Arc 9, Chapter 28 – “A Stanza of Legend”

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Translated by:

• Garcar

Proofread by:

• Phantaminum

Art Sources:

• Magizhan
• kyomkyom_anno_u
• kyomkyom_anno_u
• Magizhan

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――Indubitably, that had been a stanza of a battle that would go on to be told in legend.

???: [――――]

The Sword Demon’s twin swords capered, and the Divine Dragon’s dragonclaws stirred up a gale whilst moving to intercept.

Reigning supreme over all other existences, Dragons were born as ultimate lifeforms; the Divine Dragon, possessing abilities outstanding even among that species, its talons, its fangs, its scales, all were artefacts that ought be considered sacred treasures of nature.

Upon each occasion the tremendous power it concealed was brandished, the wind would raise death throes, the heavens would be rent asunder, the world carrying a newfound heat would be perceivable. Even basking in a single direct hit, would make the continuation of combat unfeasible.

A method to prevent those dreadful sacred treasures from being wielded to the fullest, indeed resided within the Sword Demon.

The impetus for the Divine Dragon making an appearance before the Sword Demon, that had been the peril befalling the girl who bore the same features as the lineage of Lion Kings. That girl had been present within the room in which the bout had broken out, attentively watching over the battle without holding down her hair, flapping by the updraft of wind.

Maintaining that girl to the rear, the Sword Demon positioned himself such that she would get caught up in the destruction wrought by the Divine Dragon.

By doing so, the Divine Dragon, fearing harm may befall the dame for whatever reason, was made unable to display its full strength, thus alleviating the footsteps of death’s dominion from encroaching upon the Sword Demon, to some extent.

Ergo――,

Sword Demon: [――――]

The Sword Demon abandoned his position of keeping the girl to his back, and personally closed his distance with death’s dominion.

To a rampaging tempest of destruction and annihilation he exposed his own self, nary a lifeline save the dual implements of steel seized in both his hands, and threw himself towards the precipice of doom, with even the slightest of missteps meaning his life would be forfeit.

By using the battleground to one’s favor, by taking advantage of the opponent’s emotions, it was indeed possible to edge towards victory.

But, that was inelegant. And beyond being inelegant, it was extremely impertinent, unbeneficial, and futile. ――A victory stolen through underhanded means, rather than skill, to make up for swordsmanship that was lacking, what value could such a thing possibly hold here and now?

――The Sword Demon was a man who had lived on the battlefield.

The existence of battles fought for the sake of survival, of history untold by any save the triumphant survivors, of defeats and deaths that could not be excused; of these he knew all, by virtue of the weight of his victims’ blood clinging onto his soul.

However, the current time was different. ――Nay, from this moment forward, in all the clashes the Sword Demon would grip his blades, doing battle against individuals through his steel, there would be no meaning in stolen victory.

Through his swordsmanship he would force the surrender of the one against whom he possessed the greatest need to emerge triumphant.

Along that journey, the Sword Demon had not the time to squander on detours. If he was going to forge this old, withering body into the steel it had once been, he could not squander his time on anything but steeping his soul in the most scorching of heats.

Sword Demon: [――――]

At the raging blow of a swordlike wind, the dragon’s claw, peeled and sliced off, danced through the air. Cramped. In order to swing his swords, in order for the Divine Dragon to wield its tail and fangs to the fullest, this battleground was far too cramped. The Sword Demon’s heels exploding, his shimmering swords flashed at a speed that consigned all notions of sound and wind to oblivion, piercing into the chest of the Divine Dragon, and causing the space around them to burst asunder.

A Dragon’s scales, their hardness was greatly influenced by the aggregate amount of Mana possessed by the individual.

The mightier and longer-lived the Dragon, the more robust and tenacious they grew; henceforth, in regards to the Divine Dragon who reigned supreme over all others, its draconic scales were of a hardness that surpassed even diamond.

