He was a man who, by all rights, should not have been there.
In the original narrative Wolka remembered, the script never called for the protagonist to visit Luther a second time. After mourning the fall of Silvery Grey at the start of the story, the protagonist was meant to drift north through various towns and dungeons, eventually becoming embroiled in the grand saga of the Royal Capital.
According to that original plot, the possibility of him appearing now as a reinforcement should have been zero. And yet, the impossible had become reality.
The reason was simple: Silvery Grey had not been annihilated.
In the original work, the protagonist had arrived at the depths of Gouzel only after the party had been slaughtered. But in this world, he had witnessed Wolka striking down a Life Reaper with his own hands.
That sight had been etched into the protagonist’s mind as vividly as it had been for Liesel, Yulitia, or Atri.
Because he, too, was a man who had once lost his home and family in an instant to monsters.
Because he was a man who had once been broken by the cruelty of fate, unable to offer even a shred of resistance.
To him, Wolka must have looked like a blinding light. Rather than buckling under the despair of a Grim Reaper, Wolka had fought with a suicidal tenacity, struggling alone until the very end to protect what he held dear.
That was the only reason the protagonist had performed emergency first aid on the exhausted Wolka and carried him to Luther himself.
He couldn't look away. He couldn't let it end there. In that moment, he had been more determined than anyone to save Wolka’s life. Without his intervention, the healing of the Chryscles Holy Church might not have arrived in time.
Afterward, as Wolka knew, the man had left the city before the treatment was finished. Wolka had simply assumed it was because he was a protagonist who disliked social interaction, but perhaps there was more to it than that.
Regardless, the man had headed south instead of north. He spent his days scouring secluded dungeons far from human sight, wiping out every monster he found. Then, on his return journey, he stopped by Luther once more to see what had become of Silvery Grey.
Had the youth survived? If so, how badly was he scarred? Was he back to his daily life, or was he still bedridden and suffering? Was he relieved to be alive, or was he drowning in despair? The reason the protagonist had abandoned his northern route was that he simply could not shake the memory of the man named Wolka.
And what he found was the wretched ruins of Luther.
It was not hard to imagine the emotions that swirled within a man who had once lost his own home as he gazed upon the devastated streets. He followed the traces Ramsey had left behind, arriving exactly when and where he was needed.
Demon or not, he would never forgive those who had laid hands on this town and its people.
The world had already begun to spin off the tracks of the original story. The moment Wolka defeated the Life Reaper—or perhaps the moment Wolka became an existence distinct from the original character—the divergence had begun.
"Leave it to me," the man vowed. "I’ll kill him."
He swore to incinerate the Vampire until not even a speck of ash remained.
In this world, the futures of the innocent were constantly stolen by the unreasonable. From the day his family was taken until this very moment, he had seen far too many people die who deserved to live. Meanwhile, those whose lives had no value—those whose deaths would bring no grief—lived on without a care.
Just like him.
It was the same when he had saved that youth his comrades called Wolka. If he hadn't fumbled with the reactivation of the Teleportation Trap, he could have fought in the boy's stead. Wolka wouldn't have had to break his own body in a desperate struggle just to survive.
He was always too late when it mattered most. It was like a curse—as if God were mocking him, declaring it his fate. If he had moved just a little faster, there were so many lives that might have been spared.
And now, another man was dying right in front of him.
The warrior had fought to his absolute limit. His body was so battered he couldn't move a finger; blood coated every inch of him. Even as Glen held him, he could feel the man’s weight fading, as if the essence of his life were leaking out.
He had been shot in a vital spot. Even if they could teleport to the Chryscles Holy Church this instant, there was likely nothing left to do.
"Do not grieve, Glen."
As if reading his thoughts, the greatsword in his right hand spoke. The voice was inorganic, making it impossible to tell if it was male, female, or even a living thing at all. Yet, it possessed a clear soul.
"This man fought well. Do not let his sacrifice be in vain. You are the only one who can finish this."
"...Yeah."
Glen allowed himself only a moment of mourning. Responding to the sword’s quiet call, he fanned the flames of hatred in his heart.
Perhaps he was not meant to save anyone. But he could kill. That was why he had contracted with this crimson Magic Sword and cast himself into the fires of revenge.
"Ugh, another one? Humans really are persistent. This is getting seriously annoying," the Vampire boy sighed, dodging a burst of crimson-black fire. His eyes were the quintessential eyes of a monster—one who saw human lives as nothing more than cheap toys.
Glen sneered. He didn't know if this Vampire was the mastermind, but he was certainly responsible for Luther’s destruction. To watch this creature act like the aggrieved party after stealing countless lives and homes made Glen want to vomit.
"So? Are you my next playmate, big brother?"
"..."
Glen didn't bother answering. He ignored the boy, moving to carry the dying man toward his companion.
"Huh?"
