Chapter 181 - Damn Reincarnation

Ariartel

His head spun, and his stomach churned. The two voices speaking at once sent sharp pains through his already dizzy head.

“Sir Eugene! Sir Eugene!”

Mer clutched his shoulders in a panic. How much time had passed? Eugene roughly wiped the bloody tears from his cheeks and raised his head toward the clock on the wall. A little over ten minutes had passed since he began resonating with the Moonlight Sword.

Ten whole minutes. It felt as though he had gazed into the darkness projected inside his head for only a moment...

“How long are you going to keep shaking me?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Yeah, I think I’m fine.”

He answered her and climbed off the bed. His legs suddenly gave out, and he almost collapsed. Mer looked close to tears again. She followed him down and struggled to support Eugene, who was much taller than she was.

[“... That is why I warned you...!”]

“It’s not exactly the first time I’ve ignored someone’s warning, done whatever I wanted, and gotten my ass kicked, is it?”

[“Hamel...!”]

“All right, all right. I was wrong. I had to check somehow, no matter what, but I guess I should’ve been more careful.”

First, he examined Akasha. He had worried that what just happened might have damaged the Word magic, but fortunately, there was nothing wrong with the staff.

The same was true of the Moonlight Sword. That sword, which scarcely resembled a sword at all, still radiated pale moonlight. Yes, what it emitted was light.

Yet what had been projected inside Eugene’s head was darkness without a single speck of light. Night after sunset, shadows, ink... The darkness he had just seen was deeper and more ominous than anything he could think of.

And then there was the clanking of chains. A pair of red eyes opening in the heart of that darkness. A presence he had encountered only once in his previous life, yet could never forget.

The Demon King of Incarceration.

‘... Why was he there?’

[“Do not look.”]

The Demon King of Incarceration’s whispered words lingered in his head. Was he connected to the Moonlight Sword? No, the Demon King of Incarceration hadn’t been projected by Akasha’s magic. He had intervened directly. What was he telling Eugene not to look at...? That darkness? Why?

‘... So... the Demon King of Incarceration really is involved in Vermouth’s seclusion.’

It was nothing to be surprised or angered by at this point. Senya had said that Vermouth must have had circumstances beyond his control. Even after that son of a bitch punched a hole through her chest and nearly killed her, she had defended him because he had once been their companion and friend.

The very existence of that “promise” proved there was something between Vermouth and the Demon King of Incarceration. Three hundred years ago, the Demon King of Incarceration could have killed everyone who reached him. No, even before that, the Demon Kings could have trampled the entire continent.

Wasn’t that the truth? The only reason there had been a war at all three hundred years ago was that the Demon King of Incarceration and the other Demon Kings hadn’t left Helmuth. They commanded demonic beasts, demons, and black mages, but never ventured beyond Helmuth themselves.

If the Demon Kings had taken action themselves back then, if they had cooperated instead of maintaining separate camps... killing even one Demon King would have been impossible, let alone three.

‘... Is the Demon King of Incarceration... holding Vermouth captive?’

It wasn’t the first time he had considered it.

He had thought about Vermouth time and again. Why had he taken several wives and fathered children? Why had he nearly killed Senya, made peace with a Demon King, and reincarnated Hamel?

The Vermouth Eugene remembered wasn’t someone who laid his heart bare like the others. He had felt it even when they first met at the harbor: it was impossible to tell what the man was thinking.

[“What are you going to do... in Helmuth?”]

[“Kill the Demon Kings.”]

When they first met.

[“First, I’ll kill the Demon King of Carnage. Then the Demon King of Cruelty, and then the Demon King of Fury. After that, I’ll kill the Demon King of Incarceration and the Demon King of Destruction.”]

Vermouth had reached out his hand as he spoke. Eugene—Hamel—had never once thought those words were a lie. And it wasn’t just Hamel. Senya, Anise, Moron. They had all believed in Vermouth’s resolve and embraced the same determination.

Their origins, genders, backgrounds, and abilities were different. Every one of them was twisted in some way. They were the sort who should have acted alone or led others, rather than stood beneath someone and followed.

The five of them had come together three hundred years ago because Vermouth stood at their center. Because Vermouth had spoken those words, they had all wandered Helmuth for decades without doubt. They had killed Carnage, Cruelty, and Fury.

‘... For someone like you to make that promise, you must have had no other choice.’

