an illusion created by the Sword God's twisted love.
The Sword Devil, who stood before Theresia, was wielding a blunt, rusted blade.
" "
As the Sword Devil stood silently at the ready, Theresia took a stance with her ceremonial sword.
Several guards began to surround the man who dared interrupt the ceremony, but the king stopped them with a gesture from the podium. She was grateful for his decision. With that, there would be no interference.
It was fine if this was all a dream—so long as no one would get in the way of her date with the Sword Devil.
There was no starting signal.
As if arranged in advance, they unleashed their swords at the same moment. The duel began with a shrill clash.
The path to victory that was visible to the god of the sword's beloved daughter appeared like it always did. The path that would inevitably bring about a slaughter was broken by none other than the Sword Devil's diligent study.
There was a maddening passion in his sword as the rusted blade severed the white line in the air.
Theresia's heart raced. Every time their blades crossed, the white line was severed. Every time their eyes met, she felt more love welling up.
She loved the Sword Devil standing before her eyes.
The Sword Saint loved the Sword Devil each and every time their blades clashed.
—I can't get enough of him.
With each exchange, her feelings only grew. She wanted to cast aside her sword and leap into his arms.
But she couldn't do that. That wasn't allowed. She was stopped, not by the god of the sword, but by the Sword Devil himself.
He had sworn to steal her away with his own strength, and he refused to accept anyone's help. Even if it came from her.
He would steal the Sword Saint away from her with his own strength, with his own persistence, with what he had gained by devoting everything to the sword.
How many tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions upon millions of times had he swung his sword while thinking of her?
Their swords met again, locking and pushing, flashing as they performed countless parries, until finally—
"My…"
" "
"…It's my victory."
The ceremonial sword fell from Theresia's hand.
Her hand had gone numb from the repeated impacts, and the holy blade clattered to the ground behind her back. The half-broken and blunt, rusted blade was pointing directly at her pale neck.
The beautifully adorned Sword Saint had lost to the unrefined Sword Devil, who had been tempered in obsession.
That was the moment the illusion of the Sword Saint was shattered. That was when the holy blade fell to a rusted, battered old sword.
"You're weaker than me, so there is no need for you to ever hold a sword again."
It had been a long time since she had heard that curt, brusque voice. And for that to be the first thing he said to her was just like him.
"If I don't wield a sword, then who will?"
"I will take up your reason for carrying a sword. You can simply be the reason why I swing my sword."
His reason for wielding the sword was to protect something.
He lowered the hood of his cloak. Theresia stared at the face she had wanted to see. At that dirty, surly expression.
For someone who came to act cool after all that talk about stealing and protecting, he really doesn't understand a woman's heart. But that's only to be expected since he's a sword.
"What a terrible person. Taking someone's determination, resolve, and everything else and putting it all to waste."
"I'll inherit every last bit of that. Just forget about wielding a sword and take it easy… I have an idea. You can just grow some flowers and live in peace behind me."
"Protected by your sword?"
"Yes."
"Will you protect me?"
"Yes."
If she would be counted among the things precious to him, if he would answer the love she felt for him…
Theresia smiled at the Sword Devil's words—at Wilhelm's words.
And touching the sword held at her neck, she took a step forward.
She could feel Wilhelm's countless days of refinement through the blade. Tears beaded in her eyes as an unstoppable emotion filled her entire being.
The tears slowly trickled down her cheeks as she smiled, her blue eyes glittering.
"Do you like flowers?"
"I stopped hating them."
"Why do you swing your sword?" "In order to protect you." She had hit her limit.
From the moment the sword left her hand, she could no longer hear the voice of the Sword God.
She could only see Wilhelm.
She could only feel Wilhelm.
There was nothing save Wilhelm.
Clinging to his chest, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his. It was a warm, soft feeling that caused Theresia's love to explode as her world suddenly changed.
Blushing, she looked at her beloved standing before her.