Against those diamond dragonscales, the Sword Demon relentlessly swung his steel, repeating attacks of the striking, slashing, and stabbing variety. Even after all that, the steel in his grip was in prime condition―― specially prepared for the Sword Demon to accomplish his goal, the twin swords Trias were a masterpiece of the same swordsmith that had forged the renowned blade Astrea, with which he bore a deep connection.

Their handles fit comfortably in his hands, and integrating their weight with his body, the swords’ shimmer traded blows with diamond, still unchipped――,

Sword Demon: [――――]

In regards to the Sword Demon’s furious onslaught, the Divine Dragon was not one to allow itself to be ravaged unceasingly like such.

Even if the mind concealed within was not the original, there was no hesitation in exerting the abilities of what could be called the strongest dragonhusk in the world; thus the Divine Dragon manifested might on the level of a natural disaster as if elementary.

To transform the shape of the world, to append unto reality any conclusion in accordance to what it deigned, forcing its showing upon the stage, was the right bestowed upon the Divine Dragon by Od Lagna, unmistakably.

A roar shattered the sky, dragonclaws cleaved the earth. Dragonscales repelled the Sword Demon’s fullest wroth a hundred times over, and the draconic aura emitted from the entirety of its body stained the Royal Capital’s atmosphere in the hue of the Divine Dragon.

The tail slammed down, striking the aged Sword Demon true. ――Nay, the Sword Demon had thrust the tip of his sword into the tail to evade the strike, before immediately dashing up its length, drawing near to the throat. An intercepting roar. Light torn to smithereens head-on, a decapitating glint flashed. With the dragonscales on its shoulders it deflected, instantly poising itself to go again―― the clash began anew.

Sword Demon: [――――]

Unfurled wings becoming as if blades, the Divine Dragon ushered in a gusty storm of swords that carved up the Royal Capital. As the Sword Demon slipped through that gale, the former drawing a band of blood, the tail slammed to align with his trajectory, carving with it death’s dominion. At the echoing tremors of demise, the Sword Demon’s body was furiously blown backwards. A direct hit―― falsehood, as upon perceiving its unavoidable nature, the Sword Demon had aligned himself with the revolution of the tail, and from his fingertips, his ankles, his knees, his hips, his lumbar, his ribs, his shoulders, his neck, and the top of his head, he released all strength, allowing the lethal impact to pass through his entire body, as he flew, and flew, and flew.

Slamming through one, two, three buildings, the Sword Demon drove his sword into the ground, and lifted his visage. His fighting spirit was not shaken in the slightest. Thereupon, the Divine Dragon’s breath took the form of a corona, and drew near.

Sword Demon: [――――]

A flash of swordly shimmer, the Sword Demon cleaved through the breath’s cusp, forcing his body through the meagre gap that had only been formed, and reached salvation from the scorching light, waiting in the open air. Then did the Divine Dragon beat its wings, swooping down to mercilessly snap its maw at the Sword Demon.

Dragonfangs, boasting durability and sharpness that exceeded even that of draconic claws, moved to sink into the flesh of the Sword Demon. Perfectly aligning the tips of both his swords together, the Sword Demon created a support brace that prevented the jaws from snapping shut. Supposing he had instead aimed the tips of the swords towards the maxilla and mandible respectively, the jaw would have closed, crunching his life to naught.

It was his sense of smell that rejected Death―― nay, his avariciousness to seize victory that had prevented that, thus prolonging his life.

With the Sword Demon captured in its unclosing maw, the Divine Dragon abandoned its efforts to plunder his life by means of its fangs―― giving a powerful click of its tongue, the Dragon gave birth to an explosion within that space and struck the Sword Demon’s body true.

Sword Demon: [――――]

As blood spurt forth from ears left and right, his ruptured eardrums, and the semicircular canals within, each quivered. Gnashing his teeth, the Sword Demon stood his ground as the Dragon’s tongue extended to strike him, launching him outside its maw―― out towards the high skies of the Royal Capital, defenseless.

During his capture in the jaws, the Sword Demon had been carried off to the sky by the flapping wings of the Divine Dragon; jostled around by the wind, in free fall, bereft of the means with which to counter, his attitude high as to cause those faint of heart to swoon upon a mere downwards gaze, he faced straight towards the ground, descending in a swift, unceasing motion.

