Dream

There was no telling what might happen in the forest at night. For the month since entering Samar, Eugene and Kristina had taken turns keeping watch every night.

Narissa had joined what had been a party of two. An elf's keen hearing was more than sufficient to detect danger nearby, but they couldn't put Narissa on watch when she couldn't even protect herself in an emergency.

So tonight, too, only Eugene and Kristina would keep watch.

Whatever Kristina might think, Eugene was showing her respect and consideration in his own way. The first and last watches were generally the easiest. Every day, he let her take those shifts and shouldered the most grueling hours in between.

"Sir Eugene."

A quiet call of his name was enough to make Eugene open his eyes. He sat up without a trace of fatigue. Beyond the lifted tent flap, Kristina was crouching outside.

"Anything to report?"

"Nothing."

Monsters roamed the forest at night. Normally, their camp would have been attacked several times, but Kristina's barrier concealed it from the monsters' notice.

That didn't mean they could blindly trust the barrier and dispense with a watch. Whatever else he might neglect, Eugene was meticulous about this. Back when he wandered as a mercenary, his idiot comrades had put them in danger more than once by half-assing their watch duties.

"Aren't you tired? You exerted yourself quite a bit today. I'm not particularly tired, so why don't you sleep a little longer tonight?"

She apparently had his disposal of the Garung warriors earlier on her mind. Eugene gave a small chuckle at her concerned question.

"I didn't do enough to tire myself out. I'll wake you in five hours, so stop worrying and get some sleep."

Kristina nodded without pressing him further. Before she had grown accustomed to Eugene, she had argued with him about this sort of thing several times.

She had learned her lesson. Eugene wouldn't back down on matters like these. It wasn't that he disregarded other people's consideration; he was simply strict about the standards he set for himself.

"... All right. I'll leave it to you, then."

Kristina bowed her head and stepped away. Eugene roughly flattened his bedhead with one hand, then came out of his tent.

It was a good thing he'd brought plenty of tents. After making sure Kristina had entered her own, he sat down in front of the campfire. Narissa was sleeping in the tent opposite him.

"... Ahem."

Eugene cleared his throat and lifted his cloak. He took out a magic tome he had already read through several times, the one Lovellian had given him when he left Aroth.

'Maybe I should have sent my teacher a letter.'

He sincerely regarded Lovellian as his teacher.

After all, even counting the years Eugene had lived as Hamel in his previous life, Lovellian was older. That was a very important consideration to Eugene.

He began reading, and a fair amount of time passed. The forest was not quiet at night. The insects were loud, and whenever the wind blew, the thick branches shook. Monster cries could also be heard a little farther away.

"... Ahem."

Eugene cleared his throat again. Kristina had slept soundly from their very first night camping in the forest. Tonight was no different. She had long since fallen asleep, and only steady breathing came from her tent.

"... Do you need something from me?"

Eugene let out a heavy sigh and closed his book. He wasn't addressing the sleeping Kristina. The tent opposite him stirred slightly, and its entrance flap lifted.

"Um... I-I'm sor..."

"I told you to stop apologizing."

Narissa's shoulders sagged. Eugene pushed another log into the campfire for no particular reason.

"Is the forest too noisy? Or are you too scared to sleep after everything you've been through?"

"..."

"I'm telling you this in case you're worrying about something silly. I'm not going to abandon you while you're asleep. I didn't take care of you purely out of kindness, either. I did it because I need you."

"... Th-then that means... just as I thought..."

Narissa's eyes wavered. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded as though she had made up her mind.

"... I-I don't mind, if it's you, Sir Eugene."

"What?"

"I'd already steeled myself and was waiting. Ah, aah. Not steeled myself. It's something... I can't avoid... so I stayed awake and waited..."

"Hold on, wait. I'm not following you. Steeled yourself? Can't avoid? You were waiting? For what?"

"... It's just... my body has quite a few scars, and my leg isn't whole... Y-you might not find me satisfactory."

"Why would scars on your body mean I wouldn't find you satisfactory...?"

Eugene asked with his cheek twitching. Narissa flinched, then took several breaths to steady herself.

"... Do you prefer bodies with lots of scars, Sir Eugene...?"

Eugene was no fool. He guessed what Narissa had imagined and what she had braced herself for. Given the terrible things she must have endured as a slave, it wasn't incomprehensible, but he couldn't have felt more wronged.

"Hey. I have no intention of crawling into your tent or demanding that you repay me with your body."

"... What...?"

"What the hell do you take me for? You're just a little brat, and there's apparently nothing you won't say."

