Ishura - Volume 4 - Chapter 8

Chapter 4: The Third Match

The office in the soldier barracks was where Haade the Flashpoint usually spent his time. He would always stay on base, keeping an eye on the soldiers’ morale and discipline, and he almost never visited the Central Assembly Hall in the course of his daily duties.

There was also a visitor who was freely allowed to go in and out of this office as well.

“…Soujirou. Have you been using that sword this whole time?”

Soujirou the Willow-Sword was sitting down, leaning up against the wall.

While his eyes were closed, he wasn’t asleep. He simply didn’t like any superfluous or bothersome activity. He had never even practiced any of the techniques he knew.

“Yup.”

“That’s a Nagan training sword, you know. Not only that, but Nagan’s no military school, so the build quality isn’t anything special, either. Basically…it’s a light sword, just enough to get you used to the bare minimum basics. Sure, it isn’t incapable of killing people, but cutting down a single minia should be enough to ruin it for good. Start talking about a zmeu or anything like ’em, and it couldn’t cut down a single one.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, so how come I can kill people with it, then?”

It was a rare state of affairs for Soujirou to show interest in the principle of something.

“Because you aren’t slashing with raw strength. You slash the eye or an opening in something—which is admittedly something the masters here in our world do, too, more or less. Your technique just goes far, far beyond that.”

Just as Aureatia had done with all the visitors they secured for themselves, they repeatedly analyzed and experimented with Soujirou’s skills as well.

The tip of Soujirou’s drawn blade never failed to penetrate steel armor like water seeping in. The story was that his sword attack had even sliced through Nihilo the Vortical Stampede’s deep celestial charsteel armor.

With a slash of that speed, it was possible to slice through material of any quality with the very first cut. Not only that, but while accompanied with an abnormal amount of technical skill, the trajectory of his blade never wavered until he was finished with his follow-through.

…However, if that explanation was enough to detail his entire abilities, that would truly place him in the category of “abnormal technical skill.”

Soujirou could slice a clean line through an ooze corpse that would collapse at the slightest touch, pull off curved slashes that seemed impossible to explain, judging by his sword’s trajectory, and even manage to slice through a gun while it was pushed against his blade.

A being existing in a realm that even Haade the Flash Point, having witnessed the skills of soldiers more than anyone else, was unable to comprehend. That was what it meant to be a visitor.

Just as it was with a dragon’s forelimbs, a gigante’s long life span, or an enchanted sword or magic tools—those first initial abnormalities were impossible to replicate no matter what Word Arts or types of science one used.

That was why they were all banished from the Beyond and brought to this world.

“Soujirou. Are you particular about that sword or something?”

“I can figure out whether a sword’s good or not, too, ya know. If I picked myself up another sword, then I woulda used that.”

“…I see, then. Since you’re appearing in the Sixways Exhibition, are you gonna need a higher-quality sword?”

“If ya don’t got one, then I don’t need any.”

“I’ll give you an enchanted sword.”

Haade opened the package on his desk and took out a sheathed sword.

The long sword had a blade that gently curved with a single edge, as if it knew of Soujirou’s origins back in the Beyond and had chosen him specifically.

“Here in this world…there are swords that’ll explode just by touching the tip, swords that’ll spit fire, swords that’ll move on their own. Enigmas beyond analysis, one being worth as much as a whole army.”

“Don’t need ’em.”

“Pfft! Knew you’d give me that. Relax. This one’s got nothing to it.”

The exploding sword jumbled the recoil from hitting something. The flame-spitting sword was already not really a sword, considering the range of destruction and its behavior. Swords that moved on their own and their ilk were out of the question while in the middle of subtle and intriguing sword techniques.

It was indeed true there were genuine monsters like Toroa the Awful, who were capable of manipulating even these characteristics of various enchanted swords to be part of his own technique.

However, it was the fantasy of those who didn’t know the way of the sword to think an enchanted sword would unconditionally lead to unrivaled power. Gilnes the Ruined Castle, for example, wielder of the enchanted blasting sword, was a fearsome swordsman because he wielded it while fully aware of this fact.

Haade casually tossed the enchanted sword, after speaking of its scarcity and value, to Soujirou. With his eyes closed, Soujirou remained seated as he grabbed the sheath in midair.

“Alcuzari the Hollow Blade.”

“What sorta sword is it?”

“It doesn’t break or chip. That’s it. Its metal’s flexible, sure, but no warping or bending’s left behind. Not only is that an inexhaustible sword, but it’s an impregnable shield. That should be good for you, eh?”

“…Heh-heh.”

Soujirou stifled his laughter.

Several traces of light flashed through the air. With the follow-up clack of the hilt, Haade then realized he had tried out the sword by slicing through the air.

“Ain’t nothing special. No different from the average sword. The shield stuff doesn’t matter, neither. I’ve never blocked with my sword before.”

“Looked like a pretty good match just now.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Haade had witnessed Soujirou’s swordsmanship with his training sword.

Now that he had swapped out to the weight of a common sword, it seemed as if the difference in heft had been converted to speed.

To say nothing of the power should such a slash connect—it was impossible for Haade to imagine.

The swordsman was sneering, like a beast impatiently waiting for his premonition of bloodshed to come true.

“Heh-heh…… Hey, Haade. You’re thinkin’ up something awful, aren’t ya?”

“Bwa-ha-ha… Yeah, I guess.”

The same smile spread across the Twenty-Seventh General’s face.

The third match was about to begin.

In front of the long bridge in Aureatia…

A steam automobile stopped right before it had finished crossing the bridge. The driver shouted.

“This is it! I can’t go any farther!”

“UNDERSTOOD.”

The door of the car’s bed promptly opened, and a monstrous beast jumped out of it.

He stamped down the city road. Colors streamed through their sights as they raced.

Even with the portly Fourteenth General, Yuca, on his back, his running speed still surpassed any and all of the automobiles around him.

“Hoo boy, we sure are late, huh? But at least it looks like we made it in time for the match.”

Despite the tremendous headwind he was facing on Ozonezma’s back, Yuca the Halation Gaol wasn’t shaken up at all. For Ozonezma, he was grateful for the man’s calm composure.

“…DO YOU THINK SO? WHEN WE DEPARTED GIMEENA CITY, WE INITIALLY HAD A THREE-DAY LEAD TIME.”

“Rotten luck, wasn’t it? We didn’t have a vehicle, and there was that detour midway, too.”

“DOES AN AUTOMOBILE COAL DEFICIENCY COUNT AS ‘UNLUCKY’? EVEN THAT SMALL AMOUNT OF FUEL WAS ALL SCRAPED TOGETHER ON THE BLACK MARKET, WASN’T IT? RIGHT BEFORE WE LEFT, THERE WAS A LARGE-SCALE SEIZURE OF FUEL. CONCENTRATED ENTIRELY AROUND GIMEENA CITY.”

“Well, I mean, that stuff just happens sometimes, I guess?”

After the long time he had spent together with Yuca, Ozonezma had come to understand something.

He certainly wasn’t as stupid as he made it seem to those around him. He must have long since realized that the course of events surrounding them was probably a form of sabotage from Twenty-Seventh General Haade. It was likely partly out of Yuca’s pride that he understood this—and still remained calm and collected.

However, if it wasn’t for Zigita Zogi’s warning—if their departure had been delayed even a half a day later, there was a chance that Ozonezma wouldn’t have been able to even step on the battlefield and would have lost his match without putting up a fight.

“…IS IT TOO LATE TO MAKE TIME TO MEET WITH SOMEONE?”

“Ha-ha-ha. It’s no skin off my back if you lose, Ozonezma, so we can do that first if you want. But noon’s almost here. If you don’t head straight for your match, you might not make it.”

