It was a critical oversight; there was no other way to put it.
Seeing Wolka’s back as he slumped over in relief, Rosche must have unconsciously let his guard down as well. It was truly pathetic for a man holding the title of Holy Knight, but for a few precious seconds, he had stepped away from Wolka’s side to hand a makeshift cloak to Anze. That was all it took.
The moment Shiarie opened her eyes, she must have seen the figure of the man before her and immediately associated him with the ruffians. That was why, just as she had done to the four men she’d already killed, she snatched up her knife and lunged, pouring every last ounce of her strength into an attempt to take Wolka’s life.
The knife Shiarie swung down drove straight through the left arm he had raised as a makeshift shield.
The blade must have passed cleanly between the bones. Because of that, the knife sank deep, all the way to the hilt, soaking Wolka’s left arm in fresh blood instantly. Crimson sprayed along the protruding blade, dyeing his chest a vivid, grisly red in the blink of an eye.
“——?!”
Anze and Liesel both gasped, the sound like a stifled scream.
Rosche was already moving. In an instant, he constructed the formula for the Heartless sword technique. It would be a rough way to handle it, but the only way to resolve the situation was to put Shiarie back to sleep.
But then—
“—Shut up!!”
Wolka’s roar—the voice of a man who rarely ever raised it—pinned everyone in place.
“Don’t you... dare... touch her...!”
Wolka took Shiarie’s frayed, desperate murderous intent head-on. Even with his arm impaled, even with a prosthetic leg, a man of his skill could have easily shoved her aside.
Yet he didn't. And in that moment, Rosche realized why.
Ah, I see. This man isn’t even looking at the knife in his arm anymore.
Pain that should have felt like his arm was being torn off didn't even register to him.
“Give her ba-ack! Ruerie... Give... Rue... rie...!”
Her voice was shredded, yet she still forced her throat to vibrate. Even though she was so dehydrated that she shouldn't have had any moisture left in her, tears overflowed nonetheless, splashing against Wolka’s cheek.
“—Please, give her back...!”
Those words. Those tears.
To this man, they were a bloodstained blade far more unbearable than the steel through his arm.
“............You massive fool.”
Rosche suppressed his surging impulses with sheer reason, gradually relaxing the tension in his rigid body as he lowered his sword. He let out a sigh from the very depths of his soul.
What an absolute idiot.
This man was a truly hopeless, monumental fool.
Look to your side, Wolka. Look at the two girls who have tears welling up just as much as Shiarie’s, yet are desperately holding themselves back because they understand your will.
You know what you’re doing, don’t you?
You know what’s going to happen to you later, right?
Then go on. Do it.
Show us that you can save this girl’s heart, right here and now. You big idiot.
/
To be honest, I knew this wasn't the kind of thing someone should feel while their arm was being skewered and they were being actively murdered.
But the emotion I felt toward Shiarie in that moment was kinship.
She was wearing nothing but a rag, she was covered in filth, and her body was a map of hidden bruises and cuts. She was clearly starving and sleep-deprived. Yet, she had thrown everything away for the sake of a single desire: to protect her sister. She was fighting with everything she had left to strike down the "bad guys."
In that sight, somehow...
My own memories of fighting like a cornered animal to protect my comrades overlapped with hers.
“Uuugh...! U-Uwaaaah...!”
Shiarie’s tears struck my cheek again and again. She threw her entire body weight onto the knife, trying to gouge my throat through my arm. Was it Master or Anze who called my name in a voice that sounded like a scream? I couldn't tell.
“Give her back...! Give... her back...! Ruerie...!”
...Yeah, I get it. It’s not about logic.
So what if she’d only killed four men while the main force was away? What was she going to do when the rest returned? She and her sister wouldn't have stood a chance—I knew that. But those weren't the kind of emotions that listened to reason.
I understand.
Because just like you, I’ve fought with the resolve that my own life didn't matter anymore.
I called her name.
“—Shiarie.”
I’m blunt to a fault and terrible at talking, but I tried to pour every bit of emotion I could muster into my voice.
“—...Ah,”
Shiarie trembled slightly. For the first time, I could see my own reflection in her eyes, seen as a person rather than a monster.
I told her the truth.
“Ruerie is safe. She’s waiting for you outside with my friends.”
“—,”
Shiarie wavered. The pressure on my arm lightened. Her grip on the knife loosened. A falling tear struck the back of her own hand instead of my cheek.
As if to wipe away the trail of her tears, I touched her fingertips with my right hand.
“The bad guys are gone. They’re all dead. You don’t have to hold onto this anymore.”
I could say it. Because I knew the same resolve she did, I could give her exactly what she needed.
The words she needed most.
The facts she needed most.
The feelings she needed most.
“It’s okay. —You protected her. You saved your sister.”
“………………………………Ah,”
The tension broke.
The cold curse that had been driving her heart finally thawed. The light of life, weak but unmistakable, returned to Shiarie’s eyes, which had been drowned in hatred.
