Chapter 331: A Conversation Before the Clash

Red eyes locked onto silver-blue ones, as if to emphasize that he was speaking directly to Rememver.

“Make sure you record this too.”

“…”

“I’m sure the information you have now is incomplete. There must be many questions. I’ll tell you everything myself.”

You did say you’d write a book with me as the main character, right?

Rememver smiled, a hint of amusement in his expression, at Deon’s playful remark, echoing their earlier conversation.

“I’m listening. But it will take a lot of time. Are you sure that’s alright? You seemed quite busy.”

“Yes, for me it’s a win-win, I get to hear your story, but we also have a battle to fight, don’t we?”

The two perceptive adults remembered the child looking impatient. They already felt bad for stopping him when he seemed in such a hurry, and to delay him further….

“…Besides, we’re not exactly in a position to just stand around chatting.”

“Are you saying… we’ll talk while fighting?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

Deon’s words were practically an insult to Stigma. He was implying he could fight and talk about his life story at the same time, without needing to fully concentrate on the battle.

But Stigma, ever self-aware, simply shook his head calmly instead of getting angry.

“Not at all. You’re the Hero, after all. Such leniency is only to be expected.”

“…”

“You look surprised I’m not angry. Haven’t I told you before? If you’re overwhelmingly strong, you could swing from the banquet hall chandeliers and no one could say a word.”

Even if it were the Imperial Palace, or even if you stood before the Emperor himself with your head held high, no one would dare to complain.

“And now you, junior, have become the Hero, the undisputed strongest. So, there’s no reason for me to be angry.”

“…”

“But it will be a rather one-sided conversation. Please understand if I can’t respond to everything you say during the fight.”

Stigma drew his sword, as if that settled the matter. Deon, instead of taking a fighting stance, remained rooted to the spot, subtly rolling his eyes. A hint of bewilderment and disbelief flickered in his red pupils.

‘What is this… some ridiculous dog-eat-dog ideology?’

He’s even worse than the demons.

Back when he gave me various pieces of advice, I was too overwhelmed by exhaustion and fear to really grasp it, vaguely dismissing it as some scary, unique ideology. But hearing it again now, it feels almost…mad.

It’s almost like a wild beast trying to act human. He’d probably fit right in if he went to the Demon Realm. If things were still as peaceful as they were back when I was a spy going between the Demon and Human Realms, I might have even suggested he immigrate there.

Just then, a sword point was aimed right at his face.

“It’s not a good habit to let your mind wander when facing someone with a sword.”

“…”

“Though, of course, it’s probably useless advice for you now…”

“…No. Thank you for the advice.”

Deon tightened his grip on his dagger and assumed a stance. Despite the fighting spirit he projected, he hesitated, glancing sideways at Rememver.

Rememver, catching his meaning, gave a knowing smile.

“Then this old man will take his leave.”

“Will you even be able to hear anything from this far away?”

“Don’t let my age fool you, my ears are still sharp. I’ll listen from a distance where I can hear just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

This is a battle between a Hero and a Heroic Spirit. No matter how good his ears are, he’s no Hero, so moving back just far enough to hear voices is pointless.

If voices carry, the shockwaves of the battle will too. It was clear he’d get caught in the crossfire. Deon hesitated, unable to start the fight easily. Stigma, seeing his hesitation, added, ”

“He’s from Esperance, he can definitely protect himself. I’ve seen his skills firsthand, traveling with him. I guarantee it, so you don’t need to worry.”

“…Alright then.”

As if signaling the start of the battle, the blood-tinged water rippled.

Deon finally took his stance, and as if on cue, their weapons clashed.

He thought he’d gotten used to fighting fragments of the Hero’s power over the past few days, but it seemed he was wrong. Deon was taken aback by the power and speed that far surpassed what he’d anticipated.

‘…He’s definitely on a different level compared to the Heroes I’ve faced so far.’

Right, Stigma Primiero wasn’t just a survivor of the Eight Years’ War, he was a war hero who made a name for himself. It’s only natural he’s different from those hastily gathered fragments.

In fact, he was known to be exceptionally strong, even among the Empire’s ‘official Heroes’.

The Emperor Eudoard at the time was an exceptional Hero, so strong that there were even rumors he was the Hero himself, before the actual Hero appeared. Even putting him aside, Stigma was considered the next strongest Hero.

Deon wasn’t the only one sensing something from his opponent. Stigma, after exchanging a few blows, frowned.

“…That’s strange.”

As if testing something, he lightly slashed his sword horizontally. Deon raised his dagger to block it. Pressing his advantage, Stigma immediately lunged in, aiming to stab upwards under Deon’s chin.

Stigma watched Deon evade the attack by stepping back, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Junior, are you feeling alright?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Your movements are strangely stiff, like you’re trying to move underwater. There are no visible injuries…”

Brown eyes scanned him intently, as if trying to dissect him. Deon paused for a moment, then quickly dropped his defensive stance, pretending to be unaffected, and launched an attack.

Thwack! The attack, shaky with agitation, was easily caught by the seasoned Heroic Spirit.

Stigma, using his free hand, grabbed Deon’s wrist, then planted his sword in the ground and raised his other hand. Not missing the chance when Deon paused, confused by the non-threatening gesture, Stigma touched his forehead.

“…You’re burning up.”

“…”

“It doesn’t seem like a fever that would make you move so awkwardly, but has it been going on for long?”

“…It’s not enough to hinder me.”

Deon didn’t wait for a reply. He slapped Stigma’s hand away and swung his dagger in a wide arc.

Stigma, seeing Deon’s attack was meant to push him back, willingly retreated, retrieving his planted sword, a troubled expression on his face. Clearly wanting to say something, Deon kept up his attack, cutting him off, and hastily tried to organize his thoughts to distract his opponent.