“UNDERSTOOD.”

It was Ozonezma himself who chose to tactically delay his arrival to Aureatia until the very last moment.

Of course, he was resigned to the considerations he’d have to make as a result, but he still had some regrets.

TU, WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?

He had memories of Aureatia’s layout from the map he had obtained from Zigita Zogi’s men beforehand.

Turning at a sharp angle in the alleyway, he kicked the wall to dodge a carriage, continuing at such extreme speeds that the eyes of the passersby didn’t register his passing. Such full-power speed, when compared to the battle he was about fight, didn’t tire him out in the slightest.

“You’re talking about Tu the Magic, right? Sorry ’bout that. Flinsuda and I actually get along pretty well, and she might’ve brought her out to Gimeena City if I asked her to.”

“A FAR TOO OPTIMISTIC VIEW. ANOTHER SPONSOR LEADING THEIR CANDIDATE OUT OF AUREATIA BEFORE THEIR MATCH… EVEN PROPOSING IT WOULD INVITE SUSPICION FROM THE OTHERS. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.”

“Still, though, are you sure you shouldn’t meet up with her first? You could just as easily get heavily injured in this upcoming match, too.”

“…YOU WON’T GO AS FAR TO SAY I MIGHT DIE, THEN?”

He came to a sudden stop. His monstrously huge frame used a small building’s window frame as a foothold and climbed up as if his body weighed nothing at all. It was mobility that far eclipsed the speed of automobiles or horses.

“Geez, it might’ve been better to run on your back from the start.”

“FOR THREE WHOLE DAYS?”

“Sure, you could do that, right?”

“YOU WOULDN’T GET THROUGH IT UNSCATHED.”

In fact, Ozonezma’s acceleration should induce a horrifying amount of physical strain to a minian body.

Despite this, Yuca was composed enough to chitchat with Ozonezma just like he always did. He was a tenacious man. Supposing Ozonezma’s sponsor had been a regular civil bureaucrat instead, he wouldn’t have been able to act so recklessly.

“IT IS FINE IF I AM UNABLE TO MEET TU THE MAGIC. NO MATTER WHAT PATH THAT ONE CHOOSES TO GO DOWN… IT DOESN’T DIRECTLY INVOLVE ME EITHER WAY.”

“You almost sound like you’re friends.”

“…I WOULD WAGER SHE DOESN’T KNOW ME AT ALL.”

“Then, what is she?”

“…………A DIFFICULT QUESTION. IF I HAD TO ANSWER…”

Jumping over rooftops, he crossed two roads before coming back down.

The match would start soon. Just as Yuca said, there was no time for him to converse with Tu the Magic.

Straight at the end of this alley was the garden theater where the match was being held.

Ozonezma answered.

“A YOUNGER SISTER.”

Kicking the ground again, the grotesque chimera rushed on.

While this was Ozonezma’s first time stepping foot into Aureatia, he couldn’t afford to take in the glittering and gorgeous scenery around him.

However, he could win. Up until the moment the match started, both Haade and Soujirou remained totally ignorant of the true methods he would use.

I will win this first battle.

It was the first round and would be the fight that would prove the most difficult.

His enemy was Haade the Flashpoint, leading a faction that rivaled Rosclay’s own, and the tangible and intangible sabotage from his organizational strength was driving the chimera up against the wall before the match even began.

Nevertheless, if Ozonezma defeated Soujirou in the first round, he could destroy the opposing faction in Aureatia that was rivaling Rosclay’s. Haade’s faction, governing Aureatia’s military, would become an isolated player within the Sixways Exhibition.

This held a completely different meaning than defeating Rosclay himself, the majority faction’s leader. Precisely because Haade’s faction was not the largest player, even after it collapsed, their common enemy in Rosclay would still exist.

Haade’s faction would be placed in a situation exactly like the Old Kingdoms’ loyalists in Gimeena City—if there happened to be someone who could bring together their scattered forces again, that person would then become a new “head” for their group.

As long as Ozonezma had Hiroto the Paradox as a collaborator, such an operation was all too easy. By directly connecting with the envoy for Haade’s camp, Hiroto had already laid the foundations to do so. This fight would be the most difficult, but it was also an arrangement that Hiroto the Paradox had negotiated for when devising the tournament bracket.

…I MUST WIN.

Therefore, for this first-round match, it had been necessary to assemble an absolutely flawless surprise attack.

Having remained outside of Aureatia, Ozonezma wasn’t directly acquainted with the appearances or personalities of the other participants. He knew the fighting strength of his bracket from Zigita Zogi’s investigations and came up with his countermeasures based solely off that.

He was unconcerned with the goals of the other hero candidates fighting in the Sixways Exhibition. It wasn’t necessary.

Whatever objectives Soujirou the Willow-Sword had, their match moments away, were irrelevant.

Even if it had been Tu the Magic instead, he had resolved himself that, if it was necessary, he would have no other choice.

Ozonezma had one goal.

TO ERADICATE THE FALSE HERO.

The castle theater garden was a facility that had been used to hold royal games before the beginning of the Sixways Exhibition.

There were passageways set up below the stone audience seats for the players in royal games to use, and the Twenty-Nine Officials sponsoring hero candidates could now remain here on standby and watch over their candidates’ matches.

Currently, only Haade the Flashpoint was there. Yuca the Halation Gaol had yet to arrive.

An elderly secretary sped to his side and passed on a message to the general.

“General Haade. I have something to report.”

“Couldn’t stymie their transportation?”

“…Yessir.”

Obstructing Ozonezma from entering Aureatia itself—it was one of the plans that Haade’s camp had devised, much like the Old Kingdoms’ loyalist insurrection in Gimeena City to try to clear the first round.

The maximum amount of sabotage that was possible without things getting out to the public…or to be more specific, without Yuca making it public. As far as Haade’s plans were concerned, he couldn’t scheme anything more extreme than what he had.

“Getting put on the back foot with the steam automobile hurt. The central registry for steam vehicles is still too lax. They had a car they purposefully kept hidden from us. Someone like Jel would’ve been able to take care of it, I bet.”

“Ozonezma will arrive at the arena. There’s no choice but to fight against him.”

“I know. Soujirou’s there for when we get forced to fight. Get in touch with Dant.”

“Master Dant… Contact Zigita Zogi’s sponsor.”

Contact with the Twenty-Fourth General Dant—it meant contact with the Okafu, and the Gray-Haired Child, first and foremost. While it was a backup plan, itself bringing danger, Haade wasn’t a man who hesitated in situations like these.

“Is Master Dant involved in this incident…?”

“Ninety percent of it. Ninety percent, for sure. First, there’s the loophole in the steam automobile system, and then the instant he got wind of our movements, the bastard went and got control of the fuel on the black market. ’Cept it’s not a stunt he could’ve pulled off with just smarts. He’d need hands that could reach far and wide. A military force. That’s Zigita Zogi—and his command of the Free City of Okafu, right?”

“…and what of the possibility it was Master Rosclay’s army?”

“Nah. The scale of our enemy’s movements wouldn’t be possible with the soldiers Rosclay can call to action outside of Aureatia. During the negotiations after that sniper incident, Zigita Zogi and the Gray-Haired Child…they didn’t flinch about expelling the Okafu soldiers who were given Aureatia citizenship out of the city. Might’ve been part of what they were aiming for. To make them be there to support Ozonezma outside the city.”

There was no one but Zigita Zogi who could mobilize a military force that rivaled Aureatia’s own army.

Kaete and Rosclay could similarly command their own military forces, but those were still, in some ways, Aureatia soldiers. Even if they mobilized a selection of troops from the bigger whole, their movements would get leaked to the other members in the Twenty-Nine Officials as well.

