Jaxon, who had been throwing daggers nonstop, sent a silence knife at the space between the count's brows. The soundless projectile exploded with a bang in front of his face.

A black curtain rippled before the count amid the blast. His barrier remained intact. A dagger wrapped in a scroll did not seem capable of piercing it. "Do not expect forgiveness!"

Dean Molsen, who had always found the world easy to navigate, now felt danger with his back to a precipice. Sweat streamed down his back. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. It was his first such experience, and it robbed him of his composure. The count had already gone beyond the spells an ordinary mage could wield. Now he was even drawing on his own lifespan.

Reclaiming more wraiths, he rolled his eyes back. Those pitch-black eyes turned toward Jaxon, who felt a horrifying chill surge from the hole in his abdomen. 'Hm?'

His legs lost their strength, nearly sending him to the ground, but he held on. Two bastards beside him were hoping he would fall. "Die, die, die, die, die."

Holding his staff, the count muttered the words over and over as he glared at Jaxon. Jaxon looked back into his eyes. Black from edge to edge, with neither pupils nor whites distinguishable, they nevertheless radiated relentless intent. With every word the count spoke, the cold rising from Jaxon's abdomen intensified. Standing became almost impossible. He sank to one knee, planted his palm firmly on the ground, and closed his eyes.

He had to resist the cold. As he concentrated, he heard Rem mutter beside him. "That's it. There we go." 'Crazy barbarian.'

Jaxon focused harder. His opponent had used some sort of spell. He had planted something in the wound. All Jaxon needed to do was find it and dig it out. He began examining his own body from within. The patience to endure pain. The composure to examine his own body. And, finally, sensitivity.

If he were to add one more thing, it would be an indomitable spirit. 'There is no giving up.'

Jaxon, too, had learned from watching Encrid. This was his first encounter with the spell, but there would be a solution. He would organize what he knew, what he had experienced, and what he could infer to reach a conclusion. While Jaxon knelt and endured—or, more precisely, while his men smashed every danger in their path—Encrid took three steps forward.

Those steps carried him toward the count. Now he was within sword's reach. His men had made that possible by holding off the count's relentless spells and tricks.

Having closed the distance, Encrid put his hand on his sword's grip and spoke. "You are already inside my domain."

Three seated, one still standing, all four looked at Encrid. The count looked at him as well.

His domain? He meant the reach of his sword. The count scoffed. He trusted the defensive spell wrapped around his body. Encrid regulated his breathing. Breaking through ten thousand wraiths had pushed him too far. Fatigue had accumulated until his muscles trembled, but that was all right.

How many times had he been through this? It happened often when he wielded his sword. Especially back when he had nothing, he had needed to swing it until his muscles tore. Otherwise, he could not even reach for his dream. What did he have to do to reach out and move forward, even when he could not see it?

Repeat. Repeat again.

That experience was what sustained him. Having been through it before, he could push himself beyond his limits. Encrid could still endure. His gaze settled on the black curtain rippling before the count. He had already seen Jaxon stab the barrier once. That gave him a rough estimate of its strength. 'Even if a thrown dagger can't pierce it...'

He could cut it. An ordinary stroke would not do, of course. He needed to believe he would cut it without a shred of doubt.

And so: "Ragna, let me borrow this once."

Ragna had no time to ask what he meant.

Encrid once again imitated a technique he had tried countless times to copy and repeatedly reviewed, only to fail every time. He raised his sword as though its tip would pierce the sky. Gripping it with both hands, he relaxed his shoulders.

The high guard of the Heavy Sword Technique.

More precisely, it was a modified stance from the hereditary swordsmanship of a northern house. Ragna's surname was Zaun. He had altered a stance passed down through House Zaun however he pleased.

Encrid could not have known that. He had simply finished preparing to swing. Ragna watched him with slightly widened eyes.

'Not bad.'

His stance, his presence, his determination. It was hard to fault any of them. This was the best stance Encrid had ever shown him. The fact that he had copied Ragna's own made that impression all the stronger. Ragna was not the only one surprised. Rem had been impressed ever since they fought the wraith soldiers.

'He didn't fall behind once.'

Encrid had kept pace with him and Ragna. By now, it was hard to even picture the Captain he used to be. 'This is fun. Real fun.'

