Volume 2 chapter 19
"My name is Chris. I was just a commoner of the Thebes Empire."
I lived in a small, nondescript town on the northern frontier. My family ran a humble blacksmith shop.
Do not misunderstand—we were not the legendary artisans who forged enchanted blades for lords and heroes. We were ordinary smiths. We repaired hoes and shovels for the neighbors and hammered out simple iron tools to sell at the market.
There were only three of us: Father, myself, and my little sister. Mother had suffered a difficult labor when my sister was born. It drained almost every silver coin Father had saved for years to save her life. Even so, her health withered day by day, and she passed away a year later.
In the days that followed, Father worked the forge in the backyard, the rhythmic clanging of his hammer filling the air. I watched the shop in the front and took care of my sister. Life passed by simply, just as it had for generations of commoners before us.
But one day, a new Lord arrived in town—an Imperial Count.
He was a newly titled noble, rewarded with this land by the Emperor for his distinguished service on the northern defense lines against the Demon Race.
When the Lord arrived, the entire town turned out to watch. The Demon Race... to us, they were legends from hundreds of years ago. No one had ever seen one. We all wanted to glimpse the hero who had fought them.
I went too. The Lord rode into the city on a warhorse taller than two men stacked together. Behind him, the knights rode identical beasts, each clad in shining, magnificent armor that gleamed under the sun. They were the embodiment of power and majesty.
In that moment, envy took root in my heart. I couldn't stop imagining how imposing I would look if, one day, I could become a knight.
Soon after, we gained a new neighbor—a knight under the Lord’s command. He moved his family into the house right next to ours.
That knight had a daughter three years older than me. Over time, we became familiar, and I learned her name—Aria Swell.
Because she was older, Aria acted like a big sister. She often took care of me and my little sister.
She taught me how to exercise, secretly instructed me in the Breathing Techniques of a squire, and brought storybooks to read to my sister.
We lived like that—happy, peaceful, full of hope...
"RIIIP—"
The memory was torn apart without mercy. The hideous, mocking face of the Demon Lord Phyllis filled her vision.
"This is your pathetic past..."
The Demon Lord sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Truly... a failure! You achieved nothing then, just as you achieve nothing now!"
"..."
Clyris had no words. There was only silence.
"So, why do you persist? Why struggle? Just be a good little girl, die, and hand everything over to me. Wouldn't that be easier?!"
The Demon Lord unleashed a heavy, diagonal slash.
"BANG!"
Clyris was sent flying once again. If this were not a mental world, she would have been bisected from shoulder to hip instantly.
But the pain was real. In fact, because she was a spirit body here, the agony was amplified directly to her soul.
"No..."
Clyris’s form flickered, her vision blurring into static. Yet, she refused to let go.
"WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR?!"
The Demon Lord roared at her, patience exhausted.
"Your father, your sister, your childhood friend... you have lost them all! You want revenge, don't you? Let me take over! I can exact that revenge for you!!"
"Revenge..."
Clyris’s mind was swimming, desperate to find a focal point of clarity.
"Yes... but... it only has meaning... if I do it!"
The Demon Lord paused, stunned by the stubbornness, before laughing in cold ridicule. "Look at you! Look at this wretched state! How can you take revenge? If not for me, you would have been beaten to death ten times over! What right do you have to speak of vengeance?!"
"Open your eyes! You cannot save anyone!!"
The Demon Lord roared, and with a wave of her hand, she dragged memories out of the darkness, forcing them into Clyris’s mind—
The image of a burning house...
The image of her father being trampled to death...
The image of Aria leaving without looking back...
The image of her little sister’s cold, lifeless body...
"See?! You were a loser in the past! You are a loser now! A complete, utter, absolute—FAILURE!!"
The Demon Lord summoned new images, fresh wounds from the present—
The demons dying on the suicidal charge...
Grun, the Beast Duke, dying in the encirclement...
Herself, cornered and beaten, with no way out...
Looking at the bloody reality laid bare before her, Clyris finally ran out of words.
Her heart trembled.
Yes... I have always failed.
The cruel reality she had deliberately ignored was finally ripped open by the Demon Lord, presented naked and bloody for her to see.
Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure.
Faces covered in blood and grime floated before her eyes.
Looking at her with hope.
Looking at her with admiration.
Looking at her with anger.
Looking at her with despair.
"No... no..."
Clyris whispered a pale refutation, her defense weak and hollow. She felt like a clown on a stage, her mask stripped away.
The irrefutable facts were like daggers, plunging deep into her heart, piercing the disguise of self-deception, letting the cruel blood flow.
It’s true... I am just a pathetic loser.
A clown lying to herself.
A despicable thief.
No one will sympathize with me. No one will forgive me. No one will accept me.
And no one... is coming to save me.
"You finally understand!! There is a limit to grandstanding, you CLOWN!!"
The Demon Lord mocked mercilessly, her scythe not pausing for a second.
Yes... it is time to admit it...
My persistence... my struggle... it is meaningless.
I... can do nothing.
Her vision darkened. Her limbs lost all sensation.
She stopped fighting the gravity. She let herself fall into the abyss.
Ah... let it end.
No one cares about the struggles of a clown.
The cold began to cover her, and her consciousness started to fade into the nothingness...
______________________
"Ding!"
Ironwood Territory.
Charlo, who was taking a brief nap at his desk, suddenly heard a crisp sound resonate directly inside his brain.
"Who is there?!"
He snapped his eyes open, scanning the room. Everything was normal. No one was there.
"Young man. I require your assistance."
A majestic, ancient voice spoke within his mind.
"Who are you?" Charlo asked, his muscles tensing.
"My name is Phyx." The voice replied.
"Phyx..." Charlo frowned. He racked his brain, but he could not recall any powerhouse on the continent with that name.
"Time is short, young man! I need your help immediately! Please—lend me your aid!" The voice urged, sounding desperate.
"Me?" Charlo’s frown deepened. "You must have the wrong person. I am merely a Sixth-Rank Knight!"
To be able to transmit sound directly into my ear across an unknown distance without a trace... whoever this is, they are no small fry. This is likely a Ninth-Rank entity or higher!
What kind of trouble could such a powerhouse face that would require my help? Or rather, if a problem is difficult for them, how could I possibly solve it?
"Explaining it is too troublesome, and there is no time! I will explain on the way! GO!!"
The entity clearly had no intention of debating. A strange force erupted within Charlo’s mind—
Charlo felt the world spin violently. Then, looking down, he saw his own physical body slumped over the desk.
"Wait—"
______________________
"BOOM!!!"
The Western Border of the Morris Empire.
The duel between the two Titans finally reached its conclusion.
With a catastrophic impact, the Black Titan drove a fist straight through the chest of the White Titan.
The White Titan—the avatar of the Lord of Light—shattered into motes of fading energy and collapsed.
"No!"
Pope Farragut watched this scene, his heart skipping a terrifying beat.
The Black Titan, having vanquished its foe, did not stop to gloat. It turned its massive frame and took a step.
One step covered a thousand miles.
It was heading South.
"He is going to destroy the Wall of Holy Light! STOP HIM!!"
Farragut realized the Demon God's true objective and screamed in panic.
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