In the very end, the day had turned sour in the worst possible way.
It was supposed to be a wonderful holiday, just the two of us, but that drunkard had ruined everything by singling us out. I wanted to monopolize Wolka without any interruptions—walking together, shopping, eating delicious sweets, and simply relaxing to our hearts' content. Now, those precious memories felt as though they were fading into a bitter, lifeless grey.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, I walked with heavy steps toward Le Bouquet, my hand in Wolka’s as he led the way. When we had set out, I was the one leading him, full of energy and excitement, but that spirit was gone. If I weren't holding his hand, I probably would have collapsed right there on the cobblestones.
"Quit being an adventurer. Quit being a swordsman. It’s impossible for you. Just give it up already. You’re a sore loser."
To think there was actually someone in this world who could mock Wolka’s injuries like that.
It was heartbreaking, frustrating, and utterly unforgivable.
"I’m sorry, Master. Right at the end, too."
"Eh?"
"I shouldn't have humored him. I should have shut him up sooner."
Wolka stopped and looked back at me, his face etched with regret and fatigue. I scrambled to gather my thoughts for a few seconds.
"Th-that’s right! For people like that, you should just blow them away and silence them instantly! Honestly, Wolka, when it comes to your own well-being, you’re far too dense..."
He could be so sensitive to the feelings of others, yet the moment the vitriol was aimed at him, he tried to play it down. Of course, I didn't want him to become some brute who solved every problem with his fists. But even if he had punched that man for those insults, I doubted a single person in the crowd would have blamed him.
"Yeah. I’ll do that next time."
"Mhm."
But even if he had silenced Ramsey earlier, I knew I still would have been walking home with this heavy heart.
Because the reason Wolka was targeted was the loss of his eye and his leg.
And the reason he suffered those terrible injuries was my fault. No one else’s.
It was because I failed in my duty as a leader.
I was terrified as I watched the life fade from the person I loved. I did nothing but scream and cry, forced to be protected because I was useless—and because of that, Wolka was still suffering even now.
The thought of it made my chest feel like it was being torn apart.
"Hugu... ugh..."
Tears welled up.
I really had ruined my precious disciple’s life.
"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Wolka! If only you hadn't been hurt like that!"
"Master."
The moment I began to crumble, Wolka’s demeanor shifted. He knelt on one knee before me.
He took out a handkerchief and gently wiped away my tears.
"I’m fine. If anything, I think he gave me a good opportunity."
There was no anger or resentment in his voice. If anything, he sounded like he had found a sense of clarity.
"People like him were bound to show up sooner or later. He said there were already rumors at the guild."
"..."
"So, just as you said, Master, I’m going to go out there and blow him away. If I do that, it might just shut everyone else up, too."
Adventuring was a meritocracy. Whether you were a child, a woman, or an injured man, you could prove that no one had the right to complain as long as you showed them results. He would crush them until they had no choice but to admit his strength.
Of course, I didn't doubt for a second that Wolka would win. But even so...
"Wolka, aren't you... scared?"
To make his point, he would need a flawless victory, one that left no room for excuses. He couldn't hide behind his disabilities. It wouldn't be easy. If I were in his position, I wouldn't be able to stop the dark thoughts from creeping in.
"Not a chance."
Yet Wolka spoke with indomitable eyes, showing no trace of fear.
"I can't keep letting my Master make a face like that."
"—"
In that moment, I felt the emotions in my heart descend into utter chaos.
Wolka was always like this. He was the one who had truly suffered, yet he only ever thought about the people around him. He never hesitated to step forward, not for his own sake, but for someone else.
"Wolka!"
Before I knew what I was doing, I threw my arms around his neck as he knelt there and pulled him into a desperate, cherishing hug.
"Whoa. Master?"
"Wolka..."
Just trying to suppress the storm inside me made me feel like I was going to lose consciousness.
Joy, sadness, longing, indignation, regret, bliss, guilt—it all swirled together into an overwhelming, messy heap.
Just holding him wasn't enough. I wanted to embrace Wolka—the only disciple I would ever have, the most important person in my life—more and more. I wanted to hold all of him until there was nothing left, to make him mine in a way that defied logic.
