Kumo Desu ga, Nani ka? Volume Chapter 4

I fought to the best of my ability.

Looking back on my life, over half of it has been spent on the battlefield, days dyed the silver of cold steel and the red of fresh blood.

I was proud.

The sword-king, leader of the Renxandt Empire, humanity’s ultimate line of defense. I thought myself the guardian of humanity.

I had a dream.

Someday, I would defeat the demons once and for all and bring about eternal peace.

In my youth, I truly believed I could accomplish that.

But the world is not so easily swayed.

Death was a constant companion of mine.

Though the corpses of my enemies piled up endlessly, I saw as many of my comrades join the Word of God.

I myself had a close brush with death countless times.

And soon I grew tired…

…of these endless days of battle, this perpetual dance with death.

I began to doubt.

Why must we fight?

Humans and demons sacrificing their lives to prolong an endless war.

They all die the same way: bloody, screaming, and full of regret.

There is no room for hope or dreams on the battlefield. Only fighting.

I fought for my pride, for my dreams.

But soon, that all began to fade.

As I grew weary of spending my days at death’s side, I began to question the point of the conflict.

And yet, I had no choice but to fight on.

For I was the sword-king.

The most powerful swordsman alive, leader of the Renxandt Empire.

Alongside my comrade, the most powerful mage alive, I was to lead mankind to victory.

And to that end, I was fated to stand on the battlefield for the rest of my days.

“My occult powers exist to protect the innocent.”

Ever at my side, the peerless mage Ronandt spoke without a shadow of doubt.

He stayed true to his beliefs and would not hesitate to use his power for them.

I was envious of his simple, honest ways, the strength of his convictions and belief in himself.

His willingness to unwaveringly fight for his ideals even while surrounded by death.

Though he could occasionally be eccentric and unpredictable, the man called Ronandt was unmistakably a hero.

Which is why I believed that as long as humanity had Ronandt, they would be safe without me.

Although if I said as much to him, no doubt he would cry, What foolishness are you spouting?!

And so, when the Demon Lord was defeated, I took my leave from society.

The fact that the demon race was at its limit, and thus both sides were left without the strength to fight, only spurred me onward.

Without a war, I had no role to play.

I had spent more than half my life on the battlefield, so I excelled at swinging my sword and commanding armies, but I have no gift for governing.

During battle, I can at least serve as a half-decent military leader.

But in an era without war, the people need a wise king who can keep the empire stable, not one whose only talents lie on the field of battle.

I withdrew from the throne of sword-king, declared my son as my successor, and left.

Perhaps I am being punished.

Or perhaps this is the reason I am here.

These past few days, I could tell that something was amiss in the mountains. It was also clear that the cause of the chaos was coming my way.

The dragons who live in the Mystic Mountains attempted to stop it, but their fight has been in vain, for the creature approaches ever closer, making no attempt to mask its hostility.

I know not what will happen once it reaches this place, though given how even the dragons could not stop it, I suppose what it’ll do next is a foregone conclusion.

A savage devastation will befall these lands.

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In these mountains, I alone have strength enough to oppose it.

That said, after long years away from the battlefield, I do not boast the power I once had.

Even if I did, I cannot say for certain how I might fare against a creature that even dragons could not hinder.

Still, I have no choice but to challenge this intruder.

I must repay the debt I owe this land for allowing me to live here quietly all these years.

“Urgh…”

I heave a loud sigh, hoping to expel the rust that has built up in my body during my long absence from the battlefield.

As if to cast off the warmth I have amassed during these times of peace.

Everyone else has already been evacuated.

Fortunately, as the village is at the base of the Mystic Mountains, its population is small.

It was a quick evacuation, so, at worst, even if the village is destroyed in the coming clash, the loss of life will not be significant.

Of course, I would prefer to avoid that, so I am waiting some distance away from the village.

I have already made preparations to intercept the enemy.

The armor I wore when I was sword-king is back in my homeland. It belongs to the throne and the empire, not to me.

As I have abdicated the throne, I no longer have any right to it.

Instead, I wear my spare armor made by my own means.