Mobilizing troops outside the city, like Haade was now, had been a high-risk gamble that left a large hole within Aureatia’s borders. This was likely how the other players saw it.

“Zigita Zogi and the Free City of Okafu. No doubt that Gray-Haired Child’s mediating between Ozonezma and the Okafu mercs.”

“…Is their aim to defeat us in the Sixways Exhibition and incorporate us into the Okafu camp?”

“If so, there’s a way to take advantage of that, but… At any rate, they aren’t any normal mercenaries. No doubt there.”

With this, the war specialist Haade was outsmarted. As far as he was concerned, what he truly needed to be cautious of was not Hiroto the Paradox, stepping into an organization and winning them over to his cause. Nor was it the self-proclaimed demon king, Morio the Sentinel, who led the Free City of Okafu.

The tactical prowess to efficiently mobilize a large-scale force, read the opponents’ next moves, and dispatch said force accordingly—

Zigita Zogi the Thousandth was a far mightier and more dangerous presence than Haade had imagined.

“I’ll arrange things with him directly right now. If their aim’s to bring us into their forces, then I’m all for it. When Soujirou loses, my only option’ll be to join up with them myself.”

“…Will Soujirou the Willow-Sword lose? A visitor like him?”

“Now, I didn’t necessarily say that.”

Soujirou was strong. Haade had chosen to use him because he was the real deal.

However, he wasn’t confident in a surefire victory, either. He needed to advance through this first round, but there had been a limit to the schemes he put into play against Ozonezma, who hadn’t been present in Aureatia until that day. There wasn’t anything Haade could do for Soujirou while he faced off against Ozonezma in the public eye.

He had already tried every means of winning before the fight started. The warmonger was simply thinking over his means of victory after the battle was fought.

“It’s the same for Soujirou or anyone else—once a battle’s started, there’s never a hundred percent chance of victory. Not even the person fighting can predict what’ll happen on the battlefield. That’s why it’s about always making the first move. Time to leave the arena.”

“I will coordinate a meeting immediately. I believe it would be best for you to accompany me directly, sir.”

“Always planned to. Things’re getting interesting. Let’s go… Well, now.”

Haade stopped. His adviser halted shortly afterward.

A colossal beast, almost taking up their full field of vision, appeared ahead in the brick corridor.

An unnatural wolfish beast, with bluish-silver fur. The largest of the Twenty-Nine Officials, Yuca the Halation Gaol, even looked small when lined up with Ozonezma.

“YOU MUST BE HAADE, THEN.”

“Hello there, Ozonezma the Capricious.”

The Twenty-Seventh General wasn’t perturbed by the monstrosity and instead had stopped and waited for his arrival.

He took a cigar from his breast pocket and stuck it in his mouth. His adviser, walking out from beside him, lit it.

Haade closed his eyes and took a puff of the cigar.

“…Took you long enough, eh? The audience’s growing impatient out there. Run into some sort of problem?”

“WE ARE NOT LATE. THERE IS PLENTY OF TIME TO FINISH UP OUR BUSINESS. RIGHT HERE…RIGHT NOW.”

Ozonezma was directly in front of the corridor.

He’d have to pass by him, or he wouldn’t be able to depart the garden theater.

In order to head for his destination, Haade the Flashpoint would have to pass right beside the brute force capable of massacring minia with a single touch.

“Pwa-ha!”

Haade laughed, blowing smoke.

“Sorry, but I got important business coming up soon, see. Fine if I sneak by you, right?”

“Ha-ha-ha. Don’t go getting up to anything too nasty, Haade.” Yuca said, upbeat and without any concern for the tension in the air.

Though they currently were working with different powers, they had confidence in each other as fellow military officers. Haade, feared as a merciless tactician, might have been showing diffidence, in some ways, to the man in front of him.

“Well, if there were any injuries to the citizens, I couldn’t overlook that, now could I? Looks like we both lucked out, eh?”

“…Right.”

Shaking his head slightly, Haade passed his finished cigar to his adviser.

“Ozonezma. I’m coming through.”

“……”

Even as he passed by Ozonezma’s side, Haade didn’t quicken his pace a single step. To Haade, war meant that death was always close at hand.

“Oh right, Yuca. Your birthday’s in about ten days, isn’t it?”

“I guess so, now that you mention it.”

“Looks like my mind hasn’t gone yet. Lemme do something for you to celebrate.”

The elderly general went on his way without watching the match that was about to begin.

The warriors for match three had gathered.

Ozonezma the Capricious versus Soujirou the Willow-Sword.

Twenty-Sixth Minister Meeka the Whispered, tasked with adjudicating the Sixways Exhibition, would be categorized as having a large build for a woman. Even with the beast dwarfing the two of them, her large stature still made him look noticeably small.

“Combatants, are there any objections to the true duel arrangements?”

“NO.”

“Nope.”

After reaching the same agreement that was laid out in the first match, Meeka left the area.

The spacious garden theater. If the opposing participants had both wished for it, they could have started from midrange instead. However, Ozonezma chose to start in sword range on purpose. Soujirou went along with the decision.

“Well, look at you… That’s quite the form you’ve got there…,” Soujirou mumbled in a low voice.

“IT SEEMS THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME WITNESSING A CHIMERA, VISITOR.”

An explosive sound echoed in the air. The cannon shot from the brass band to announce the start of the match.

Nevertheless, both parties remained still.

Regardless of Ozonezma being in range of his sword, the blade master hadn’t tried to cut him down.

“…Heh-heh-heh. How many lives you got there, huh…?”

Soujirou’s eyes narrowed. There weren’t any vulnerable areas.

Even without his opponent moving a muscle, Soujirou had a deviant fighting instinct that could recognize the quality of his enemy’s fighting skills with a single glance. Far beyond a mere sixth sense, it was an infallible intuition, on par with true precognition.

Ozonezma’s abnormally colossal body was constructed entirely out of champion-level muscles and bones. Every fiber was intricately woven around each bone to achieve peak performance. Far beyond just Soujirou, the chimera’s physical abilities likely outstripped those of the arachnid tank he had fought against in Lithia.

This wasn’t all. Fatal weak points, present in all living creatures, were missing from this chimera.

“YOU HAVE A SWORDSMAN’S BODY, I SEE. NO OTHER WEAPON WILL WORK FOR YOU.”

Ozonezma, too, had finished his observations of Soujirou upon first glance.

However, in his case, this was not a natural gift but insight into a body’s construction that he had accumulated through experience. Though he was a chimera, he was also a doctor. Whether it was above or beneath the skin, he was the creature who had observed the most champions out of anyone else across the land.

“AND YOU HAVE YOUR GUARD UP.”

In fact, Soujirou was actually putting distance between himself and Ozonezma. Two sword lengths away. He surely had techniques to slash at Ozonezma even from this distance. However…

“……”

“ARE YOU THINKING I HAVE SOME METHOD OF COUNTERING YOUR ATTACK? DO NOT WORRY. IT IS NOT THE TYPE OF METHOD YOU ARE IMAGINING.”

He held a secret trick he could employ within sword range.

For Ozonezma, keeping it hidden until the location of their match was decided on had been an insurance for him. He could match Soujirou’s slash, and precisely match the method of attack, to defeat him in a single blow of his own.

Still, the hand he kept as his final trump card, once the match had started and they faced each other at this distance, would chip away at the opponent, completely irrelevant of whether they figured out its lethality, qualities, or even its true nature.

“THAT REMINDS ME: I HAVE ONLY HEARD THIS AS A RUMOR, BUT…IT SEEMS THERE IS A GIRL NAMED YUNO THE DISTANT TALON.”

“…Huh?”

“DO YOU KNOW HER? SHE IS—”

The air trembled with a hum, and silver streaks of light swooped in on Soujirou. The ground exploded.