The emotions surged like a massive vortex, trampling through me. My heart screamed with the strain, and my body felt like it was going to move on pure, incomprehensible impulse.
"Master? What’s wrong? Master?"
His voice was right in my ear, but it barely registered. It was no use. Every time I felt this intensity for him, I realized that the brakes on my heart were failing.
My mind was going white, consumed entirely by my tangled feelings for him.
"Master, seriously, what is it? Are you okay?"
"!"
Wolka patted my back, and that gentle touch snapped me back to reality. I hurriedly pulled my arms away.
"Honestly! Wolka, you really are an idiot!"
I used the insult as a shield to hide my shaking heart.
My chest was still aching.
"Yeah... sorry for always worrying you, Master."
He had no idea. He didn't know he was making me feel these impossible things. He didn't know he was driving me to the brink of madness.
Did he understand?
I couldn't live without him anymore. I needed to hold his hand when we walked and sleep in the same bed at night. Even when we were doing nothing, I needed to be in the same room, feeling his presence just to know I was alive.
Did he truly realize that?
For now, I could endure. I was his Master, and he trusted me. That meager shred of reason allowed me to hold back.
But what about next time?
And the time after that?
"...Shall we go back?"
"Mhm."
We held hands. Our shadows stretched out on the road as the sun set. I squeezed his fingers tightly, making sure he couldn't slip away.
Every time these feelings surged, they became more uncontrollable.
Then, one day.
Surely, one day...
(Wolka.)
I moved my lips silently toward his back as he walked on, unaware.
My words were infused with a devotion that clung to me like sweet, golden honey.
(I'm really going to reach my limit soon, you know?)
"Senior. I heard what happened today from Liesel-san."
"Ah... sorry, but because of that, tomorrow I have to..."
"It’s fine. Tomorrow is your win by default, Wolka."
"Hm?"
"Yes. That Ramsey person? It seems he’s scheduled to have a very unfortunate accident quite soon..."
"Mhm. A very, very unfortunate accident."
"..."
"Oh, by the way, Senior, we have some business to take care of now—"
"Wait. Stop. Please, I’m begging you."
The next morning. After finishing our usual routine, we headed for the guild. I finally pushed open the doors to the Sword & Wand, the place I had been avoiding until today.
Last night had been a nightmare even after getting back to the inn. Once they found out what happened, Yulitia and Atri started gleefully plotting Ramsey’s assassination. I think I suffered enough stomach cramps for a week just trying to talk them down. I could expect that from Atri, given her warrior heritage, but Yulitia wasn't supposed to be so bloodthirsty! "There shouldn't be anyone allowed to speak ill of you, Senior," she had said, tilting her head with a chilling, toneless voice. She was so lovely yet so terrifying that my face actually twitched as I pleaded with her.
The moment I stepped into the guild, I felt every eye in the room lock onto me. I could hear the whispers starting from every corner. "Hey, it’s him..." "Yeah, just like the rumors said..." As expected, word about my condition had spread through the Holy City over the last few days.
"..."
When Master and the girls glared at the crowd, the adventurers quickly looked away, some whistling or acting busy. For the most part, it didn't seem like there was any real malice; they just didn't know how to deal with someone like me.
I asked for Shannon at the desk. A moment later, she came flying down the stairs so fast it looked like she had fallen.
"Wol-kuuuuuuun!"
She was in a frenzy from the start, her dog-ear-like hair standing on end more than usual.
"I heard everything! Wol-kun, you idiot! Why would you agree to something as reckless as a duel?!"
"A duel?"
My eyes widened. A duel was the final, official way for adventurers to settle a dispute by beating each other senseless. Was that what Ramsey had intended?
I tried to clarify, but she cut me off.
"That Ramsey guy filed an official application! The underground training ground is already packed with people!"
Why?! Usually, people just settled for a simple spar!
"Senior...!"
I turned to see my party members looking at me with incredibly heavy, grave expressions. Yulitia looked like she was about to burst into tears.
"Are you really going to fight him?! Why is it always you, Senior? Why does it have to be like this?!"