It may not compare to the sword-king armor I left behind, but it is still first-rate equipment: The entire set is made from rare dark-dragon remains.

Dark dragons, like light dragons, rarely show themselves to humans.

Dragons in general are seldom seen unless one enters their territory, but in the case of dark and light dragons, their territory is not so easily defined.

My armor is believed to have been made of materials from a dark dragon that a hero defeated by chance several generations past.

I left one other set of my own armor in the empire.

It has the ability to weaken the opponent.

All dragons can dampen the effects of magic, but dark dragons also have the Curse attribute.

If you cut an opponent with a sword made from dark-dragon materials, it will weaken their strength, as well as their magic.

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With its latent ability to dampen magic, the sword can cut off the opponent’s access to almost any spell.

The armor, too, has powerful defense against magic.

It has suited me well, as I am more proficient in close combat.

It still falls slightly short of my sword-king armor, a treasure of the empire made of materials from a queen taratect that the former hero defeated at the cost of nearly his entire army. Nonetheless, it is a powerful sword and suit of armor undoubtedly coveted by many celebrated commanders.

Still, even if I had that armor with me now, I doubt it would bring me much comfort.

After all, real dragons were unable to stop this creature.

Forcing back my anxiety, I check the state of my preparations yet again.

I am as ready as I can be.

I brought all my recovery potions as well: a high-grade potion that can heal even a deadly wound in an instant, magic-and strength-recovery potions, and even status-condition potions, all in the small Spatial Storage pouch hanging from my waist.

The potions and the pouch itself are worth a small fortune, but as I am about to face death, I will not hesitate to use them.

I am most likely going to die.

If the dragons could not stop this creature, I see no way of winning.

All I can do is buy as much time as I can so that the other villagers can escape.

I do not even know whether this sacrifice will have meaning.

Is there any amount of distance that will stop an opponent this powerful from finding them?

My only fear now is not of my own death but of whether I will buy enough time for them to flee.

Whether my death will have meaning.

But surely it is better than doing nothing at all.

A death in battle is more fitting for me than simply aging and waiting to die.

Considering the countless lives taken by these hands, passing away peacefully in my sleep would be an unfitting end, to say the least.

But I have accepted this.

Though the means by which I depart from this world may prove pointless, one would be hard-pressed to find meaning in death or battle on the whole.

That is the conclusion I reached after escaping battle and knowing peace for a time.

Ultimately, war has no meaning.

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In the grander scheme, it may be for the sake of one’s land or people, but for an individual, there is no meaning to be found in death.

All that matters is whether or not the circumstances of death can be accepted.

And right now, I have accepted them.

That is good enough for me.

I have decided this will be the place where the man once known as the Master of Swordsmanship will die.

With my resolve ironclad, I wait for my time to come.

And soon, it comes.

“This is a surprise,” I murmur without thinking.

From the imposing presence I felt, I expected any number of horrendous evil spirits, but the creature before me is humanoid and looks to be a young boy.

But in spite of his youthful appearance, he has the aura of a man-eating fiend.

Simply facing him is enough to make me sweat within my armor.

It is as if all the evil and atrocity in the world has manifested into this one boy.

“Graaaaaah!”

The devil howls.

At the same time, the dragon that was still fighting against him breathes its last.

Hrmmm? The devil’s body glowed for just a moment. What was that?

Its wounds are healing?

Their battle must have been unthinkably fierce, for the dragon and devil alike were covered in deep wounds, but the devil’s injuries have now disappeared in a flash of light.

Perhaps he has mastered some kind of highly advanced healing magic, although I have never heard of any so powerful as this.

At any rate, now that the injuries he sustained fighting the dragons have been healed, I suppose my chances of winning are lower than ever.

I harbored some small hope, but it appears even that was misplaced.

“Nothing goes right in this world, does it?”

Hearing my voice, the devil whirls around and bounds toward me with another fearsome howl.

“Graaaaaah!”

There will be no conversing with him, then.

Upon seeing his humanoid form, I thought there might be some chance we could communicate and resolve things with words, but he shows no sign that he understands speech at all.

