――The Dragon Sword Raid is a sword filled with mysteries.

It is certain that it is a treasure sword passed down from the Astraea family, a lineage that has produced generations of “Sword Saints,” but where this dragon sword came from remains unknown.

It is a treasure sword of unknown origin, and above all, it is said that it cannot be drawn except by a “Sword Saint.” To add, even the “Sword Saint” cannot draw it unless necessary.

The first “Sword Saint,” Reid Astraea, used this treasure sword to defeat the Divine Dragon Volcanica.

Once upon a time, when dragons surged forth, this legendary sword cut them all down.

Or perhaps it is just a dull blade that has grown stronger by continuously absorbing the blood of its enemies.

If you’re okay with tales that lack certainty and are more akin to fairy tales, there are many such anecdotes.

In any case, there are things that cannot be clearly stated, and there is no way to verify them either.

However, there is one thing that can be firmly asserted:

――The Dragon Sword Raid is a supreme sword that surpasses any other treasure sword, legendary sword, or magic sword.

――It is the ultimate embodiment of steel, and there exists no steel that can surpass it.

Seeing that unclouded white blade is, for Wilhelm, who bears the name of “Van” and takes pride in being a swordsman, only the third time in his life.

“――Reinhardt”

With the pitch-black sheath engraved with dragon claws held in his left hand and the dragon sword clasped tightly in his right, he stands.

His red hair sways in the wind, and with blue eyes, he glares straight at the situation—it is none other than the current “Sword Saint,” Reinhardt Van Astraea.

Even Wilhelm is overwhelmed by his valiant and imposing stance.

This is, in fact, Wilhelm’s first time witnessing the figure of his grandson, who has inherited the title of “Sword Saint” and assumes the role of the kingdom’s sword as a royal knight.

After losing Tereshia during the Great Expedition, Wilhelm fled from the Astraea family. The rift with his son and grandson remains unhealed even after fifteen years.

Thus, for these fifteen years, Wilhelm has chased after his wife, continuously averting his gaze from his family. Therefore, he has seen nothing of his son’s decline or his grandson’s growth and accomplishments.

――That is why he is now overwhelmed by Reinhardt’s figure.

There stands the “Sword Saint.”

Blessed by the favor of the Sword God, honored with the privilege of drawing the supreme sword, standing atop the peak that every swordsman longs for—there is nothing but the “Sword Saint.”

At that sight, Wilhelm recalls.

The pain had long been forgotten. What he remembered was a different sentiment. Long, long ago, when Wilhelm first laid eyes on the “Sword Saint,” Tereshia’s sword dance.

Back then, Wilhelm also felt a distance that would never be crossed.

He lamented the insignificance of his own sword talent, as he realized he could never reach that level.

Yet he did not rot; he swung his sword, continued to swing, and eventually placed his hand on the fringes of that realm. He felt he could prove that no distance is insurmountable.

――How narrow and small his perspective was.

The quality is different. The height is different. The weight is different. The essence is different. Everything is different.

That existence is not something that can be reached or not reached.

Literally, it is an existence of a different dimension.

“――――”

Tereshia slowly lowered the longsword she had raised. The sword that had just been about to strike down Heinkel now aimed its tip at the newly appeared enemy.

Having lost all pride of being a swordsman and the ways of a warrior, Tereshia Van Astraea is now nothing more than a heartless, moving corpse.

What she possesses now is only the command from the sorcerer who moves her corpse with secret arts.

The best judgment to execute that command and the defeat of any existence that may constitute an obstacle.

And if that command prioritizes an adversary that poses a threat, it is a natural conclusion.

A defeated old swordsman, already robbed of battle capability, waiting only for death from blood loss.

A vice-captain of a knight order with only a title, devoid of the courage to lose his will to fight or flee.

Neither of these two is even a threat to Tereshia anymore.

Hence, her directing that longsword, once wielded by the former “Sword Saint,” towards the current “Sword Saint” is no error in judgment whatsoever.

“Wait! Tereshia! Look at me, look at me, Tereshiaaa!”

Dragging his feet and leaving a trail of blood, Wilhelm screams.

As if she cannot hear his cry, Tereshia doesn’t even cast a glance his way. As if the swordplay moments earlier had been a lie, she treats him as if he doesn’t exist.

It was humiliating. At the same time, there was a sorrow that surpassed it.

However, he had no time to wallow in grief. There could be no stagnation allowed in his current self.

He had to shout now. He had to stop her now――.

“――――”

Ignoring Wilhelm’s urgent heart, Tereshia leaped forward in a single bound.

With her red hair fluttering, Tereshia danced toward Reinhardt.

The longsword drew a semi-circle, tracing an artistic trajectory as it slashed diagonally at Reinhardt――but in the blink of an eye, Reinhardt evaded the sword’s attack.

As he moved past her and attempted to circle behind her, the tip of Tereshia’s longsword pursued him like a living creature with its own will. Cutting through the air, the oncoming strike was met with no change in Reinhardt’s expression. By taking half a step back, he avoided the attack entirely.

“――――”

Realizing her poor positioning, Tereshia wordlessly jumped forward. Facing Reinhardt with her body half exposed was nothing short of suicide.

Turning around, Tereshia raised her longsword into a ready stance; Reinhardt gazed directly at her.