Eugene looked at his reflection in the mirror. The bloody tears had stopped, but stains still marked his cheeks.

[“I didn’t want to let you go first, Hamel.”]

[“Were you satisfied with your death? If you were, you’re a son of a bitch. Who gave you the right to die satisfied? Me, Anise, Moron, Vermouth. None of us wanted you to die. We didn’t want to accept your death, and we didn’t want to let you go ahead of us.”]

[“Don’t resent Vermouth.”]

Senya.

[“Hamel.”]

[“Why must Vermouth abandon his companions?”]

[“He did not want you to die.”]

[“Nor did he want Senya, Anise, or Moron to die. That is why, when everyone fell, Vermouth put away the Moonlight Sword.”]

[“The Demon King of Incarceration could have killed everyone except Vermouth at that moment... But he did not, because he made a promise with Vermouth.”]

[“That promise was not solely for the world. It was also to save the companions beside him, and to reclaim your soul, which should have been annihilated.”]

Tempest.

[“Thank you.”]

[“Thank you... for coming with me without any of you dying.”]

He remembered Vermouth pulling the Holy Sword from a Demon King’s corpse, its radiance shining behind him like the dawn.

“... I’d rather...”

Eugene let out a long sigh and wiped the stains from his cheeks.

“I’d rather it turned out that Vermouth really had no choice but to make that promise, and that after arranging my reincarnation, he was taken captive by the Demon King of Incarceration.”

[“...”]

“I know how ridiculous that sounds. It makes no sense. Is the Demon King a fucking idiot? Why keep Vermouth captive instead of killing him? And why leave me alive when I’ve reincarnated to kill him?”

[“... Because it is a promise.”]

“A promise for what? I don’t know. I really don’t. Why was it the Demon King of Incarceration, not Vermouth, who intervened just now to stop me from looking...? I don’t know.”

What would have happened if he had kept looking into that darkness?

Eugene looked down at the Moonlight Sword still in his hand. Pale moonlight. A light both beautiful and ominous. Destruction in the shape of a sword.

... What was that darkness Akasha had projected from the Moonlight Sword? Was Vermouth beyond it? Those words, “Do not look”...

‘... It was almost as though...’

Because the Demon King of Incarceration had intervened, Eugene had been able to stop looking into the darkness. If he hadn’t intervened, just how long would Eugene have stared into it?

Would looking have been all he did?

“... This is fucking bullshit.”

When he had encountered Amelia Merwin deep beneath the desert, Eugene hadn’t been able to defeat her. Even with Ignition and the Moonlight Sword, he hadn’t been certain he could escape Amelia’s grasp from so far underground.

The Demon King of Incarceration had intervened then, too. He had descended and forced Amelia Merwin to withdraw.

‘There is nothing beyond there.’

‘Nothing happened here.’

Biting his lip, Eugene returned to bed. He flopped down as though collapsing and closed his eyes. He felt Mer, who had been sitting in a corner, quietly approach.

A cloth soaked in warm water settled on his cheek. With careful hands, Mer wiped away the few remaining bloodstains, then cleaned the dried blood from the corners of his eyes.

Afterward, a warm breeze began drying the moisture. Tempest. Neither of them spoke to him again. They simply stayed quietly at his side.

“Thanks.”

“... Would you like me to sleep beside you? I’ll hold your hand, too.”

“You can’t sleep anyway.”

“But I can stay beside you from the moment you fall asleep until you wake up.”

“Are you sure you’re not just scared to be alone inside the cloak?”

“Of course not. I’m not scared of anything. ... Um... Not anything, exactly. I’m scared something might happen to Lady Senya, or you, or Lady Anisilla... or the other people who are kind to me.”

Murmuring softly, Mer pulled up the blanket and covered Eugene. Then she wriggled underneath it as though it were only natural and curled up close to him.

“So don’t be angry, Sir Eugene, and don’t be sad. Don’t do too many dangerous things, and don’t get hurt. You have to stay healthy until Lady Senya comes back.”

“... I’m fine.”

“Liar. You were crying blood. And I felt a little of your emotions, too.”

Anguish, longing, loneliness... and anger. Mer didn’t know what emotion all those feelings combined to form.

But she couldn’t leave him alone.

[“... I can sing you a lullaby.”]

“Fuck off, Tempest.”

Listening to a lullaby sung in that gravelly voice would surely give him horrific nightmares.

