| Author: Tensei Mikami | Original Source: Syosetu | Word Count: 2269 characters |
| Translator: Jiro | English Source: Re:Library | Word Count: 931 words |
| Editor(s): Robinxen | ||
Amidst despair, a battlefield devoid of even a ray of hope, the morale of the Empire’s soldiers was severely degraded. Even if they took up swords nothing would change. In the end they were all pawns.
The person they were supposed to escort, namely the Viscount, Lord Zeeney had long since fled, like a lizard cutting off its tail and escaping.
Beyond the wall, if the soldiers could just manage to go on the other side of Leverence’s walls there would still be hope for them.
“NOOO!”
Someone screamed unbearably.
A person’s head arced into the clear sky and flew away. Scarlet color flew up like a fountain from the neck that had been connected to the remaining body.
The sight felt unreal. Yet, it did not occur only once or twice. Heads were flying through the air one after another, as if they were inside a popcorn machine.
The Demons were having fun.
Instead of ripping apart the soldiers’ torsos with their claws, as they should have, they were enjoying themselves by precisely sending the soldiers’ heads flying.
The captain, one of the oldest men in the group, held his spear lifelessly. Underneath his armor he could feel the cold sweat running down his spine. He had been on the battlefield for many years, and he knew the feel of the wind caressing his skin as it was now.
Death was creeping closer. With each passing moment, he grew more acutely aware of his own mortality. There was no drama about it, no passion. He would simply merge into the hellish scene before him and perish, leaving nothing behind.
Like hell I’ll stand for that!
The captain shook his head. His bear-like body brimmed with strength, while his mind was unable to calm.
I must live!
The captain thought of his wife and children, who eagerly awaited his return, and shouted1. Pouring all his strength into the spear’s handle, he unleashed the culmination of his countless practice swings.
His determination outweighed his abilities, he didn’t care that this was something born out of pure fear. That thrust could be deemed the most magnificent strike of his entire life.
The spear effortlessly tore through a demon’s black flesh, leading to its demise. There was a definite response to his strike. He watched as the demon’s crimson eyes lost their light.
“Not yet,” he muttered, “I’m not done yet. I must do what needs to be done for my wife and children. Now then, who’s next! … Huh?”
The captain, sensing discomfort, regained his grip on the spear. It felt as if all the strength that had been raging within him had suddenly dissipated.
His vision swayed, and with a jarring impact, his face met the ground.
“Ouch! What the hell? What happened?”
What met his gaze was a grotesque body without a head. The hand clutching the spear and the twitching leg faltered, succumbing to the whims of the wind.
“Huh, hey you! Wait… That’s my…”
Before he could finish, the captain’s head was trampled and kicked by the fleeing crowd. It rolled across the battlefield like a kickball, meeting its end.
This was the reality of the battlefield.
The carnage sprawled before one’s eyes, and in one moment, they were part of its background, while in the next, they became a mere link in an endless chain of hellish events.
There was no protagonist. The idea of a messiah was a mere pipe dream. Even Orthus, once hailed as the mightiest hero in history, had met his demise at the hands of the battlefield.
Yet, despite it all, people foolishly clung to that faint glimmer of hope.
A golden hue slid amidst the waves of black, while silver flashed and cut through the endless darkness.
It was a fleeting spectacle, beyond the limits of human perception.
The golden presence danced gracefully in the sky, and following it the gleaming sword in its hand traced an arc. A sudden gust of wind carried a sweet fragrance through the air.
In the next instant, the black figures, akin to little children, were vanquished one by one, their bodies drenched in scarlet.
Like a delicate wisp of cotton, the golden figure descended to the heart of the battlefield.
“What is that?!” someone shouted.
The golden being slowly opened its eyes, and glared intensely at the chaos unfolding on the battlefield. Its golden hair evoked an image of a dignified angel. And the sword in the being’s hand, appeared as if it was some kind of sacred relic.
Its beauty was such that it could freeze time itself.
The Empire’s soldiers found themselves dumbstruck by the sight, momentarily forgetting the hellish surroundings.
“That’s an angel!” someone cried out, their voice hoarse and teetering on the edge of tears.
The angel, who had seemingly manifested to rescue them, became the subject of the numerous shouts.
“An angel! An angel!”
The battlefield reverberated with the cacophony of shouting soldiers. In war, there were no heroes or saviors, only a repulsive and wretched hell. Yet, in this very moment, a glimmer of hope flickered within the hearts of the Empire’s soldiers.
Seletina ul Gold Aldelight stood there, exuding majesty. No one cared whether she was the messiah, or a simple imitation of one. Neither the kingdoms nor the empire mattered in that moment.
To save the people before her, she would offer her sword, her very life, without hesitation. She was neither a goddess nor an angel. She was merely a normal, powerless girl2. Her hand clutched the sword tightly as her lips formed a firm line.
