The surge is an ancient calamity.

The disaster, in the form of a Carapace Dragon, charges forward, devouring the earth, the corpse of the Giant God, and everything in its path. Seeing this, Destel couldn’t help but chuckle. Truly, it was a joke not worth laughing at.

Thud.

He slammed his spear into the ground and gripped it tightly.

What came to mind was the battlefield he once fled from. Despite being the commander, he was a coward who could neither give orders nor make choices.

“But.”

Destel clenched his eyes.

He would no longer look back. He set his gaze straight ahead. Without averting his eyes from what he must face, he muttered, as if spitting it out.

“Until when?”

In his hand was the Sacred Spear.

The weapon once held by the most heroic of heroes.

“That can’t be.”

Borrowed from Galahal, the radiance he held during his final moments.

The life of a man who found the answer after enduring torment.

‘Even with borrowing something like this…’

Indeed, he could not retreat in disgrace as before. Bearing the weight of fear, a man took another step forward. The Sacred Spear he held shone even brighter. As if reacting to the will of its new master.

Thwack.

Destel drove his spear into the ground.

Splash, the gods’ blood pooled and splattered onto the ground. As the blood fell back down, it bubbled ominously. Under the heat of starlight, the unclean things were burned away.

Spin, then thrust.

With a tight grip on the spear, Destel dove toward the gaping maw of the colossal tree. Realizing the starlight had entered it, the tree immediately closed its mouth. For a brief moment, the brilliant glow was consumed by calamity…

Flash.

With a flash, light seeped through the cracked roots.

2.

As he jumped into the maw of the giant tree, what awaited Destel was hundreds and thousands of twisting roots. Inside the tree, like the insides of a Carapace Dragon, there were no weaknesses or organs to exploit.

…He knew.

Abaddon only borrowed the form of the Carapace Dragon, but it wouldn’t necessarily share the same structure. Destel swung his spear at the oncoming roots, prancing through the quake-ridden interior of the tree.

Knowing this, there was a reason he dared to enter within.

Destel saw beyond the thousands of roots surging in. There lay the core of the tree. Pulsing like a heart, that was the essence of this massive calamity. If he pierced it, the tree would collapse without its center.

Crack, crack.

It seemed the tree realized Destel’s intent, beginning to resist fiercely. The ground beneath Destel surged. Here was the inside of the tree, and everything visible was part of its branches and roots.

From below, from the sides, from above, sharp roots extended from all directions. Thousands of branches surged at him without giving him a chance to step forward.

Screech!

Destel, pinned by a root extending from his blind spot, bled. Yet, his breath remained steady. With eyes wide open, he continued to sprint.

…Hold on. Endure.

What Destel saw was not just the center of the tree but also the life of someone else. He recalled Galahal’s life he had seen as a knight.

A life summarized, abridged, and expressed vaguely.

As it is with the lives of others shown by a knight, Galahal’s life came to mind in that manner. Yet, within it, there were distinct memories. The last scene Galahal stood in during the battlefield.

The surging army of Gletus.

The relentless wave of disaster.

In the face of that wave, Galahal coughed up blood countless times. He was pierced over and over again, thrown aside repeatedly. Even while being bitten by the Carapace Dragon, he pushed forward. Remembering that, Destel gritted his teeth and swung the Sacred Spear.

…Like him. Just like the most heroic of heroes.

Imagining Galahal’s moves in his mind, recalling the battles he had once seen him fight, Destel pushed on. He swung, thrust, and raised his spear. He emulated the techniques of heroes he admired from afar, mimicking Galahal’s techniques.

None of the reproduction was perfect.

Now, without the power of a knight, Destel’s skills were nothing more than a lackluster imitation. Techniques dependent on physical ability and starlight. Clumsy and awkward, yet he still advanced.

Thwack.

Roots pierced into him repeatedly, blood gushed forth.

Groaning but pausing only for a moment, Destel pressed on. He would not yield. He struck the surging roots, sometimes stomping and crushing them, racing forward.

Slash!

…Mimicking others’ techniques, imitating them while piecing together his experiences. Retracing those experiences, Destel swung the spear. Just like Galahal, swinging the spear, he moved forward bleeding.

Gradually, he neared the core.

Just a bit more, and he would reach the heart. Was it impatience that urged him, or was it the tree’s resistance growing fiercer?

Screech!

A root shot through Destel’s wrist.

He swung his arms to sever the root, but losing strength in his hand, he dropped the Sacred Spear. He watched as it soared into the sky, struck by the cascading roots.

The spear he let go.

The spear lingering in the air.

Destel kicked off the ground and leaped.

Recapturing the spear he had released, he descends while still pierced by the roots and finally reaches the tree’s core.

Thwack.

Finally, he plunged the Sacred Spear into the heart.

With a brief flicker of the spear, starlight erupted forcefully. The emerging starlight incinerated the tree’s core. All the surging roots burned away.

Boom, and starlight flooded out.

The tree, having lost its core, crumbled. The intertwined roots scattered to ash. Amidst the swirling ash, Destel released the breath he had been holding.

“Cough, ha…”

As he exhaled, blood gushed from his wounds. Pierced, torn, and opened wounds. Through the sparks flying in his vision, Destel lifted his head.

…The giant tree, Abaddon, had fallen.

Amidst the crumbling ashes, his view opened up.

What came into view was a pathway leading to the center of the temple; he thought his role had ended. But that was merely Destel’s hope.

“Hah.”

Destel smiled bitterly.

Still, the path was blocked. Countless Giant Gods were still watching him. As if to say they would not let him through.

“I’m tired, so tired.”

Leaning on the Sacred Spear, which felt like it would give way at any moment, Destel exhaled deeply. Wanting to just sit down here, he sensed that his role was not yet finished.