The strength she’d used to grip the knife ebbed away fearfully.
“————Really...?”
“Yeah. ...You did so well.”
“—,”
With a mind that had surely passed its breaking point long ago, she tried to process my words over and over.
Only after her frail fingers completely let go of the knife did a faint, fading smile ghost across her lips.
“............Thank... god————,”
She collapsed. She didn't even have the strength left to finish her sentence. As Shiarie lost consciousness and tilted backward, Rosche caught her gently before her head could hit the ground.
I let out a long breath of relief and pushed myself up, using my good right arm as a brace. Looking at the knife driven deep through my left arm, I finally had the luxury of grimacing in disgust. If I’d been a second slower with my guard, I probably would have ended up just another corpse on the floor.
“Sorry, Rosche. Since you’re there, pass me that cloak.”
“—This is no time for such nonchalance!!”
I blinked in surprise; it was the first time I’d ever heard Rosche actually yell. I mean, I could guess why he was mad, but I didn't expect him to be so straightforward about his anger...
“Wolka!! Wolkaaa!!”
“Lord Wolka!!”
Then Master and Anze swarmed me. Master was pale and practically frantic, while Anze’s usual gentle smile had utterly disintegrated.
“No, no...! The blood, look at all the blood!! Wolka, Wolka’s going to die!!”
“Lord Wolka, give me your arm!! Please, quickly...!!”
“Whoa, okay, I get it, I get it!”
Wait a minute, isn't everyone overreacting just a little? Sure, it looks bad, but it’s not like I lost an eye or had a leg torn off. In situations like this, the first thing you do is stay calm and—
“Honestly, what am I going to do with you...!”
Rosche, having laid Shiarie down, grumbled under his breath as he grabbed my left wrist.
“Listen, I’m pulling it out. Grit your teeth.”
“Right.”
“Anze, are you ready?”
“Yes...! I will heal it, I will definitely heal it...!!”
“No, nooo, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die...!!”
With everyone being so desperate, I actually started getting worried myself. I-I mean, it’s just a knife wound—is this actually some kind of lethal injury that even Anze’s Holy Magic will struggle with? Having the people treating you look that terrified makes the patient pretty uneasy, you know? I really wished everyone would just take a breath...
But my internal plea went unheard. The moment Rosche pulled the knife out, Anze unleashed her Holy Magic. In less than a minute, the bleeding stopped. In about three, the wound had vanished almost entirely without leaving a scar.
...See? It was fine. Seriously, don't scare me like that.
“Wolka, you dummy, numbskull, simpleton, idiot, blockhead, stupid stupid stupid!!”
Master, who had regressed into a sobbing toddler past the point of anger, began thumping my head and back. Give me a break! There was no other way to block it in that situation...!
Anze, who still wouldn't let go of my hand, had a distinct look of reproach in her eyes.
“Lord Wolka! Please value your own life more! Please, do not become accustomed to being hurt...!”
“M-Mm...”
But I didn't have a choice! If there had been any other way to stop her, I would have taken it! No one guards a knife with their arm because they want to.
Rosche was just standing there letting out a sigh so heavy it felt like it had physical weight... Dammit, what was I supposed to do...?
Regardless, it was finally—finally over.
I couldn't call this a Happy End. Lives had been stolen. A girl had lost her comrades and suffered wounds that might never truly heal. The days when they traveled with their friends, filled with light and laughter and freedom, were gone forever.
But even so.
“Sister! Sister...!!”
There was also a girl here who had endured, who had suffered through hell, and was finally able to hold her sister in her arms again.
I could only pray that those warm tears would serve as a tribute to those who had died.
I could only hope that their deaths had not been in vain.
—In this world, this was a common tragedy that could happen to anyone, anywhere.
This incident wouldn't shake the kingdom, nor would it lead to better safety standards for adventurers. It would be a topic of conversation at the guild for a few days, drawing the usual sympathetic comments of "man, we better be careful too," and then it would be forgotten.
But I will never forget.
Having regained my Knowledge of the Original Work, I won't let this incident—which shoved the reality of this world in my face once more—go to waste.
For someone like me who hates Bad Ends, this world is a real piece of work.
But since I’ve become a part of it, I have no choice but to keep my head up and move forward.
I’ve seen the back of the man I’m supposed to follow many times.
Because the Protagonist is surely out there somewhere in this world even now, refusing to give up.
/
As a side note regarding what happened next:
“—Senior? Why... why are you covered in blood?”
“...You broke... your promise?”
“...”
Because I’d completely forgotten that my light armor was stained a horrific shade of crimson, Yulitia and Atri—whose eyes had turned into literal dark matter—slowly began to close in on me.
“You went and did something reckless again, didn't you...? Right in front of everyone...”
“Wolka—we need to have a talk.”
“..................Please, go easy on me...”
Let the record show that as I was being thoroughly interrogated and scolded by my two younger subordinates, I didn't have a single ally in the world.