As he thought it, Rem tightened his grip, ready to throw his axe if things went wrong. Unable to clasp his hands, Audin could only recite his prayer aloud. The pain felt as though it were smashing his skull, yet he bore it and prayed.

"The lamb beneath the Father's watch has shed its fleece and become a shepherd."

And a shepherd was one who struck and chastised what was wrong and misguided. The bindings were no joke. One misstep could drive him mad with pain. Plenty had suffered that fate for lack of spiritual discipline.

But what needed doing must be done. That was what Audin had learned from the man called Encrid. Jaxon raised Carmen's Stiletto and slowly stabbed his own abdomen. He aimed for the source of the cold, avoiding his organs. SHUK, SHUK. Having quelled the cold, he looked ahead. The blade had pierced his abdomen, but the wound was not fatal. It had missed his organs, and proper treatment would suffice. He had not stabbed deeply, either.

He also reflected on his mistake. 'I was careless.'

He had not made full use of his assassination techniques. Why did his master's teaching come back to him now? ["Want to give it your all? Then find somewhere to belong first."]

Why had he said that? Jaxon was supposed to inherit Georg's Dagger. Didn't he already have somewhere to belong?

If he fought with all he had and enjoyed it, he would become intoxicated with killing and being killed. That was what his master had said.

Jaxon had indeed felt that before. What could he do to avoid it? An ill-timed chain of thoughts. Jaxon cut it off decisively. That was not what mattered now.

He looked ahead. There stood his Captain, who no longer needed his help. His back filled Jaxon's vision. He was poised to advance and swing his sword. "Whew. You damned bastards."

The count steadied his breathing. He had been driven back again and again, but watching them crumble one by one, he was barely recovering something resembling composure.

His eyes turned to Encrid. The count knew how to wield a sword, too. Seeing Encrid take his stance, the count decided he could not let him strike first. The rippling black curtain would render most attacks useless.

After weighing his options, the count thrust first. Kicking off the ground, he drove his blade forward. It was a faultless thrust. His sword tip flew toward Encrid, no larger than a point.

Straight and precise. Fast and powerful, too. Encrid calmly brought his sword down onto the count's. CLANG! The count tried to recover his deflected blade and slash.

Encrid briefly borrowed Ragna's Scission.

His foot drove against the ground, carrying him forward. At the same time, his shoulders turned smoothly, and his blade changed direction as he pivoted at the waist.

The sword he had brought down to stop the count's thrust changed course and swept onward like a fish swimming through a river. The Heart of the Superhuman surged, supplying strength. To that, he added determination.

'Cut.'

The Will of Scission. Encrid's sword swept parallel to the ground, striking across the bridge of the count's nose. CRACK! The barrier split. Will was the power of determination. The Will of Scission cleaved the barrier and the skull beyond it.

Having cut through the skull, Silver shattered, its fragments flying.

Encrid stopped in his follow-through and released the breath he had held. He stood with both hands around the grip, his eyes seeming to shine blue. Those two blue eyes, shining in the black world the count had created, made him look as though he alone stood in another world. "Hah."

Exhaling, Encrid felt the pain in his arm muscles as he lowered his half-broken sword and turned away.

The count had lost the top of his head. To an observer, it had looked like a very simple exchange. Encrid had knocked the thrusting blade aside with his own, then, rather than drawing his sword back to recover his stance, smoothly continued into a high horizontal cut.

The count had been struck without even a chance to block it.

It was part of the technique Ragna had demonstrated moments earlier, and it carried the Will of Scission. That was why Encrid had said he was borrowing it. "Grrrgh."

Bloody foam rose from the count's mouth.

He was a treacherous tyrant who had turned Naurilia upside down, but death came equally to all humans. Even a stray arrow could kill a person. A man with his skull sliced open could hardly live.

Blood streamed down from the cut across the count's head. The pulsing flow looked vividly red even in the darkness. Then something incomprehensible happened.

"It cannot end like this."

Once again, the words sent a sharp ringing through their heads. The count spoke while dead, his voice splitting into two overlapping voices.

Blood was streaming down his face, yet his mouth spoke perfectly normally? Only then did Audin begin to suspect what their opponent was.

'This is...?'