Even if he did, there are some battles that one cannot avoid, like that against the demons.

If anything, knowing that my opponent is so beast-like that he cannot be reasoned with means that I can fight without hesitation.

“I am Reigar Baint Renxandt, Master of Swordsmanship, and I challenge thee.”

I doubt that my opponent understands my introduction, but as he is no doubt about to kill me, I wished for him to hear my name.

I suppose this is another way of accepting death in battle.

Sure enough, the devil ignores my words and swings his swords.

I dodge one and parry the other.

Yes, the devil wields a sword in each hand.

While this allows the wielder more options for attacking, it is difficult to maintain one’s offensive and defensive power in both hands, so it is a rarely used style.

The devil’s swords are of unfamiliar make, as well: slender blades, slightly curved.

They look far more oriented toward offense than defense, in accordance with his two-sword style.

In fact, it seems as if he has abandoned defense entirely.

Charging recklessly into battle, heedless of whether his own body is injured… I suppose that is how a devil should be.

If those two offense-oriented swords hit my own sword just right, they could likely break it.

That’s how much power is behind his first attack.

In fact, any one of his attacks could easily end my life.

As if to prove it, the devil’s parried blade glides right through solid ground without the least bit of resistance.

From the moment I first laid eyes on the beast, I knew he was stronger than I was, so I already had my guard up, but this goes far beyond anything I anticipated.

“Graaaaaah!”

The devil howls again.

Somehow, the sound itself impacts me like a heavy blow.

Pain rushes into my ears, causing me physical agony.

Even without using skills, a mere howl is enough to cause this?

The devil stomps forward and swings his blades again.

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I leap backward, dodging almost excessively to one side.

But the devil crosses all that hard-earned distance in a single step, landing in the space I stood just moments ago.

Purple lightning springs forth in a line from the sword in his left hand.

I knew it. A magic sword.

And quite a powerful sort, at that.

Even after cutting through that dragon, his swords show not a hint of damage.

Despite their thinness, it’s safe to say that these blades are quite sturdy.

So perhaps my assumption that they were not built for defense was false as well. If I attack without taking that into consideration, it may well be my undoing.

And though this devil may look to be swinging around on a reckless rampage, his fighting style is more than just brute strength. Otherwise, he would not be able to utilize the magic sword’s power.

Though it seems as if he’s lost his senses, the devil is making good use of highly advanced techniques.

His swordsmanship lacks polish, but he does seem to have a strong grasp of the basics.

No mindless beast could fight this way.

What a dangerous foe.

If he was simply going on a brute rampage, then he would be far easier to deal with.

I must stay on my guard.

For all I know, this madness may just be an act. Every possibility needs to be considered.

His stats are already far higher than mine.

No amount of caution would be too much.

The devil swings his swords.

A clumsy attack, like a child throwing a tantrum.

But if any one of those attacks was to land, that would be the end of me.

And even if his movements are amateurish, the speed of his swings is faster than any ordinary person could see.

Even I, once known as the world’s greatest swordsman, can barely follow it with my eyes.

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Only by watching the devil’s movements and predicting the trajectory of his blades can I parry or dodge his blows.

If I let my guard down even for an instant, my life will be forfeit.

“Graaaaaah!”

The devil howls angrily and swings the sword in his right hand.

Flames burst from the blade, covering the devil’s body.

So both of his swords are magic, not just the lightning sword in his left hand.

Still covered in flames, the devil raises his blades and charges.

But while a direct attack might be one thing, a radiant flame that does not even burn its wielder is mere fodder for my dark-dragon equipment!

As soon as my magic sword touches the flames, the cursed power of the dark dragon saps its energy, weakening the flames until they disappear.

Taking advantage of the devil’s surprise, I swing my blade and land a single slash on his body.

But my cut is shallow, and his skin is tough.

Instead of the feeling of blade biting through flesh, I only feel my sword being deflected by something hard. Far from flesh, my sword did not even pierce his skin.

However, the dark dragon’s power reached him nonetheless.

