Chapter 55 - Gilli - 3

In his previous life, after the Demon King rose, everyone on the continent had come to know that red light.

An ominous light that made the instinct for survival scream merely by approaching it. A light that inevitably brought the end of the world to mind.

Bera was certain.

That was the light that shrouded the Demon King and its followers. The light revealed whenever monsters who had forsaken their humanity rose.

Yet there was still something he could not understand.

'Why?'

Why was someone shrouded in that light appearing already?

There were still several years until the Demon King's rise.

There should not have been anyone cloaked in that light yet...

'... No.'

It was not impossible.

If the Demon King had already begun preparing, if it had already been working in secret on the continent, this made perfect sense.

Bera adjusted his grip on his sword and looked toward the place where the erupting light had subsided. Fortunately, it had not spread beyond Sanctuary. Its influence was confined to the interior.

Revealed there were Gilli, standing tall, and the Noir, crumbling into ash.

Bera narrowed his eyes at the staggering Gilli and the dagger embedded in the center of their chest.

That was likely the cause of all this.

'Think later.'

First, he had to bring that bastard down and examine the dagger.

"Hh...!"

Bera drew a deep breath, dismissed the sword barrier he had maintained until then, and charged Gilli.

Divine energy burst forth. Enveloping his entire body and wrapping around his sword, it gave a deep, heavy roar.

He drew his two-handed grip toward his body, then struck.

BOOOOM!

The blade met Gilli's right arm with an explosive crash. It was certainly not the sound of steel striking skin.

Bera clicked his tongue softly and pulled back. Looking at his sword, he saw that the Demon King's light had penetrated its coating of divine energy and rusted the blade.

When he shifted his gaze again, he saw all the earth surrounding Gilli drying out and turning to ash.

Bera knew someone who wielded this sort of power. The questions he had decided to set aside... this time, he could not suppress them.

'... Marsha.'

Marsha the Life Devourer. One of the legion commanders who led the Demon King's forces.

Gilli could not be Marsha. Those who had seen Marsha in his previous life had said she was a mermaid who had come ashore.

His doubts deepened. A short breath slipped from his lips, and his expression twisted into a scowl.

This was a power he could not confront by ordinary means.

Just as Bera began searching for another way—

THUD!

Gilli planted a foot.

The attack was fast. Sharp, too. Bera's eyes widened. His sword moved forward on instinct.

A fist shot toward him. The flat of his blade blocked its path.

Another explosive crash followed.

BOOOOM!

* * *

Still dazed, Gilli curled their lips into a smile at the sense of omnipotence sweeping through their body.

They could feel no heartbeat. No bodily sensation, either. Only mounting ecstasy.

With this, it was possible.

This apostle, the siblings behind him, and Friede among them. Gilli could tear them all apart, seize the Saintess, and make for Aedrin.

They could finally see the end of this long, long wait.

Gilli swung their hand again. The red claws fashioned from the life coursing through their body were steadily eating away at the apostle's sword.

He was dodging nimbly, but ultimately it was futile. Gilli would be the victor.

They planted a foot. Through it, they felt the life of this land seep into their body.

Their siblings' cries rang in their ears. Gilli believed those anguished cries were resentment toward the Mother who had abandoned them.

'Ah... loathsome Aedrin.'

Poor siblings. Gilli would break every shackle and build a new land.

THUD!

Gilli launched themself at Bera again.

* * *

Renée completed the prayer she had maintained all this time and the sacred art she had been weaving, then addressed Norn.

"What's happening?"

"Well..."

Her question flustered Norn. His entire body was rigid with tension.

How was he supposed to explain this? That the sudden eruption of red light had withered all the Noir into ash, leaving only Gilli and Bera alive to continue fighting? That Bera seemed to be losing ground?

How could he say that?

His lips moved, but no words came.

"Norn?"

"He's at a disadvantage."

It was Friede who spoke.

Her face a wreck, she murmured blankly in a subdued voice.

"... Gilli had a trick prepared. It seems they did something by sacrificing our siblings. None of those siblings remain alive. Your escort is fighting Gilli, and from what I can see, Gilli has the upper hand."

She had conveyed only the essentials.

As she spoke, Friede desperately hoped Renée would order them to flee.

She hoped Renée would tell them to turn their backs and run, leaving Bera behind—to sacrifice that escort so they could live to see tomorrow.

But—

"We can win."

Those were not the words that left Renée's lips.

Friede's expression crumpled still more miserably.

Renée raised the divine energy she had been weaving, letting it hover over her hand.

'I can do this.'

She did not want to feel as helpless as she had three years ago, fleeing her pursuers. That was why she had honed this sacred art.

Blind as she was, she could not lead the fight or protect others from their enemies. Even so, she had refined this art believing there must be something she could do.

"Lady Friede."

"... Go ahead."

"Please ready your bow."

Puzzlement settled over Friede's face.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Help Bera."

"You cannot."

Emotion colored her answer. Even so, it had a solid basis.

Friede could sense the coercive power imbued in Sanctuary far ahead. The golden rules hovering over that ash-gray space were absolutely unbreakable.

"A shot from here will never reach Gilli. The air currents are too turbulent. And the moment you enter that space, you will have to fight whichever of those two survives. Going there would only hinder him."

That was not the only problem.

"... Besides, Saintess, you are blind."

What could a blind person hope to accomplish with a bow, of all things, rather than a sword?

In response to the words prompted by that thought, Renée smiled faintly.

"It's all right. I won't be going there."

