On the night of the day Wolka won his duel against Ramsey—and subsequently shattered his prosthetic leg, resulting in his emergency admission to the Cathedral—preparations for a screening were proceeding swiftly within the Holy Sanctum, the topmost area of Alnas Tower.
"Anze, stay calm! The recording isn't going anywhere—do you have any idea how much that projector cost?! Don't you dare drop it! It’s insanely expensive!"
"I know that!"
"If you know it, then stop running!"
Anze came trotting back into the living room, her pace erratic with excitement as she cradled the Projector in both hands. The device was a marvel of cutting-edge technology—one of only a few such magic tools in the Holy City—capable of reproducing recorded magic as three-dimensional holograms. If she were to trip and fall, a piece of ultra-precise equipment worth ten years of an average adventurer’s wages would be reduced to scrap in an instant.
For those watching, "anxious" didn't begin to describe the feeling. Dia was half-risen from the sofa, frozen in a strained posture that made her look like a fretful old woman.
Beside her, two other Saints were nonchalantly waiting for the old butler to finish preparing tea. The Saint of the Moon Crest, Arka, who usually drifted through the air as she pleased, had lowered her altitude tonight until she was level with Dia’s eyes.
"Old man, get some sweets ready too..."
"Lady Arka, it is far too late for such things."
"That doesn't matter to me."
"Hehe. Gathering like this for late-night snacks... it feels like we’re doing something we shouldn't. It’s quite thrilling."
The scene looked like a secret girls' party held under the cover of night. Despite her mature facade, the Saint of Starry Eyes, Yuli, was surprisingly curious and possessed a tomboyish streak that craved events like "sneaking out in disguise." Had her eyes and legs been healthy, she likely would have escaped the Cathedral every few days to lead the knights on a chase.
Dia sat back down, feeling as though she was the only one taking things seriously. She rested her chin on her palm.
"...I can understand Yuli, but I didn't expect you to be interested, Arka."
"I just happened to feel like it..."
The lazy Saint, whose curiosity was normally non-existent, radiated an aura of "I'm only doing this because Anze was being noisy," yet she added, "He won decisively, didn't he? I’m curious to see how he fought with a body like that."
It was a sentiment they all shared. Wolka had overcome the deathly fate of the Grim Reaper. They were about to witness the pinnacle of swordsmanship he had reached at the end of that desperate struggle. It was impossible not to be interested.
Anze set the projector on the table. "Lady Dia, let's start it right away!"
"I told you, stop rushing."
The recording—a complete account of Wolka's duel—had finally been delivered from the Adventurer's Guild. It had been brought by Fyuji, who had spent the entire hand-off whining about how people should stop working an old man so hard.
Yuli gave a clear, melodic laugh. "She truly is 'unable to sit still,' isn't she?"
"Anze has been like this all day," Dia sighed. "Fidgeting and restless through her entire shift."
When the report first arrived that Wolka was dueling a veteran, Dia had feared a repeat of the Grim Reaper incident. She’d had to physically restrain Anze from sprinting out of the Sanctum, eventually compromising by sending Rosche in her stead. Even then, Anze had been so distracted she had spent the day being uncharacteristically clumsy.
"Oh, Lady Dia!" Anze huffed, puffing out her cheeks. Dia only gave a weary, wry smile. The girl was a dedicated fan, through and through.
"Alright, starting playback."
"Yes!"
Dia set the magic stone into the projector and activated the formula. The sphere atop the device blossomed like a flower, deploying several complex magic circles into the air. It was a beautiful, artistic sight. If only the inventor hadn't been that troublesome genius Elfiette, Dia might have admired it with a purer heart.
The hologram flickered to life.
Yuli removed her eyepatch. While her Starry Eyes couldn't see the world like a normal person's, she could still vaguely perceive the contents of the projection. Anze stared intently at Wolka’s image, her hands clasped tightly over her chest. Arka, as lethargic as ever, popped a sweet into her mouth.
