Chapter 86 - Damn Reincarnation

Kristina Rogeris

Eugene did not stop walking. He went straight out of the temple and approached Doynes, who stood before Vermouth’s statue.

“How do I get out of here?”

Doynes looked puzzled at the abrupt question. He glanced toward the temple, looking for Gilead and Kristina, who had yet to emerge, then turned back to Eugene.

“... What about Sir Hamel’s statue?”

“There’s no longer any need to leave it here.”

“... Ah...”

Understanding what that meant, Doynes’s expression hardened. Unable to find anything to say, he hesitated for a moment, then let out a long sigh.

“... Walk across the field. You will find yourself outside in due course.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be leaving first, then.”

“Why are you so angry?”

The founder’s remains were no longer in the coffin. Doynes had guessed that much, but he could not fully understand Eugene’s anger. Ordinarily, Eugene would have humored him with an answer, but right now, he had no emotional room to spare.

“I’m under no obligation to explain even the reasons for my anger to you, am I?”

He did not wait for an answer. Eugene went straight past Doynes and walked through the flower garden. Doynes blinked as he watched him go, then shook his head with a long, lamenting sigh.

He felt like shit.

He had been feeling like shit all too often lately. When he had seen Hamel’s corpse turned into a death knight in the underground tomb in Nahama. When Amelia Merwin had nearly killed him. When the Demon King of Incarceration had descended.

When that bastard had spoken of his affection for Vermouth and prattled on about a stupid lion.

He felt every bit as shitty, every bit as fucking awful now as he had then. Eugene gnawed at his lower lip. He tasted blood from the split skin. The stinging pain was nowhere near enough to shake off this shitty, fucked-up feeling.

He wanted to rampage like a madman. Monsters, demonic beasts—no, anyone would do. Perhaps beating and killing them would make him feel a little better.

‘No.’

He knew doing that would bring him no pleasure and relieve none of his anger. It would only be a momentary venting of his rage. Until he addressed the root of the problem that had poisoned his emotions, he would never escape this goddamn feeling.

So he simply walked, without any destination in mind. His reincarnated body was only nineteen, but Eugene still possessed all the memories of his past life and its countless experiences. Rather than seeking a meaningless outlet for his rage, he brought his seething emotions under control himself.

It was just as Doynes had said. As he walked through the flower garden and across the field, Eugene found himself standing in the middle of a dark forest before he knew it. The wind was cold. Slowly, he raised his head toward the sky. The night sky was visible through the dense leaves. There were so many stars above Mount Uklas.

It was a magnificent night sky, too beautiful to waste on such a shitty mood. Eugene glared up at it, cooling his boiling emotions. His breathing, however, refused to settle.

“Damn it.”

He considered screaming at the top of his lungs, then abandoned the idea. Breathing heavily, Eugene raised his fist. It was covered in blood. When he opened his fingers, he saw the torn flesh of his palm. He strode onward, picking off the dried blood stuck to his skin.

After walking a little farther, he found himself annoyed by how many trees there were. Naturally, a forest would have plenty of trees, but Eugene could not accept even that obvious fact right now.

So he struck a tree with his bloodied fist. He used no mana, only brute strength, but the tree snapped with a crack. Eugene glanced at his aching fist. The bleeding had finally stopped, only to start pouring out again.

Leaping over the fallen tree, Eugene headed deeper into the forest. This forest teemed with monsters, but none of them dared approach him. The killing intent pouring from Eugene belonged to Hamel, and the monsters did not dare encroach upon it.

After walking for a long time, Eugene looked around. Though he stood in the middle of a forest, he could not hear even a single insect. Even the insects had shut up in the face of his killing intent. He extended his senses beyond the silence around him, reaching a little farther out.

There were only monsters nearby. No trace of magic, either. Eugene wiped his dripping hand on his cloak, then drew Wynnyd.

“Tempest.”

The bitterly cold wind subsided. Eugene activated the Ring Flame Formula and glared at Wynnyd.

“I know you’re listening. I’m pretty fucking angry right now. I don’t know what to do with this anger just yet, but as luck would have it, I’m holding a sword that would be very easy to break.”

