Chapter 27

An emotion that defied easy description flitted through his chest. Perhaps the most appropriate term for it was "profoundly moved."

He had finally reached the point of meeting Rainer, the protagonist of Brave Hearts. He had achieved a meeting that, according to the original story, shouldn’t have happened for another five years.

Though it was completely outside his initial plans, the fact that he seemed capable of building a friendly relationship with Rainer felt like proof that his actions thus far had not been in vain.

The corners of his mouth curled upward. It was a hideously wicked smile.

The onlookers who witnessed that expression were seized by an instinctive chill and recoiled in unison. Harold, whose focus had already shifted entirely to Rainer, didn't even notice.

How can I earn his trust? What is Rainer’s current level of strength? Is he already as close to Colette as he was in the game?

Such questions were all that occupied Harold's mind.

In truth, shortly after realizing this was the world of Brave Hearts and resolving to avoid his own death flags, Harold had once wondered if there was even a need for him to act at all.

To put it bluntly, this world was a work of fiction.

It was a story with a predetermined conclusion, woven by characters and fates established by its creators. Every story has a protagonist, and every protagonist benefits from a little thing called "Protagonist Correction."

This "Correction"—which one might call the will of the creators—was a collective term for a tremendous power where the environment, the flow of events, and the world itself conspired to aid the hero. Naturally, Rainer had been the beneficiary of such grace throughout the game. If that weren’t the case, no matter how talented they were, there was no way a group of fewer than ten people could have saved the entire world.

Conversely, this implied that as long as Rainer remained the protagonist, the world would side with him. The universe was simply built that way.

Therefore, Harold had once doubted the necessity of a minor existence like Harold Stokes going to such great lengths. He thought it might be better to do nothing, withdraw from the stage of the original story as quickly as possible, and become something like Nameless Villager A to stay far away from danger. He could just wait in some forgotten corner of the world like a proper background character until the story reached its happy ending.

Looking back, he realized that had been a form of escapism—a desire to abandon his role because he was terrified of his own future. The reason he hadn't succumbed to that sweet temptation was the simple fact that he had been able to save Clara.

Though it was through Harold's intervention, she had survived a death that should have been set in stone.

Ultimately, even if this world was remarkably similar to the game Brave Hearts, there was no "Historical Correction Force" compelling the original story to stay on its tracks. If this hypothesis was correct, then even if Harold ran away, no other villain would emerge to take his place. It would be a gaping hole in the plot. That, in turn, could negatively impact the protagonist's growth.

To avoid a future where the world was destroyed because the hero failed to grow strong enough, Harold had continued to involve himself in the plot.

(...But looking at it from another angle, that means it's also possible to make Rainer even stronger.)

He had been so preoccupied with the downsides that the idea hadn't occurred to him until they actually met. By giving Rainer more experience than he’d had in the game, or by teaching him efficient tactics for specific enemies, Rainer might become an even greater hero than his original counterpart.

With this hidden agenda in mind, Harold waited for his duel with Rainer. Every other participant he faced was swept aside with effortless ease.

Finally, the fated clash arrived. By some quirk of fate, it took place in the finals—a stage that felt as if someone had meticulously prepared it just for them.

Both had ascended the bracket with overwhelming dominance. Scarcely anyone had been able to even trade blows with them. As the two faced off, the crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch.

"I made it here, just like I promised!"

"Naturally. If you aren't all talk, then prove your worth to me."

"You're on!"

With a fiercely competitive look in his eyes, Rainer spoke without a trace of hesitation. His resolve to win at any cost was written clearly across his face.

Unable to contain his spirit, Rainer attacked the moment the match began.

He unleashed a horizontal slash intended to blow his opponent back. Harold stepped back to evade, but Rainer immediately closed the distance with a relentless follow-up.

From the right, from the left, from above and below, and occasionally from straight ahead—Rainer unleashed a continuous storm of strikes. Harold calmly parried and struck down every single one of them.

Speed, power, technique. Rainer was certainly a cut above anyone Harold had fought so far in every category. It was clear why he had reached the finals without breaking a sweat.

But that was all. He felt no true threat from Rainer's current abilities.

(Hey, hey... is this seriously it?)

From Harold's perspective, there was honestly very little difference between Rainer and the other participants.

In game terms, the current Rainer was Level 1; considering his age, he might even be lower. While one could argue Harold was expecting too much from a twelve-year-old, he couldn't help but doubt if this boy could truly become the hero meant to save the world.

Witnessing Rainer's true strength firsthand, Harold felt neither anger nor disappointment. Instead, he felt a heavy, crushing anxiety.

◇

It was a staggering sight for Rainer.

He had entered the fighting tournament with high spirits, but before his first turn even came, a certain boy had appeared and finished his match in the blink of an eye. He moved with a speed that made it look like he was teleporting.

Harold. The boy of "Godspeed," who was difficult to even track with the naked eye, had introduced himself with that name.

Moreover, a warrior as strong as Harold had acknowledged Rainer's own potential. For Rainer, who had worked tirelessly to become strong enough to protect those he loved, that recognition was a source of pure joy. At the same time, however, he felt a sting of frustration that a boy roughly his own age was already so much more powerful.

