*
Chapter 284: Hero Galahal (3)
The heretic, Gletus, looks ahead.
A man who should be dead remains alive.
Before him charges a human who wouldn’t be out of place dead several times over. His body is, of course, in tatters.
One arm torn off.
One eye lost.
A leg that limps and hobbles.
That face, having spewed countless amounts of blood, is now pale, to the point of being white as snow.
Gletus is a heretic who has seen countless corpses.
Once, she was a saint who healed many as a priest.
To her eyes, the human charging at her is already dead. He stands in defiance, submerged in death.
“He isn’t trying to escape death.”
He can’t die just yet.
There are things he must accomplish.
He is simply resisting until the very last moment.
The sight of resisting against approaching death is inherently ugly, yet no one can dare to call it ugly. The image of a human charging with blood splattered is both horrifying and noble.
Hero, Galahal.
The name lingers in the heretic’s mind.
She remembers the name of the human who has appeared after centuries, a name that is more than worthy of being called a hero.
“Ah, how beautiful this is…”
How glorious a sight it is.
A human who burns their life away, one who casts aside their own life for others – how radiant can this be? This is true salvation.
Saint Gleria Bel Armias.
The soiled saint is captivated by the brilliant light. She once longed for it and now, unable to hope for it any longer, tears flow from Gleria’s eyes.
Swish.
With every time he spews blood, every time a part of his body falls away, Galahal accelerates. His steps grow faster, and the spear he wields becomes sharper. The heretic sees the form of an old comrade in Galahal.
To strike that which cannot be struck.
To reach what cannot be reached.
The first hero, who risked everything, swung his sword until the moment half of his body was torn away. The last blow he wielded with his left hand after losing his right managed to slice through the king’s flesh.
Now, the history of the past is being reenacted.
Brilliant light flickers.
When the light that swept through the area dissipates, there is nothing left before the heretic. Thud, amidst the falling corpses of beasts, Galahal thrusts his spear.
He thought it wouldn’t reach, yet it does.
All the beasts that were here to protect her have vanished, and the masterpiece she created is currently being restored. There are no beasts left in the heretic’s grasp. Galahal has slain thousands, tens of thousands of beasts.
“This is the end.”
He has lost.
There is no choice but to accept the truth. The heretic sighs as she gazes at the spear head approaching her. The human has won, and she has lost. Thus, it would make sense to die pierced by that spear.
The heretic herself wishes for that.
To meet death at the hands of a human.
A human that resembles her old comrade. Being welcomed into death by such a human is one of the heretic’s long-held wishes.
【■■ will ■■■■.】
However, that is impossible.
The Shadow does not allow the heretic to die.
The God wishes for her to live and suffer.
Wishing for her soul to scream eternally. That is the price of the contract, a fate she must pay. As the God wishes for it, it shall surely be so.
Yet, the Star wishes for the heretic to die.
Amid the clashing opinions of two Gods, the God whom the heretic serves makes a choice. The God sends forth their most powerful warrior here.
“■■■■, ■■.”
The heretic’s mouth involuntarily opens.
The words spilling forth are eavesdropped by the Star and the Shadow. The Shadow pays the price on behalf of the heretic.
Whoosh.
The air tears apart, and the flow of the air is reversed.
Death approaches.
The judge who couldn’t die even after dying arrives.
The most radiant human appears.
Now, the first Sword Saint, who has fallen from grace, approaches.
Creek, creak.
Space twists as an arm tries to burst out.
Flash, a burst of light explodes behind the heretic. In the slowed-down time, the heretic cannot turn around. However, even without looking, the heretic knows the identity of this flash.
A miracle she had once used.
The most powerful miracle that appears when the blessing of the Star resonates with the soul forged by the Star. Who is using that miracle? No need to see.
The girl who is too frightened to do anything.
That girl is unleashing a flash while spewing blood.
—
Chloe sees Galahal.
While she struggles to breathe before the devastation, the hero stands boldly, confronting the calamity.
“Cough, keh.”
Chloe watches as the person she admired, spewing blood, fights to the death. She witnesses the ultimate sacrifice, even in dying.
Who is the cause of that death?
It lies within herself.
That realization pains Chloe.
Someone surpassing her sacrifices themselves for her salvation. What echoes in Chloe’s ears is a saying once told by a certain hero.
“A hero is one who lives off the blood of others.”
She now understands the meaning behind those words.
In this moment, she finally grasps the significance of Destel’s painful expression from before. It hurts. It really does. Chloe bites her lip.
She hates her own powerlessness.
Because she can do nothing, she must swallow someone else’s blood. It has always been so. The sight of Belnoa, bloodied as he rescued her, flashes before Chloe’s eyes.
Nothing has changed since then, nothing at all.
Hating her own powerlessness, Chloe slowly raises her arm. Watching the hero battle against the calamity, a girl inspired by the hero reaches out her trembling hand.
In hopes of being of help.
To at least do something.
【······.】
In that moment.
【···What do you wish for?】
Someone whispers into Chloe’s ear.
It sounds like the voice of the Star, but it’s a soft, human voice unlike the dry tone of the Star. That voice resembles her own.
“Then, follow my lead.”
Someone grabs Chloe’s arm.
They move while enveloping her hand. And thus, the fingers of the moving Chloe sketch out the first circuit. The ancient circuit made years ago in the primal era.