An ominous sensation touched his skin, the kind he would expect only deep within the Demonic Realm.

"A demon?" As Audin muttered to himself, black smoke poured from the count's body.

"Only ten thousand, not a hundred thousand, but to cut through them... You have my respect. And out of respect, I shall lay a profound curse upon you... Hm? Witch?" Audin had named it a demon, and the smoke was just about to take human form. As something like nonsense continued spilling from the count's mouth, thunder rolled through the dark clouds. KRRR-BOOM. The black smoke stopped halfway through taking shape. Encrid watched it, his broken sword still in hand. PITTER-PATTER. Then rain began to fall.

"... You've outplayed me."

The count with his ruined head and the not-yet-fully-formed demon spoke at the same time. Their voices overlapped. Encrid thought he understood why the count's voice had sometimes sounded doubled. He had been harboring a demon.

That changed nothing, though.

Encrid discarded the broken Silver and took up his gladius. He would use the gladius to draw its attention, then deliver the fatal blow... 'With Spark.'

In an instant, he mapped out the fight.

While everyone else stood astonished, he alone was preparing to fight. The demon's gaze returned to him. "You impudent little bastard."

There was no trace of emotion in its tone. That did not matter, either. Encrid merely intended to finish a fight that was not yet over.

Besides, all his company members looked injured or exhausted. He was the only one who could step forward. By now, he might reasonably have wondered whether this was another wall. Encrid did not.

Do the best he could at every moment.

That was how he had lived. That was all he was doing now. Beyond the mental world, the ferryman burst out laughing.

"Indeed."

Wasn't he a truly, thoroughly mad bastard?

* * *

The count had possessed exceptional talent, and his greed had far outstripped human limits. Thus, he had obtained and taken a demon's heart.

Ignoring the mad swordsman coming at it, the demon watched the witch's handiwork and spoke. "Won't I be disappointed if you stop even my final curse?"

Its tone was light, but the meaning carried by the word "demon" was anything but.

Monsters of the highest danger, found only in places like the Demonic Realm. Intelligent beings who excelled at tormenting and killing humans. "Demon."

Encrid spoke quietly. Its eyes settled on him.

"You. Yes, you were impressive, human. But I don't think I could fight now, even if I wanted to." The demon did not know the road Encrid had traveled, but it knew what he had accomplished here. Hadn't every one of them gathered around this human? Even the witch working her trick now was one of his people. "Touch him, and I'll hunt you down and kill you, wherever you go."

The witch's voice reached the demon across space. Even a demon could hardly welcome annihilation. The threat grated on it. "Insolent witch."

Only something resembling eyes emerged distinctly from the black mist, casting a murky gaze over the gathering.

The moment Encrid perceived the creature, he felt a strange sensation. It certainly was not human. Did that mean he could not cut it? Was that really so? It had said it would not fight, but was that true? Should he try cutting it?

Immediately after those thoughts, he gathered his remaining strength and made to charge. The demon turned its gaze on him.

Until now, its tone had remained playful. This time was different. "We will meet again."

Encrid could dimly make out its form beyond the mist, but could not discern its appearance.

"I am the master of a hundred thousand wraiths." As soon as it spoke, the demon's body began to fade. The pattering rain grew heavier, and it could endure no longer.

The witch had used her mana to bring down rain. As a natural phenomenon, it had the effect of erasing the artificial.

The rain was warm, too. The witch had opened part of her spell world, allowing mana-laden rain to pour through. The demon faded. The falling rain erased the spell world Dean Molsen had created, which had helped the wraiths manifest on this earth.

Just before vanishing, the demon read the final thoughts of the dead spirit of the man who had taken its heart—its sacrifice and servant. "It was all in my grasp."

Dean Molsen's final lament.

"Did you think the world would be that easy?"

The count voiced his bitterness as he died, but nothing could be done now. Only the demon could hear him. The lingering remnant of his dead spirit was soon erased. The demon smacked its lips. It regretted losing the opportunity to leave a great mark on the human world.

Just before the fragment of its soul inhabiting its servant was annihilated completely, it looked at the man who had killed it.

Black hair. Blue eyes. "Encrid."

It had heard someone call his name, and remembered that as well. If they ever met again, it wanted to torment that face until the human begged to die.