Wilhelm did not say anything, quietly waiting for her to speak.
Seeing that, Theresia giggled. There was no helping it; she would have to ask first, just like always.
"Do you love me?"
"—You know the answer to that." He looked to the side.
Theresia's eyes widened at that response, but just as quickly, she puffed out her cheeks as she pouted. She leaned forward, refusing to let him get away from it after they'd come so far.
"Come on now, there are certain things that should actually be put into words."
"Hah."
Scratching his hair, Wilhelm turned his head as if trying to slip away. But finally, he exhaled and gave in to Theresia's insistent stare, wrapping his arms around her slender waist. And then to Theresia's surprise, he leaned his lips close to her ear and whispered, "Someday, when the mood strikes me." —I've got a feeling it will be a long time before that happens.
She was annoyed by that answer, but she also felt a thrill when she imagined that day might finally come.
Theresia had fallen so head over heels for Wilhelm that she was willing to forgive his selfishness.
9
"I love you, Wilhelm."
" "
In the end, Wilhelm never once gave a proper reply.
But even so, he always demonstrated his feelings in his actions, if not his words.
It was the sort of thing only a very kind woman or a woman madly in love with him would allow—and of course, Theresia was both, so she just let him carry on like that.
They lived a gentle, peaceful life as husband and wife.
As promised, ever since their duel, Wilhelm never once gave Theresia any reason to take up the sword again. Theresia had no lingering attachment to the sword, either. She had long ago ceased to hear the Sword God's voice.
But from time to time, she would feel uneasy.
Because the blessing of the Sword Saint did not disappear. It remained within her.
"Theresia."
"—Mm-hmm."
Whenever she felt that unease, almost as if he could sense it, Wilhelm would hold her close. He would peel away the cloak behind which Theresia tried to hide her deepest fears and forcibly intervene.
And that was all she needed.
"Do you love me?"
" "
Though, he did obstinately refuse to ever answer that one question.
10
Life is full of twists and turns. It's only natural for there to be both ups and downs.
Theresia and Wilhelm had a single son, Heinkel.
Heinkel found a wife, Louanna, and they had a son—Theresia and Wilhelm's first grandson, Reinhard.
What came next was no one's fault.
Not Heinkel, who was so earnest and made every effort to study the blade even though he was never rewarded for it.
Not Louanna, who was afflicted by the sleeping beauty disease, forcing her beloved husband and son into a solitude neither of them wished for.
And not Reinhard, who was forced to take on so many fates that were far too cruel for one person to bear alone.
None of them were at fault. None of them did anything wrong at all.
Heinkel grew twisted, Louanna was trapped in her dreams, and Reinhard simply wanted to be loved again.
It was Theresia who was at fault. Theresia who noticed and did nothing.
"I'm against it! What are you thinking?!"
Theresia's body tensed at the sharp, refined aura that hit her at such close range.
She had expected that response. She knew he would be against it.
For the first time in decades, the kingdom was calling upon the Sword Saint, who by this point was little more than a decorative title. It was a request to join the expedition to slay the White Whale, one of the three great demon beasts threatening the world's peace.
She looked her husband in the eye. His hair had started to turn white, but his appearance had only grown more intense and masculine with age. Nothing had changed about either the intensity of emotion in his blue eyes or the powerful feelings he had for Theresia.
It was the face of the man who loved Theresia and whom Theresia loved.
She shook her head.
"I've already decided."
"How could you?! Where did you even hear about…?"
Given how stubborn Theresia was being, Wilhelm realized that someone must have suggested it to her. A moment later, the Sword Devil's face was a mask of rage. Unable to suppress it any longer, his battle aura seemed to make the very air start to spark.
"The fool! He should know some shame…!"
"Neither you nor I have the right to say that."
She regretted what had happened to their son just as much as Wilhelm did. That was precisely why she didn't want him to blame Heinkel. Grasping her feelings, Wilhelm gritted his teeth and calmed himself. It was proof that he had grown up just a little bit.