“……”

Destel looked back.

There, Chloe and Belnoa were following him. And his role was to lead those kids to the center of the temple. He couldn’t afford to fall behind after grandly saying, “Follow me.”

‘How would he live with such embarrassment?’

Not that he had any pride left now.

Be that as it may.

“Hoo…”

Exhaling deeply, Destel gripped the spear with trembling hands. As he pulled the Sacred Spear from the ground with the determination to do all he could, something happened.

Rumble, rumble.

The ground shook violently.

Could it be that another enemy was appearing, not tired at all? As he thought this and lifted his head, he realized that Destel was not the only one who felt this ominous rumble.

The Giant Gods also looked back.

The tremor resonating through the earth was occurring between the center of the temple and the Giant Gods. For a brief moment, the tremor quieted. Suddenly, a voice echoed across the battlefield. A voice infused with mana.

Gate.

A massive gate appeared between the earth and sky.

The moment Destel saw the symbol engraved on the gate, he couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed that his role had indeed come to an end. Destel turned back and opened his mouth.

“You guys.”

Looking at Chloe, Destel smirked.

“You certainly made some good friends.”

What was etched on the gate was the symbol of the Ashen Tower.

Just as the Ashen Mage had once been, that symbol no longer represented the Ashen Tower. It had long since come to denote the woman who now encompassed the Ashen Tower.

…On the battlefield, the Demon Lord’s army had once cried out in reverence and terror upon seeing that symbol.

“Ashen Witch.”

The Ashen Witch, Resti Elenoa.

Her voice echoed across the battlefield.

Open.

At the call of her master, the gate swung open.

The Summoner, having reached the pinnacle, opened the door to his treasure trove and arsenal, filled with everything he possessed. Beyond the opened door, boundless darkness awaited.

Clip, clip.

Beneath the shadows, the Ashen Witch stepped forward toward the Giant Gods. Clip, clip, the sound of her steps. Slowly raising her head, her lavender hair flowing in the wind.

Amid her billowing hair, the pupils that the Giant Gods feared the most were revealed.

The Watcher raised an arm toward the Giant Gods. Pointing at them, she shouted. A target designated, indeed. At that moment, the darkness above stirred significantly through the opened gate.

Summon-All.

The darkness ripped apart.

From the torn darkness, the first thing to emerge was the immense form of a Carapace Dragon. No, it was not just a Carapace Dragon. What wrapped around it was not chitin, but rather… stones similar to those used to construct a tower.

A land dragon clad in etched stones filled with countless circuits emerged from beyond the opened gate. It was no longer merely a summon. It resembled nothing less than a tower itself.

The masterpiece created by the Ashen Witch, the Magol Dragon.

The dragon wrapped in the tower let out a roar.

Following the completely revealed masterpiece, her forces poured out from the cracks in the gate. A ceaseless stream of forces surged forth, gnawing and piercing the Giant Gods, causing them to no longer direct their attention towards Destel.

Slowly, the path began to open.

Slash!

The fierce blade that punctuated the moment struck the blocking Giant God apart. Amidst the pouring blood, thrashing around was a Superhuman known as the Demolisher.

“…What a hassle.”

Demolisher, Lac von Grace.

Saint Natida.

Ashen Witch, Resti Elenoa.

Under the appearance of reinforcements, Destel chuckled.

His role was complete. Yet, he had a little time left. Destel gazed at the Sacred Spear in his hand.

…The Sacred Spear gleaming with pulsating starlight.

Before long, this spear would leave his hand, but there was still time enough for a single strike. Watching the starlight leaking from the spear, Destel exhaled briefly.

The starlight that Galahal possessed was a focus.

Every swing of the spear accumulated starlight, allowing all the gathered starlight to explode at once — characteristics of a star. He had once murmured that this was the starlight that enabled him to strike down stronger opponents than himself… the true hero’s strike.

‘A hero, a hero’s strike…’

Chuckling softly, Destel spun the spear in a flourish. With the spun spear, constellations bloomed. As the cluster of stars burst forth, Destel THUD, stamped down with his right foot. He stretched his left foot back to firmly brace himself.

Holding his breath long, he arched his arms back.

His fingers gripping the spear cracked with crunch, crunch sounds. Veins popped up on his skin. With a surge of strength, blood gushed from the opened wounds as Destel slowly gazed beyond the path beginning to open.

There stood Gletus, looking back at him.

「The power you wield is a curse.」

Meeting the gaze of calamity.

「To a coward, to a child who can’t become a hero, to one who cannot shine, it is a horrendous curse.」

In that moment, memories of the prophecy she whispered to him arose. Pondering her prophesy, Destel lifted the corners of his mouth.

「You will flee until the very end.」

「And you will come to loathe it.」

「This curse you call a blessing.」

Indeed, he had loathed it.

He fled, and fled again.

He shrank back, hid, avoided choices, and merely thought of surviving. So he lived as a coward.

“But.”

Destel laughed.

“Now I’m standing before you.”

Without running away.

To directly defy her prophecy, Destel sought to become a hero in this moment.

…A hero, as Kyle Toven described, is a perfect being destined to win. The hero Galahal was a being symbolizing hope, saving everyone.

Then, what of Destel?

What does a hero mean to the most realistic of warriors?

“A wedge.”

In the trembling battlefield, a being that serves as a wedge.

A being that drives in the wedge leading to victory.

Therefore, Destel believed that a hero was one who creates variables no one could ever imagine. He had hoped to become such a special existence.

…Now.

Now was the time to become that being.

Destel released the breath he had withheld and swung his arm. With all his might. He poured everything he possessed.

Throw.

The most realistic warrior, invoking the powers of the most ideal hero, unleashed the hero’s strike. A wedge of light was aimed directly at Gletus.