The streaks of light were actually six scalpels thrown simultaneously.

Perfectly simultaneous precision bombing, utilizing six of the numerous arms that appeared out of the gaping hole in Ozonezma’s back.

“…Geez!”

The cloud of dust blew away. Soujirou survived the nightmarishly destructive rush. Ozonezma’s arms weren’t the only things that had caused tremors in the air.

How was Soujirou the Willow-Sword able to dodge the six perfectly synchronized projectiles?

As he pulled back his right leg, targeted by one of the scalpels, he repelled the one heading for his shoulder with the heel of his left palm. Following through with a slash from the enchanted sword in his right hand, the flash of steel brought down the two scalpels that were aimed at his torso simultaneously. An efficient slash, rubbing the side of the scalpel blade to kill its momentum. His body, twisted down diagonally over the course of his movements, dodged the remaining two.

Within the normal principles and laws of the universe, it would have been interpreted as miraculous good fortune.

That Soujirou, coincidently, was in a position that made it possible to dodge them all.

This wasn’t the case.

VISITORS. THEIR EXISTENCE IS THE MOST TERRIFYING OF ALL.

Ozonezma’s eyes had clearly observed Soujirou’s muscles’ entire kinetic mechanisms.

No matter how superb someone’s physical abilities were…even if they were indeed a powerful champion, they possessed bones and muscles, moving in accordance with this logic.

Visitors were different. The dodge just now occurred as if it was inevitable.

Even his skills of visual observation, capable of perceiving everything down to a singular muscle fiber, couldn’t perceive the mechanisms of this movement.

He felt an unknown uneasiness, and by the time he realized it, Soujirou was moving with physical strength and speed impossible of a minia. A category of terror that was difficult to resist, shaking the foundation of all the laws of nature.

IT IS IRRATIONAL—THE VISITOR’S VERY EXISTENCE…AS WELL AS ALL THE PHENOMENA THEY CAUSE.

Ozonezma’s myriad arms readied new scalpels in succession. His body was formed entirely of the muscle fibers of champions, of nerves that had achieved illustrious status.

As a medic, he was a chimera capable of remodeling himself, thus forming only the greatest, carefully selected, materials. This was Ozonezma.

The arms sprouting from Ozonezma’s body were visibly prepared to throw their scalpels. Soujirou responded with signs he would evade them.

As the beast threw his projectiles, his eight legs switched directions. He charged. To Ozonezma, it was ultra-close range. He reached it in a bound.

“…!”

Soujirou sent out a flash of his sword.

“TOO SLOW.”

Ozonezma’s acceleration, that seemed ready to knock down and trample over Soujirou, stopped still right as his snout was lightly cut. Inconceivable muscular strength and body control capable of halting the momentum of his colossal body.

“A BLUNDER UNBECOMING OF A SWORDSMAN. MENTAL DISCORD, PERHAPS?”

“Yo… What did you do?”

“VERY WELL, SOUJIROU THE WILLOW-SWORD. I WILL REVEAL MY SECRET—”

Together with a crack, he fired off silver lines of light. Direct fire from super-close range.

Sent flying by Soujirou’s slash upward were forceps thrown in a spiral toward him.

“Ya know something… You—”

An initial movement, unlike all the throws Ozonezma had made up to that point, laughing with just a back-and-forth motion. A surprise attack that anyone who was on their guard against the previous simultaneous throws would be incapable of evading—was deflected by Soujirou. Even from this close range.

“Definitely gotta have a nasty personality.”

“IF YOU FEEL VIRTUE IS NECESSARY IN A BATTLE TO THE DEATH, THEN YOU CAN BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT YOURSELF.”

Ozonezma was already shifting his movements for his next throws.

Soujirou lowered his sword slightly and ran to cut off the line of fire. He anticipated the trajectory of the destructive meteor. Right arm and liver. Left eye and chest. Throat. His right shin at super-high speed. Right palm, right elbow, right upper arm, and left flank.

“Yo…! Can’t you! Do anything else! But throw stuff?!”

Each individual projectile had the force to kill instantly. On top of it, Ozonezma showed no signs of fatigue, opening up space where he had the advantage and pelting Soujirou nonstop with his weapons.

“WHAT’S WRONG, SOUJIROU?”

The tempest continued to rush at him. While it resembled the bombardment from a military siege, the power was on a completely different level from mere bullets or arrows. Soujirou held his own, constantly moving the tip of his sword with impossible speed, leaving behind not just a single line but a whole surface of slashes in the air.

“DON’T YOU WANT TO FIGHT IN SWORD RANGE?”

“Give it a rest!”

“YOU COULD SLASH AT ME. WITH YOUR PHYSICAL ABILITIES, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO BREAK THROUGH AN ONSLAUGHT LIKE THIS.”

A majority of the audience watching the match couldn’t know just how abnormal it was. However, an extremely mysterious situation had developed.

Soujirou the Willow-Sword was backed against the wall of the garden theater and rotating into a defense stance.

The difference in range between his sword and the projectiles. The difference in build and physical ability. It was as if the visitor was giving in to ordinary logic.

“Gaaah… Dammit. Why’s it always gotta be like this…?”

He took a deep breath and let it out.

The silver streaks of light passed by him. He was dodging them.

Kicking the wall behind him, Soujirou jumped up at an angle.

The arms, like gunfire, fixed their aim on Soujirou in midair. Scalpels. Second slash. Third slash. Soujirou raised his blade and deflected them. Though he was pressing the attack, Ozonezma’s eight beast legs were free. While Soujirou was still in midair, he was able to open up space between them again. But…

“……!”

A blade was buried deep inside one of the eight. It wasn’t Soujirou’s.

“THE SCALPELS.”

One after another, in the knee, at the base of the thigh, scalpels dug into flesh.

Soujirou flew into the air and enticed the continuing projectile attack. He had aimed to send the repelled scalpels back down over Ozonezma’s head.

Even if he didn’t hold it in his hand, the technical logic of swords themselves remained under his control. A blade master too aberrant for this world.

“Your life’s…”

The instant the repelled scalpels had halted Ozonezma’s movements Soujirou was right up inside the chimera’s reach.

Within the projectile range. Stance ready to launch his sword from his sheath, bearing down on his neck.

“…mine no—”

A charge from short range grazed him. He was sent flying.

He should have been able to unleash his finishing slash.

During what was an unbelievably golden opportunity, Soujirou didn’t do anything.

Soujirou ricocheted off the garden theater’s ground and clumsily fell flat.

“Koff, hngh…!”

He got hit by a colossally terrifying attack. A charge he should have been able to dodge.

Yet more than that, he felt a threat that convinced him getting hit by the attack had been the best option.

Soujirou had dodged something he didn’t really understand himself.

…A threat.

That ain’t it. Something’s not right. Even since I first missed my swing, something’s been off.

As he tried to stand up, Soujirou looked at his own arm.

There was a scalpel stabbed in it. In an area that hadn’t been hit by any of Ozonezma’s attack.

What the—?

Soujirou was injured.

Who stabbed me?

Someone’s hand was trying to sever Soujirou’s artery. Whose?

It’s me.

That someone’s hand was Soujirou’s own off hand.

“…What the—? What’s going…? Hey. What’s happening…?”

Something terrifying was there.

Out in front. Soujirou looked at what he had tried to dodge.

Without him realizing it, there was now only one arm stretching out from Ozonezma’s back.

That singular arm slid back into the darkness of his body.

The numerous arms that grew inside Ozonezma’s back were corpse white, modified, and reinforced with tendon and gold wire, the several varieties of muscle brilliantly joined together.

That one arm was the only exception.