The first Guide, who once led the Star, ignited a miracle that cast shadows upon the land.
That miracle unfolds now through Chloe’s hand.
From the circuit, starlight bursts forth. It is unlike the starlight Chloe knew. Rough, like a torrent, instead of gentle waves.
Unrefined raw starlight.
That starlight is still weak.
Compared to the miracles used by the Guide and the first saint, it is an insignificant flicker. However, that light certainly reaches the heretic.
Just as a small light drove away shadows at the beginning.
Light drives away the shadow that resembles the gloom.
The death that stretched out from the space comes to a halt. That arm stops for a fleeting moment. Yet, all battles are decided in the blink of an eye.
“…Ah.”
The heretic laughs. With her laughter, a mouthful of blood bursts forth from her.
Gasp.
A shattered holy spear is lodged in the heretic’s heart.
*
The budding hyper-awareness.
Countless futures rush before his eyes.
Galahal grasps one thread of that future.
Galahal’s spear has impaled the heretic’s heart. For the first time since the battle began, the heretic vomits blood. Not stopping there, Galahal drives the spear deeper.
Thud.
A feeling of something breaking is sensed.
Immediately afterwards, the heretic again spews blood. Blood flows from her crimson eyes. However, the heretic seems to be enjoying it thoroughly.
“You have won, child.”
Thus, the heretic confirms.
“Stop. Ganikalt.”
Galahal raises his head.
A blade is pointed at his neck. The silent sword wields, death itself. Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade, glares at Galahal.
From the outset, he holds the sword with his left hand.
Whether it is out of respect for the dying warrior or to keep an eye on his rival, it is uncertain. Ganikalt silently sets the sword aside.
“………..”
Nonetheless, he continues to watch Galahal. Even under Ganikalt’s gaze, Galahal does not falter. He is already resisting the death drawing near.
“Cough.”
Spitting blood, Galahal relinquishes the spear.
Yet still, he does not fall. Galahal stumbles past the heretic. Behind the heretic lies the collapsed Chloe.
“I have come to save you, Chloe.”
Galahal forces a smile as he lifts Chloe. Then, carrying the unconscious Chloe on his back, he begins to walk. Each unsteady step is laden with uncertainty.
With every step, blood pours forth.
Defying death that is right before him, Galahal walks on. He continues to walk the distance he has run. Two eyes watch him as he moves away.
“What is your name?”
The first hero asks.
The first saint answers.
“Galahal.”
She adds.
“Hero.”
Despite bleeding, she smiles.
As if overwhelmed by joy in this situation.
She recalls what she lost in this fight.
Many things. Too many.
She has lost all her beasts.
Her once-proud Carapace Dragon, the army of beasts she gathered over hundreds of years, now stands empty. The Shadow will no longer pay the price for her, and she will have no choice but to watch her own death.
“Ha, ahaha.”
The heretic smiles at the death that has approached so closely.
Her broken laughter spills through her gaps like bleeding. The heretic laughed as if to bleed forth.
As such, the sword of death lifts her with one arm.
Ganikalt gazes at the back of the retreating Galahal.
The first superhuman recognizes the realm Galahal has achieved at a glance. In meeting a true superhuman for the first time in centuries, Ganikalt quietly remarks.
“He has shattered the wall.”
A level only he alone had reached in human history.
Toward his kind who has reached the same level, Ganikalt pays his respects.
As a swordsman and, once upon a time, as a hero.
—
Galahal walks and walks.
The senses he had lost return one by one.
The first to return is the sense of pain. The pain of his body crumbling is beyond expression. Galahal grits his teeth and continues to move.
One step, then another step.
He moves toward the passage that feels distant.
His once-light body feels heavy now. So heavy that he needed to catch his breath with each step.
“Not yet.”
Galahal walks on, enduring the pain because he cannot fall. Now, there’s truly not much left.
“I cannot fall, so I stand.”
It is amusingly fitting for this moment to recall a tale of heroes read in his childhood.
“A hero is a being that defeats foes. People call them swords that cut down calamities. However, my thoughts differed.”
The hero Ganyr, who saved countless humans, spoke.
“To save people.”
“To protect humans from calamities.”
“Salvation is the true value a hero should strive for.”
Fight not to kill but to save. Thinking over those words, Galahal has lived. Even if he is weaker than others, he believed he could still become a hero who saves someone.
He believes there must be something he can do.
That the Star had given him strength for this reason, believing and believing again, Galahal has lived.
Was there value in that life?
At the end of that life, had he found the answer?
“I have attained the answer.”
There is undoubtedly value.
The path he has walked, the life he has endured supports the crumbling flesh of Galahal. It adds one more second to Galahal’s dwindling time.
Adding one second and then another.
Galahal somehow reaches the door.
In front of the door stands Raniel. The moment their eyes meet, Raniel’s eyes tremble.
“Raniel.”
Galahal smiles.
“I kept my promise.”
I saved her.
Muttering that, Galahal lays Chloe down outside the door. At that moment, blood bursts forth as Galahal falls. His vision grows hazy.
“I managed to save her···.”
With that last word, Galahal’s body tilts.
Raniel catches the collapsing Galahal. The body is horrifically cold and also light.
So light that it feels as if it doesn’t belong to a living human.
*