Were he to continue and descend in this manner, Sword Demon though he might be, he would not escape harm’s way. Between a human who lived on the ground, and a Dragon permitted to lord over the skies with its large build, that was the definitive――,

Sword Demon: [――――]

But, even in a situation that appeared as a decisive blow, the Divine Dragon did not abandon the Sword Demon to chance.

The Dragon greatly inflated its lungs to ready a breath, the release of which would give rise to tremendous damage to the sprawling Royal Capital below, shattering the endeavor to abstain from killing―― no, the Noble District directly below had been evacuated.

Somebody, having established this place as a battlefield beforehand, had evacuated every residence liable to being caught up in the damage, thus constructing this arena. He regarded that skillfulness with admiration, and gratitude.

Sword Demon: [――――]

The breath unleashed was greater and more sweltering than before, blitzing towards the Sword Demon as infernal heat.

The Sword Demon, unable to even look straight at the white light as he was, and possessing not the wings or the methods with which to resist the force of gravity, would have no choice but receive the blast directly―― that instant, below the Sword Demon as he revolved his body midair, a foothold hastened.

Sword Demon: [――――]

One of the buildings the Sword Demon had slammed through, before ascending to the sky; the tall time tower intercepted the path of the plummeting old swordsman, functioning as a foothold for the Sword Demon. Bending his knees, the Sword Demon landed on the tower, held his twin swords tightly, and gazed to the sky. ――Across the breath, the Sword Demon and Divine Dragon exchanged glances, and that instant, a beautiful flash of sword clashed head-on with the white light.

Sword Demon: [――――]

A chain of sounds akin to water’s surface being flicked, to the shattering of fragile glass, and the corona was split asunder from within.

The Divine Dragon’s breath, it was. And in it dwelled both the power and the right to engulf the many things it collided with, flaying their outer layers, and stripping off the profound to lay them bare. Nevertheless, the Sword Demon had ignored all that to his heart’s content as it was thrust before him, cleaving through the light with a brandish of his blades.

――As something truly pure, allowing no interference from the wicked, the sword flash beautifully bisected all.

Sword Demon: [――――]

As the breath, severed as it was, radiated across the surface, it demolished the Noble District of the Royal Capital, leveling it flat.

The tower stood on by the Sword Demon, which had become the epicenter of the explosion, and the crimson mansion under the protection of the Divine Dragon, were the only things to have escaped direct harm, but aught else had learned the tremendous degree of the Dragon’s power.

The aftershock of the white light had stained the Sword Demon with white soot, jumping off the crumbling tower, and the Divine Dragon flapped its wings, still continuing to exert its hostility from the heavens; between ground and sky, their gazes crossed.

And then――,

Sword Demon: [――――]

As swordly aura, surging forth rather than reaching its limit, and draconic pressure, compelling aught to surrender, clashed anew, all living things in the Royal Capital of Lugunica, organic or not, shuddered.

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???: [Do you, like flowers?]

Amidst a world hazed in white, audible was the voice of a lovely woman, her back towards a bed of yellow flowers.

The world misshapen by the draconic aura, Wilhelm spun his body through the advance of a fatal zephyr, and as he brandished the gleaming swords carried in both his hands, a multitude of reminiscences flowed within himself.

???: [Have you come to like flowers?]

A lovely woman, she had been. Drawn to her at first sight, the foolish man had placed a lid over those sentiments unfamiliar.

Yet still, as their relationship went unsevered, Wilhelm had indulged in that environment, fearful of cutting too deep into it, immersing his body and soul in moments of laxness, of terrible, oh most terrible timidity, neglecting that time went by.

???: [To swing the sword to protect someone. I think that’s nice.]

His hometown enveloped in a blazing inferno, a sword flashing with beauty had delivered Wilhelm from the clutches of death.