And now that he was grown-up, he had far too many things weighing down on his shoulders to just cast everything aside at a moment's notice.
Wilhelm couldn't take part in the hunt for the White Whale.
The castle was in an unprecedented state of panic—the daughter of the king's brother had been kidnapped by someone, and the royal guard was devoting all their power to finding the perpetrator and Ford's child.
And naturally, as the captain of the royal guard, Wilhelm had to devote his time and energy to that mission.
And so since the Sword Devil could not join the expedition, it was requested that Theresia participate instead as the one who still possessed the blessing and title of the Sword Saint, even if it had been a great many years since she last taken up the sword.
Theresia remembered Wilhelm promising to never let her wield a sword again.
And in truth, he had kept his word. She had lived a tranquil life, tending her flowers, protected by him. But it had come time to part with that life.
"Wilhelm. Do you love me?"
"Wha—?"
Still not willing to listen, he was frozen by his wife's smile as she asked that question for the first time in a long while.
Still smiling, Theresia took advantage of his shock and ran her hand across her husband's shoulder, scratching him. Ever since she married him, she had become able to control her blessing of the grim reaper, but this time, she purposefully used it to wound him.
Looking at the shallow scratch on his shoulder, Wilhelm widened his eyes.
It was not a deep cut, but the blood flowed with no sign of slowing or stopping. It would continue to do so for as long as Theresia was by his side.
"Theresia?"
She softly leaned against her husband's broad chest.
Feeling the warmth of his arms around her, Theresia kissed the cut on his shoulder.
Her lips were painted crimson as she tasted her husband's blood for the first time.
"With this, you can't follow me. If you do, this wound won't close."
"Is that why you did such a foolish thing? You should know that won't stop me from pursuing you."
"If you do that, then this will all be meaningless."
Giggling softly, Theresia let go of him. And then she pointed to the wound on his shoulder.
"Leave the wound like that. As a reminder to not come after me. Once we've both finished our jobs, I'll take care of it for you."
" "
"It'll be okay. Who do you think I am? I'm second only to you in the sword."
"Competing with a bunch of youngsters even though you're almost fifty…"
"Watch your mouth, dear."
There was a soft slapping sound as she cupped his mouth. Sheesh, we've been together more than twenty years, and yet… This hunk of steel, this sword… He's still the same.
That's why—
"—I love you, Wilhelm."
" "
"Yes, that's fine. For now."
"For now?"
Theresia nodded as Wilhelm furrowed his brow.
The wound on her husband's shoulder was a vow to meet again—
"—When I come back, let me finally hear your answer."
11
Her memories leaped forward.
She could barely see in front of her. It was like she was standing in the middle of a sandstorm. Sounds seemed muffled and distant as well.
"—!"
She heard someone shout, then another cry, and a scream.
The expeditionary force that had set out to defeat the White Whale had completely collapsed.
There was a thick fog swirling around, and no one knew where to flee. They all raised their voices in a directionless urge to escape the oppressive feeling overwhelming them.
" "
Suddenly, she couldn't remember what had happened.
It had been a hard battle, but the expeditionary force should have been at an advantage. She had a memory of thinking that they had held their ground against the White Whale and that she had done her duty even after leaving the front line.
Once she thought that far, she noticed something off. It was a faint feeling, but something was wrong.
There was no problem with her arms or legs. Nor with her eyes. But there was a sense of something missing, as if she had lost her wings— "The blessing…"
She could no longer feel the blessing of the Sword Saint.
The feeling that had never left her before no matter how far from the sword she had strayed.
"—Reinhard!"
In an instant, she knew who had inherited her blessing. It seemed natural, instinctual even. Just like how her uncle had known that she had inherited it from him. Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps it was because she had already realized the bottomless, innate talent that Reinhard possessed.
Either way, Theresia knew without a doubt that Reinhard was the Sword Saint who would succeed her.