Muttering those words, Eugene brought his face right up to Wynnyd’s blade.

“Six years ago, I was short on mana, so I was desperate to get my hands on Wynnyd, a sword that lets me summon spirits so easily. But as you know, I’ve got no reason to be desperate for it anymore, right? I’ve built up a fuckton of mana over the last six years. I can make sword force without Wynnyd.”

The wind vanished altogether. Eugene ran his bloodstained fingers along Wynnyd’s faintly trembling blade.

“Of course, Wynnyd is a good sword. You could count the magic swords on the continent that perform this well on one hand. But what can I do? I’m in a really fucking foul mood, and Wynnyd looks just perfect for breaking.”

HUM...

The blade trembled, releasing a breeze. It was not a wind Eugene had summoned. Impudently, the air flowing from Wynnyd was pleasantly warm.

Eugene clenched his fist and struck Wynnyd’s blade.

CLANG!

The blade rang, and the wind stopped dead.

“You’ve seen it yourself, so you know I’ve got the Moonlight Sword now, not just Wynnyd. Breaking this won’t cost me anything I’d miss. But you’d miss it, Tempest. You know me, so you must know my temper, too. Right? I’m a fucking bastard. I’ll count to three.”

He was not making an empty threat. Eugene activated the Ring Flame Formula and raised his fist again. Pure white flames wrapped around it.

“One, two.”

[“Wait.”]

He had intended to throw the punch the instant he said three, but a voice rang inside his head. Mana surged out of his resonating, rotating core.

Six years ago, summoning Tempest for even a moment had completely exhausted his mana. That was no longer the case. His head spun briefly, but only because the mana had drained away so suddenly. Eugene steadied the disrupted flow of mana and glared at Wynnyd.

“You fucking bastard. You only come out when I raise my fist.”

[“You remain as brutish as ever...!”]

“That’s what I am at heart. Why act surprised now?”

The wind rampaged wildly. The surrounding trees swayed as though they would topple beneath it, and the ground shook. Eugene scowled fiercely and snapped,

“Do you have to make this much of a spectacle just to come out for a moment?”

[“... My existence is vast. It cannot be helped.”]

“You call yourself the fucking Wind Spirit King, and you can’t calm down a little wind?”

When Eugene raised his fist again, the swirling wind obediently subsided.

[“... What in the world has happened?”]

Tempest asked with a long sigh. Wind Spirit King or not, he could not know Eugene’s circumstances without forming a contract with him. Moreover, Wynnyd, his catalyst, had been kept inside the Cloak of Darkness. He could only be ignorant of what had happened in Vermouth’s temple.

“I just opened Vermouth’s coffin.”

[“...”]

“There was nothing inside.”

[“... So it was as I thought...”]

Eugene’s face twisted at those words, spoken almost as a lament.

“You suspected it, didn’t you?”

[“... It would be impossible for someone of Vermouth’s caliber to die so soon. The Vermouth I sensed was a man who could be free even of the lifespan imposed upon every human.”]

“Tell me why Vermouth faked his death.”

[“Hamel. You may expect me to answer your questions, but I truly know nothing about Vermouth.”]

“Cut the bullshit and tell me.”

[“I can swear upon my very existence. I know neither the promise Vermouth made, nor why he faked his death, nor anything about your reincarnation.”]

Eugene clenched his teeth at Tempest’s voice ringing inside his head. An oath sworn upon his very existence—and by none other than the Wind Spirit King.

[“The only person who fully understands Vermouth would be Vermouth himself. Perhaps... perhaps the Demon King of Incarceration understands him as well.”]

Tempest sighed again at Eugene’s silence.

[“But Senya, Moron, and Anise did not understand Vermouth... What I can say with certainty is that they did not understand him, and they resented him.”]

“... Resented him?”

[“Just as you could not understand Vermouth’s ‘promise,’ and questioned and resented his decision, none of them could accept his unilateral actions three hundred years ago.”]

Eugene pressed his lips together and glared at Wynnyd. Amid the gentle breeze, Tempest continued speaking.