That was why he wasn't holding anything back. With the same intensity he felt when challenging his parents—only to be swatted away every time—Rainer threw himself at Harold. He poured his entire being into his sword.

And yet, his blade could not reach him.

(Why can't I land a single hit?!)

He had launched over fifty strikes. Most were parried by Harold's blade, and those that weren't were dodged with a simple, effortless shift of the body.

Though Harold held a slender, lightweight longsword, he wielded it with one hand as if it were an extension of his own arm, parrying Rainer’s desperate onslaught with insulting ease. Furthermore, Harold hadn't even used that "disappearing" speed yet. He remained stationary, giving Rainer every opportunity to attack as he pleased.

To the audience, it looked like Harold was entirely on the defensive. Seeing the contrast with his previous flashy victories, the spectators began to jeer, shouting for Harold to get serious.

However, for Rainer, who was actually crossing swords with him, every clash reinforced the astronomical gap in their skills. It felt like trying to siege a massive, iron-clad fortress with a single twig. It was a sensation bordering on despair.

The moment a small crack appeared in Rainer’s resolve and his sword slowed, Harold retreated. Then, he spat out his evaluation.

"How disappointing. This is pathetic."

"What!?"

"It’s the truth, isn't it? Your attacks haven't even grazed my clothes. No matter how many times you repeat this, it is an exercise in futility."

"But Harold, you haven't even attacked yet!"

"You fool. I can do that whenever I please."

Harold immediately proved it. In the same breath that Rainer realized Harold had vanished from his sight, the sword he held with both hands was sheared in two.

The blade was severed cleanly, the tip clattering across the stone floor. All that remained in Rainer's hand was a stump less than half its original length.

The weapons used in the tournament were all blunted practice swords. To slice through one so cleanly—Rainer couldn't even fathom the level of skill required for such a feat.

And then there was that speed. Seeing it from the stands was one thing; facing it was another entirely. Harold had closed the distance before Rainer could even register a movement.

"To think you can't even react to this... I am truly appalled."

"Damn it..."

He had lost. Abruptly, and with a gap wider than that between an adult and a child.

It was the first time in his life he had lost so completely to someone his own age. He never imagined defeat would taste this bitter. Rainer lowered his head, unable to look at Harold—an existence that felt impossibly distant.

Now, his defeat would be declared, and it would all be over—or so he thought. But the referee didn't say a word.

Confused, Rainer looked up, only to see Harold pointing his practice sword at the official.

"...Huh?"

At a sight so far beyond his understanding, his frustration and sense of defeat evaporated into pure bewilderment. For some reason, Harold was threatening the referee.

"Hey, you. What do you think you’re doing, trying to end the match when this brat hasn't admitted defeat yet?"

"No, well, his weapon is broken... he can't fight anymore..."

"Then give him another one!"

"What...?"

Rainer and the referee were equally dumbfounded. Ignoring them both, Harold stepped to the edge of the stage and snatched a sword from another participant waiting below.

To any observer, the match was already decided. Even Rainer had internally accepted his loss.

"Rainer."

"Y-yeah?"

Harold returned and stood before him, holding the confiscated practice sword. He tossed it carelessly at Rainer's feet.

"If you still have the will to fight, pick it up."

"..."

Rainer stared at the discarded sword in silence. Normally, he would have grabbed it without a second thought. But he hesitated because Harold was just too strong. If such a monster existed in his own generation, he could never hope to win.

He was afraid that by picking up that sword, he would only be forced to admit his own inferiority again. Protecting one's pride was a primal instinct, and Rainer had never lost to anyone but his parents. If he fought now, he would only be piling more shame upon his defeat. His spirit felt ready to snap.

He decided he should stop. But then, Harold spoke.

"For what purpose do you seek strength?"

That single question stayed his hand.

"For what... purpose..."

Why did he want to be strong? Was it because his dream was to lead a knight order? Because he wanted to surpass his parents?

Those were certainly part of it—long-held dreams and immediate goals. But they didn't feel like the real answer. Why had he admired the knights in the first place?

(If I’m strong, I can be a knight. And if I’m a knight, I can protect people...)

Protect. It was a simple, almost vague thought.

But that was it. The origin of Rainer's thirst for strength was something so straightforward it was almost laughable. When he was even younger, one of his friends had been bullied by an older child. A gap of a year or two is massive for a child, and to bridge that gap, Rainer had sought power. He wanted to protect his friend. He wanted to defeat those bigger and stronger than him.

The sense of justice within him required power to manifest. He needed the strength to guard what was precious.

"...I have things I want to protect. And to protect them all, I have to be the strongest!"

He had made a promise to his nagging childhood friend, too. He wouldn't let her cry ever again. He would become stronger than anyone for her sake.

No matter how powerful the opponent, Rainer had to win. He couldn't afford to give up until he did.

"Protect everything? You're quite the aspiring hero."

"That is my resolve!"

"Hmph. No matter how much resolve you claim to have, without the power to back it up, you are merely a clown."

