Chapter 169 - Damn Reincarnation

Meeting

When they asked to borrow the restaurant’s backyard, the owner readily agreed. Junk was piled in the corners and weeds covered the ground, but there was plenty of room to cross swords.

Hamel and Vermouth stood facing each other. Hamel intensely disliked Vermouth’s placid expression, as though he felt not the slightest tension.

The Hero of Light.

He had heard that illustrious title many times. So fucking what? Clicking his tongue, Hamel took off his cloak.

He wore thin leather armor that was neither particularly heavy nor restrictive. Over it, he had added chain mail that left his joints free, and he carried several kinds of weapons. He set them down one by one, then removed even the chain mail.

“How much lighter do you think taking that off will make you?”

Senya sneered as she watched, leaning against the wall. To her eyes as a mage, all of it was sheer stupidity. If your body and equipment were heavy, you could simply make them lighter with magic instead of bothering to strip them off.

“Can’t you keep your fucking mouth shut?”

“You’re talking to me, right?”

“You’re the only one flapping your mouth right now. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Vermouth, can’t I just fight him instead?”

At the sneering retort, Senya rounded on Vermouth, her eyes wide with anger.

“You were the one who picked a fight first, Senya.”

“Does it really matter who started it? I don’t like that bastard, and I want to beat him up.”

“Glad you brought that up. People call me a piece of shit all over the place, you know? Know what that means? It means I’ll beat the living fuck out of a woman, too. Come on out if you’re feeling confident. I’ll grind that pretty face into the dirt and leave you looking pathetic.”

Hamel spat the words with a vicious expression. He expected Senya to lose her temper and charge, but she did not react as he anticipated. Instead, she stared at him, her eyes round. After blinking a few times, she cleared her throat and turned her head slightly aside.

“... Well... um... you’re not... bad-looking yourself.”

“What the hell are you suddenly talking about?”

“No... uh... thank you for calling me pretty. Unlike what your appearance suggests, your taste is quite p-proper. Well, obviously. S-so I’ll let you off.”

She’d had a little alcohol earlier. Was she drunk already? Hamel glanced at Senya, wondering. Of course, she was not drunk. She had built up her tolerance by secretly stealing drinks of Anise’s holy water every day and occasionally drinking with her until morning. A mere few glasses could hardly get her drunk.

Senya was not accustomed to compliments about her appearance. That was inevitable: she had been abandoned in the Great Forest of Samar as an infant and raised by elves. Her family and neighbors belonged to the race praised as the most beautiful in the world. To elves, beauty was a given, so they never bothered to compliment one another on it.

‘... I knew it. I am pretty, aren’t I?’

Clearing her throat, Senya needlessly ran a hand over her face. Having seen hundreds of elves since childhood, she found it difficult to feel confident about her looks.

“Would you like to come at me first?”

Vermouth spoke. He stood at ease, empty-handed, without even drawing his sword. Hearing that question from him in such a posture, Hamel could hardly keep his face from twisting.

“Aren’t you drawing the Holy Sword?”

“You’re neither a demon nor a demonic beast.”

“Then draw some other sword. If you don’t want a sword, draw another weapon.”

Hamel recalled the rumors about Vermouth Lionheart. His mastery of magic rivaled that of an archmage. Though he was the master of the Holy Sword, he wielded many other weapons as well, storing them in an extradimensional space created through spatial magic.

“... Hmm.”

After a moment’s consideration, Vermouth reached forward. Space rippled, and a sword hilt suddenly protruded from thin air.

... It was an ordinary sword. It gave off no suspicious presence, nor did it look unusual. Just a long, straight sword.

GRIND!

Hamel clenched his teeth and lowered his stance. That brief hesitation of Vermouth’s—he could tell what had caused it.

The confidence that he did not even need a weapon.

Yet he had drawn a sword out of consideration for his opponent.

‘How very kind of you.’

He was a Hero praised by everyone. Such confidence was only natural. But Hamel was not intimidated. The mana manipulation Vermouth had demonstrated earlier was impressive. Hamel could not control mana so precisely in a space far removed from his body.

But if he directed it at himself...

Mana overflowed from his core and spread throughout his body in an instant. In that same moment, Hamel had already kicked off the ground and closed in on Vermouth.

‘... Well, look at that.’