That was perhaps a betrayal to Heinkel, who had looked up to and yearned after the title of Sword Saint for so long, but there was no time and no one left to criticize her for it.
"—Oh, a woman all alone in a place like this? That's quite brave."
"—Ngh."
Theresia shuddered and turned around when she heard an elegant, decidedly out-of-place voice.
A girl with platinum hair appeared from out of the thick fog. She had a gentle smile and a benevolent gaze that evoked a sense of unconditional friendship with an unknown person.
It was a love mismatched, twisted, and far too great. This did nothing but evoke fear.
"Awww, I was rejected."
Casting aside the Dragon Sword, which she could no longer draw, Theresia picked up the longsword at her feet and charged.
It was a decision she would never have made under normal circumstances, but in a world of death shrouded by the White Whale's fog, a girl calmly walking around was not just a mystery—she was a threat.
Even without the blessing of the Sword Saint, Theresia was still capable of wielding the sword with all her old skill. The slash she unleashed contained more than enough power to cut clean through the girl's body—
"—I want to understand you."
The next instant, an alluring voice tickled her ears, dragging her consciousness into darkness.
Her consciousness fell, like she was falling through the sky, as if she was sinking into deep water.
She didn't know what had happened. She didn't know what might happen next.
But her thoughts leaped to her grandson's future, to her son's heart, and to the woman who connected those two.
And finally— "—Wilhelm."
She called the name of the man she loved so much as her consciousness disappeared entirely.
Then—
12
"You look terrible…"
Slowly opening her eyes, she saw a disheveled face.
His hair was completely white, and the number of wrinkles on his face had grown, but she couldn't help thinking how handsome he looked. There was still no mistaking it.
This face belonged to her husband. Though, it looked like quite a long time had passed since they last parted ways.
" "
She slowly exhaled.
She sensed two other people close by. Heinkel and Reinhard, surely.
The three men of the Astrea family were together, probably there to see her off.
Because they were all so kind.
"Theresia, I…"
Wilhelm's wrinkled face trembled as he struggled to speak.
How unbecoming, and in front of your son and grandson to boot. Where did that solemn, dignified presence go?
Well, thinking back on it, despite how he seemed, one of the cute things about him was these sorts of moments where his mask fell away.
"Hey, Wilhelm…"
Her voice was hoarse, but it was also oddly youthful even though she should have been an old lady by now.
How embarrassing—my voice sounds just like it did when I first fell in love with him.
" "
She was getting embarrassed by the thought of going back to that moment in the past. Even though she did not have much time left, she was wasting it staring into his eyes.
But that was fine, too. She had already told him everything that she needed to tell him. Wilhelm surely understood it as well.
He was the one who still needed time, still needed a chance, still needed to find the right words.
Theresia could just wait in silence for those words. He would make her wait, but he would answer her hopes. That was the sort of man Wilhelm Trias was.
That was why he had what it took to become her husband, Wilhelm van Astrea.
"I have something…I have to tell you."
" "
"I—I was inarticulate and struggled to say what I felt, so I troubled you… For over twenty years, I never once…"
" "
"I probably worried you for those twenty years, but I—"
"—Idiot."
She had intended to listen in silence, but she could not contain herself as she watched him struggle so terribly. She couldn't help laughing. What was he even trying to say?
"Did you really never notice?"
She reached out her hand to his cheek as he fought with all his might, his face on the verge of tears, racking his brain to convey everything in his heart.
Her body was terribly heavy. There was hardly any strength left in her, but what little there was, she poured into her fingertips to wipe away the tears streaming down his cheeks.
She was able to reach up just far enough.
With the little strength she had left, she was able to wipe away the tears for the man she loved.
"You were always saying it."
Did he think he was hiding it?
Did he think he had concealed it just because he had not put it into words?
"Your eyes, your voice, your attitude, your actions—all of it. They told me that every single day."
Wilhelm had devoted everything to Theresia.