The woman had harbored no desire to take up the sword, yet nonetheless was loved by the sword; the reality that he had conferred her with a reason to swing the sword filled Wilhelm with myriad anger, his soul a conflagration born of repudiation.

Towards weakness, towards the secrets, towards his own inadequate being, anger, anger, anger――.

Cleaving through the anger entire, overpowering it, by devoting his everything to the act of channeling that violent sentiment into his blade, at last, he attained the right to stand before her, and cross swords.

And thus, he had rescued the lovely woman from the abominable Sword God, making her his own.

???: [Are you, in love with me?]

――Nay, was it that he had made her his, or had he been made hers? He knew not the answer.

But, they had been happy. They had been fortunate. From the very moment he had met Theresia, to the very instant he had lost her, Wilhelm had continued to be blessed to the greatest possible extent.

――The Death of Theresia, was unmistakably a tragedy.

Unable to even exchange words of parting, failing to convey the words he ought to have imparted, Wilhelm had been dominated by grief and lamentation. Amidst his despair, by overlooking much, he had erred.

But, the days he had spent with Theresia, for Wilhelm, had been those of happiness.

That joyous time shared between the two, was it really something that could conclude with it all being ruined, fading as if its entirety had never even occurred, the moment it had come to an end with a single day of tragedy?

Even if its color had faded in transience, could he truly remain without ever desiring that it ripen with fresh color once more?

Decidedly, that could not be so.

So that Theresia’s Death, that her Life, would not come to an end alongside a tragedy, he sought vengeance.

Thus, if swinging his sword for Theresia had returned color to those days, then he desired to return color to a similarly dulled scene, unceasing in his struggle to do so.

A raging gale, the savage roar by the Divine Dragon unleashed.

Stabbing the tip of his sword into the Dragon’s ire as it immolated the world white, he sliced it apart; as ever, there, beyond the cleared vision, did he witness the bloodcurdling remorses into which he would need to cut.

――An overcast sky, a headstone marking a vacant grave, ceaseless weeping and desolate voices, words of prayer imploring serenity.

Present at the center of the many weeping individuals who had gathered for she who had been beloved, he could not recall what words he had chosen to speak, to impart, to deeply engrave Theresia’s nature in them all.

What he recalled, were remorses. Immensely powerful, towering, and unerasable, were Wilhelm’s remorses.

A child yet unaware of reason, a child who had not been with the mother and father with whom he ought to have been. The words the child had chosen as consideration and consolation his own foolhardy self had rejected, unable to accept them.

In that moment, dull had turned the sky, the ground, the faces of the people, his own self, the child――,

???: [――It’s alright, honored grandfather. When she passed, honored grandmother wasn’t the Sword Saint. That’s why, the Sword Saint didn’t lose.]

Wilhelm: […Please stop.]

???: [After all, the Sword Saint shouldn’t ever lose. Father said so.]

Wilhelm: [I am begging you, please stop.]

???: [So, don’t be so sad, the Astrea Family is safe and sound, honored grandfather.]

Wilhelm: [Right now, right here… Please don’t speak of that.]

Again and again, words of rejection bereft of power.

Over and over, words of consolation from a child settled in that which he believed.

And then――,

???: [I’m the next Sword Saint. ――Just before Honored Grandmother passed away, I received it.]

Wilhelm: [――Stop already! What is it that you want me to say!? Do not make me say that it was your fault that Theresia… that your grandmother died!]

???: [――――]

Wilhelm: [Do not, make me say it… Hk.]

Amidst the faded scene, erasing aught else, he and the child were made two. Through his immature, foolish self of that day, of that moment, Wilhelm thrusted sword, and pressed forth.

Words that remained forever unspoken, would never be imparted unto the other party. Even supposing a mutual understanding of feelings between both parties, the thousands, tens of thousands of words that ought to have been devoted, would never be delivered unto the other party.

And likewise, the words that had ended up being vocalized, no matter the manner in which they had formed, would always end up being imparted unto the other party.

How exactly that would be received, depended entirely on the capacity of the receiver.