Senya’s eyes gleamed. The young archmage recognized how explosively Hamel had discharged his mana in that single instant, and how refined it was—anything but crude.

‘His total mana isn’t impressive. It isn’t pure, either. His core is creaking just from stirring it up.’

The implication was clear: his mana training method itself was poor. She had no idea when this mercenary had begun training his mana, but the method he used was nowhere near as refined as his skills.

‘... A poorly developed core... How did he reach such a level with that?’

No matter how diligently you practiced a garbage training method, you would only become slightly better garbage. Yet... Senya could not possibly call this mercenary’s movements garbage. He was only a mercenary, but his movements and mana control were smoother than those of any knight she had ever seen.

Anise, too, focused her attention on the clash between Hamel and Vermouth. Now she could understand why Vermouth had insisted on taking Hamel as a companion.

‘... Potential.’

Hamel possessed a potential different from Senya’s, Anise’s, or Moron’s. This mercenary had never received proper instruction. He had survived countless battlefields, honing himself through them. His mana flow was imperfect. Yet he regulated that turbid current with nothing but innate instinct, focusing entirely on moving his body rather than producing sword force.

What if those imperfections were corrected?

Hamel twisted his body sharply and swung his sword. The slash swept in from the side. As it closed in, his sword wavered. A single slash split into dozens, descending on Vermouth as though to hack his body apart.

Vermouth moved to counter. His sword approached as smoothly as flowing water and touched Hamel’s.

CLANG!

Their mana collided first, erupting in a loud report.

Mana surged backward. That single clash had shattered Hamel’s sword force. He tightened his tingling hand and seized the scattered, backflowing mana, raising sword force once more. The blade of mana covering his sword changed.

The blade became flame. It raged as though doused in oil. Swelling enormous in an instant, it sought to engulf Vermouth.

The moment she saw it, Senya shook her head.

‘It’s over.’

Anise also gave a short sigh. She prepared healing magic just in case. Moron stood tall, watching to the very end with wide eyes.

‘... Flames?’

Extreme concentration stretched his awareness.

He saw pure white flames wrap around Vermouth’s body. Scattering embers fluttered from his shoulders like a lion’s mane. Vermouth’s sword did not move, but the white flames he had summoned burned Hamel’s flames away entirely.

Over?

Hamel desperately held on to consciousness. His mana had not even surged backward. It had simply burned away. Even so, his body moved. He had crossed hundreds of battlefields and survived even more desperate struggles, passing through countless brushes with death. The body that had accompanied him through all those struggles resisted the defeat bearing down on him.

The dagger hidden beneath his wrist. If his sword could not win, he had intended to stab it into Vermouth at close range...

BOOM!

Flames swept across the ground. The impact flung Hamel backward, and before he could even break his fall, he slammed face-first into the dirt.

“... Wasn’t that... a little harsh?”

Senya shook her head and muttered. Anise judged that his injuries did not warrant healing magic and lowered her outstretched hand.

“Unless he shows that mercenary a clear difference in strength, he will keep coming at him again and again.”

“Splendid!”

Moron shouted at the top of his lungs. Startled by the cry erupting right beside them, Senya and Anise turned toward him.

“That spirit of never giving up until the very end was truly worthy of a warrior!”

Before the flames swept Hamel away, Moron had seen him throw his dagger. Vermouth had been certain of victory and had not expected that tiny dagger to pierce his flames and reach him.

In fact, the dagger had not injured Vermouth at all. But just before it burned away completely, it grazed his clothing.

Vermouth stared in surprise at his slashed sleeve. He had never imagined it would be cut. His body was unharmed, but having even his sleeve sliced by an opponent so far beneath him had shaken him.

“... I’m stronger than you.”

That surprise made Vermouth smile. With a faint smile, he approached Hamel and held out a hand.

... His face hurt. His nose felt cracked, and he was chewing dirt. His body, battered by the flames, was aching as well.

He had lost. An overwhelming defeat that left no room for excuses. He could not remember the last time he had lost so helplessly. How... could someone like this exist? How was it even possible?

“... Shut up.”

Fighting again would not change the outcome. But Hamel simply could not accept defeat. Clinging to his dizzy consciousness, he glared at Vermouth.