That had proven how he felt more clearly than anything else could. "Theresia, I—" "I know." That was enough.
"—love you."
From the start to the end, it was, without a doubt, a blessed life.
I had brothers I got along well with, parents who loved me, friends who cared for me.
I was helped by so many people, and I met you, Wilhelm.
There will surely still be plenty of problems.
But I believe that all of you will be okay.
Because I love all of you. From the very start to the very end, I always loved you.
I only have one last regret—a question I didn't get to ask.
How surprised would you be if I told you that I fell for you from the moment we first laid eyes on each other?
13
After sharing one last moment together, it was time.
She smiled as if satisfied, her cheeks flushed adorably as tears welled in her eyes. Then Theresia van Astrea's form crumbled in the blink of an eye.
Theresia turned into ash in Wilhelm's arms, and this time, she was truly gone.
" "
Theresia had burned out the last of the life residing in her and returned to the earth. Wilhelm looked down at the remnants of her, his head bowed in silence.
"…Are you satisfied now?"
And in his place, Heinkel's voice rang out.
His eyes were filled with loathing as he glared at Reinhard, who had watched with him from the side. Turning to look at him, Reinhard inhaled slightly.
"What do you mean by 'satisfied'?"
"Don't play dumb! Exactly what it sounds like! I'm sure you must be satisfied! Now you've earned the title of Sword Saint in every sense! Congratulations! And now there's no denying those rumors about you stealing the blessing and causing the previous Sword Saint to die. You're happy now, aren't you?!"
"I cannot comprehend what you are saying."
"Don't look so smug, you piece of shit!"
Heinkel shouted as he tried to grab Reinhard, but Reinhard slipped away and caught his father, who stumbled forward.
It was practically a demonstration that he did not even amount to an opponent for his son. And that fact only made Heinkel gnash his teeth all the more.
"Don't get cocky, Reinhard…!" Heinkel let out a spit-flecked roar as he denounced his son. "Nothing you say can change what I saw. The fact that you cut Mom…you cut Theresia van Astrea down. I'll testify. I'll make sure everyone knows. No one will acknowledge you as the Sword Saint!"
" "
"I'm sure you'll make up whatever excuses you can to not let go of the title, and you've gotten away with all the hand-waving you wanted till now, but that's not gonna work anymore. A Sword Saint who killed his own grandmother? The blade of the kingdom? Ha! Don't make me laugh! You're just a murderer!"
"—Vice-Captain, I truly do not understand what you are implying. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I cut down the previous Sword Saint."
"Huh…?"
Reinhard answered coolly as Heinkel pressed him passionately. Heinkel's eyes shot open at that response, but it did not seem like Reinhard was just trying to make up an excuse.
And that was because Reinhard was simply stating the cold, hard truth.
"The enemy just now was merely a corpse that was being animated by a wicked power. There is no way it could be the previous Sword Saint…that it could be Grandmother. Perhaps you have misunderstood something?"
" "
Reinhard's response was stunning.
Heinkel put his hand into his red hair and ruffled it madly. A hoarse laugh escaped his throat as a mad grin appeared on his lips.
"Then what was that just now? What was that conversation with Dad?! What was that thing glaring at us so reproachfully…? What was that if it wasn't Mom?!"
"—Stop it, Heinkel."
Heinkel's teeth were bared, and an emotion far stronger than mere hatred dripped venomously from his every word. But it was Wilhelm who finally spoke up to call his outburst to a halt.
Still kneeling on the ground, the old swordsman undid the coat around his waist, tearing off a sleeve to wrap around his right leg, treating the wound that was bleeding badly—the one left where the longsword had pierced his thigh.
The blessing of the grim reaper, which would have kept it from closing, had lost its effect the moment Theresia's presence disappeared. The old scratch on his left shoulder was the same.
The left shoulder had been marked by Theresia while she was alive, and the right leg had been marked while she was dead. Both wounds engraved with his wife's blessing lost their effect.