Though I cannot see the difference, the dark dragon’s curse has undoubtedly reduced his stats.

No matter how little the reduction, if I keep cutting him, I may eventually weaken him to the point where my blade can break through his skin.

I know very well how difficult that will be, of course.

And I have no way of knowing whether I would be able to wound him even if I could weaken him.

The dark dragon’s curse is powerful, but there is a limit to how much it can reduce the target’s stats.

If I make it to that point, will I be able to harm him?

And even if I can, I will still have to keep slashing until I manage to reduce his HP.

My odds of success are next to none.

While I would have to land hundreds or even thousands of attacks to defeat him, the devil needs to strike me only once.

My sole chance rests on carrying out a long battle in which I cannot let down my guard for a moment.

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Even then, I do not know if I would win at all.

I have never fought such a difficult battle, even when I was sword-king.

But I knew that from the beginning.

The fact that I can see even the most miniscule chance of victory is better fortune than I expected.

I will buy time, just as I planned.

If my opponent had been an enormous creature like a dragon, I might not have even been able to do that much.

But the fiend is humanoid and lacking in skill.

If I can buy time against him despite being far inferior in stats, then perhaps that is the best I could have hoped for.

So I will continue to buy time, all while clinging to the faintest hope of victory.

Even if I have to use every last technique I mastered in my time as the Master of Swordsmanship.

How much time has gone by?

It feels as if an instant and an eternity have passed all at once.

This devil is by far the strongest opponent I have ever faced.

And this is likely the longest battle I have fought, besides.

How many times has the sun risen and fallen?

Since I have had to put aside all nonessential thoughts, I’ve long since lost track.

The more I focus, the more I feel as if my awareness is fading.

I forgot my purpose, all so that I might lend that much more focus to the fight.

My very identity has been sacrificed to the cause. I am but a body forged for battle.

I never imagined that, at this age, I would attain even greater heights of swordsmanship.

Cutting through lightning. It would have been nice to pass this experience down to an apprentice, though I doubt whether any would be able to imitate it.

Ah, but the end is near.

The fact that I am having these thoughts is proof enough of that.

I pushed myself to the limits and abandoned all thoughts to focus on the battle, but that state of mind is already fading.

For I am reaching the end of my stamina.

I’ve warded off every one of the devil’s attacks: the slashing swords, the fearsome flames, the violent flashes of lightning, all of it.

But though I avoided any direct hits, I have still taken damage.

Parrying the devil’s swords has worn on my bones.

The flames have singed my skin.

And the flash and crack of the lightning and thunder assail my senses.

My dark-dragon armor, which protected me countless times over the course of the battle, has gradually lost its shape and no longer has the strength to do so.

Fortunately, by sacrificing that armor, I have been able to wear out the devil’s magic power.

Not long before the armor broke, the devil stopped using his magic swords’ abilities. I assume that he ran out of magic and can no longer activate them.

By sacrificing my armor, I was also able to recover from my wounds in the precious few gaps between the devil’s attacks to drink healing potions, as well as magic and strength potions.

I had packed my Spatial Storage pouch with as many potions as it would hold—enough to fight continuously for two or three days.

And I am confident that I have fought to the best of my ability all this time.

In fact, I may even have shown more power over the course of this battle than I ever did in my heyday.

Though my sword grew rusty after so much time away from the battlefield, it is as if it has returned to its full power and more.

I have sharpened my skills beyond even their previous state, if only because nothing less would be enough to reach my opponent.

Yet even now, I cannot defeat him.

With every move, I feel my muscles tear and my bones splinter.

With every breath, I taste blood. I wince with pain.

That I am still on my feet is nothing short of a miracle.

Though it seems the miracle is at an end.

My armor has broken, and I’ve drained every last one of my stock of potions.

I even drank the status condition recovery potions, if only to slake my thirst and sate my hunger.

I cannot move another step.

Yet I will not lower my sword.

Even now that it is cracked beyond repair and will not bear another blow.

These are to be my last thoughts.

I fought to the best of my ability and beyond.

This must be what it means to truly fight to the death.