The recording lasted only a few minutes. And yet, in that short span of time...
"................"
Dia, Yuli, Arka, and even the previously excitable Anze—everyone fell silent. A heavy, oppressive quiet filled the room for more than ten seconds.
"—One more time," Anze whispered, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "May I watch it one more time...?"
"Yeah."
The formula reset. Even through the hologram, Wolka’s aura—the absolute stillness of his State of No-mind—was palpable. They watched as he repelled every attack aimed at his blind spots with skill that defied human limits.
『—Actually, I think it's exactly as you said.』
Wolka’s recorded voice echoed through the room.
『You were right. I’m someone who has no choice but to cling to the sword. That's all I have.』
He had admitted it. Even after losing his eye and his leg, he defined his existence solely by his blade.
『I'm not good with people, I'm not smart, and my mana is only slightly above average. Even I wonder what would be left if you took away my sword.』
He believed he had no other redeeming qualities. The sword was his life; without it, he had no way to prove he even existed.
『I don't even know how I'd live if I lost my sword.』
To Wolka, losing his ability to fight was the same as losing the will to live.
"Lord Wolka..."
Anze’s face was pale, her expression dazed. Among the four Saints, she was the one who understood his devotion to the sword best. That was why she was so crushed—not by the words themselves, but by the fact that he truly believed them. It wasn't a metaphor or an exaggeration. He was being literal.
And yet, in front of his friends, he had acted like nothing more than a simple sword-obsessed fool. He had spoken so cheerfully to Dia about his progress. He had seemed so happy, not pessimistic at all.
Or so they had thought.
『You probably understand... there's no God in this world who'll save you when you're in trouble. You have no choice but to move your own legs. If you don't, you can't protect anything.』
He claimed there was no God to save anyone. A man who had lost a limb was stating with grim finality that one had to keep moving regardless. A seventeen-year-old boy was speaking with the bitter wisdom of a man who had seen too much.
No—he truly did know. These weren't just rehearsed philosophies. This was the tragedy carved into his very soul.
『That's the only reason I don't give up—』
The recording of his heart ended there. But the technique he had used to slay the Reaper—that silver lightning that defied destiny—was his ultimate proof of existence.
"He..." Yuli lowered her Starry Eyes, her expression clouded with a mournful understanding. "He must have lost everything once before. Not just one or two people... many more. A seventeen-year-old doesn't speak like that otherwise."
She shook her head. "A God who doesn't help those in need. In other words, he is someone who was never saved."
"Maybe that's why he could kill the Grim Reaper," Arka added, her voice uncharacteristically deep. "Sometimes, profound negative emotions are what drive a person to open new doors."
When he had risked his life to defy death, perhaps it wasn't just a noble desire to protect his friends. Perhaps it was a rage bordering on hatred toward the unfairness of the world.
"Ngh..." Anze stopped the projector with trembling fingers. She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
"Anze, come on..."
"But... but...!!"
Tears fell like pearls as she struggled to contain her grief. It was understandable. Wolka had influenced her entire outlook on life; seeing his hidden pain felt like a knife to her own heart.
He believed he had nothing without the sword. After losing so much, the blade was the only power he had left to ensure history didn't repeat itself. That was why he refused to buckle. That was why he kept moving forward.
"『The only one I resent is God』... It’s only natural for him to feel that way," Dia muttered.
He was standing on the edge of a precipice, with no other options left. They wanted to tell him he didn't have to work so hard, that he didn't have to carry it all—but looking at that silver lightning, they knew they couldn't. His way of life was too radiant, even as it burned them with its intensity.
"Lord Wolka’s..." Anze choked out a sob. It sounded like a prayer, or perhaps a curse. "The things that hinder him... I want to erase them all! I want to wipe everything in this world away for him!!"
Dia couldn't laugh at her intensity this time. Not after hearing those words.
