EP.189

“Indeed, that’s something on the level of the Seven Dragon Lords.”

Edelplat adjusted her stance by turning her sword half a turn. The eye that had vanished from her face twitched.

It was the eye stolen by Tumor of the Mountain. A symbol of a swordsman who stood against the embodiment of wrath for a day and a half.

“Let’s see if you really measure up.”

“What about mana?”

“There’s none. They teach it, but there was no time to learn. Such complicated magic talks are too convoluted for us. But Jhon, what we have in hand isn’t mana, but a single sword, isn’t it?”

Edel laughed like a beast. Tying back her wildly fluttering hair, she looked at the elves who lined up behind her.

All elves detest moving in sweat. They regard martial arts as a lesser version of magic. In the end, the meditation of martial artists is no different from mana cultivation, and their sword techniques are deemed just tricks beneath Wind Cutter.

No matter how quickly one swings a sword, it takes years just to cut through an object one meter away. That’s just to strike at a space and embed a blow.

However, learning even the most basic destructive spell is just a fundamental course that can be mastered in a couple of months. Under the environment of Kalion, elves feel no need to learn any skills other than magic.

But, there are those who defiantly take up the sword, overcoming society’s gaze and their race’s instincts.

Among elves, those most obsessed—the martial artists mad for martial arts. The disciples of the Swordsmanship Faction.

Mana is merely a process to master martial arts; it cannot be the key that distinguishes martial artists from commoners. This is what they believe.

Even if one has no mana, does that mean there are no arms to wield a sword? Are there no legs to take a step?

With feet, they tread the ground.

With hands, they grasp the sword.

Thus, the posture they extend reaches the center line. The tip of the sword always points towards the heavens, yearning to reach that high level of divine reception with the human body.

Towards the end of this path. For the ideal of martial arts that must exist somewhere. Those who raise their swords for that sole purpose.

“Now, brothers and sisters. I, Edelplat Cohenulf, the Duel Representative of the Privy Council, the undefeated of Kalion, and the master of the Swordsmanship Faction—”

At Edelplat’s words, the elves simultaneously raised their swords in silence.

“And, as a mere elf. As a single martial artist, I ask. What lies at the end of martial arts?”

At Edel’s question, the disciples all turned to her. It was perhaps the master’s final teaching.

Edel finished her words with a cheerful laugh.

“There is a person.”

All martial arts begin and end with a person’s hands. Therefore, at the end of martial arts, there is no technique, no secret, no mythical achievements or swordsmanship, nor any earth-shattering magical power.

There is only one person holding a sword. That is all.

Thus, the swordsman who had reached the pinnacle of this era looked at the winter deity with one eye and said.

“Let’s go, masters of swordsmanship. Today we will fight as mere individuals, rise to the top with the strength of one person, and overlook the world with the eye of a single soul.”

At her words, all the elves of the swordsmanship faction burst into loud laughter. Each of them chuckled and adjusted their weapons without much chatter.

Swords are raised. Spears go up. Whips and axes, and occasionally greatswords and cavalry spears are seen.

Those who have trained in various weapons for at least decades, many for hundreds of years, move in unison.

If you combine the years the elves here have devoted to martial arts, it could easily reach a millennia, so how could they not be compared to the lazy winter that has awakened from a millennia of slumber?

“Edel, what about the operation—?”

“What operation?”

Edel laughed at Ivan’s interruption.

“I will open the path. You’re my most proud disciple. I will offer my heart, so you stab it.”

For a master is one who opens the path for their disciple, and the disciple is one who continues the path laid by their master and passes it on to the next generation.

Thus, doesn’t the way of martial arts continue on in this manner?

Edel chuckled and jumped into the flow of the elves rushing like arrows, starting her sprint towards the Eternal Palace.

“Senior Ivan, shall we keep the formation as it is?”

“Yes.”

“What about the formation?”

“Single file for monster hunting.”

At Ivan’s response, Dmitri nodded and gestured. The orders were immediate, and there was no delay in action.

Thirty agents split into their respective teams. They immediately slipped into the darkness of the city.

“You should take the front. After all, the most experienced agent should be in the most dangerous place, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“No, I meant stand a couple of steps back.”

“…What?”

Dmitri threw a potion bottle to Elpheira and gestured to the remaining agents. They quickly handed out bandages and potions as emergency supplies to their comrades and turned their backs.

“Honestly speaking, haven’t I been active longer than you, Senior? You’ve taken a four-year break.”

“…Dmitri Cherkatov.”

“Lieutenant Colonel. Now I’m a Lieutenant Colonel, Senior.”

Dmitri chuckled.

“When you were a Lieutenant Colonel, you had to deal with a guy like me, so what can’t I do now? I’m with the finest men of this era.”

“Orders—.”

“Oh, I’m the field commander here. You’re currently under suspension due to treason. When you return, make sure to apologize to His Majesty. Now, kids?”

Dmitri smiled at the group silently looking at them.

“Our role was originally as scouts. You could say we’re the coachmen who bring you safely before the Seven Dragon Lords. We’re just doing what we do best, so lighten your expressions. Smile, kids.”

The Hero Party stood frozen, as if they had just realized the weight of the burden they were carrying.

