Things were looking bad. I was struck by an intense sense of crisis.
Ever since I began my new life with one eye and one leg at the Chryscles Holy Church, I had done my best to engage in whatever exercise I could manage. From bending and stretching my left leg to sit-ups, push-ups, and any other stretch I could think of that worked with my condition. Before my injury, I had taken pride in my healthy adventurer’s lifestyle—early to bed, early to rise, and morning drills. Lying around in bed all day simply didn't sit right with me.
However, I could no longer deny the reality of the situation.
This idle life was causing my body to rot.
The clearest sign of my impending depravity was the sluggish drowsiness that attacked me during the day. Despite getting more than enough sleep at night, I would find myself nodding off after exercise or lunch, drifting away before I even realized it.
This had never happened before. This sleepiness was nothing less than a symptom of total corruption.
I had to resume my training immediately.
It wasn't as if I was certain I could return to being an active adventurer—honestly, I didn't know yet. I wasn't even sure if returning to duty was realistic with this body. At the moment, it was simply a matter of mental hygiene; if I didn't do something about this lack of exercise, I was going to lose my mind.
Since I’d eventually have to adapt to life with a prosthetic, there was no harm in maintaining as much strength as possible.
Stretches one could do while lying down hardly qualified as exercise. What I really wanted to do was resume my practice swings. I could do those while sitting, and since I had repeated that motion thousands—no, tens of thousands—of times, I could approach it with a level of focus and intensity that stretching could never provide.
With that in mind, I had Master push my wheelchair out to the yard, but—
"Wolka... are you really going to swing your sword...?"
"Hmm? Yeah, of course."
She asked that as if it were a shock, but wasn't it obvious? That was the whole reason we came outside.
"This is what suits me best, after all."
"I... I see. For you, the sword was everything... It was your life, and yet...!"
I felt like she was reading far too much into this. Master, I just want to move my body. There’s no deep, tragic meaning here; it’s just a workout.
"I understand... I understand perfectly..."
No, you really don't.
Master? Hey, Master?
Later, while I was diligently working through my practice swings in the church garden, Yulitia spotted me. The moment she saw me, she dropped the things she was carrying. Her eyes went hollow, as if she were staring into another world.
"Senpai... I should have known. Even like that... you still reach for your sword..."
I'm telling you, it’s just exercise.
Yulitia? Hello?
/
My first session of practice swings in ages was incredibly satisfying, but the drowsiness still came for me in the afternoon.
Since there was no fighting the urge to sleep, I decided to take a short nap. Master had suddenly become very somber and refused to leave my side, so we ended up napping together.
As I drifted in the sunlight streaming through the window, I sensed someone entering the room. If it were Yulitia, she would have at least offered a polite "Excuse me," so... judging by the presence, this was our party's Heavy Warrior, Atri.
As I was vaguely processing that thought—
"Hup."
"...!?"
Atri suddenly tried to climb on top of my stomach. Naturally, I snapped awake and grabbed her shoulders firmly, stopping her just before she could fully mount me.
"Ah... you woke up."
"...Of course I woke up."
It was Atri, without a doubt.
I stared at her, my eyes demanding an explanation for what she was trying to do. She met my gaze with a perfectly straight face.
"It’s okay. I was just trying to ambush you a little."
Nothing about that was "okay."
What did she mean, ambush? Was she literally trying to attack me? If I hadn't noticed her, would she have gone for my throat? I really had to wonder what she thought "comrades" were for.
"Give me a break. Look at my leg."
"It’s fine. I’ll do the moving."
I had no idea what she thought was fine. If I were actually attacked by the strongest melee fighter in our party, the current me would be a tattered rag in seconds. This girl was just too powerful.
Let’s talk about Atri, our party’s Heavy Warrior and a literal "one-woman army" from a warrior race.
In the original story, she was a character who exited the stage with almost no development, second only to Wolka in her lack of screen time. She hadn't had a single line of dialogue; her name and personality were unknown. She had been drawn so infrequently in the corners of panels that even her appearance was a bit of a mystery. She had remained an enigma right up until she was—I think—brutally killed in that one scene.
As for the role of a "Heavy Warrior," it usually refers to someone who wears thick armor and carries massive weapons to crush defenses or draw enemy fire. In her case, she wore no armor at all, instead wielding a weapon larger than herself as if it were a part of her body. She was an ultra-offensive variant. If offense is the best defense, then for her, offense was simply the ultimate offense.
Now, putting the original story aside, here was how I saw her.
First of all, Atri wasn't from this country.
She was born in a certain minority tribe far to the south, a heritage reflected in her light, tanned skin. Her snow-white hair was kept in a graceful, shoulder-length style, and she wore exotic jewelry on her ears, neck, and arms that followed designs I’d never seen here. Her ethnic clothing, woven with intricate patterns, used a minimal amount of fabric on her upper body, boldly exposing her healthy shoulders, navel, and chest. The fabric was so thin it was slightly translucent, giving her an incredibly exotic look.
Her lower half wasn't much different; her legs were clearly visible through the deep slits in her skirt. She wore black short spats underneath, which I suppose made it technically "decent," but any teenage boy would have a very hard time knowing where to look.
Apparently, she belonged to the legendary Berserker Tribe. Over their long history, their genetics had been pushed entirely toward combat. It was said that a true veteran of their tribe could trade blows with a Holy Knight using nothing but a basic Strength reinforcement spell.