[“... The battle against the Demon King of Incarceration was... fierce. It was only possible because Vermouth was there.”]

Those words were not difficult to understand.

[“The Demon King of Incarceration. That great Demon King, ranked second, was a horror beyond comparison with the three Demon Kings you had faced and overcome, Hamel. True to his name, he cast all hope and chances of victory into the depths of the abyss.”]

“...”

[“Senya’s magic could not pierce the Demon King of Incarceration. Anise’s divine power could not illuminate the darkness he summoned. Moron’s charge could not reach him.”]

Eugene had faced the Demon King of Incarceration exactly once in his past life. Roiling darkness. The clanking of chains. A pair of red eyes. Confronting him in person, his very presence had been different from when he descended using the death knight’s body as a vessel.

[“Had Vermouth not been there, Senya, Anise, and Moron would not have survived. Because Vermouth was there, a battle against the Demon King of Incarceration was possible. Because Vermouth was there, Senya’s magic pierced him, Anise’s divine power illuminated the darkness, and Moron’s charge reached him.”]

Tempest paused for a moment.

[“... But it was not enough. That fierce battle came to nothing in an instant because everyone except Vermouth could no longer hold out. If... if you had been there at that moment, Hamel... perhaps things might have been a little different.”]

At that, Eugene could only burst out laughing.

“Right. Fuck. Dying was my mistake in the first place. I stuck my nose in where I didn’t need to and died when I didn’t have to. That’s why I’ve ended up facing this shitty mess. If I hadn’t died there, if I’d chopped off Incarceration’s and Destruction’s heads before dying, I wouldn’t have had to see this.”

[“Hamel.”]

Tempest’s voice rang out again.

[“... The past has already passed. It can never be undone. If Vermouth was involved in your reincarnation, there must have been a reason it had to happen. He made that promise with the Demon King of Incarceration at that moment because he judged that their strength then was insufficient to defeat Incarceration and Destruction.”]

“So what?”

[“Your comrades did not understand Vermouth. Vermouth did not seek their understanding. That inscrutable man intended your reincarnation, even at the cost of the understanding of comrades who had crossed the brink of death alongside him. The Vermouth I knew was lonely to the very end, and took no pleasure in being hailed as a hero.”]

“... Idiots.”

Eugene raised his head and glared at the night sky. Senya had been the same. According to Mer, Senya had lived a lonely life. She had taken no lover, never married, never attended parties, and shut herself away in her study to create Witch Craft.

[“... The Demon King of Incarceration must also have had a reason for making that promise and knowing about your reincarnation... a reason that left him no alternative. Hamel. The resentment you feel toward Vermouth...”]

“It’s not resentment.”

Eugene lowered Wynnyd and murmured,

“This is... I mean... a sense of betrayal. Yes. Betrayal. Like you said, that bastard was impossible to read. But he shouldn’t have done this. No matter how grand his mission was, I... we traveled the world with Vermouth. We crossed Helmuth. We killed three Demon Kings.”

His voice trembled.

“I didn’t need to die for Vermouth. Even if I hadn’t stepped in, he wouldn’t have been in danger. But I died for him. Because I thought dying that way was a death I could be satisfied with.”

Even before a hole had been torn through his chest, his body had been dying. If he continued on with them, he would be nothing but a burden. Everyone had told Hamel to leave them and turn back, but he had refused. Turning back would not restore his ruined body.

He had barely, just barely, reached the Demon King of Incarceration’s castle. After forcing their way through that perilous journey, they were on the very verge of confronting him. There was no guarantee that, if they withdrew there, they would ever face the Demon King of Incarceration again.

No. Even if they reached the Demon King of Incarceration again, Hamel would not be with them. So he had thrown himself forward and died in Vermouth’s place. Hamel had needed that glory. The glory of dying for a hero, for Vermouth, for a friend.

Idiotic self-satisfaction.

“... It wasn’t just me. Everyone there would have died for Vermouth without hesitation. By the time we got there, we all understood. Even I understood, with all my fucking pride. I could die, but Vermouth couldn’t. Even if everyone else died, as long as Vermouth survived, there would be hope for another chance.”