Narissa's mouth fell half open. A little brat? She was a hundred and thirty years old.

"Sure, you've lived longer than me, but you're thirteen in human years."

"Ah... yes..."

Narissa stared at him for a moment, then straightened up and bowed her head.

"... Thank you... thank you so much, Sir Eugene."

"I told you there's nothing to thank me for. How many times do I have to tell you I'm taking you along because I need you?"

"... You mean the elven village's guardian, don't you? I-if I meet the guardian, I'll be sure to say how greatly indebted I am to you."

"Of course you will. I don't know who this guardian fellow is, but if the bastard tries to shut me out just because I'm human, your role will be very important. Understand? Grab him by the trouser leg if you have to and stop him."

Having told her that, Eugene opened his magic tome again. Narissa looked at him with admiration for his offhand yet considerate and righteous words and actions.

'With a handsome face, I even get elves trying to seduce me.'

Strictly speaking, it hadn't really been a seduction, but that was roughly how Eugene chose to think of it.

The night passed. Five hours later, Eugene traded places with Kristina and crawled into his tent. He didn't particularly need to sleep, but he closed his eyes and settled down to do so. Even if he didn't need rest right away, he had to rest when he could and sleep when he could.

Eugene was accustomed to that.

* * *

For the first time in a while, he dreamed.

He rarely dreamed. Whenever he went to sleep, he slept deeply, and whenever he wanted to wake, he woke immediately.

Dreams tired the mind. Eugene didn't like dreaming.

Happy, unhappy, or merely mundane, dreams weren't reality. He didn't know why people dreamed, but he knew dreams diverged from reality.

In his previous life.

The journey from defeating the Demon King of Fury to reaching the Demon King of Incarceration had been like a long, long nightmare. The great Demon King ranked second. As befitted that position, the Demon King of Incarceration commanded powerful subordinates and vast armies.

Noir Giabella, queen of the dream demons.

Strictly speaking, she wasn't a subordinate of the Demon King of Incarceration. Though she couldn't quite be called a Demon King, even back then Noir Giabella had been a powerful demon, a "queen" commanding countless dream demons.

Throughout their journey to the Demon King of Incarceration, Noir Giabella had attacked Hamel and his companions again and again. She was horrendously persistent, appearing not in reality but in their dreams to try to break their minds.

Those experiences made Eugene wary of dreams. He loathed nightmares. He hated dream demons. Noir Giabella's attacks had tormented the party as much as the Demon Kings of Carnage, Cruelty, and Fury, and in some ways they were more disgusting than fighting a Demon King.

'... This is...'

Eugene felt something profoundly alien about this dream.

A lucid dream. He recognized that he was dreaming. But although he knew it was a dream, he couldn't alter it through his own will. Within the dream, he couldn't change anything. He simply stood there, existing.

'... A dream demon's attack?'

A dream that wouldn't obey his will. A chill ran through his mind. Eugene's mental fortitude, with his memories of his previous life intact, wouldn't budge under most attacks.

Yet a dream had formed without his noticing. Only a dream demon—and a high-ranking one at that—could interfere with dreams to this extent.

'A dream... Since when? I...'

Eugene tried not to panic.

'I'm the reincarnation of Hamel Dynas from three hundred years ago. Eugene Lionheart. Gerhard Lionheart's son and Gilead Lionheart's adopted son. A student of Lovellian, the Red Tower Master.'

There was no confusion in his memories.

'This dream... is different... from a dream demon's attack.'

It wasn't an attack. There was none of the unpleasant stickiness that accompanied a dream demon's attack.

The dream wavered.

'Ah.'

A landscape he had never seen before formed before him, yet somehow it seemed familiar. A spacious underground cavern. A huge, muscular man was carrying a statue several times his own size.

["This spot will do."]

["What do you mean, it will do? The center is a little farther to the side—no, back... Senya. What do you think?"]

["A little... sob... to the right... hic... yes... there, right there."]

["... How astonishing...! It's raining this deep underground. Hamel, Hamel! Is that you? Have you come here to shed tears? Don't cry, Hamel! We—I will never forget you!"]

["Moron, please stop saying idiotic things. That isn't rain falling on your head. It's Senya's tears."]

["I see... I thought it was too salty for rain."]

["Don't... don't drink it, you fucking idiot. Why are you catching my tears and drinking them?!"]

["Don't cry, Senya. Hamel wouldn't want you to cry, either."]

["Hamel... Hamel, you son of a bitch...! Why did you die like that? Why...! Y-you didn't have to die. If you'd just... just gone back..."]

