-Stop.

“Grrh...!!”

Ignak ground his teeth. Every time he tightened his grip, the artifact issued a furious warning. Move another inch and he would die. Without fail.

Even now, death lay in wait somewhere beyond, deep in the forest.

No, “even now” was not quite right. Looking back, he had never escaped that man's gaze for a single moment since entering these woods.

Only now did he understand why the man had abducted him and the other leaders, slowly whittled down his band, and was now playing this puppet game.

The futures the artifact showed him, and the insight growing steadily sharper through the mana pouring into his body, whispered an unmistakable truth.

“Me... Me and my brothers. You dared... You dared use us as training dummies?”

Rage swallowed fear. Ignak raised his head, grinding his teeth.

He hurled aside the young human in his grasp and briefly closed his eyes. The heavy smell of blood rose from among his charred brothers. Their scents lingered faintly—the brothers he had led into a death trap and gotten slaughtered.

He had surrendered to fear, crawled pathetically on the ground to prolong his life, and sold his brothers to their deaths. Willingly. To all demons, strength was proof of existence—which also meant that life was the right of the strong.

Survive, and there would be another chance. That was the creed of the defeated, the demons living in this age.

But now, holding this mysterious artifact called the Demon King's Eye, in this moment when pitch-black mana of unknown origin poured into his veins...

He was once again a centurion of the [Second Dragon General’s 103rd Infantry Battalion, 23rd Strike Team]. Only now, and in cowardice.

Ignak drew a deep breath. With every pounding beat of his heart, rage drove out fear.

There was no way to survive anyway. Even if he slaughtered these children, that “death” would never let him leave alive. Now that he had gained insight, he understood his position perfectly.

Then, at least...

“GRAAAAAH!!”

Ignak roared. With bloodshot eyes, he looked down at the child holding a sword before him.

A slender body, delicate arms, and simple clothing unsuited to this place. Hair that gleamed even beneath the dirt, and a clean face.

He would not end his life as a training dummy for some human noble's brat. Grinding his teeth, Ignak raised his staff.

“Tumor!! I offer my atonement in battle!!”

With a battle cry, he leaped toward the child.

* * *

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The earth shook. Or perhaps that was her heartbeat, constricted by tension.

Isabelle wiped her bitter-tasting mouth and held her sword upright. The orc was charging like an enraged bull.

It was like a wall bearing down on her. Given the difference in height and build, the comparison was fair. Judging by his momentum alone, he was nearly at full strength.

The leader. A powerful foe who had crushed Oscar in mere seconds.

Was she afraid?

Of course.

Isabelle slowly summoned her mana as she thought. Fear was only natural. This was not her first battle against demons. She had faced an opponent of this caliber during the attack on the train taking her to university.

But struggle. Fighting. Real combat. They were always frightening.

Even so, would she give up, even at a moment like this?

“Never!!”

As time slowly broke into segments, amid the thunderous footsteps shaking the earth and the fierce heartbeat still pounding in her chest...

Isabelle could sense the fallen Oscar, Esidisi somewhere behind her, and Elpihera, who had exhausted all her mana.

[“Take up your sword.”]

She recalled the oath from that day.

[“Stand with the weak, and see through their eyes.”]

[“Take up your sword not for your strength, but for your goodness.”]

[“It is not for our valor, our might, or our superiority that we draw our swords.”]

“But simply because it is right!!”

Isabelle shouted. Because it was right. For the cause she was duty-bound to uphold.

For the friends behind her. For her “mister,” who might already be dead somewhere in those woods.

To do everything she could to save them all—everyone within her reach—if it was possible.

No one's death could precede hers. If someone had to fall, it would be after she had finally drawn her last breath.

No one here today could die before me.

At last, Isabelle's time began to warp and tilt.

Time fractured. Sensations resolved into diagrams.

CLICK.

She thought she could hear a second hand catching on its gears. It was a hallucination amid nerves stretched endlessly by mana overload.

The air was heavy. Her blade dragged heavier still. It remained difficult to put strength into the forearm the electrical charge had passed through. This was not easy. Sword paths she had traced all her life felt unfamiliar.

Still, she swung.

CLAAANG!!

Staff and sword locked. Sparks flew, and through them the orc's enormous face surged close. His protruding tusks gleamed menacingly.

One life crashed against another. The more unyielding of them would survive here.

Then she could only pray that, even if she finally fell today, she might draw just one more breath than he did.

So she did not stop. Outmatched in strength, in size, perhaps even in skill, she nonetheless raised her sword, swung, slashed, and swept it up in a rising blow.

CLACK! CLAAANG!!

Even as sweat and blood blurred her vision, Isabelle's eyes remained sharply open, fixed on nothing but her enemy's heart.

* * *

“Cough!!”

Oscar opened his eyes in pain. The violent clangor of clashing weapons rang distantly in his ears.

How long had it been since he had been hurt this badly?

The Dwarf attack during his first field exercise. Ah, yes—he had broken his leg in the fall. Not as long ago as he had thought.

Oscar forced his stiff cheeks upward into a smile.

His left hand was... broken. His sword was too heavy to wield with his right arm alone. He would order a one-handed weapon as soon as he returned to Prizhenkaya. Something he could swing even with a broken arm.

For now, he would consider this advance practice. He gripped the hilt firmly in his right hand.

CLAAANG!!

Oscar struggled to open his swollen, distorted eyes. Not far away, Isabelle was fighting the orc.

Her sword moved at a tremendous speed. But every strike was blocked. The orc's attacks were heavy and slow, yet each offensive easily drove her slender body back.

The overwhelming disparity in size and strength was part of it, but from his position a step removed, he could see the decisive factor.