Ash-gray hair and golden eyes. The bastard stood before him, still wreathed in pure white flames. That outstretched hand... What, did he want a handshake? Instead of taking it, Hamel raised a hand and gripped his nose.

CRACK!

He twisted his nose, stopping the bleeding.

The sword in his right hand... Its blade was gone. Those white flames had destroyed it. Could mana really explode like that in a single instant? No, it was not just his mana. When their swords had first collided, Vermouth had seen through Hamel’s swordsmanship just before contact and countered it.

He was on an entirely different level.

Hamel was no fool. He knew there was an immense gulf between himself and Vermouth. Even if they fought hundreds or thousands of times, he had no confidence that he could win.

He did not want to acknowledge that fact. The moment he did, he felt he would accept that he could never defeat Vermouth.

“... Fuck. Again. Let’s go again. I haven’t lost...!”

Hamel hated defeat. It had been familiar to him since childhood, but however many defeats piled up, they remained disgusting and unpleasant—nothing he could get used to. He had lost everything at a young age and lived as a mercenary. To survive, he had to be good at fighting. He had not been good from the beginning. Defeats accumulated, until at some point his victories began to outnumber them.

Never grow accustomed to defeat. Since childhood, Hamel had believed that with absolute conviction.

“If you can’t accept it.”

Vermouth nodded and withdrew his hand. He stepped back a few paces and looked at Hamel. Hamel set his broken sword on the ground and clenched both fists. If not swords... then fists? He was confident in those. Even before becoming a mercenary, he had fought plenty of fistfights with the village children, and he had used his fists even more after becoming one.

Hamel had always thought himself a genius. He did have the talent to justify it. Since childhood, he had rarely struggled to learn anything new, and his skills improved faster than other people’s.

His faith in himself had not changed after he became a mercenary. If anything, other people’s convictions had reinforced it.

[“I’ve never seen a kid who handles a sword as well as you.”]

[“You can already sense mana?”]

[“Sword aura? Impossible!”]

Every mercenary who had seen the young Hamel had been astonished. Some had even envied his talent and tried to ruin him. Jealousy toward a genius. Hamel had always been its target.

He was accustomed to people’s amazement... and to being called a genius, but he had never lost himself in arrogance. He had never neglected effort or training.

Those were the skills he had cultivated. His opponent was the Hero, Vermouth Lionheart. Yes, he could lose. In truth, winning would be absurd. But he should not lose like this. He should not lose without even mounting a proper attack, feeling such an overwhelming gap. Even if he could not fight evenly, they had to exchange at least a few blows. Even if he fought hundreds of times and lost every time, he had to be able to believe he might win once or twice.

“... Hey.”

He did not even have the strength to get up.

They had fought twice more, and he had lost both times. Unlike the first bout, he had not even grazed Vermouth’s clothing. Nor had those white flames beaten him. He had been utterly defeated in hand-to-hand combat as well. Not one of the techniques Hamel had trusted so confidently worked on Vermouth.

“... I’m much weaker than you. Why do you want me as a companion?”

Hamel simply could not understand the reason. The difference between them was this great. Even if he joined, he would clearly only hold them back. Hamel could not use magic. Naturally, he could not use divine magic either. He was not absurdly huge like Moron.

That was why it made no sense at all. Was he strong? He was weak. A genius? No. What could he do? Why had this monster come asking him to become a companion, then fought him three times?

“Because I need you.”

“... Then why the fuck do you need me...! You’re stronger than I am!”

Vermouth’s answer sounded like mockery. Hamel roared and punched the ground. He had lost. He could never win. Three fights had driven that home, and it had turned into anger at himself.

“You would join me if I won. Wasn’t that our agreement?”

“I just don’t understand! There must be plenty of bastards who’d jump at the chance if you asked them to join you. Why the hell are you asking me?!”

Hamel lifted his head and glared at Vermouth.

Vermouth did not answer immediately. He gazed at Hamel with calm eyes. That gaze made Hamel swallow involuntarily. Those shining golden eyes were steady and tranquil, yet so intense that they seemed to pierce everything they saw and lay bare the heart.

“You’re the last.”

Vermouth’s lips parted.

“Come with us, Hamel.”

He held out his hand.

Hamel could not take it right away. He had lost, so he had to follow. Thinking that way would make things a little easier, but he needed another reason to do so.

“... Rotten bastard.”