The topic, of course, was the story of ‘Deon Hart’ they had agreed upon.

‘I said I’d tell him everything, so I should probably start from the beginning…’

How far back should I go, though?

…Well, starting with the Duke and the Demon King’s bet would be best. It all began when I became the offering, the game piece, in their bet. After a moment’s deliberation, he began to speak.

“Duke, are you aware that Starbe Illuster made a contract with the Demon King?”

“…What?”

The sword tip wavered.

It was certainly a shocking opening. Any trace of unease vanished, replaced by a look of pure shock. Deon smiled sweetly at him.

“It’s going to be quite an interesting story.”

…

As Deon began to speak, and his story grew longer, the rapid exchange of blows gradually slowed.

And finally, after hearing the whole story, Stigma let out a hollow laugh and lowered his sword.

“So much for ‘interesting.'”

“…”

“That’s a terrible story.”

It was a terrible story, one where he was manipulated by others from beginning to end.

A truly awful story, where everything went wrong from the start, leading to more and more failures, cracks forming, and ultimately, everything collapsing. Now he understood Deon’s reasons for wanting to destroy the Human Realm.

It was, in its own way, revenge against the world, and one of the few ‘paths he’d chosen for himself.’

“I’m impressed you’ve endured all this time.”

Was it because he’d faced such a twisted reality from such a young age? Or was the present so unbearable that the past barely registered? Stigma quietly watched Deon, who recounted his past so casually.

He met the gaze of the child who’d walked a much harsher path than he’d imagined, and offered a smile filled with sympathy and regret.

“First, I should apologize.”

“?…”

“Normally, this is where I’d offer to help you kill the Demon King, but I can’t.”

“I understand.”

Having listened to his story before the fight, Deon understood Stigma’s character well enough to know why.

‘Because the dishonor of helping a Hero who betrayed the Human Realm would outweigh any honor he might gain from killing the Demon King.’

Besides, if he died fighting the Demon King, he’d just be another forgotten Hero who died helping the Hero. Even if he survived, the Hero would get all the glory. In the latter case, he’d even miss his only chance for a respectable death. From Stigma’s perspective, facing the Demon King was a lose-lose situation, whether he lived or died.

So, Deon nodded, completely unfazed.

“I wasn’t expecting that in the first place.”

“I know. It’s just… I feel bad for you.”

The pace of their fight, which had slowed, began to pick up again.

A short, heavy question followed.

“Nothing more to say, right?”

“…No.”

“Alright then. No reason to waste more time here, we should end this now.”

Gotta stop holding my junior back so much.

The wind from his sword raged like a typhoon, nearby trees being cut down like straw.

As if to pour everything he had into this final moment, Stigma had been fiercely attacking, but then, suddenly, he lowered his sword and offered his vitals to the incoming dagger.

Thunk.

An eerie sound echoed, and Deon’s body froze.

‘…As I thought.’

Good thing I did this. Stigma chuckled.

He was the one stabbed, yet look at Deon’s face, pale as if he’d been wounded. Just looking at his expression, you’d think the situation was reversed.

‘Why that expression when he didn’t even stab me on purpose?’

There’s a difference between killing someone directly and having your opponent run onto your blade. This was the latter. Seeing his face now, he wondered what his expression would have been like in the former case.

Relieved that he could at least lessen Deon’s guilt even a little this way, Stigma slowly opened his mouth.

“Listening to your story, junior, I’ve become certain of something. You are a strong person, inside and out.”

“…”

“So, you can handle one more thorn on your thorny path, right? Even if it’s me.”

Being a Heroic Spirit, his life didn’t end so easily, even after being stabbed in a vital spot.

In any other situation, this would be hell, but this time, it was almost a relief. Regardless of his failing body, he offered a gentle smile, reaching out to brush a tear-dampened cheek.

He wanted to say ‘you’ve worked hard,’ but he didn’t deserve to, not after adding to Deon’s hardships.

“I’m sorry. For adding another thorn to your already thorny path.”

“…”

“I’m sorry for giving you another bad memory.”

Apologies were all he could offer.

“I hope this thorn of mine won’t be too noticeable on your path.”

“…”

“You should be angry, not crying.”

Tears streamed from his wide, unseeing eyes, as if he couldn’t comprehend the situation.

Deon, as if unaware he was even crying, flinched and touched his eye. Realizing it was wet, he gave a bewildered look.

“Why…”

A question escaped him, directed at something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Stigma just coughed weakly, spitting out blood, then raised the hand that had been wiping away tears to gently smooth back Deon’s messy hair. Even that small gesture was an apology.

It couldn’t be helped.

“In the end, I’m only thinking of myself.”

Honor had become more than just proof of Stigma Primiero’s worth, it was Stigma’s very essence. But that was just an excuse. Ultimately, he was prioritizing his own selfishness over the pain Deon Hart would endure.

So, Stigma, about to apologize again, stopped himself, thinking that any more apologies might just become cruel.

Instead, he turned to Rememver, who had approached unnoticed.

“Don’t you think this part is a bit pointless for the history books?”

“…History isn’t recorded based on what’s useful or useless.”

But…

Rememver, understanding what Stigma wanted, gave a knowing smile.

“And it shouldn’t be influenced by anyone’s personal opinions.”

“Which means?”

“The Heroic Spirit offering his life to the Hero is just my speculation. The truth is, he was stabbed by the Hero’s sword. So, maybe in a ‘novel,’ who knows, but in ‘official records,’ only the fact that he was stabbed will be recorded, I think.”

“…Thank you.”

Only then, looking somewhat relieved, Stigma closed his eyes.

His already shallow breaths grew fainter, until they stopped completely. In the suffocating silence that followed, clear liquid dripped onto his still chest.

…The blood-tinged water surged wildly.