That sounded more like a line for stopping a comrade from a suicide mission.
To be clear, guild-sanctioned duels prohibited lethal force. Life-threatening injuries were almost impossible. But for Yulitia and the others, the mere idea of me fighting alone was unbearable.
Atri choked back her emotions.
"Wolka, even now, I can—"
"It’s okay."
I slowly shook my head. If I let them help me here, people would just say I hid behind women or ran from the challenge. It would only make things worse.
I knew the rumors would start eventually, but I hadn't decided how to handle them. I suppose this was a sign from the gods to settle things once and for all.
This world was simple in that regard. If things got messy, you could always settle it by hitting each other.
"He won't stop unless I do this myself. And if I don't, the next time he opens his mouth, he might target you all instead. I won't let that happen."
I realized then that I truly was the grandson of the Sword Demon.
I wasn't worried about losing. I wasn't even particularly eager to win.
I just wanted to swing my sword as my heart dictated.
This was a watershed moment for my future, a test of fate. I felt the blood in my veins begin to stir.
The guild’s underground training ground was split into two sections. One was the free area, filled with equipment where anyone could train. I saw several adventurers practicing or veterans teaching rookies. The other was the arena area, used for exams and formal bouts.
I stood in the center of the arena, facing Ramsey, surrounded by a crowd of adventurers three times larger than I expected.
"So, your answer is the same as yesterday."
Last night, Ramsey had been a pathetic drunk. Today, sober, he had regained the aura of a veteran. Looking at him now, the old sword at his hip didn't look neglected; it looked like a well-used partner that had seen a thousand battles.
B-rank adventurer, Ramsey.
He was a veteran who had once worked with A-rank parties. His skill alone was high enough for A-rank, but his foul mouth and abrasive personality kept him at B. He had lost his spark ten years ago and had been spiraling ever since, barely earning enough to stay drunk. Shannon told me the guild was actually considering demoting him because he had become such a problem.
Yet, the man standing before me didn't look like someone who had lost his spark.
"You haven't forgotten what I said, have you? Even after all that, you still won't quit?"
"If anything, I'm here because of what you said."
Ramsey was rational today, his feet firmly planted. He watched me with sharp, calculating eyes.
"So you aren't just swinging a sword as a hobby. You're serious about staying a 'swordsman.'"
"Yeah. I’m already having a better prosthetic made for that very reason."
"Hah... I see."
The crowd grew as people called their friends. There had to be over a hundred people watching now. I had never swung my sword in front of this many people. I was actually getting a little nervous.
"Wol-kun! Go get 'em!"
"Wolka-san, don't you dare lose to a guy like that!"
"I know you can do it!"
Shannon and my other acquaintances were cheering from the upper spectator gallery. It seemed Ramsey wasn't very popular with the younger generation. However, some of them still looked worried, doubting if an injured man could really win.
The veterans were also watching, but they weren't cheering for Ramsey. They were just whispering among themselves, skeptical about the whole spectacle.
There were, of course, a few people looking down at me with genuine contempt. Probably Ramsey’s drinking buddies.
"Honestly, everyone... why do you insist on living like this?"
Ramsey muttered something under his breath, but it was lost in the noise of the crowd. He scratched his head and looked up, scowling.
"Hey, Wolka."
"What?"
He glared at me. I realized this might just be his natural face.
"How much have you actually thought about your life?"
"Huh?"
I was caught off guard by the sudden philosophical turn. Life? Where was this coming from?
Ramsey continued with total sincerity.
"Do you think yesterday was just a bit of bad luck? A drunkard happened to pick a fight? What were you thinking as you walked here? Have you ever actually considered the path you’re trying to walk?"
He had just called himself "trash" a second ago... I had no idea what he was getting at. Weren't we here to fight?
But he sounded so dead serious that I couldn't interrupt. Suddenly, Ramsey yelled toward the stands.
"Hey, Simmons!"
"Wha?!" a man jumped in his seat. Ramsey pointed right at him.
"You were the one saying the other day that you thought that quick-draw stuff looked suspicious from the start, weren't you?!"