He felt the Vampire’s irritation flare, but he paid it no mind. Using Strength, he leapt across the distance in a single bound, entrusting the man to a well-dressed blonde girl.
"Ramsey-san!! Pull yourself together, you idiot!"
Ignoring the blood staining her clothes, the girl gathered the man into her arms. They appeared to be a group of artisans or merchants, and the man had been their guard. Glen could see other unconscious passengers scattered nearby, but none were in immediate danger.
This man had protected them all at the cost of his own life.
"I-I’ll use a potion right away—"
"Stop, girl."
A cold voice rang out from Glen’s greatsword, freezing the pale girl in her tracks. A Sentient Sword was a thing of legend; normally, it wouldn't speak in front of others to avoid chaos. But Glen couldn't stop it this time. He didn't have the courage to tell her the cruel truth himself.
"It is too late. Give your final words to the warrior who gave everything for this victory."
"——!"
Glen couldn't bear to look at the girl’s collapsing expression. This world was a cesspool—and he was going to end this part of it right now.
He stood up and carved a line into the earth between the girl and the battlefield. The red jewel in the hilt glowed, erecting a magical barrier that stretched toward the sky.
"It’s a barrier. Don't move from there."
"Don't you dare ignore me, human!"
The Vampire boy finally snapped, his magic power erupting in a violent surge of rage. Glen’s expression remained stony. He had lost the ability to feel fear toward monsters a long time ago.
He turned back. The greatsword gave a dark, mocking snort.
"Hmph. A Vampire, eh? He looks like a brat, but he’s got some bite. You remember how to kill his kind, don't you?"
"Yeah."
Glen exhaled, shifting his mind fully into combat mode. He released a surge of red magic born of pure hatred. The greatsword devoured it, belching forth a pillar of crimson-black fire that roared toward the heavens.
It was no mere fire. The flames coalesced into a terrifying shape—a four-armed Ogre God from the Underworld, summoned by Glen’s malice.
"What!?"
The startled boy reflexively fired a Magic Bullet, but the Ogre God’s fist crushed the projectile like a clump of dirt. The giant hand snatched the boy out of the air and slammed him into the ground.
"Gah!?"
In the next heartbeat, Glen swung his sword with everything he had. Simultaneously, the Ogre God thrust down a Hellfire Spear from above.
A catastrophic explosion leveled the area.
Except for Glen and those behind his barrier, nothing within a fifty-meter radius remained intact. As the blast faded into a landscape of purgatory, Glen reset his stance. The boy’s body, seemingly vaporized, began to gather as a black mist, regenerating in mid-air.
It was the supernatural instantaneous regeneration that made Vampires synonymous with immortality, much like the Grim Reaper. But the boy’s recovery was flawed.
"Cough... agh... AAAAAAGH! YOU BASTARD!"
The regeneration was sluggish. His body had reformed, but more than half of it was charred and weeping, leaving him unable to even stay aloft. He crashed to the ground, huddling on one knee. The greatsword’s voice was a predatory growl.
"Ho? His limit is closer than I thought. He was just putting on a brave face."
"You... ghurk!"
True immortality did not exist. Creatures like Vampires or the Life Reaper simply had such massive pools of regenerative power that they seemed immortal to humans. They each possessed a "tolerance" for damage. As long as an attack stayed below that threshold, they would heal forever. But if a strike exceeded that limit, the excess damage would pierce through to their soul.
Damage to the soul was not easily repaired. When the soul was shredded beyond its capacity to maintain existence, they died.
And this boy’s soul was on the verge of collapse.
"Damn it... Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
The arrogance was gone from the boy’s burnt face. Glen’s strike had been heavy, yes, but no Vampire was so fragile that a single hit could bring them to the brink. Someone else had already dealt significant damage to the creature's soul.
In this situation, there was only one person who could have done it.
"That man... he had already pushed him to the edge."
Glen’s grip on his sword tightened.
"Finish it, Glen. You’ve been entrusted with the killing blow."
"Yeah."
He would do it. It was the only power he had left to offer.
Flanked by the crimson-black Ogre God, he charged, his eyes glowing with a deep, murderous red.
"Ha... haha... he’s strong... scary strong... I guess I don't have to worry after all..."
Even through his fading, hazy vision, Ramsey could tell the battle was entirely one-sided. That red-haired man was a monster of a warrior, standing in the same realm as that sword-obsessed brat he knew. To think a miracle like this would happen at the very end... Ramsey let out a long, slow breath.
His job was done.
He lay with his head in Claesta’s lap. He had been at death’s door moments ago, but the feeling of her presence made it easier to breathe. He managed to squeeze out a few more words. Perhaps the shitty God of this world had granted him this final moment.
"Good... now you can get back to the Holy City... safely..."
"Nothing about this is good!" Claesta’s voice cracked. "Nothing at all! Not like this!"