That orc must have exceptionally good “intuition.”

He did not think the orc's skill was remarkable. He had seen no sign of it when they exchanged blows. Just “intuition.” Perhaps the creature had something like “combat foresight.”

Again and again, he had seen it “read” a sword's path and react before the attack could land. Now, and during his own fight moments earlier.

Oscar grumbled. How was anyone supposed to beat that thing?

Neither their strength nor their mana could match it. If skill did not work either, how on earth were they supposed to win?

Still.

“I have to save her.”

Smiling, Oscar raised his sword. He limped toward the battle. Circulating a handful of mana, he stepped into the space where blades flashed too fast for the eye to see.

He was Gilles Vert's son. The eldest son of Thilles's Lord Protector, and a formally invested knight of Thilles. And a knight had only one duty.

Always be righteous.

Strength of arms alone did not make someone a knight. Simply riding a horse did not make someone a knight.

A knight was a symbol. Proof that humans could be good even in the darkest hour. Even knowing that not every human was good at every moment—that the world, in fact, held more wicked people than good.

Even if it was stupid, even if it was foolish, even if it brought neither profit nor honor.

He had to prove that humans could be good, and could devote themselves wholly to that goodness.

Be righteous at every moment. That was what Thilles taught.

So take up your sword.

His right arm was far too sound for him to run away under the protection of a girl his own age.

Because, even if it was only a handful, there was still mana in my body.

Because I could still fight.

“I have to protect her.”

Time flowed slowly. His blade rose slowly. In the forest night, in this dim hour of death lit only by moonlight and a campfire...

A Morning Star blazed.

* * *

Esidisi had not managed to avoid Elpihera's lightning strike. She had been too close to dodge it.

Half-conscious, she watched her two friends charge the enormous orc.

Ah, the Knight Department really was something.

That was what she found herself thinking. They had learned to fight. Unlike her. She was merely a little strong; she had never received knightly instruction.

Just a music student. The daughter of a member of the Hero's Party, and she had run away to pursue music.

As that thought crossed her mind, she suddenly looked down at herself.

She was still standing.

Her whole body trembled from the lightning that had seared her, but she was still on her own two feet.

It was so difficult she felt she might drop to her knees and collapse at any moment. Her trembling muscles screamed.

Through the haze in her ears, she heard her father's voice.

[“If you can kneel, doesn't that mean you still have the strength to bend your knees?”]

[“A warrior of Droan walks forward as long as those knees can move.”]

[“But what if I really feel like I'm going to die?”]

[“Look at the sky, Eshi. Can you see the stars?”]

[“Yes, Dad.”]

[“The stars are the sword tips of your ancestors, piercing the darkness. Droan's warriors always walk forward.”]

[“Not only at the moment of death. Even after death. If there is a battle, forward. If you can still move, forward. If you still have the wits to think...”]

[“Forward.”]

[“Not even death can stop a warrior of Droan. We do not flee death. We believe that one day, we can kill even death. Just as your ancestors did.”]

[“Forward.”]

“Forward.”

Esidisi gripped an axe an orc had dropped in both hands and walked.

This moment did not need a music student. It needed a warrior of Droan.

She could still move, still think, and there was still an enemy to face.

Forward.

* * *

“These imbeciles! Humans...!! Every last one of them!!”

Elpihera grumbled, pressing hard against the nose bleeding from the backlash of excessive spellcasting. She did not even have enough mana left to maintain her farsight spell, so she was running.

Desperately, toward the place where her companions would be fighting, even as shrubs and bushes scratched her skin all over.

“Don't you die yet!!”

Elpihera ran through a red-stained field of vision. How much mana did she have left? Not the tiniest scrap, of course! Did these humans not understand a tactical retreat? They had to stay alive for anything else to matter!

What a shortsighted race. They were just like hunting dogs. Those loyal beasts that latched onto something and worried their prey until they died.

Shortsighted, fragile, smelly, and prone to triggering allergies.

But humans and puppies had one more thing in common. From the perspective of their betters, they needed protecting. That was an elf's duty.

Yes, protecting vulnerable races was the civilized person's burden. Nothing for it. Honestly.

Elpihera gave a wry smile and reached out. If she had no mana, she would gather it indiscriminately from the air and swallow it. Any magic she could cast by such an inefficient method would amount to little.

Still.

CRACK!!

The fierce backlash sent bloody tears streaming down her face. Her nose gushed blood again. Her fingertips trembled. But even so.

“I am a Grikencos.”

She had to be able to weave magic even with her mana exhausted to call herself Veolgrin's daughter.

Honor and pride were everything to her. She did not give up. She extended her arm and targeted the orc's head.

Close one eye. Aim.

Circulate mana. Align.

She heard the tick of turning gears. Yes, yes, good. Both tempo and tuning were perfect. She was a genius, after all.

Time to save the humans.

Fire.

* * *

“Commander, I'll fire... I'm going to fire.”

“Wait.”

Ivan silently extended an arm and pushed his adjutant's gun barrel down.

“Our role is only to watch.”

“But that... This is too much for students!”

“For students, yes.”

Ivan answered without taking his eyes off the battlefield.

“But it is necessary for heroes who have only just taken their first steps.”

Follow me.

Ivan jerked his chin and jumped down from the tree.

He wanted to watch today's battle from even a little closer. It might become the opening line of a long epic.

His role had always been one step behind, during the war and now alike.

He would never share the brilliant spotlight with those protagonists.

Still, Ivan ran as he had in those days.

He had never been particularly fond of the Hero. Maximilien was a madman.

He had simply looked up to him.

Even after the man turned his back on the world and withdrew into seclusion, he still did.

And even now, watching new heroes come into being, he still did.