"What..."

"Would you ready it for me?"

Friede said no more. She merely ground her teeth and handed over the bow slung across her back.

The gesture was a challenge: go ahead and try.

Renée accepted it and rose.

"Norn, tell me which direction."

"... Turn about fifteen degrees to the right of where you're facing, Saintess."

Renée turned. She extended the bow before her and nocked an arrow.

The divine energy she had been weaving settled into the arrow.

"Whew..."

A long breath escaped her.

Renée drew the arrow back and called her wish to mind once more.

'An arrow that always hits.'

An arrow that would hit even when loosed by someone blind who did not know how to use a bow. An arrow that would ride the surrounding air currents, happen to fly toward Gilli, and strike them.

Renée had created a literally blind arrow.

It was not an arrow meant to harm the enemy. Renée knew that such a small arrow could not threaten an opponent who was driving Bera back.

She only wished.

That this arrow would create the tiniest opening, and that Bera would use it to end Gilli's life.

Coincidence woven with coincidence into inevitability, and the miracle that would arise from it.

She wished for that through the most exalted divine power.

She did not worry in the slightest about hitting Bera.

The wish she had already planted in him would protect him from this arrow.

Renée held her breath, drew the bowstring with all her strength,

and released it.

* * *

Bera countered Gilli's attacks, blocking the barrage and keeping his feet moving without pause.

He gave no thought to running out of divine energy or stamina.

As long as an enemy remained, he could stand.

As long as there was something behind him to protect, he must not stop.

BOOM!

Another explosive crash rang out.

A strike forged from a wealth of divine energy swept across the center of Gilli's chest, but the wound was healing in an instant, its traces vanishing.

Bera charged.

He honed his divine energy once more. A technique imitating the knights' arts: he used a method that sent aura into the opponent's body and detonated it.

He paid no heed to Gilli's hand moving before their chest to block his path, or to the light they unleashed as they absorbed the life around them.

Only one thing mattered.

Bera swung his sword, thinking solely of driving divine energy into that wound before it closed.

The projected energy shot toward Gilli. Sharpened and hardened further, it pierced the arm shielding their chest and seeped into the wound, but—

SPURT!

All it produced was a burst of blood.

THRUM!

Bera charged again and swung his sword. Gilli caught it in a hand shrouded in red light.

CLANG!

The sword broke.

Bera swiftly released it, clenched his fist, and drove it toward Gilli's face.

BOOOM!

Once again, the impact produced a sound no collision of flesh could make.

It was not an effective hit.

Bera quickly pulled back and adjusted his stance.

His skin felt as though it were burning. When he looked over to check the injury, he saw the skin peeling off the part of his fist that had made contact.

"Hhh..."

A long breath escaped Bera's lips. It hurt. Worse, he could see no chance of victory.

Yet he could not stop.

No—it would be more accurate to say he must not stop, for this was a fight to uphold the most basic moral duty.

It was something he had never done before, so pain was only natural.

He was fighting for an intent he still understood so poorly and handled so clumsily. How could it be anything but painful?

He had no blade. Gilli had not fallen.

Even so, he must not stop.

Bera composed himself and assumed the stance of the strongest combat art he knew.

It was imitation.

Ten Thousand Changes.

The art he aspired to.

Among the battles he had reviewed countless times over the past three years to achieve it was, certainly, a duel with a master of combat arts.

Ballak, king of the eastern orcs.

Bera imitated his combat art.

Some said it was a technique that could only be imitated by someone who knew how to wield battle energy.

Bera rejected that.

He did not refine battle energy. He merely honed his divine energy.

The divine energy throughout his body sharpened and raced through him.

Where it passed, his muscles awakened and swelled.

THUMP!

Bera charged again. Cloaking their whole body in red light, Gilli likewise clenched a fist and answered his move.

Gilli felt irritation and anger gradually welling up.

Thirst scorched their throat.

They only had to get past this bastard. Past this goddamn apostle, and their long-cherished wish would be within reach.

But the apostle would not fall.

No matter how often they trampled him, even after they broke his sword and stripped the skin from his fist, he kept charging.

The cockroach of an apostle still stood there stubbornly, barring their way.

"Enough!"

Gilli unleashed the life force accumulated in the dagger in their heart.

Life gathered into a single point.

They shaped the resentment condensed to annihilate one single target into a sphere.

Bera concentrated all the divine energy in his body into his right fist.

He stripped away every defense to reproduce Ballak's signature move—the strike that had once truly made him think of death.

They charged each other.

Bera's fist thrust forward, and the resentment hovering over Gilli's hand shot forth.

Gilli was certain. A smile stretched across their lips as though it would split them apart.

'I've won...!'

Whatever trick that bastard tried, Gilli only had to regenerate. He, on the other hand, could never block their attack.

Victory, attained at last.

As Gilli felt its sweetness and ecstasy climbing their spine—

WHOOSH!

Their face went blank at the incoming arrow.

An arrow racing into the path of the sphere they had launched.

The sphere overlapped the arrow—

HISSS...

The arrow crumbled into ash. The sphere vanished.

Bewilderment rose. Emptiness rose.

And in the midst of it, the apostle had already closed the distance and arrived before them.

Bera spread his feet shoulder-width apart.

He drove all his divine energy into his drawn-back fist.

Then he punched straight ahead, pouring the energy forward.

Crushing Fist.

The supreme technique that had made Ballak king of the orcs—the race of strife.

BOOOM!

As the fist connected, Gilli's entire body exploded.