"I must say," Yuli said, a small, affectionate smile touching her lips despite the atmosphere. "My personal interest in him has grown. His soul must possess a brilliant, pure white light. It's a shame the projection couldn't capture it."
Yuli judged people by their souls. Having seen thousands of blackened, ugly sins over her long life, she cherished those with "white" souls—like the three Holy Knights who guarded them.
"I look forward to speaking with him again while he rests here," Yuli added.
Anze wiped her eyes and managed a shaky, brave smile. "Yes... definitely!"
Dia smirked. It seemed the Saint of Starry Eyes was quite satisfied with what she’d seen. Sorry, Wolka, but you're definitely not getting away now.
Arka let out a massive yawn, sinking back into her floating seat. "I'll leave him to you two. That kind of thing is too much work for me."
"Right, right," Dia said. If Arka ever did something out of pure altruism, it would probably be a sign of the apocalypse.
"But... if he’s ever truly in trouble," Arka murmured, "I suppose I could lend him a little bit of power."
Dia’s eyes widened. Even the lethargic Arka was ready to take a side. Dia nodded to herself.
Wolka, you might as well just come live with us.
"Senior, I'm back! I hope you were resting properly and—huh?"
"Oh, welcome back."
"?????"
Yulitia’s brain seemed to stall as she tried to process the scene. She and Atri had returned from their training to find the Saint of Hakua lounging in Wolka’s hospital room.
Atri blinked. "...The Saint?"
"Yeah. Come on, sit down," Dia said, beckoning them over as if she owned the place. Technically, as a Saint, she did own the Cathedral, so perhaps the room was hers in a sense.
"S-Senior...? What is happening?"
Yulitia’s confusion was understandable. "It seems she has something to tell us," Wolka explained.
"Exactly. I'll keep it brief," Dia said.
Atri tilted her head. "The Saint... she feels different. Like a different person?"
"Exactly," Rizelle muttered, pulling over chairs for the two girls. "She was just putting on an act before. Not that she's the only one with two faces."
"You're one to talk," Dia shot back.
"Shut up!" Rizelle snapped. She was still fuming because Dia had been found sleeping in Wolka’s bed. The discovery had blown Rizelle’s "Master Mode" and "Little Girl Mode" cover, and she was now on high alert.
"I see... so she's like Rizelle-san," Yulitia said, trying to follow along.
"The ceremony was just for show," Dia explained. "Today, we're skipping the formalities. Nice to meet you properly."
"U-Understood."
"Mm... hello," Atri added, sitting down.
As for the bed incident, Dia had claimed she fell asleep while waiting for Wolka. "The bed was just so comfortable! I must have crawled under the covers unconsciously while dozing. Ahaha!"
Wolka wondered if the concept of gender even existed in Dia's mind. He made a mental note to hope the Church gave her some basic lessons in maidenly awareness.
"So," Rizelle cut in, still sullen. "What is this news?"
Dia’s cheerful expression faded. She looked down at her hands. "The Judgement is over."
The room went still. Dia began to explain the results of the investigation into Flamberge and the "accident" at Gouzel.
"—I see," Wolka said when she finished. It was a far more disgusting reality than he had imagined.
"She got bored and went home...?"
The root of the disaster was a woman named Alphana. She had used her Vampire blood to charm the men in her party and isolate Frixell, effectively taking control of the group. They had taken the high-paying investigation job for pocket change, then abandoned it because it was "boring."
In his previous life’s knowledge of the "original work," Wolka couldn't know if this was how it was supposed to go. But seeing how the "Bad End" had manifest in this world, he felt a surge of cold fury.
So that's why they died?
In the original story, his Master and the others had been slaughtered because of one woman’s whim. He covered his face with his hand, letting out a heavy, ragged sigh.
That rotten, low-life author... he thought. He felt a deep contempt for the "God" who had written such a script. But that anger was quickly replaced by a wave of profound relief. He had broken that script. He had saved them.
"Then I’m even more glad I could protect them," he said.
Dia’s eyebrows twitched. "...You really would say that."