["... Senya. Hamel was a great warrior, one even I had to acknowledge. A greater warrior than I, Moron. Hamel wanted to die as a warrior."]

["Wanted to die as a warrior? Don't give me that bullshit, Moron...! Dead is dead. What difference does dying as a warrior make? He didn't have to die as a warrior. He could have just survived as a human being...!"]

Ah.

Eugene stood in a daze, watching the scene. This wasn't a place he had never seen. It was Hamel's tomb beneath the Nahama desert. This was the moment it was first being built.

Moron set the statue upright. After checking it, Anise dragged her feet toward the wall.

["Hamel, your posture is poor."]

["Where did that come from?"]

["It is unbecoming. I understand, given your limited education and long years as a mercenary, but now that you are traveling with us, you need to correct your improper posture."]

["Why?"]

["Why...? Do you not understand your position? Hamel. Your companion is Vermouth Lionheart, the Hero, the wielder of the Holy Sword recognized by the Holy Empire. And I am Anise Slywood, saint of the Holy Empire."]

["Right, and I'm Hamel Dynas."]

["Why do you not mention my name? I am Moron Ruhar. A warrior of the proud Bayar tribe, son of the chieftain Darak Ruhar..."]

["Shut up, Moron."]

["Idiot."]

["Hamel...! You are far too harsh with Moron."]

["You just told him to shut up, too."]

["But I do not call Moron an idiot. Even if Moron is indeed an idiot, calling an idiot an idiot to his face is exceptionally rude."]

["I am not an idiot."]

["Hamel, it isn't merely your posture. Your conduct itself is poor. Vulgar."]

["Aren't you being a little harsh?"]

["Correcting your speech and behavior is important, but as long as you keep your mouth shut, people won't know what filthy rag you have stuffed in it. So let us begin by correcting your poor posture."]

["What's wrong with my posture..."]

["Even now! Do not cross your legs. Sit with your back straight. Your feet—don't drag your feet. It makes an unpleasant noise. Keep your shoulders back and your chest open when you walk, too... Your knife... Your knife! Hold it lightly, as you would a pen... What sort of lunatic chops his meat with a knife as though it were an axe?!"]

["Me."]

Long ago, Anise had spent a great deal of time trying to improve Hamel's conduct. Her efforts hadn't been pointless. His speech and behavior hadn't improved, but thanks to her irritating, persistent corrections, Hamel had learned manners that made him look respectable.

After all that fuss she had made.

Now Anise was walking with her feet dragging and her shoulders slumped. Each dragging step scraped against the ground.

["... Sob..."]

She was crying.

Anise was crying. Anise, who was always smiling brightly and getting under people's skin. That Anise Slywood was crying!

["... Almighty, all-knowing God of Light, please... please protect and watch over this foolish lamb. Guide the arduous journey after his rest with mercy and love, and even should darkness fall upon his path, open the way with light."]

She was writing a prayer on the wall as she wept.

["... Burn away the sins of his life with holy fire. Open not the gate where pain and despair await, but the gates of heaven, filled with peace and happiness. Please place upon my shoulders the good deeds he lacks to enter heaven, and let us welcome our eventual reunion in the same place."]

The statue stood tall.

Moron stood before it. With his lips pressed tightly together, he looked up at Hamel's statue. Why had he taken his clothes off? Because it was hot? Right, the desert was hot. If it was hot, you took your clothes off.

That was the sort of man Moron was. When he was hot, he undressed. When he was cold, he dressed. When he was hungry, he ate. When he was thirsty, he drank.

When an enemy stood before him, he charged, no matter how strong or dangerous that enemy was.

["Moron! Stop it!"]

Say that, and he would charge in without a second thought and stop it.

["... Hamel."]

So the reason Moron was shedding tears now was simply that he was sad. There was nothing more to it. He was sad enough to cry.

And so he cried.

["... Someday, I wanted to settle things with you... Which of us... was the greater warrior."]

He acted on his desires, but that was the one thing he hadn't acted on.

For Moron, the reason was utterly simple and obvious.

They were comrades.

They were friends.

To decide which of them was the greater warrior, they would have to fight with all their strength, without holding anything back. They would have to pit their abilities against one another that way. In doing so, one of them—perhaps both—might be seriously injured.

That was why Moron wouldn't fight Hamel. Even if he wanted to know which of them was the greater warrior, he couldn't fight his comrade and friend Hamel with all his strength.

That was the kind of man Moron was.

["I never got to fight you. Now I never will. But Hamel. Even without fighting, I know. I acknowledge you. Hamel. You are... a greater, braver, stronger warrior than I am."]