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I came close to death on the battlefield many times, but this is the first time I have ever expended my strength to its very limits, both physically and mentally.

In training, I exhausted myself to the point of collapse.

I have been knocked unconscious by near-fatal wounds.

But none of them was as deadly as this fatigue.

My body is truly in tatters.

Yet my heart is strangely light.

Perhaps it is because, in this battle with the devil, I have cast aside the unnecessary.

No dreams, no pride, just the pure strength of the sword.

I swing the blade with all my might, feeling no sense of duty or fear of death.

Yes, this is a far more fitting end for me than any peaceful death in sleep.

For even after all my time away from the battlefield, I am still overjoyed at the chance to fight to the fullest.

In the end, I had no choice but to live by the sword and die by the sword.

And what could be more fortunate than to accept that fate in death?

Most who fall in battle die without meaning, without accepting their lot in life.

I do not know if there was any meaning in this sacrifice. But I can accept it.

Perhaps that is why, although I wagered my soul on this battle and am still about to suffer a total defeat, I do not feel resentment.

In fact, I feel happiness.

Yet, now that I can no longer take another step, the devil does not strike me down.

We simply stare at each other, face-to-face, neither moving an inch.

A strange silence engulfs us. Abruptly, the devil relaxes his stance and lowers his head.

Perhaps he has returned to his senses…or has he?

The devil’s body still radiates a fearsome aura.

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I know not where this fiend came from or what happened in his past.

But after crossing swords for so long, I have come to understand him.

He must have gone through some terrible tragedy in his past, judging by the silent wail I sensed in his throat, and his sword blows spoke of unbearable sadness and rage.

Though he had lost his senses and knew only battle, some part of him lamented his lack of control.

And during our battle, I could see that he was learning from my swordsmanship.

The devil’s proficiency with a blade improved over the course of the battle so much that he is leagues above his initial amateurish skill.

To continue to strive for improvement in the midst of battle, even in the grips of madness, is nigh unthinkable.

His swordcraft sharpened with every strike, his movements became ever more efficient, and he became an infinitely more formidable opponent as time passed.

In the end, it was all I could do just to parry his strikes; counterattacking was no longer an option.

Simply parrying and dodging continues to become more difficult.

He must truly have a gift to be able to improve so greatly in such little time.

In that regard, I cannot help but feel regret.

If he had not been ruled by madness, if I could have taught him properly, he could have reached the very pinnacle of swordsmanship.

I doubt I ever would have thought such a thing about someone who was trying to kill me until now.

“The Divine Sword title, proof of mastery of the blade. I pass it on to you.”

I open my mouth and speak to the devil.

He looks up and raises his swords again.

An instant later, my sword breaks, and the last of my strength leaves my body.

Only when I see the splash of blood do I realize I have been cut.

“Magnificent.”

I have no other words.

I cannot pass down all the techniques I honed in this life of mine.

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But in this battle, I showed my opponent many of them.

If I can leave behind even a few of those, then I am happy.

I lived by the blade, and now I shall die by the blade.

Though I doubted the meaning of fighting for so long, I have finally come to terms with it.

Ronandt. My comrade. My friend.

If you bore witness to this death of mine, you would surely lecture me for being so irresponsible.

But I am satisfied.

Irresponsible though it may be, I leave the empire…and humanity…in your hands.

“Ahhh-choo!”

“The hell?! That’s disgusting, Master! You got your gross spit all over me!”

“Hngh. My apologies. Someone must have been talking about me.”

“All bad things, I’m sure.”

“What nonsense! If you bothered to listen more closely, no doubt the masses are praising my name!”

“Oh yeah, sure. Wait, Master, are you crying?”

“Hmm? How strange. Perhaps some dust got into my eye during that sneeze.”

“Must’ve been some big freaking piece of dust to make you cry.”

“Quiet, you. Here, have some extra homework.”

“What?! You demon! Maybe I’ll just kill you and escape from this hell!”

“Wah-ha-ha! There is no time for rest on the path to the heights of occultism! You won’t see me dying until I reach the top!”