Soujirou had only glimpsed it for a brief moment, but he thought it was an incredibly beautiful arm.

Soujirou the Willow-Sword felt it.

The terror.

Why was the master swordsman, capable of instant death, unable to cut off the head of his opponent with his very first slash?

Why did he wait for a chance to counterattack and switch to a defense stance so he could keep defending against his opponent’s attacks?

How was it even possible that Soujirou the Willow-Sword could harm himself and be unable to make his move?

“…What the hell is that thing?”

Ozonezma the Capricious was a chimera whose entire body was constructed out of the best organic material.

It could be said that one arm was the strongest, and the most terrible, organic material. A trump card that rendered even the likes of Soujirou the Willow-Sword unable to fight, without even touching him.

He had a special privilege. One that none of the other hero candidates had.

“THE DEMON KING’S ARM.”

The special privilege of the True Demon King.

He no longer remembered how many years ago it had happened.

He did, however, remember the shadow of the collapsing transmission tower.

The scenes of the Beyond had remained in Soujirou’s memory.

A tower burning up in flames and melting, on the other side of the piled building rubble. Thinking it was a very strange way for a tower to fall, Soujirou watched it crumble.

“Hey! God dammit; I told you: Quit going on ahead, Soujirou!”

A man in his forties was calling Soujirou’s name. It was Tsukayoshi. Soujirou had finished cutting down all the infantry soldiers a long time ago, yet Tsukayoshi, just walking along, came three minutes behind him.

This man was dressed in a casual kimono with no hakama, which looked like a joke smack-dab in the middle of the urban battle.

Tsukayoshi Yagyuu. He claimed to be the last true successor to the Yagyuu Shinkage-ryu school of swordsmanship, but was he really?

“It’s ’cause your outfit’s hard to walk around in, dumbass.”

“Y-you little… Listen, you keep making fun of your master like that, and I’ll cut you down before you can blink. A quick moonshadow, and it’s off with your bratty head.”

“Master, my ass.”

Bodies were strewn about the area, cut up in round slices, level IV body armor and all.

Soujirou was rolling a severed infantry soldier’s arm with the tip of his foot. The soldier’s assault rifle still gripped tight in their hand.

In the world of the Beyond, Soujirou’s sword was undoubtedly peculiar.

“Who’s ever heard of a master who’s weaker than their apprentice? When the hell are you even going to draw that sword, huh?”

“Don’t you forget who I am… See, me, I’m beyond the stage where swinging my sword around like a little kid’s enough for me. Oneness, yeah, that’s what this all is, didn’t I say that? Becoming one with the universe and yourself, matching your breathing with your opponents, and they’ll back off by themselves without firing a single shot. Basically, see, the peaceful path, free of fear’s the real—”

“Didn’t that guerilla attack earlier have you pissing yourself?”

“No, that was, uh, just another form of strategy, yeah…”

“Weren’t you swinging your sword around like an idiot when you ran away, too?”

“……”

Fed up with the man, Soujirou returned his sword to its sheath.

Not a single drop of blood from the veins he severed could catch up to the speed of his lightning-fast strikes. And with this single sword alone, he had cut down far more lives than he could hope to remember.

He wondered how much time had gone by since he first met Tsukayoshi. Soujirou was accompanying him under a sense of duty, simply for being given his very first sword.

He tried to remember any memories of being beholden for some other reason, but there wasn’t much of anything.

“Ain’t another M1 gonna show up or what?”

“…Listen, tanks are only gonna show up when things really go south. This ain’t like when the seventh atomic bomb dropped, okay? Next time they come, we’re seriously all going to die.”

“Nothin’ but infantry and armored cars; it’s boring.”

“…Dammit, why the hell can you slash through tanks anyway…? You’re not even human. There’s no way.”

As far as Soujirou was concerned, a tank frame was just begging to be slashed through, so what else was he supposed to do?

It was indeed true that Soujirou wasn’t all-powerful, and somewhere out there in the world there was definitely something he couldn’t slice through. That and tanks were much harder to cut through than other things. He wasn’t going to deny that.

Nevertheless, there was still a large discrepancy between his senses of perception and those of other humans.

“Be weirder if I couldn’t, right? They didn’t spring outta the ground as fully formed tanks or anything.”

No matter how encased in armor, as long as something was built by someone’s hands, there had to be somewhere along the process they bent or melted down the armor. They couldn’t shape it how they wanted if they didn’t. On top of that, given that it was assembled together, there was no possible way to make it flawlessly without any gaps or warps. There wasn’t any logical reason why someone wouldn’t be able to destroy it. Soujirou was simply doing all this with his katana.

He was always making this case in response to Tsukayoshi’s comments.

“Listen… Do you even get how they process metals…? No, guess you wouldn’t, huh? Your generation has no idea at this point, do they? Hell, there aren’t any schools to teach it anymore, either.”

“Yup. School. Was it fun for you, Tsukayoshi? More fun than cutting down tanks?”

“…How the hell can I even compare the two? Let’s talk about Yagyuu instead.”

Tsukayoshi scratched his head. Whenever Soujirou would bring up these topics, Tsukayoshi would never fail to try to change the subject.

Claiming to be the Yagyuu Shinkage-ryu successor, now impossible to verify, he spouted dubious swordsmanship knowledge, dressing in a casual kimono, and wore a sword at his waist.

If anything, he seemed to loathe his life back when there was peace.

But instead of the talks of useless principles, Soujirou preferred the conversations about back then.

Just what sort of life did they live, without any war or soldiers coming in to bring them goods and resources?

What had the world been like before Shiki Aihara appeared? From the time he was born, it had been a mystery.

“…So really, you ain’t a Yagyuu or anything like it, right?”

“Excuse me?! I-I’m the real deal, you know! You little… This is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re just a corpse-eating kasha at this point. Don’t be sorry when someone comes and chops you down.”

“Oh, hey, that’s a bomber, ain’t it?”

“Eek?!”

He was an appallingly weak master.

He couldn’t do anything, not only being unable to deflect bullets with his sword or thrust his blade into a moving armored car, but even simply enjoying battle itself was impossible for him. Grand only in his words and demeanor, he hadn’t once done anything useful.

It was mysterious that regardless of just how weak he was, he still believed he could fight with his katana.

Surviving for less than two years from that day, Tsukayoshi Yagyuu met his inevitable death.

That might have been why Soujirou had arrived in this alternate world.

“IT IS A CORPSE,” Ozonezma declared. The unique voice of a chimera, like several different voices combined into one.

“NOTHING MORE THAN A MASS OF PROTEINS. IT HOLDS NO MEANING.”

Soujirou was unable to properly swing his blade as he had moments prior. However, things were already different.

“Stop.”

Soujirou mumbled. He was trying to stop his other hand from cutting open his own artery. Of his own volition. With his own body.

It was decidedly different. It wasn’t the same as moments before, when he had been able to fight fearlessly.

Ozonezma knew. There wasn’t the slightest bit of the True Demon King’s past influence left over in the Demon King’s arm.

It was just a simple dead body—and even when connecting it to his own body, Ozonezma had been able to grow accustomed to it after nothing more than several big months of nightmarish insanity where he killed himself over and over again.

It was now just a dead girl’s arm, without any abnormalities at all.

All of it had just been the terror of when she had been alive. The current Ozonezma understood that, too.

…However. For those who laid eyes on this trump card of his for the first time?

“…Haaah! Haaah…!”

Viscous sweat endlessly trickled off Soujirou’s entire body.

He had sliced through everything that could be cut down across the entire Beyond. That was why he understood all too well.

Right now he couldn’t even be certain of the fingers gripping his sword.

Can I… Can I not…

He saw a young girl’s arm.

That was the extent of it. His enemy remained the same; both of their skills and powers hadn’t changed at all, either.