* * *

“Hamel.”

When had it been?

His memory wasn’t clear.

It couldn’t be.

Battles had been frequent even before they entered Helmuth, but afterward, they truly fought every single day. Enemy attacks came at all hours, in different forms every time.

Those days in that dreadful hell had made the party grow rapidly. But that didn’t make the battles any easier. As they grew stronger, their enemies grew more numerous and more powerful.

They had endured those days of unending battle because three of the five could use healing magic. But their magic differed.

Vermouth’s healing magic was powerful when used on himself, but he couldn’t heal anyone else. Healing magic was, after all, something only priests with faith could wield, so Vermouth’s magic was more akin to a Hero’s blessing.

Senya couldn’t use divine magic, but she could use the healing magic unique to elves. She had learned it thanks to growing up in an elven village from infancy. As a mage of unparalleled ability, the healing magic she wielded was as powerful as a high-ranking cleric’s.

But she couldn’t compare to Anise. The Saint of Light. Anise the Faithful.

“Are you all right?”

Anise Slywood.

The healing magic she wielded could hardly be called magic. It was a miracle in the truest sense. She could reattach severed limbs as though nothing had happened. Not just the flesh, but the bones, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels—all of them were reconnected. There were no aftereffects, no need for rehabilitation. The moment the “miracle” occurred, the severed limbs moved perfectly.

Even if every bone in a body was shattered, its organs ruptured, and its heart burst, as long as the person hadn’t breathed their last, Anise’s miracle would erase their injuries at once. The only ones those astounding miracles had failed to restore were corpses already dead, and Hamel, whose soul had been dying under the lich Belial’s curse.

“I am not.”

Which battlefield had it been?

After they killed Carnage? Or had it been Cruelty, or Fury? The battle against Kamash and the giants? Raizakia’s bombardment? A vampire suicide attack... the demon army led by Incarceration’s Sword?

He couldn’t remember. They had fought too many battles three hundred years ago. He could count on one hand the times he had finished a fight unscathed. They always treated their injuries after battle. No, they treated them during battle, too. On the battlefields of that era, death was common, and injury was a given.

Many others had struggled like that as well. People who had lost something to monsters, demonic beasts, or demons. More were blinded by hatred and vengeance than driven by some grand conviction to save the world.

Despite their weakness, such people wandered the battlefields to quench their hatred and exact revenge. On the battlefield, they could feel they were devoting themselves to that purpose. Deep down, they knew they could never achieve it, so they would rather die fighting.

Anise did not stand by and watch them die. She had aspects to her that were hardly saintly, but when it mattered, she was more faithful and more worthy of being a saint than anyone.

When they reached the Demon King of Incarceration’s castle, all five were alive. None had been left disabled. There had been many close calls. Permanent scars marked their bodies. That was “all.” Despite fighting every single day for decades, the five remained as they had been at the beginning.

It was thanks to Anise’s miracles.

“... You pushed yourself too hard.”

Hamel murmured as he looked at Anise. The battlefield. The stench of blood... From afar came the smell of rotting and burning corpses.

“... Look. I know how damn stubborn you are. I know you won’t fucking listen even if I try to stop you.”

“You are the last person I want to hear that from.”

“Why? Because I’m a stubborn bastard who won’t fucking listen either? Sure, I am. But, Anise, unlike you, I know where to draw the line.”

Anise didn’t answer.

CLICK.

Instead, he heard a button on her priestly robes come undone. Sighing heavily, Hamel approached Anise.

“... Those people are desperate to die. Letting them die would be salvation for them, rather than going out of your way to save them. So why... do you insist on saving them at your own expense?”

“Does a cleric need a reason to save someone?”

Anise didn’t look back.

“Whether they want it or not is of no concern to me. I can save them, so I did. If I can save them and choose not to, I am turning my back on them.”

CLICK. CLICK.

The buttons continued to come undone.

“I cannot do that. I will not. Why do I sacrifice my own interests? No, Hamel. I am not losing anything. I will... save all those people, accumulate good deeds, and go to heaven.”

Her priestly robes slid down.

“Of course, I have already done enough good to enter heaven. God will have witnessed all my good deeds, and He will bestow light upon me in proportion to them.”

Upon death, the good deeds of one’s life became light, and evil deeds became darkness. If that light was brilliant enough to illuminate all the darkness, one could enter heaven.