"I have no regrets," Wolka replied firmly. "I did what I had to do."
He considered the mention of Vampire blood. This was his first real encounter with a Demon Race other than his Master. According to Dia, Alphana was a serial offender who had ruined multiple parties. She was a true villainess.
In this world, there were three Demon Races: Vampires, Spiria, and Dragons. They were "high-ranking monsters" capable of speech and reason. Spiria were generally friendly; Dragons were neutral forces of nature. Vampires, however, were known as arrogant, predatory calamities.
Wolka remembered from the "original work" that a few powerful Vampires were supposed to appear as rivals to the Protagonist. One in particular was a sadistic yandere who lived for "killing wonderful gentlemen."
"—How much... how much have you endured...?" Dia’s voice was strained, pulling him back to the present.
The atmosphere in the room had turned somber, almost like a wake.
Wait, what? Wolka thought, confused.
I have no regrets. I did what I had to do.
Dia looked at the man before her. Just how much had he suffered? Even after hearing that his injuries were the result of someone’s lazy whim, he didn't care about his own loss. He only cared that his friends were safe.
He was seventeen. And he truly meant it.
"D-Dia? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied, forcing her heart to settle.
When she’d first told him about Alphana, she’d seen a flash of deep disappointment in his eyes—not toward the woman, but toward the world itself. But then he had smiled with relief.
"As for the others..." Rizelle started, her voice shaking. She was clearly struggling to maintain her composure in front of the Saint.
"The punishment for Flamberge is the forfeiture of all rewards, a massive fine, and a three-rank demotion," Dia stated. Wolka nodded in acceptance. "And Alphana was punished by the Saint of the Moon Crest. She’s... well, she’s mentally broken."
"Broken? What do you mean?"
"Ask Arka yourself if you're curious," Dia said. She didn't care how many times Alphana had died in her nightmares. A woman who had made Anze cry by saying Silvery Grey "should have just died" deserved no sympathy. "She’s being deported. You’ll never have to see her again."
"...I see."
"The other three want to apologize. Frixell, especially, is desperate to atone. She’s seen the Reaper in her dreams and is currently convinced she has to make up for it with her life. If you refuse to see them, she might actually throw herself off a bridge."
Wolka thought it over. "I don't mind meeting them. Master?"
"I... I will leave it to Wolka," Rizelle whispered. She looked like she was at her breaking point.
Dia stood up and knelt by the bed, taking Wolka’s hand in hers. "Your God never saved you, did He?"
She looked into his jade eyes with absolute sincerity. "But the Saints are different. As long as you are you, we will never let you down."
He believed he had to move forward alone through a world that hated him. Dia wanted to give him a place where he didn't have to be a warrior. If he wouldn't believe in a God, she would make him believe in them.
"I’ll make you believe in us. Just you watch."
"O-Oh... okay?"
Wolka clearly didn't follow her train of thought, but she didn't mind. She left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
"Thanks for staying hidden," she whispered to the empty hallway.
"My pleasure," the old butler’s voice replied from the shadows.
Dia walked away, wondering if she was being too "heavy" like Anze. She decided this was normal. Saints were demigods; they didn't judge by wealth or power. They judged by the soul—by the will to protect, by the strength to move forward through despair.
Wolka was exactly the kind of person Saints had admired for generations.
Suddenly, a cacophony of voices erupted from the room she had just left.
"Wolka! Wolkaaaaa!"
"Whoa—Master?! What happened?!"
"Senior! I’m so sorry! I... I...!"
"Wait, everyone, calm down—"
"Wolka. Sleep with me today."
"I am not sleeping with anyone!!"
Dia sighed. He had just told them he was nothing without his sword and that he didn't care about his own broken body. Of course the girls who loved him were losing their minds with guilt and affection.
The man was far too selfless for his own good. He had no idea how much he affected everyone around him.
Honestly, Dia thought, someone should probably just push him down and get it over with.