"Then I'll get that power! Right here, right now!"

The flames of battle reignited in Rainer's eyes. The hand gripping the sword grew hot. That heat surged from his palm and raced through his entire body. He felt his pulse quicken, his blood beginning to boil.

His body and heart suddenly felt weightless.

"Here I go, Harold!"

He lunged, surrendering himself to the sensation of flight. With a single movement, he knew—he was faster and sharper than he had ever been in his life. And yet, more power continued to well up from deep within.

He couldn't suppress the surge of adrenaline, and he had no intention of trying. Rainer launched into a fierce, relentless assault.

Harold continued to parry as before, but his expression was now twisted into a hateful scowl. The sharp click of his tongue told Rainer that he was finally being pushed back. As victory felt within reach, even more power overflowed.

"Ryaaaaaaaa!"

He unleashed a diagonal slash with every ounce of his strength. Harold narrowly evaded the blow. When the sword struck the stone floor instead, the impact sent cracks spider-webbing through the masonry, a testament to the blow's lethal power.

Watching this from the corner of his eye, Harold muttered under his breath.

"You've triggered 'Brave Mode' here? You really are..."

"Haah... haah... Brave... Mode...?"

Rainer panted, hearing the term for the first time. The sound of his own heavy breathing made him realize he was reaching his limit. He couldn't maintain this state for long. He pushed all questions to the back of his mind.

Regripping his sword and letting out a spirited shout, he unleashed another attack, his movements a blur.

"Deryaaa!"

"Don't get cocky!"

This time, Harold struck back. The exchange became a dizzying blur of steel. The spectators held their breath as the two boys engaged in a duel that defied their age, the ring of clashing metal dominating the arena. Everyone present was captivated. They wanted to see the outcome, yet they wished the dance would never end.

But eternity does not exist. The end of the battle drew near.

"Guh...!"

Rainer stumbled after a missed swing, barely catching himself before he fell. His body, which had felt so light moments ago, suddenly turned to lead. It was as if his limbs had been replaced by solid metal; he couldn't even draw enough air into his lungs.

(No... I've just gone back to normal...)

He had been performing feats far beyond his natural limits. This was simply the backlash. His grip strength was failing. His legs were shaking just from the effort of standing.

He had fought well. He hadn't landed a clean hit, but he had pushed the monster known as Harold Stokes further than anyone else. Perhaps it was okay to rest now. He was no match for Harold.

"...As if I'd ever say that!!"

Rainer drowned out his wavering heart with a scream. Even if he couldn't win, even if he was outmatched, the one thing he would never do was give up. Not if he wanted to keep his promise to Colette.

His fighting spirit did not dim; instead, it roared to life with even greater ferocity. As if responding to his will, the wind around him began to swirl. His red hair billowed like a flickering bonfire.

The next strike would be his last. He would pour every scrap of his existence into it. He would unleash his heart and soul—every drop of effort and every emotion he had ever felt.

If you can stop this—

"THEN STOP ME!!"

From the blade swung down in a massive overhead arc, a pillar of crimson flames erupted with a roar. It was a flame birthed from Rainer's will—the embodiment of his hunger for victory. It was the greatest strike of his twelve years of life. He knew it with absolute certainty.

The howling flames surged toward Harold, expanding as if to swallow him whole. But at the moment the fire was about to consume him...

A blinding white flash tore through the air, erasing everything else from sight. Almost simultaneously, a thunderous roar shook the very foundation of the arena. Some onlookers cowered; others screamed in terror. It was an overwhelming display of power that forced every living creature to recognize an immediate, mortal threat.

Only those standing far from the arena could truly see what had happened.

A colossal bolt of lightning—larger than anything seen in living memory—had struck the stage. Descending from a perfectly clear blue sky, it had utterly crushed the flames meant to incinerate Harold.

There was no need to ask who had done it. Only one person in the arena remained standing, calm and unshaken.

Harold—a mere thirteen-year-old boy—had summoned it.

"Haha... are you... for real..."

Even the strike that had exhausted his very soul hadn't reached him. On the contrary, Harold had effortlessly surpassed him. Faced with such a reality, Rainer could only laugh. But he didn't even have the strength left to smile.

With his vision fading and his legs failing, Rainer began to fall.

Harold was the one who caught him. Supporting Rainer’s weight with one arm, Harold spoke with a voice full of exasperation.

"You idiot. If you can do that, do it from the start."

"You're... too strict..."

"That" presumably referred to the final strike—a move born only because Rainer had been pushed to the absolute brink. It wasn't exactly something he could pull off on command.

Faced with the realization that there were people even more demanding than his mother, Rainer managed one final, weak retort before losing consciousness in Harold's arms.

As the medics rushed over and carried Rainer away on a stretcher, Harold offered a final, private compliment.

"Well, I suppose I'll take back what I said about you being disappointing. It seems your power at least reaches the level of my feet."

It was a typical, high-and-mighty Harold comment, but it was also a genuine sign of respect. Rainer, unconscious, didn't hear a word of it, but as he lay on the stretcher, he looked as though he was smiling with satisfaction.