Right behind Reinhardt, there stood Heinkel. Protecting his father, Reinhardt faced his grandmother. It dawned on Wilhelm that this momentary skirmish was solely to gain that advantageous positioning.

“Stop… what the hell is going on… What did I do…?!”

Heinkel, looking pale and clutching his head, remained oblivious.

He was unaware that his son stood in front of him, guarding him. The truth before him had long since exceeded the capacity of Heinkel’s heart.

There was no hope of him salvaging the situation. It was predestined from the beginning.

Thus, Wilhelm realized he had no choice but to raise his voice.

“Stop, Reinhardt! Look at me! I’m the one fighting Tereshia! No one is allowed to intervene in a battle between swordsmen!”

“――――”

Glancing at Wilhelm, who was still in the midst of battle, Reinhardt turned his azure gaze to Wilhelm’s bleeding right leg.

“…You cannot continue fighting with that leg.”

“What does it matter if my leg can’t move? This hand, that holds the sword, is still alive… If this hand dies, my mouth will die! If my mouth can’t speak, my soul will… As long as I don’t lose my life, I’m not defeated!”

“If you do not lose your life… then what about the girl in front of you?”

“――っ”

Wilhelm’s throat tightened at Reinhardt’s question.

Expressionless, with indifferent eyes, Tereshia focused entirely on her enemy. With her posture still in the corner of Wilhelm’s vision, Reinhardt sought an answer from him.

“There’s no meaning in bringing the ways of a swordsman into an act of toying with the dead—merely moving corpses under the sorcerer’s will.”

“Swordsman’s way, you say…!”

What a folly it is to demand that from a battle against moving corpses.

Wilhelm could not retort against Reinhardt’s argument. The fact that Tereshia had already distanced herself from Wilhelm and viewed the battle as over was undeniable.

No matter how much Wilhelm shouted as the defeated one, he could not achieve a swordsman’s true aspirations.

Moreover, Wilhelm himself could not boldly proclaim that he was a swordsman in his current state.

Relying on words instead of steel for standing, investing hope instead of drawing power to the current reality—where in this Wilhelm Van Astraea remained the pride of a sword demon?

There was none to be found. It was entirely empty.

“――The dead do not move. There is no continuation for the dead. I will not allow that absurdity.”

Before the speechless Wilhelm, Reinhardt declared.

He no longer saw his grandfather; he fixated solely on the corpse of his grandmother standing before him.

With a smooth motion, the Dragon Sword Raid was drawn into a ready stance.

Coincidentally, that stance mirrored the one Tereshia took as she bore the longsword.

“――――”

The unclouded blade of the dragon sword gleamed vibrantly.

It was the sword’s encore. It rejoiced at the opportunity to be wielded, can rejoice, and stood with silent elation at the prospect of facing the one who once carried it.

“――――”

“――――”

Silently, the blue eyes of the two swordsmen intertwined.

While the “Sword Saint” readied his blade, he did not perform the usual declaration of name.

Naturally. It demanded worth from the opponent’s pride as a swordsman and the value of a warrior’s ways.

Such actions would not be undertaken with those who lacked meaning, nor one deemed unworthy of equal measure.

The air turned frigid, and the tension pressed upon the world with color and weight.

Overwhelmed by a heavy and suffocating sensation, Wilhelm opened his mouth.

Not knowing the words he should say, he was urged by an anxiety to say something.

――Ironically, that became the signal for the two swordsmen.

“Stop――ッ!”

The voice did not reach them.

Leaving even the voice behind, the two swordsmen clashed.

“――――”

Stepping in, cutting through, Tereshia’s longsword howled as it sliced through the air, her best strike descending perfectly at Reinhardt.

This could have been the most refined and beautiful blow Wilhelm had ever seen from Tereshia.

If he were his usual self, he would have felt jealous that he hadn’t drawn that sword power lying dormant within Tereshia.

Yet at this moment, a different emotion swelled within Wilhelm’s heart.

And that explosive feeling surged out as firm words.

“Don’t kill her…!”

The emotions he had contained, the passion he had suppressed, the love he had forbidden himself from feeling, all poured forth from Wilhelm like a dam bursting.

The young Tereshia.

The woman who had ignited his heart and shown him a world beyond the sword, the only woman he felt was worth exchanging everything for, stood there.

There was someone he had never even told “I love you”—his beloved woman.

“That is my Tereshia—ッ!!”

It was a phrase he should never have uttered.

If it confused things, he could very well lose his life.

To prioritize his feelings in such a crucial moment was not permissible.

It was an action that sullied the pride of a swordsman, the ways of a warrior, and the nobility that should exist in battle.

It was merely the voice of a man desperate not to lose his beloved woman.

And that desperate plea was――

“――My grandmother was killed by me fifteen years ago.”

A quiet, whispering voice.

It was a barely audible tone, not knowing if it would reach the ears of anyone.

Yet it was undeniably a response to Wilhelm’s cry.

“――――”

Tereshia’s strike landed squarely on Reinhardt.

The Dragon Sword had not yet entered its intended trajectory.

It hits. It cleaves. It should be obvious to anyone.

“Here stands nothing but a mere fake.”

――The Dragon Sword Raid traced its path.

In a single stroke, the dragon sword moved silently, the white blade flowed seamlessly back into its sheath.

The faint metallic sound of the tsuba hitting the scabbard resonated softly.

With just that, the battle ended.

It was over.