…cut this thing down anymore?

While it had only been a glancing blow, he had been hit with Ozonezma’s body slam. Were there cracks in some of his bones?

He stared at the blood gushing out from his own left arm. The scalpel he extracted was on the ground. He had to use it to slit his throat—no, doing it with the sword in his hands would be faster.

He was compelled to do so. It was terrifying. Too terrifying, driving all of his thoughts into insanity.

It was something everyone in the land had avoided facing, incomprehensible and impossible to defeat.

“I-I’ll, cut you, dead.”

He felt the sensation of cutting through flesh. He was trying to slice through his own abdomen.

“Haah! Haaah!”

“EMOTIONAL PERSPIRATION. YOUR HANDS ARE SWEATING.”

Ozonezma didn’t attack. If anything, he was speaking slowly, as if to tease his opponent.

“I SUGGEST YOU FOCUS ON WHETHER YOU CAN GRIP YOUR SWORD PROPERLY. CONTROL YOUR BREATHING AND CONCENTRATE ON YOUR HANDS. THIS IS A LIFE-OR-DEATH AFFAIR. YOU CAN’T LET IT DROP… NO MATTER WHAT.”

The earth burst open like an explosion from a powder keg. Ozonezma charged forward again.

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!”

Soujirou shouted, readied his sword, and clearly saw Ozonezma charging for him from the front.

He could hold up his sword. The enchanted hollow sword, absolutely indestructible. He’d cut him down before he got to him.

He could kill him. Within Soujirou’s dulled senses of perception, he knew it was possible.

He could cut him. Three more paces left. Terror. Cut him down. Two steps left.

Terror. He couldn’t kill him.

He was scared.

“……!”

A cloud of dust kicked up. Soujirou slid forward, passing Ozonezma by in a low, froglike stance.

A meager space around his feet that was only made a mere millisecond right before he reached him. He had crept under his belly, where the Demon King Army couldn’t physically reach him.

From this position…

“Hii…yah!”

A streaking flash of steel. Ozonezma’s torso, above Soujirou’s head, was severed.

As it separated, a mumble came out from the front end of Ozonezma’s torso.

“SLOW.”

Soujirou had understood it himself. His technique was too slow. Far too slow. The terror was ruining his swordsmanship. He hadn’t been able to cut him at all. This was Ozonezma’s self-amputation.

“YOU’RE SLOW, SOUJIROU.”

Ozonezma’s front half alone moved independently.

Soujirou turned around and kept Ozonezma’s front half in his sights. Ozonezma had opened out his arms in a wheel, before there was the flash of countless scalpels. Simultaneous projectiles.

Defend—no. He had a gut feeling. What he needed to be wary of was the chimera’s back half behind him.

“Hwoooooooh?!”

Soujirou shouted. He kicked the arm that closed in from a blind spot at his feet and jumped.

There was another one.

The chimera’s headless back half was writhing eerily, with many arms and back legs growing out of it. It was executing the simple order from its nerve ganglion to grab and capture its enemy.

“I TOLD YOU.”

The intelligent front half was already lying in wait at the end point of Soujirou’s dodge.

Another charge. Accelerating while simultaneously using his innumerable arms. Soujirou raised his katana.

“NO MATTER WHAT, YOU CAN’T LET YOURSELF DROP IT.”

The blade of his sword was caught in Ozonezma’s teeth. Before the fierce impact could break off his wrists, Soujirou let go of his hands. The charge grazed him, digging into the flesh on his side.

The master swordsman had his sword stolen from his hands.

The attack wasn’t over. As he passed by Soujirou, the enormous mass of arms assailed him. They weren’t throwing their scalpels, but slashing at him with them.

Within the extremely condensed moment in time, Soujirou looked at the blades rushing toward him.

Each individual arm. Their range of movement. Their speed.

The silver blades stabbed, one after another. He would be dissected. Together in the flurry, three arms flew into the air. Three arms.

They were the arms of the dead.

“Muto…dori!”

Soujirou finished his slash with the scalpel he stole from one of the arms.

He had managed to do so without brushing up against the Demon King’s arm, sent out simultaneously.

“…St…op…it!”

With the momentum of the scalpel follow-through, Soujirou tried to pierce his own windpipe.

He was scared.

It was definitely just a young girl’s arm.

However, he was convinced that if it truly did touch him, there would be no going back.

The horrible second had come and gone. The second of terror that would have taken the life of a normal person many, many, many times over.

Ozonezma’s front half passed by his recently severed back half and, with a single leap, finished reattaching his body together. Without leaving even a seam behind.

They both readjusted their stances—

But far faster than that, the air shuddered with another roar. Soujirou wasn’t even given a single second to breathe.

The chimera’s grotesque body was capable of immediately switching to the offensive from any situation.

“Gwah!”

The Otherworld master swordsman turned away and repelled seven scalpels that flew his way. That much was clear.

Even at the limits of tremendous exhaustion, it had been possible for Soujirou the Willow-Sword.

However, as for his mental, not physical, exhaustion?

“…JUST NOW. DID YOU THINK MY ATTACK WAS OVER?”

Soujirou let out a muffled voice.

“Gngh… G-gwaugh!”

They were agonizing groans.

The True Demon King’s terror. Driven far past its limits under such pressure, his mental state…

“RIGHT AFTER THE TERROR’S GONE—”

Soujirou lost his right leg. It hadn’t been due to a direct hit from one of the scalpels.

Simultaneous with the slash that had defended against Ozonezma’s whirlwind of projectiles.

“THAT INSTANT IS WHAT CREATES THE BIGGEST HOLE IN ONE’S MENTAL STATE.”

Soujirou had sliced off his own right thigh.

He did something he shouldn’t have.

No matter how powerful one may have been, they would lose control over their own body, their own will, absolutely everything.

That was terror.

The loss of his right leg.

“Geh-heh… Heh.”

Everything was over.

In Soujirou’s hand was a single scalpel blade.

Blood gushed from his severed leg. It would likely be impossible for him to perfectly unleash his techniques as a swordsman forever.

Nevertheless, Soujirou sneered.

…Right then, he saw it all.

He could see how things would unfold from now. There was nothing more he could do. He understood that.

From here, Ozonezma would charge and extend the Demon King’s arm.

An absolutely perfect opportunity—his enemy stepping within his range of their own accord—would come.

Soujirou couldn’t slash at him.

The arm would arrive, and from then on… Even Soujirou’s intuition couldn’t tell him. That was the end.

Soujirou had no possibilities available to him.

But he figured it out.

“I saw it. I saw your life.”

A night in the Beyond. He wasn’t sure if the memory was before the steel tower or after.

Tsukayoshi had his katana drawn and looked to be training in some old-school swordsmanship style. It was the same katana he had emphasized that he didn’t draw lightly, but Soujirou didn’t intend on pointing out that fact now.

Tsukayoshi’s practices weren’t a consistent habit to begin with, little more than self-gratifying training that he only ever did on a whim when he was bored.

To Soujirou, it didn’t seem like anything but a magnificently useless waste of effort, but it was too much of a bother to get up and go point this out to him, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Soujirouuu. How do you do that thing where you block gunshots? The thing from yesterday.”

Tsukayoshi shouted from outside the tent. Soujirou wanted to pretend he was asleep. Why did this man insist on asking about things totally beyond him?

“I ain’t blocking them at all. If I blocked them, the blade’d break, stupid.”

“Hey, don’t call your master stupid.”

Soujirou truly thought it was a giant nuisance, but if he didn’t answer, then Tsukayoshi would probably come talk to him about something. He was old enough to be Soujirou’s father, yet he acted like a child.

Even as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, he continued with his half-hearted explanation.