"N-no, that was... I was just drunk! I didn't mean it!"
"Robert!" He pointed at another.
"You said the dead weight should hurry up and quit the party so you could take his place with Atri and the girls, right?!"
"I—I never said that!"
"You two! Come to the back office after this! Don't even think about running!" Shannon yelled, backed by the cheers of the younger crowd.
As the boos rained down on the two men, Ramsey looked back at me with a cold sneer.
It wasn't directed at me. It felt like it was directed at a phantom from his past.
"You know it, don't you? The world isn't just full of good people cheering for you. There are plenty of pieces of trash like me out there. And you’re going to run into them again and again. What I said yesterday? Those are the words you’re going to hear for the rest of your life."
He spoke like a man who had seen it happen.
"Maybe you don't care what they say to you. But what about the people standing next to you? What kind of face did your Master make yesterday when she heard it?"
He was trying to block my path.
"Trash who mock the injured won't be satisfied with words. They won't change their minds because your friends help you. You have to shut them up yourself, with your own strength. But how are you going to do that with that body?"
He sounded like he was haunted by a memory he couldn't erase.
"Monsters are the same. Even a beast knows to go for the wounded prey first. You can't fight alone. But who’s going to accept a burden that can't move properly? Why would an injured man stick his nose into a world where it’s kill or be killed?"
He clenched his fists, biting his lip.
"If you want to stay a 'swordsman,' you have to crush every single person and monster that stands in your way. Personally. For the rest of your life. With that body. Because 'it didn't work out' is a Bad End that drags down everyone who believed in you."
He took a sharp breath.
"Have you ever actually thought about that? Even once?"
I didn't truly know what was going through Ramsey’s head. I understood his words, but I didn't know why he was telling me this. Why did he care? Was he trying to stop me? Were yesterday’s insults more than just drunken rambling? I didn't know.
"..."
But I understood the weight of his words.
He was right. The path I was choosing was exactly as he described. To walk the way of the sword with one eye and one leg was a choice few would ever understand. To some, I was just a sore loser struggling against the inevitable.
But I had to be a sore loser.
Because I knew the truth of this world. I knew it was a cruel, dark fantasy.
If God could guarantee me a peaceful life with Master and the others, maybe I could set the sword down. But no one knows the future. My knowledge of the original story was blurry and unreliable. Even this Holy City, protected by the Saints, could be reduced to ash in a few years.
I had averted the Total Annihilation End once. But who could say it wouldn't happen again? Who could guarantee that another girl like Ruerie wouldn't be standing in front of me one day, needing help?
In a world like that, if someone told me to give up the one thing I had spent my life perfecting, could I really just nod and agree?
If I gave up and then found myself unable to act when it mattered most—if I realized that I could have changed things if only I hadn't stopped struggling—I wouldn't be able to die in peace.
There was no god in this world who would save you.
I knew that because I knew the back of the Protagonist, who kept struggling even after he had lost everything.
"If you don't have the resolve or the skill for it, then I'll just—"
"Ramsey."
I cut him off and instantly released the Accessorize on my blade.
"I hear you. But you also said that trash don't listen to words. So let’s stop the sermon."
I gripped the scabbard with my left hand and pointed it straight at him.
I suspected he had his own reasons for being here, but we had a duel to settle. No more talking.
"I’ll show you my resolve and my skill with this one stroke."
I had come here to silence the world.
"Draw your sword."
"!"
Ramsey’s intentions didn't matter. I didn't need noise before a fight. The moment my hand gripped the hilt, my spirit merged with the steel. My blood ran clear, and every distraction vanished from my mind.
This wasn't a daily spar with Yulitia.
It had been so long. A true, serious match against an unknown opponent—not knowing his strength, his style, or his magic.
Strip it all away.
In this space, there was only the sword and the enemy.
In this vision, there was only the choice to cut or not to cut.
Deeper. Into the heart of the sword.
"Hey. What are you doing? Wake up."
"Ah... Ramsey. Sorry, I was just spacing out..."
"Tch, you’re too young to be acting like a senile old man. At this rate, who knows when you’ll be able to get back to work."