Senya sat slumped on the ground without a word. She had been crying for a while now, from the very beginning. She was still crying. Her freely falling tears soaked the floor.

["... If you hadn't died... if you'd lived... things would have worked out somehow. Hamel. We... we... should have been happy. More than anyone else in the world... we deserved to be happy..."]

I want to live an ordinary life, get married like everyone else, have children, and grow old that way.

["Do you know, Hamel...? People call us heroes. Heroes who saved the world. Haha...!"]

Senya rubbed hard at her reddened eyes and looked up at the statue.

["Hamel. You'd... probably hate that. You're a son of a bitch with a shitty personality. You'd curse up a storm at being called a hero. Heroes? Why are we heroes when we haven't even killed all the Demon Kings? That's what you'd say."]

Senya laughed through her tears.

["We... didn't fulfill our mission. ... We had... no choice. Yes, I suppose we had no choice. Because you died. So, Hamel. Don't... resent us too much. Even if it isn't now, yes, even if it's impossible now."]

Senya clenched her fists.

["Someday. Yes. Someday... we can do it. We can hold our heads high when they call us heroes, that fucking word. Someday, we can meet again in the world you wanted."]

Senya turned to look behind her.

["That must be what the promise is for."]

Vermouth.

He stood some distance away, looking at the statue. His face was expressionless—the face of Vermouth that Eugene knew so well. Senya glared at him.

["... Yes."]

Vermouth opened his mouth.

["That is what the promise is for."]

["... A promise only you know."]

Senya murmured reproachfully. Despite those words, she stopped glaring at Vermouth.

["... I'm sorry, Vermouth. I... got too... worked up."]

["... Let's write the inscription."]

Murmuring that, Vermouth raised his hand. Spatial magic Eugene had seen countless times. A large stone marker fell from the wide-open rift in space.

["A grave ought to have a memorial stone."]

Hamel Dynas.

(Holy Year 421–459.)

Vermouth reached out and inscribed Hamel's name on the stone. Senya rose unsteadily and approached him. Hesitantly, she looked back and forth between Vermouth and the stone.

["... I want to write underneath that."]

["All right."]

["Son of a bitch, fool, dumbass, idiot, trash."]

["... If that's all you write, we can't really call it a memorial stone."]

["Everyone can write whatever they want after it."]

["I am next."]

Moron, who had been shedding great drops of tears, sprang up and approached.

["Hamel was indeed a son of a bitch, a fool, a dumbass, an idiot, and trash."]

["But he was brave."]

["... Brave and faithful."]

["... He was a dumbass, but he was wise."]

["... He was great."]

Everyone wrote on the memorial stone.

["... Let's move the coffin."]

After placing the memorial stone in front of the statue, Vermouth murmured those words and approached the coffin they had left behind them.

["I will carry it."]

Moron stepped forward, but Vermouth shook his head.

["No. I'll... carry it."]

["Do not think of doing it alone. Can't we all... carry it together?"]

["Moron, get down on all fours."]

["Why must I do that?"]

["You're so much taller than us. We can't carry it with you, so get down and carry the coffin on your back. We'll help from the sides."]

["You mean I should crawl with the coffin on my back? A warrior does not crawl on the ground—"]

["You can't even do that much for Hamel?"]

["For a friend, I will."]

As Moron started to kneel, Senya kicked his shin in alarm.

["Anyone could tell that was a joke...! You don't have to crawl. Just bend down enough to carry it with us."]

The dream wavered.

["... Senya. That necklace..."]

["In the coffin... No... I'll take it with me."]

["... It goes against the natural order."]

["... We all agreed to it."]

In the wavering dream, Senya gripped the necklace.

["After we've made the world Hamel wanted... then... I'll let him go."]

["... Dear God."]

Anise clasped her hands and prayed.

["Please turn a blind eye to this sacrilege. If You cannot, place more of the tasks required to enter heaven upon my shoulders, the shoulders of Your servant. And thus... let us welcome our eventual reunion in the same place."]

["... Anise. Can we go to heaven?"]

["If we cannot, who in the world can?"]

["I... our tribe's heaven... is a different place from the God of Light's heaven."]

["It is not different. Heaven... heaven must surely be the same place. We will certainly be reunited in paradise. If we are not..."]

Anise stroked the pure white coffin and smiled sadly.

["Then God does not exist."]

"Ah."

His eyes opened.

Eugene stared blankly up at the ceiling of his tent, then slowly sat up.

"... Fuck."

He had slept wrapped in the Cloak of Darkness like a blanket.

The Holy Sword Altair protruded from within it, clasped in Eugene's hand.