That blood ran thick in her. She was easily the strongest close-quarters fighter in our group. Even Yulitia, a genius swordsman in her own right, would just give a wry smile and say, "Atri-san is on a completely different level."
She was sixteen, a year younger than me, and a bit taller than most girls her age. She had a slender, supple build that didn't look like a power type at all; few people would believe she was a Heavy Warrior just by looking at her.
Her hazy, pale purple eyes rarely showed emotion. She was taciturn and cool, never speaking more than necessary. Her speech was a bit stilted, and her expression almost never changed.
That didn't mean she was heartless, however. Right now, she seemed genuinely disappointed that she hadn't been able to pin me down. Did she really want to "ambush" me that badly?
"It’ll feel good, I promise. Leave it to me."
"No, seriously, leave me alone..."
The only person who finds fighting "feeling good" is you.
Because the knowledge she’d been raised with in her homeland was so heavily skewed toward combat and survival, her social common sense was a bit broken. And her phrasing... if anyone else heard her, they’d get the worst possible misunderstanding.
Personally, though, the fact that she was a "boku-girl" was a huge selling point. I was actually moved when I first met her—to find that girls who used masculine pronouns actually existed!
Between the "noja-loli" Master and the refined but intense Yulitia, I really couldn't grasp how such charming girls were just thrown away in a single chapter in the original story—especially since it ended in a "total annihilation and worse" scenario. That author was a complete monster. He couldn't be allowed to exist.
"No?"
"No. Look, Master is sleeping right there."
Atri made a small humming sound as she thought it over.
"...True. Showing the others right away is high-level."
"So you get it?"
"Mm. For the first time, mood is probably important."
What kind of "mood" is appropriate for ambushing a teammate, I wondered?
Actually, why was she even trying to ambush me? Was it that? Had she noticed that I was becoming soft during my hospital stay and come to warn me that our party didn't need a slacker? Guh, she saw right through me! I was going to do my best to train even like this, so I hoped she’d let it slide for today.
But looking at it from another perspective...
Was it really okay for me to just end my career as a swordsman here?
Under normal circumstances, losing an eye might be manageable, but losing a leg—especially my pivot leg—was the end of the road for a warrior. Even in the manga and anime of my previous life, being one-eyed or one-armed was often a status symbol for a powerful character, but I could hardly remember ever seeing a one-legged swordsman. Even in the limitless world of fiction, having two legs was a basic requirement. Losing one was simply too big of a hurdle.
However, if superior prosthetics existed in this world, and if returning to the front lines was actually realistic...
Then I would definitely keep swinging my sword. As long as this was a dark fantasy world, there was no telling what dangers might come for my comrades. For me, their "Happy Ending" was the absolute priority. If I gave up everything just because I lost an eye and a leg—if I threw away my sword and dropped out while something happened to them—I would never be able to live with the regret.
I didn't intend to throw my life away anymore. But as long as my body could move, the chances of me being able to do something would stay much higher.
On the other hand... did they even need my help?
Atri, Master, and Yulitia were all incredibly capable. Maybe an injured man trying to make a halfway comeback would just be a burden. Maybe it was arrogant for an incomplete swordsman to think he could still be of use to them. Even if I managed to rejoin society enough to take care of myself, beyond that—
"...Wolka? Is something wrong?"
Atri was watching me with a puzzled look. I shook my head slowly.
"I was just thinking about the future."
"Rehabilitation?"
"No... further than that."
I stroked what was left of my left leg.
"I'm in this state now. If you ever feel like you can't deal with me anymore..."
"Wolka."
Atri’s voice was unexpectedly loud.
When I looked up, she was leaning in, peering into my eyes from so close I could feel her breath on my face.
"In that battle, you saved me. You saved my life. I would never leave you behind. Never."
"—"
My breath caught in my throat.
I felt like I was about to fall into those purple eyes.
"A life saved is a debt paid with a life. That is the Tribal Code."
It wasn't a noble resolution, or a beautiful vow, or a pure prayer.
It was something that felt like it was wrapping around my limbs, dragging me down. It was a bottomless obsession that light couldn't reach. It was... desire.
"Every strand of my hair, every shard of my bone, every drop of my blood, every piece of my soul... it is all yours."
I instinctively recoiled, but she leaned in even further to close the gap.
She remained her usual, cool self as she spoke.
"I... Atri will live for you, and I will die for you. You don't have to worry."
"..., ...I see."
It took several seconds for me to force out that simple response.
In moments like this, I was truly grateful for my own stoic, blunt personality. Even if my mind was reeling, I could at least appear calm on the outside.
I gently pushed Atri back as she practically slumped against me.
"Thanks for the thought... I appreciate it."
"Mm."
By then, Atri had already returned to her normal state. She sat back down, her face expressionless once more.
"...So, can I ambush you now?"
"No, you still can't."
"Mmm... Do you prefer being the one to do it? Actually, if it's you, I think I'd be interested in being ambushed, too."
"Sure, sure."
Surprisingly, Atri had a chatty side once she opened up to someone. I felt like our conversation was still missing each other entirely, but more than that...
I...
(O-Oaaaaaahhh... agagagagagagagaga!)
Isn't that a bit too "heavy," Atri-san?
Internally, I was convulsing with my eyes rolling back at the sheer weight of her declaration.
My stomach. My poor stomach.