"Haha, true. I guess I’m just a little tired."
For the past few days, that memory had been stuck in my head. It was from over ten years ago, but it was as vivid as if it happened yesterday—the worst time in my life. Even now, the memory made my skin crawl.
It was true that I hadn't liked Wolka. Everything about him reminded me of my old friend. The way he lived for the sword, the way he was blessed with a party and rose to A-rank, the way everyone had high hopes for him.
And the way he had come back one day having lost a leg.
I knew I was just taking my frustration out on him. Projecting this ten-year-old curse onto Wolka was wrong. I knew that.
But as someone who knew how that path ended, I couldn't stop my blood from boiling.
"I thought losing a leg was no big deal. I thought a prosthetic would fix everything. I didn't think I’d be this useless."
My friend had tried to return for the sake of his fallen comrades, for revenge against the demons that took everything. He chose a path that everyone knew was suicide, and he had been crushed.
"I almost got killed by a C-rank monster today. They told me to quit again. I’m losing my place at the guild. I can hear them whispering... 'sore loser,' 'face reality.'"
Until the very end, my friend had suffered from the weight of his missing leg and the whispers of the world.
"I thought I could ignore them. I thought I wouldn't care. But every time I realize my leg is gone, I can't ignore it anymore."
Bit by bit, his spirit had been ground down. He only knew how to live as a swordsman, and when he couldn't do that, he despaired.
"Everyone died so I could live, and look at me. I hate this."
He had been driven into a corner, grew desperate for results, and in the end...
That’s why Wolka irritated me. It wasn't out of kindness or a desire to save him. I just couldn't accept it. It was hard enough to lose an eye and a leg; why would anyone choose to walk a path that promised only more pain? He wasn't like my friend; he hadn't failed to protect his party. If anything, his wounds were proof of his success.
You've already achieved enough. Why do you want more?
"How did it come to this, I wonder..."
The memory stung like an open wound. The world was trash. God didn't care about balance. Happiness and misery weren't handed out equally. The heavens stole your future and then watched as you fell into despair.
Did he really understand that?
Disability didn't matter in this world; if you didn't have power, you were nothing. If you couldn't beat a piece of trash like me, you had no business out there. So why did everyone insist on being such fools—
"Heh. What is that...?"
The thoughts in my head were suddenly blown away.
The moment the one-eyed, one-legged swordsman drew his sword, a jolt of electricity ran through my skin. It wasn't fear; it was something else entirely that made my hair stand on end.
Wolka.
I had heard stories about masters who could overwhelm others just with their presence, but I had always thought they were exaggerations. Now, it was happening before my eyes. A man who was clearly crippled was staining the entire training ground with a battle aura that felt inhuman.
The crowd went silent. Everyone was holding their breath, paralyzed by a sensation that was almost painful.
But strangely, it wasn't intimidating. It didn't feel like being crushed by force. It felt like "awe"—the feeling of stepping into a sacred, pure place that cleansed the soul.
"—"
Wolka took a stance, sword in his right hand, scabbard in his left. Even the simple movement was so perfect it was mesmerizing.
He was the image of a peerless, sharp blade.
"Wait, aren't you going to do that quick-draw thing?"
"Yeah."
I tried to taunt him, but his response was absolute stillness. His jade-colored left eye flashed like a bolt of lightning. There was no doubt about it; he had stepped into a realm beyond ordinary men.
He was in a state of perfect clarity.
A man obsessed with the sword... when they reached this level, it was actually beautiful. It seemed Wolka was an even bigger fool than I had imagined.
I felt a grin pulling at my lips.
"No more talking? Fine."
Good.
Beat this fallen piece of trash into the ground.
What Wolka needed to do now was reign supreme with a strength that left everyone speechless. In front of this crowd, he needed to write a story about how a certain one-eyed, one-legged swordsman crushed a bitter veteran.
I drew my sword and roared.
"Then force me to be silent! Make it so I have no choice but to watch! If this is all for show, I’m going to kill you!"
If I was going to lose, I wanted to be destroyed completely.
Until these rusted memories and the ache in my nerves were finally blown away for good.