He gathered the fragments of his shattered pride. He firmly accepted that he was not a genius. Then he looked at Vermouth.

“... What... are you planning to do?”

“Cross the sea to Helmuth.”

“... No ships sail for Helmuth from this port.”

“They will if I say I’m going with them.”

Of course they would. Hamel gave a hollow laugh. Merchant ships were not departing for Helmuth because the sea was too dangerous. Vicious monsters and demonic beasts teemed beneath the water, while ghost ships of black mages and undead roamed its surface.

They could leave with a sufficient escort, but the city had fought a major battle only a few days ago. The only men still brimming with energy were inexperienced knights filling the places of the dead. Among the surviving knights and mercenaries, Hamel was about the only one volunteering to go to that hell called Helmuth.

But if Vermouth and his companions boarded a ship, knights dazzled by the legend of that great Hero would board as well. Even without them, a merchant ship would sail for Helmuth if Vermouth said he would be aboard.

“... What will you do... in Helmuth?”

“Kill the Demon Kings.”

Vermouth answered without hesitation.

“First, we kill the Demon King of Carnage. Then the Demon King of Cruelty, and then the Demon King of Fury. After that, we kill the Demon King of Incarceration and the Demon King of Destruction.”

Vermouth did not withdraw his outstretched hand.

“I need your strength to kill all the Demon Kings, Hamel Dynas. Without you, I... we cannot kill them all.”

It was absurd. Kill every Demon King? Well, as the esteemed Hero recognized by the Holy Sword, perhaps he could. But what the hell did he mean, he could not kill them without Hamel?

“... Then I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Was he comforting the loser? Probably. ... Was there any reason to go that far? Hamel did not want to think anymore. The more he thought, the more it hurt.

“... I happened to want to cross the sea, too.”

With that excuse, Hamel took Vermouth’s hand.

“Still clinging to your pride, huh?”

Leaning against the wall, Senya spoke loudly enough for him to hear. Beside her, Moron watched Hamel and Vermouth with great tears streaming down his face. Then he spread his arms wide and approached them.

“Different warriors walk together with the same purpose! We are companions now! Though we were born on different days, we shall fulfill our great cause on the same day!”

Weeping hot tears, Moron wrapped Hamel and Vermouth in an embrace.

“... Are you quite finished?”

Anise tipped her long-empty bottle of holy water upside down and shook the remaining drops into her mouth.

“Hamel, indulging your stubbornness has made me miss this evening’s prayers. How will you take responsibility for that?”

“... What do you want me to do about it?”

“I’ll explain. Anise wants a drink. Understand? Go buy some booze.”

Senya snickered and waggled a finger. A sudden gust of wind swept the dirt and dust clean from Hamel’s body.

“Hmm. Since we must baptize our new companion... God will surely forgive me for missing today’s prayers.”

“... What’s... with you people? Why are you suddenly acting friendly? Didn’t you say you hated me and that I was fucking awful?”

“Hamel, I did say I disliked you, but I never said you were fucking awful. If anything, I would say you were damned awful, but who in this world can love every other person? Being human means we can find other people damned awful, and even I, a saint, am no exception.”

Anise regarded Hamel through narrowed eyes as she spoke.

“Therefore, even while finding one another damned awful, people must get to know and understand each other so that we might become a little less damned awful. We, in particular, will fight together and share life and death, so we must know each other more deeply than most.”

“Uh... right.”

“There is nothing like alcohol for truly understanding one another. Alcohol makes people drunk so they may reveal their true selves without deceiving others, and through drunkenness, we come to understand each other more deeply. That is why alcohol is holy water.”

“She means buy expensive, good-quality booze.”

Senya chimed in beside her.

“... Or do you not want to drink with us? Should we go back to disliking you like before?”

“It’s suspicious how fast your attitudes changed.”

“I thought you were a talentless scrub who was all talk, but watching you fight Vermouth made me like you quite a bit.”

“I also liked how persistently you challenged him.”

“Your eyes burned fiercely to the very end. Truly the eyes of a warrior.”

What a bunch of weirdos.

Thinking that, Hamel freed himself from Moron’s arms.

“... Do you like drinking?”

He glanced at Vermouth. Whatever he found so amusing, he had been smiling for some time.

“I don’t dislike it.”