"What do you mean 'stop,' Dad…?! Are you really fine with this?! He—"
"Stop it, Heinkel… Just…stop it…"
Wilhelm once again asked Heinkel to put an end to it.
Spreading out the rest of his coat, Wilhelm wrapped up the ashes that were Theresia's corpse. It was unbearable for him to leave her there to be carried away by the wind.
At the very least, he wanted to bring her ashes back to be buried with the family she loved so much.
"—Ngh."
Seeing his father like that, Heinkel bitterly bit his tongue. And once Wilhelm had finished gathering the ashes, he stood up on wobbly legs.
The bleeding had stopped, but the wound in his leg was deep. He had lost a lot of blood. Reinhard immediately reached out his arm to support him. But
—
"Do not touch me!"
Wilhelm roared just before Reinhard's fingers reached him.
Reinhard stopped, but Wilhelm made no effort to look at him. Their eyes did not meet as the Sword Devil quietly exhaled.
"Reinhard…"
"—Yes, sir."
Unlike Wilhelm's trembling voice, Reinhard's was dignified and unmoved.
Closing his eyes for a moment at that realization, Wilhelm continued:
"Do you regret cutting Theresia…your grandmother?"
" "
There was a brief pause before his response.
Perhaps he was just ignoring it, believing it meaningless, just like Heinkel's question before.
But after a moment's pause, Reinhard answered:
"No, sir. I did what was correct. I have no regrets."
"…Yes…of course."
" "
"You are correct. I was wrong— I have nothing else to say to you."
With that quiet statement, Wilhelm turned away from Reinhard. And the decisive question between grandfather and grandson was answered without either of them looking at each other.
"I am sure there are other places in need of your strength around the city. I am particularly concerned about Sir Garfiel, who became separated from me during the fighting. If you please, Sword Saint Reinhard."
" "
Reinhard caught his breath at that painfully detached statement. But then he straightened his back and, finally, glanced over at Heinkel.
Heinkel was stewing in hatred. When he felt Reinhard's gaze, his body tensed slightly. Not addressing that small sign of fear, Reinhard averted his eyes.
"It is dangerous outside, Vice-Captain. If possible, please get to a shelter
—together with Sir Wilhelm."
"L-like I need you to tell me! Hurry up and get gone already!"
To the last, there was no hint of warmth in his words as Reinhard turned away. He crouched and, a moment later, leaped into the night sky.
The Sword Saint disappeared from view in the blink of an eye. After bearing witness to that superhuman feat of strength, Heinkel spat when he could no longer see him. Then he ran after Wilhelm, who was dragging his leg while slowly walking away.
"Dad, you shouldn't…"
"Please leave me be. I would rather no one see my face right now."
"Dad…"
"You needn't worry about me. You should just worry about your own safety… That's more than enough…"
Perhaps intending it as comfort, Wilhelm left Heinkel behind with those hoarse words. Still carrying his wife's ashes wrapped in his coat, still dragging his leg, he pressed on, his back growing distant.
" "
Heinkel was left behind, unable to call out to his father and unable to walk beside him.
And when he finally lost sight of Wilhelm, Heinkel— "Wh…why…why, why, why, why?!"
All alone, Heinkel glared at the pavement as he vented his rage. Grabbing his head, he let out a cry that did not even form words and kicked his own sword, which had fallen near his feet.
The beautiful knight's sword, Astrea, bounced across the ground, almost skipping like a rock over water.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it! You can all just croak for all I care! Curse every last one of you!"
Heinkel's bloody scream echoed in the plaza where he had been left all alone.
He screamed and screamed, and his resentful, grieving shout reached high and far—
And thus concluded the battlefield where grandfather, father, and son—the whole Astrea family—had gathered.
The woman who was grandmother, mother, and wife was gone.
Theresia van Astrea's final moment left scars on all three of their hearts.
And with that, the final battle fought in the defense of Pristella reached its conclusion.