“…All right, so. With that, I ain’t hitting the bullet tip, see? I sorta smack the side of the bullet with the flat of my katana, thrusting it into its flight trajectory, see… That way, see, with the sideways force, the blade acts as a springboard. Match the bullet’s rotation, give a hard pull, and it’ll deviate on its own away from ya.”

“Hold up… Yeah, no way, nu-uh. Run that back again. We’re talking about rifle shots here, right? What you’re talking about’s a whole lot stranger than just blocking them, you know that?”

“And that’s why I’m saying it’s impossible for you. You’re way too weak.”

Soujirou could manage about ten rifle shots coming at him at once. He had never attempted any more than that before, but considering their shot grouping at midrange, it was possible for him to maneuver effectively against their firearms.

However, that level of technique wasn’t enough to survive in this world. When flamethrowers or grenades showed up, he would need a completely different method of dealing with them.

Tsukayoshi Yagyuu was too weak to fully deal with everything using his katana.

“If it’s swords or knives flying at ya, though, there’s probably a better way of deflecting them. Vertical rotation’s part of it, so ya can’t smack their central point from the side.”

“Vertical? So if a bullet’s rotates sideways, a knife’s vertical?”

“…I mean, a knife’s sideways, too, I guess. Which one’s vertical then?”

Soujirou wouldn’t be defeated by a blade.

Even in another world, this should have been an unchanging fact.

Soujirou the Willow-Sword had cut himself.

As Ozonezma had told him, the taste of relief brought about the nightmare. An unhinged madness ordinarily unthinkable to see from Soujirou.

It had all been under the control of the singular arm, Ozonezma’s trump card.

The Demon King’s arm, its mere existence terrifying, was the wickedest deterrent in the land, operated with intelligence and strategy by the butchering beast, Ozonezma.

The situation was beyond the realm of merely keeping his guard up against the trump card’s counterattacks when he was in sword range. From the moment Soujirou had established this distance, from the opening moment of the fight, he was checkmated.

As long as he fought Ozonezma from close range, he would be unable to resist the ultimate terror.

Don’t got time to stop the bleeding…… Hell—

Soujirou thought with a foggy mind. He was experiencing hemorrhagic shock.

His blood pressure dropped, his motor functions were deteriorating, and he was wearier than he had been at any point during this third match.

Minia were awfully fragile, descending into this state just from losing their left leg.

…I can’t even move at this point, huh.

Still, he had to move.

Brandishing the scalpel in his hands straight out in front of him, he showed he had no intentions of surrender.

Even if doing so was entirely meaningless, it was necessary.

“BRILLIANT COURAGE.”

Ozonezma didn’t speak long before galloping again.

As he ran, the chimera’s head split. A delicate white arm lithely stretched out of it. The Demon King’s arm.

Soujirou could see Ozonezma’s life as he pressed in.

It wasn’t the life of the myriad organisms that composed the chimera’s entire body.

If there was indeed a life within him that, with one clean cut, could end all of them at once.

Don’t lower your sword.

He was frightened. Terrified.

Just maybe, this was how his master has been feeling.

While Soujirou had enjoyed himself in that inferno of battle, had Yuno felt the same?

Why the hell are you thinkin’ about all this stupid stuff now?

All he had to do was stab his blade and slice through the beast’s life.

That would easily give Soujirou the victory.

With certain death awaiting him, there wouldn’t have been any reason for him not to do so.

Five more paces left. Four.

Ozonezma’s trajectory and speed should be exactly as Soujirou’s intuition had forewarned.

He just needed to cut him. That would end it all. It was terrifying.

…Don’t ya dare lower it, dammit!

His arm tried to relax, counter to his will. What was it trying to slice?

It was horrifying.

The Demon King’s arm. It hadn’t even touched Soujirou.

Like a tidal wave swallowing a metropolis, levees and all, the terror unilaterally destroyed all in its progress.

Soujirou wasn’t able to move.

With an unreliable single short blade, he was facing off against this terror.

It hadn’t arrived yet. Even as Ozonezma charged with such terrific speed, rushing through such a short distance.

Not yet. Not yet. He had space to think.

He just had to cut him down. It was too late.

Even if he started his slash now, at this range, it wouldn’t make it in time.

The terror. The horror. It was frightening. Dreadful.

Time was slowing down, just like one’s consciousness moments before death.

In such a state of awareness, he simply understood that there was nothing he could do.

The terror, bordering on madness, was prolonged several times over, gnawing at his mind…

One more step. Then.

Don’t lower…

He, at last, realized he didn’t feel the scalpel in his hand.

Beads of sweat bubbled to his forehead. He absolutely couldn’t let it slip.

White.

A white hand was right in front of his eyes.

Ozonezma was extending the Demon King’s arm.

The master swordsman from another world lost to the terror.

“UNGH!”

Ozonezma was the one to let out a groan.

The Demon King’s white finger bent seconds before it could touch Soujirou and missed its mark.

“……! WHAT…DID YOU…?!”

Ozonezma looked at the abnormality in the Demon King’s arm.

A scalpel had pierced through its elbow.

Ozonezma should have been able to crush the stopped Soujirou in his jaw, but he was in an abnormal state of confusion. Right in front of Soujirou, he halted then groaned.

“MY ARM.”

He couldn’t afford to stop, either.

Next, a different scalpel, with a spin, twisted off the flesh of the Demon King’s arm.

The beautiful arm was shredded mercilessly, separating from Ozonezma’s body and flying into the air.

Though he shouldn’t have had any ability to feel pain, Ozonezma shouted.

“HNGAH, GAAAAAAUGH!”

It was the second scalpel—no.

The crunching and mashing sounds continued. In a position shifted slightly from the two scalpels, there were five sticking up from the ground. More than seven scalpels had rained down from the sky… In other words—

“AH, AAAAUGH… MY ARMS… IMPOSSIBLE… Y-YOU… REPELLED THEM…?! IN THAT MOMENT!”

The transcendent swordsman was capable of precisely repelling the blades thrown his way.

Which was precisely why Ozonezma was confident he had outdone Soujirou’s ability to counter him with a surprise projectile attack, immediately after he had instilled him with terror. Then he chose to charge him as a method of finishing him off. Instead of projectiles that risked deflection, he had tried to eradicate Soujirou through direct contact with the Demon King’s arm.

“YOU LAUNCHED…THE BLADES UP INTO THE AIR…?!”

Soujirou had no possibilities available to him. Soujirou understood that.

In which case, what if Soujirou’s own will didn’t intervene at all then?

A direct attack from the Demon King’s arm, the best guarantee of bringing instant death to the frozen Soujirou.

Confident, with his superpowered combat intuition, that the chimera would choose this method of attack…

What if there was an unearthly technique that made it possible to sync up the free fall of Ozonezma’s scalpels previously deflected high up into the area, to that certain future?

1181, the fourth year of Jisho.

There was an anecdote of a warrior-monk who fought bravely under Minamoto no Yorimasa, named Gochi-in no Tajima.

Facing off against three hundred Heike horsemen, the imperial forces battled them on a bridge with fifty horsemen of their own. Gochi-in no Tajima, with just his naginata, cut down all the Heike’s hailstorm of arrows and was given the nickname of Tajima the arrow-cutter.

It was not simply slicing something that could not be cut, nor was it slashing at speeds faster than his opponent could.

Even within a nightmare horrible enough to sever his own right leg, Soujirou the Willow-Sword was able to do it.

He looked at Ozonezma. Even with the Demon King’s arm lobbed off, he had physical abilities that far outstripped Soujirou. An extremely crafty intelligence. A myriad of lives, more than he could kill.

Nevertheless, right now, he could cut him down.

Soujirou grabbed the scalpel that had severed the Demon King’s arm in midair. The scalpel was a new weapon.