But, to pour more water than could be deemed acceptable into a yet incomplete container, and blaming that container for overflowing, unable to take it on whole, how foolish of an act would that be?

The face of the child―― of Reinhard, in the faded world of that day, he could not recall.

After all, once he had let slip words that he ought never have, he had not even been able to look upon his face. It was not that he could not recall it, he did not even know to begin with for he had failed to look upon it.

Thus, those who received the words he had ended up speaking, were not confined to that single person.

???: […I heard that you were blaming the kid at Mom’s funeral service. And yet, you still want to see Reinhard? You can’t even make the distinction on what’s not fine to say, Dad, and yet you think you’ve got the right to apologize to him?]

???: [That child, is mine and Louanna’s child… To say he let Mom die, that he stole her Divine Protection! That’s all some sort of misunderstanding! I’ll… I’ll prove it!]

???: [I’m not you, Dad. I’m me. ――This is something, I have to do, no matter what.]

Once words had been uttered, no longer could they be retracted.

Wihlelm’s reckless remarks towards Reinhard had spread in the blink of an eye, even reaching the ears of Heinkel, who had not attended the funeral service, causing him to lose his chance to apologize and explain himself.

Concurrently, the foolish reprimand from grandfather to grandchild had been spread even to those outside the family, so as a result of that scandal, the truth of the succession of the Divine Protection of the Sword Saint became widely known.

Heinkel, had absolutely not allowed Wilhelm to see Reinhard.

Reinhard, had avoided Wilhelm in accordance with what Heinkel had told him, severing all interaction.

Wilhelm, had kept his distance from Heinkel and Reinhard, devoting himself to vengeance by his lonesome.

The relationships between those three, in conflict as they were, once more came together due to crossing the corpse soldier Theresia at the Watergate City, and once more had definitive cracks been born. ――Were that to be the finale, then it would indeed be a tragic ending.

But, for Wilhelm, who had opted not to permite Theresia’s Death, her Life, her Existence to end in tragedy, he too would chant objections to this relationship drawing to a close as a tragedy.

And, as for the way to exclaim objections towards that overpowering fate, he knew no method but to exclaim them through his sword.

――Reinhard was the Sword Saint.

So long as he continued to bear that as an unshakable duty, never would the chance come around to exchange sentiments with Reinhard, present behind the veil of Sword Saint, never would the chance come to restore color to that faded scene.

Henceforth, Wilhelm van Astrea―― nay, the one who dispossessed Sword Saints of their swords, Wilhelm Trias, had no other choice but to bleed his very life into his sword’s shimmer.

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――Again. Indubitably, that had been a stanza of a battle that would go on to be told in legend.

The battle unfolding between Sword Demon and Divine Dragon amounted to a back and forth bout with a score of factors at its conception, pitting the tempered swordsmanship of steel against the power of an apex lifeform by birth.

In the Royal Capital, the area of the Noble District that had become a battleground had been leveled, the collapsed buildings and pulverized streets telling of how tremendous the clash between those individuals present in the same domain, unreachable to any ordinary person, was.

Even considering their body size, the presence or absence of footing, and the trading of their decisive blows, the sword’s shimmer and the draconic presence were evenly matched.

A battle between Dragon and man, in the current world, was a fight to the death of such rarity that whether it would be possible to witness one such event in the span of a hundred months, or even years, was impossible to know; and yet, astonishingly, this made it twice the Sword Demon met a Dragon in battle.

The gist of that, was karma, karma that could not be explained by anything but the fact that he had continued to desire and tread foot upon the most dangerous battlefields in this world, and that the large something that governed fate had continued to provision the Sword Demon with worthy enemies.

Considering the preconditions, the Sword Demon had been at an overwhelming disadvantage going into this fight.

The slashes of the Sword Demon’s twin swords could not pierce the tenacious scales of the Divine Dragon, whereas the Divine Dragon’s claws and fangs would easily pluck the Sword Demon’s life from his flesh with as much as the slightest graze.

The Sword Demon had continued to evade them with techniques employing the most strenuous of his efforts, but he would eventually reach his limit. ――In theory, that would be so.