There was no darkness in that heaven. The sins of the world arose in darkness devoid of light. Because there was no darkness in the heaven ruled by the God of Light, there was no sin, and because there was no sin, no one suffered.

That was the faith of Yuras.

“... God does not shed the blood His lambs must shed in their stead. He is the radiant light that will illuminate all darkness, yet He is not illuminating the darkness threatening to swallow the world now.”

Her long blond hair covered her bare back. Anise raised both hands and lifted it.

“... I am the Saint of Light. If God is not acting, then I, His saint, must act. I must shed sacred blood in His stead and illuminate the darkness with light in His stead. Hamel, I... do not believe everyone who lives and dies in this dreadful era can enter heaven.”

Anise’s back was covered in blood. He had seen it so often that it was familiar. Whenever she used too much divine power and performed too many great miracles in succession, her back was drenched in blood.

Each time, Anise called for Hamel. She probably hadn’t intended for it to become that way at first. Long ago, after a battle, Vermouth, Senya, and Moron had left to finish off the remaining enemies nearby.

The badly wounded Hamel and exhausted Anise stayed behind. Rather than ask the already weary Anise for healing magic, Hamel attempted to give himself first aid.

While he was doing so, Anise collapsed.

“... I will become the most radiant light after the God I serve.”

Hamel held the damp cloth Anise had given him. Then, with a careful touch, he wiped the blood from her back.

“And with my light, I will illuminate even the darkness of those who cannot enter heaven. Not everyone who dies in this era will be able to enter heaven, but I will guide as many as I can there.”

As he wiped away the blood, wounds appeared.

No, they weren’t wounds. They were sacred verses engraved across her entire back. Whenever Anise performed a great miracle, those verses dug deep into her skin and made her bleed.

And they kept growing. When he first saw Anise’s back, the verses had been confined to the area around her shoulder blades. But with every miracle she performed, they grew longer and larger. Now they reached her lower back.

“... It’s strange that you can work all sorts of miracles, but you can’t heal your own back.”

“These are stigmata. They are themselves proof of miracles. Wouldn’t it be absurd to heal them with a miracle?”

Anise sat down to make it easier for Hamel to wipe away the blood. Then she took the holy water at her waist and raised it to her lips.

Usually, Hamel was always looking for a chance to get some of Anise’s holy water, but at times like this, he didn’t ask for any. By now, he knew why Anise drank holy water without pause during every battle.

“... Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Anise was skilled at concealing her expression. She hid her feelings, said something entirely different, and always wore a smile. Now was no different. She smiled as she drank her holy water, speaking in her usual voice.

After wiping away all the blood, he applied ointment to the deeply etched markings. These wounds couldn’t be healed by miracles. Applying ointment wouldn’t heal them either. But it did lessen the bleeding.

“... I am glad it is you.”

Anise murmured as she lowered the holy water.

“I would rather not let Sir Vermouth see me like this. Moron... If he knew my back was like this and that I bled, he would fight timidly, stifling his own strengths. And Senya would restrain me by force to stop me from doing anything she deemed unnecessary.”

“And me?”

“You are trying to understand me.”

He heard her chuckle.

“You understand my stubbornness. You tell me not to do it, but you don’t forcibly stop me. Even knowing that I bleed more the more recklessly you fight, you always fight the same way.”

“Because that’s better for you.”

Wipe away the blood, apply ointment. Then wrap the bandages.

“You won’t listen, whatever I say. But if I hold back, the battle drags on. Even if it’s dangerous, ending it quickly reduces the damage overall.”

“And you are skilled at tending wounds. You change my bandages without making them uncomfortable, and you don’t feel lust when you see my bare back.”

“Who would think that kind of shit looking at a back covered in blood and wounds?”

“It is good that you regard your companions as companions, but perhaps you should entertain other thoughts from time to time?”

“... What thoughts?”

“That I will be covered in blood and hurting because of you.”

“I just told you. Fighting aggressively is better than holding back...”

“Isn’t Moron alone enough to fight that way? Hamel, if you and Moron suffered just a few less injuries, I would bleed half as much.”

“... Um...”

Unable to answer, Hamel secured the bandages.

“... I’ll try.”

Remembering that conversation from so long ago, Eugene pictured Anise spreading her eight wings.

“... Not many wings.”

Euresia, capital of the Holy Empire.

Before him stood a sacred statue of Anise with a single pair of wings spread wide.