It was plenty.

“An accidental death’s all I got,” Soujirou bellowed. “An accidental death, to kill that thing for good!”

“GWA-GWAAAAAAAH!”

Ozonezma spread out his numerous arms.

Within distance to touch each other, the two beasts clashed swords.

Nevertheless, even should he lose a leg, even should death be right before his eyes.

For the master swordsman from another world, in the realm of bladed combat…

The small blade pierced Ozonezma’s heart as it passed by, severed a ganglion, before splitting open another heart. Lethal. Lethal. Lethal. All of them were fatal spots in Ozonezma’s body.

…That was as far as he got. The thin scalpel blade shattered in Soujirou’s hands.

“Huh?”

Any other living creature would have died by his hand.

Ozonezma’s fur blocked him, armor itself. His muscle, as dense as steel, blocked him. More than anything, however, the terror and fatigue he had accumulated throughout the fight had hindered Soujirou’s technique.

Just as Soujirou possessed unrealistic swordcraft, Ozonezma had an unrealistically strong body. That was all.

The deviant swordsman from another world had, for the first time, broken a blade.

Ozonezma’s forelegs were closing in.

“……”

There was wet slapping sound.

“HNG, AUUUGH… GLLRG… NGH, AUUUNG.”

Ozonezma moaned vaguely.

Once again, his claws came down. Next, bones shattered, and it lost its original form.

Still unable to stand, Soujirou watched the chimera’s movements.

Ozonezma didn’t even glance at the minia gazing at him, and he continued to focus solely on destruction. On destroying the severed arm of the Demon King.

“HAAH, HAAH… HN-GAUUGH… NGH… HRN…”

His groaning voice trembled. He was scared.

The unrivaled beast was haggard, as if the recoil from the entire fight had hit him at once.

Once again, his claws tore at the carcass.

It was nothing more than a corpse. Transformed into a meaningless lump of flesh.

“Looks like I was right. That was the one, eh. That one was your life, huh.”

The strongest chimera of all, an amalgam of physical abilities capable of surpassing the inscrutable visitor, tactics based on his many fights against other champions, and a trump card that brought instant death to all the living creatures of the world.

Ozonezma the Capricious was truly a fearsome monster.

But there was something even more terrifying.

“Ain’t no way you ain’t scared of something like that. No way you got used to it. You probably get it by now, but… Me, you, we’ve both been freaked out by that thing.”

“NGH, GAAAAH… I… I…”

“…… You… You were going to die by suicide, weren’t ya? You were fighting to try to get yourself killed.”

The terror of the True Demon King… Dying by suicide and killing those you’re close to.

Unable to remove it, even escape was impossible.

It drove you mad all without you even realizing it.

“N-NO… I WILL KILL THE FAKE HEROES! IT IS MY ONLY WAY TO ATONE! THAT IS MY OWN WILL… IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN…! I—I…! THE DEMON KING’S ARM! SUCH BLAPSHEMY…! HNG… AUGH… THE TRUE HERO… IT’S NOT TRUE; THAT’S NOT IT…! I’M SORRY…OLUKT…!”

“I don’t give a crap about whatever you got goin’ on… Ya hear?”

Soujirou thrust out the broken scalpel in front of him.

This time, it wasn’t a bluff from sensing he would give in to terror.

Even if this battle continued, Soujirou likely had no chance of winning. Understanding that it would end as he simply waited to bleed to death, he remained with his weapon raised, because despite everything, he would fight.

To fight, and fight even more.

Especially after learning what terror felt like.

“I just wanna have fun, see?”

“I… I…”

Ozonezma, trembling at the fear he had finally become conscious of, barely managed to squeeze out his words.

“…SURRENDER.”

“……”

“HAAAH, HAAAH… VICTORY IS…YOURS…SOUJIROU!”

No matter who it may have been, it was impossible to resist that one singular fear.

Having lived through the age of the Demon King, he should have known it better than anyone else.

Soujirou looked at the pool of blood that had formed on the ground.

“……”

While Ozonezma had thrown away victory in the match—perhaps, in fact, all while throwing away his own life, long, long before any match at all—the young girl’s arm, destroyed at last, radiated terror no longer.

After the match, Ozonezma was taken into a huge carriage, specifically for beastfolk.

Riding along in the freight car, Yuca spoke to him with concern.

“Are you really all right? You’re wounds look terrible, but do you think you’ll last until the doc gets here?”

“…I AM A DOCTOR. PHYSICAL WOUNDS…DO NOT PRESENT ANY CONCERN…”

“Really, now. I just thought I’d listen to any final words you had if it looked like it was too late for you.”

While there certainly was no small number of those in the audience who had been exposed to the terror of the Demon King’s arm in the match earlier, it was interpreted as fear from seeing the grotesque chimera itself.

Now that the arm was gone from this world, Yuca would also never know the truth Ozonezma held.

“…YUCA.”

“Hmm?”

“…WAS I…TRYING TO DIE?”

He definitely hadn’t ever been aware of it himself.

Ozonezma had been convinced he was acting in accord with his own sense of justice.

He couldn’t abide a false hero. He had believed that now he was the only one in the land who knew of that battle he had witnessed. Believed that the ones left behind had an obligation to do so.

However. What had he expected to happen when, after using the True Demon King’s power to kill all the self-proclaimed heroes and advance through the tournament, he revealed the truth before the people?

Ozonezma’s thoughts never once extended to the tragedy that would occur afterward.

He had been rushing headlong into destruction. He himself had chosen death—and no one else.

Suicide.

Had he not understood any of it until that moment?

“Hrmm. I don’t really get it, but you fought hard, Ozonezma. Hell, I’ve never seen such an incredible fight before. Look, if you had had any chance of winning, however slim, then it definitely wasn’t suicide, right?”

“…IN WHICH CASE…WAS CHALLENGING THE TRUE DEMON KING SUICIDE?”

“Conversation’s heading in a real strange direction.” Yuca smiled awkwardly.

The general who was chosen by happenstance, simply as an easily manipulated pawn. To Ozonezma, as long as he had a sponsor in name only, that was enough. Nevertheless, it was good fortune that this man had been the one to do so.

Ozonezma spoke as his profound exhaustion brought him to the verge of sleep.

“SOUJIROU…SAID IT WAS AN ACCIDENTAL DEATH. THAT IT WAS THE ONLY WAY TO DEFEAT THAT TERROR…”

“I mean, that’s about the only way I can see that Demon King kicking the bucket. Sure, whoever makes it through the Sixways Exhibition’ll be declared hero in name, but…for the citizens who’ve never stepped on a battlefield themselves, they’ll never truly understand that terror.”

“…THAT IS NOT IT.”

Ozonezma knew the full circumstances behind the Demon King’s demise.

It may have been true that, among those involved in the Sixways Exhibition, only he knew.

“THE TRUE HERO DOES EXIST.”

The True Demon King had definitely been defeated right before his eyes.

“…IT IS TRUE… THERE IS SOMEONE IN THIS LAND…WHO DEFEATED THE DEMON KING… I WANTED…TO TELL…”

Right before his eyes closed, he got the feeling he had seen them among the crowds passing by.

It was assuredly an illusion of the past, seen through the gaps of his fading consciousness.

The Final Party.

Olukt the Drifting Compass Needle was there. Ozonezma the Capricious was there… As well as—

“…SETERA…”

This was one of the outcomes of those who once challenged the True Demon King.

The True Demon King died, and at the end of a long journey, their physical carcass had now been fully destroyed.

However, a little longer of a wait would be necessary before learning what happened over the course of such events.

And this was, after all, a story about determining a single hero.

Match Three. Winner, Soujirou the Willow-Sword.