And Ivan also silently looked at them. The Cleanup Unit, chuckling. The last survivors.

The last agents holding onto the memories of departed comrades.

The finest men of this era.

They all performed military rites. For one person who had walked a step ahead of them to reach this spot. Ivan silently received the military honors.

“Do not mourn for those who departed first.”

The most representative military rite of the Cleanup Unit.

Thus, he had to respond.

“For I also stand in the same ranks as them.”

That’s all. If we survive, I’ll be the commander now, right?

With that final remark, Dmitri waved his gloved hand. The Cleanup Unit members all turned around. The coats of the departing ones flitted in the wind and vanished from sight.

In the distant haze, the noises of battle persisted. Screams, destruction, winter’s storm, horrifically twisted mana, newly woven magic tearing through human flesh, the clammy sound of fresh ruptures.

Ivan silently tore open the potion he was handed and poured it onto his arm.

The wounds begin to close.

However, scars never truly disappear. Even if they fade, they never do.

So, the presence of scars will become proof that one has survived. And once again, in place of better lives.

The weight increases. Therefore, tread with more strength and move forward.

“You should have prepared for a much longer time than this.”

Ivan spoke bitterly. It’s too fast. It’s too much. This battlefield is too harsh for those kids who have just passed their first college class.

The members of the Hero Party had already gathered, fully formed. Even they, who were seasoned, lost hope and floundered, enduring a grueling battlefield that drained their souls and spirits.

The journey to slay the Demon King was such. To kill the king who was called God while alive required that level of resolve and skill.

In this era of preserved peace, the current Hero Party was unprepared. Their skills, mindset, and sense of duty were all lacking.

However, there is no time to lament their inadequacies. Each step the Hero Party takes leaves behind a trail of blood and death of great individuals, marking the passage of time.

So, they must move forward. A day’s waste is no different from wasting the lives of thousands.

“If you’re going to give up, now is your last chance. Today is not the last day of the journey, and despair like today will be merely a daily routine.”

“….”

“Yet, can you lift your head, grasp your weapon, count the lives hanging behind you, and look up to find the morning star?”

At Ivan’s words, the party bit their lips and momentarily lowered their heads.

To accept lightly is the folly of those living thoughtlessly. The moment one realizes their true duty, no one can be without fear.

The fate of the ethnic group rests upon them. They must have realized that.

However, being a Hero does not mean being the strongest. It signifies those bravest individuals who rise at any moment, becoming symbols of hope.

The Hero Party should rise again—.

“I will do it.”

An elf wizard, still bleeding, nodded.

“If Sir Yeremov falls, then it’s my turn next.”

A vampire chuckled while gripping their weapon.

“By the way, did you know that when I entrusted myself to Krasilov, the fate of my people was at stake?”

The dwarf princess, rummaging, pulled out an impossibly large cannon from somewhere in her sleeves.

“Now I understand Sir Yeremov’s feelings. This is why it’s a damned other world.”

The foreigner from another world smiled bitterly, gripping their sword and staff, rising to their feet.

In response, Ivan nodded and turned around. It’s time to head back to the battlefield.

Although they had never learned it, they formed the formation of the ancient Hero Party. They organized themselves into a party supporting each other around Ivan as the center.

So, I dared to take the place of the hero. It felt a bit awkward, but I couldn’t help feeling a little proud.

Ivan wiped the wounds with potions and gripped his weapon, taking steps forward.

He did not run. He did not dash hastily. The time for that was already being taken care of by those greater than them.

So, with the most perfectly prepared breath and the most excellently prepared posture, he became a sharp dagger.

Towards the heart of the God, carrying the lives of thousands in a single step.

Step by step, steadily and without wavering, thus forming a straight line.

He walks towards the morning star.

*

Among the six hundred and ninety-four members of the Swordsmanship Faction under Cohenulf, seventy were present.

Twenty-seven out of thirty from the first team of the Domestic Intelligence Command’s Cleanup Unit, under Dmitri.

One arm of the greatest elf swordsman and two legs of the most long-trained agent.

Walking the peaceful path paved with the blood and flesh of all these individuals.

Finally, the hero party arrived at the heart of the collapsed Eternal Palace, passing through the fragments of the God.

*

Author’s note (afterword): “Do you know how many people the hero has killed?”

“…What?”

“It is estimated that at least thirty thousand, including indirect casualties, per year. The number of people who were pushed to die in battles that were certain to fail to attract the attention of the Demon King’s army, to support the hero’s operation.”

“Everyone present at that time knew that fact. The hero, I, and the soldiers on the front line.”

“But the hero smiled even at that moment.”

“A hero does not mean the strongest…”

“But the bravest…”

“Yes, we called those who never kneeled to any burden and never lost their smile in any moment a hero.”

EP05. Morning Star (6)

*

“What’s your name?”

“Oship Sorinov. You probably don’t know me. I’m from the 3rd Strike Team, and I’ve only seen you from a distance once.”

“I remember now. Oship.”

“Do not mourn for those who left first.”

“Because I too stand in the same line with them.”

“I heard you died, Lieutenant Colonel. I clearly saw your nameplate at the National Cemetery…”

“I too did not expect there to be any survivors from the 3rd Strike Team.”

“I survived in place of the finest men of this era.”

“We are all like that.”