His voice kept trembling. He could barely put any strength into the fingers holding Wynnyd.

“... Tempest. If, as you say... Senya, Anise, and Moron resented Vermouth, it wasn’t because he acted on his own. It was because they were too weak and held him back. That’s the kind of people I knew. They’d resent themselves for being powerless, and resent Vermouth for not abandoning them.”

[“... Hamel.”]

Tempest spoke in a sorrowful voice.

[“Why should Vermouth have abandoned his comrades?”]

“...”

[“He did not want you to die.”]

You did not need to die like this.

[“Nor did he want Senya, Anise, or Moron to die. That was why, when everyone fell, Vermouth lowered the Moonlight Sword. At that moment, the Demon King of Incarceration could have killed everyone except Vermouth... He did not because he made a promise with Vermouth.”]

“...”

[“That promise was not for the world alone. It was to save the comrades who were there with him, and to recover your soul, which should have been annihilated.”]

“I know.”

Betrayal.

Anger.

Resentment.

Amid those tangled emotions, Eugene thought of Vermouth. Of the first time they had defeated a Demon King.

[“W-we won. We won! Hamel, you son of a bitch! We killed a Demon King!”]

[“Are you sure he’s really dead? Isn’t that fucker just playing dead? What if he suddenly gets up and fucks us over?”]

[“Would someone worthy of being called a Demon King resort to such a petty trick?”]

[“Though he was our enemy, he was a splendid opponent. I, Moron Ruhar, as a warrior, acknowledge the Demon King as a worthy rival I shall remember for the rest of my life...”]

[“Splendid opponent, my ass, you fucker. Stop talking shit and plug up your side. Your guts are spilling out!”]

[“Hamel, you asshole! We killed a Demon King!”]

[“Senya, why do you keep calling my name and swearing at me when I’m just sitting here?”]

The fifth-ranked Demon King of Carnage. When Vermouth pulled the Holy Sword from its chest, his radiance had shone as brilliantly as dawn, though it was twilight and the sun was setting. Everyone had been excited at having defeated a Demon King, but the sight of Vermouth standing with the light at his back had left them briefly speechless with reverence.

[“... You fucking... You... uh... I know you fought well... Yeah. I know we brought that bastard down thanks to you, but do you really have to stand there striking a pose?”]

[“It was not just me.”]

Vermouth looked down at them all as he spoke.

[“We... all... fought well. Because we all fought together, we were able to defeat the Demon King.”]

[“... At least you know it. I fought fucking well, too.”]

[“Thank you.”]

Vermouth rarely smiled. But then, he had worn a smile so pure that it was hard to believe he was the same man they knew.

[“For coming with me, without any of you dying... thank you.”]

“I know.”

Eugene covered his face with his aching hand.

“... And knowing makes it even harder to understand.”

[“... Perhaps Vermouth is still alive.”]

“... Then I really will kill him.”

[“Let us go north, Hamel.”]

Here he was, caught up in his emotions, and what the hell was this bastard saying now?

[“The mission left unfulfilled three hundred years ago. Reincarnated, you will be able to accomplish it. Six years ago, you were lacking, but now you are different. Let us go north together. You and I shall conquer the northern demon lands that neither Vermouth nor anyone else could conquer—”]

“Stop talking shit and get back inside.”

[“Hamel. Surely that is what you desire as well?”]

“Not yet.”

Eugene opened his cloak as he snapped out the words.

“I’ll go someday, but I decide when.”

[“...”]

“So don’t try to push me around.”

[“... Heh heh. That is fine, too. Hamel. No, Eugene Lionheart. From this moment on, I shall be the fair wind at your back on your journey, and at times, a storm to protect you.”]

“Instead of all that fancy talk, can’t you gobble up a little less mana?”

[“That... cannot be helped. Manifesting a Spirit King requires that much mana—”]

“Fine, I get it. Go back inside.”

Once he put Wynnyd inside his cloak, he could no longer hear Tempest’s voice.