But, just who could possibly imagine the sight of the Sword Demon, stained in blood, covered in white soot, swinging his swords as his back was scorched, using up the last of his strength as he succumbed to the Divine Dragon’s talon.

The bloodcurdling visage of the Sword Demon, the swordly aura so intense that merely being exposed to it from head to toe would cause one to feel as though the edge of a blade had been trained to their life, the swordsmanship hot on the heels of the prime in which he had once defeated the Sword Saint; all of them refuted the natural reality, instilling onlookers with the manifestation of irrational hope and expectation.

――The Sword Saint, was the sword of the Kingdom of Lugunica, the bearer of hope.

At the time that hope had been unseated by the Sword Demon, the people ought to have despaired, turning to the heavens. The Sword Saint had been defeated, so such a continuation would be logical. However, reality had differed.

Not a single person had lamented the fact that the Sword Saint had been defeated, setting aside their sword; rather, the masses had blessed it. That had been because a new hope had sprouted―― they had begun to harbor new expectations, for the Sword Demon who had bested the Sword Saint.

Pursuing strength and strength alone, unable to do anything except hone his own self much like the steel he brandished, was the Sword Demon.

The Sword Demon’s direct, unyielding way of being, had caused a great many people to raise their visages, instilling them with hope, giving them expectations for the future.

Now, in this moment, the impossibility of imagining a future in which the figure of the Sword Demon would be laid low by the Divine Dragon, was the same as that. ――In witnessing the Sword Demon’s way of being, people would end up finding hope.

So long as there remained a desired scenery for that sword to cut through to, it would instill the belief that it not being reached was not a possibility.

Ergo, the battle between Sword Demon and Divine Dragon was at a deadlock, with the two involved, each unable to discover a winning move, having been constantly ascertaining how they could excel their opponent in this life or death bout.

――That was why, the progression of the bout between individuals transcendent, was performed by neither Sword Saint nor Divine Dragon.

Sword Demon: [――――]

Divine Dragon: [――――]

At the nexus of the townscape transformed into a theater of war, Sword Demon and Divine Dragon crossed gazes, exchanging silence. However, albeit the result was mutual silence, the essence of that silence differed between the two.

To one, patience, the other, shock. Both were emotions meriting silence, but that which followed was different.

Sword Demon: [Guh.]

A faint groan, accompanied by great volumes of blood, spilled from the Sword Demon’s mouth.

But, with his twin swords yet clasped, the Sword Demon made no attempt to stifle the overflowing ichor, and looked down at his own body―― he caught sight of a sword’s tip piercing through his abdomen, stained with blood.

The blade had entered from behind, perforating the Sword Demon’s torso, and causing blood to spill outward. The sword responsible for that act, was a sword the Sword Demon knew well. ――It was none other than his own former beloved sword.

The sword inscribed Astrea, its current owner――,

Sword Demon: [――Heinkel.]

Blurred by the frothing of blood at his mouth, he bore no confidence that his mutter had become a definite sound.

But, from the quivering of the sword thrust through his body, he understood the intentions that had charged the deed. If he turned around, it was possible that his torso would be torn asunder, hence the Sword Demon grit his molars, and stood his ground.

Behind him, while tightly clasping the hilt of the sword that had stabbed the Sword Demon――,

Heinkel: […With your way of doing things, I can’t get Louanna back.]

Sword Demon: [――――]

Heinkel: [I’m not you… I’m not you, Dad. I’m me. ――This is something, I have to do, no matter what.]

A wrung-out voice it had been, mixed with sobs that seemed to be tearing his chest apart.

As he listened to that, the stabbed Sword Demon took a long, deep exhale, and reminisced.

The figure of his own child, whose cries brought about by his own self in the midst of training had been cause for his wife to scold him, which in turn had led him to badger his child to bear through the tears.

As far back as those times, all odds of victory would be lost upon his child’s cries.

――That had been the deciding blow interrupting the climactic bout between Dragon and man, driving the stanza of legend to its coda.