Ramsey felt something wet hit his cheek. He was surprised; he hadn't pegged her as the type to cry at someone's end. He let out a weak chuckle.
"Listen... he’s not the only one. There’s a 'Father,' and an 'experimental subject' that destroyed the town..."
"!"
"A mutation of a monster, he said... probably used to be human..." Ramsey forced his eyes to stay open, looking up at her. "I’m telling you... if they attack the Holy City... that idiot Wolka will fight them."
He wasn't afraid. He had no regrets. But he had one small, lingering thorn of worry that he had to leave with her.
"So... you have to finish it. The ultimate prosthetic. You’re the only one who can."
A man missing an eye and a leg, with a prosthetic not meant for war—none of that would stop Wolka. If people were in danger, he would draw his sword. It wasn't about being brave or reckless; it was simply who he was. His comrades wouldn't be able to stop him, because they knew that telling him not to fight would be the cruelest thing they could do.
That was why he needed the best leg possible. Being able to fight at full strength was the only thing that would keep him from dying.
"His fate is in your hands now. You don't have time to cry."
"..."
"Do this for me... It’s the only thing... I’m still worried about..."
Claesta choked back a sob for a long time. She seemed to be searching for the perfect words to say. Finally, as her fingertips brushed his cheek, she spoke with a voice full of the fierce resolve Ramsey knew so well.
"Fine. Prepare yourself. You’ve given me a debt I can never repay. I will make my workshop the greatest in the Holy City. I’ll build a massive bronze statue of you on the grounds and make sure every generation of my family praises you as our greatest benefactor."
"Give me a break..." Ramsey muttered, though the thought of it made him want to smile. "Well... I guess I’ll look forward to it."
"Yes."
He was smiling now, he was sure of it. If his statue became a local laughingstock, that wouldn't be such a bad legacy.
His consciousness began to fray.
"Heh... what a luxury..."
It was a better death than a scoundrel like him deserved. To have fought his hardest, to have secured the future, and to be seen off by a beautiful woman... he could leave the rest to them.
The searing pain in his nerves was gone.
As the world faded to black, he thought he saw the back of that youth. Only seventeen, and already carrying the world.
"Don't you dare die... no, that’s not right."
It was a dazzling, frustratingly noble back.
"Live... Wolka."
With those final words, he was gone.
(This is bad—bad, bad, bad, bad!!)
For the first time in his life, Melfius felt the cold breath of death on his neck.
He was losing his mind. He was trapped in a hurricane of steel and hellfire. He couldn't defend, he couldn't evade; he could only scramble to survive an onslaught that felt too massive to be coming from a single human.
He gnashed his teeth in pure, unadulterated fury.
(He’s no ordinary human! He’s a Contractor—someone who sold his soul to a Magic Sword!)
Red hair, red eyes, a tattered black outfit under a crimson cloak, and a hideous greatsword that looked like it was forged from blood and scars. Melfius had known the man was dangerous, but this was beyond his reckoning. This was a shura, a man whose only thought was to incinerate every monster in his path. In his weakened state, Melfius was hopelessly outmatched.
The truth was, Melfius had been crippled before Glen even arrived. His boast to Ramsey about regenerating had been a desperate bluff. His body had healed, but his soul had taken a blow he couldn't ignore. He had only been playing the role of the invincible immortal to break the humans' spirits.
The greatsword in Glen’s hands roared like a furnace.
"What’s wrong, Vampire? You're awfully quiet now that the tables are turned!"
The Magic Sword—a divine tool that granted its wielder the power of revenge in exchange for feeding on their hatred. It was humanity's ultimate trump card, a mirror to the Holy Swords that drew power from protection. The hilt, carved in the shape of a beast's maw, was laughing at him. It wasn't a hallucination; the sword had a will of its own.
Why did a legendary weapon have to show up now? He had been one step away from total victory, one step away from slaughtering every last one of these pathetic humans. The unfairness of it made him want to scream until his eyes bled.
(What do I do!? What do I do!?)
Glen’s combat style was beyond human logic. Even without the sword, his physical abilities rivaled a Vampire’s, and his reaction speed suggested he had eyes in every direction. His attacks weren't just fast; they were cruel, instinctively finding the exact angle and timing Melfius hated most.
The fact that it was a fire-based weapon made everything worse. A greatsword swung at the speed of a rapier was a nightmare of physics, and the purifying flames of the Magic Sword were the natural enemy of his kind. It was simple, overwhelming power.
And then there was the Ogre God.
That was the true nightmare. It moved in perfect harmony with Glen, its four arms creating a wall of destruction. It impaled with spears, rained down arrows, and crushed everything in its path. If Melfius had been at full strength, he might have had a chance. But that opening explosion had been a devastating handicap. Between the damage to his soul and the constant drain of regenerating his physical body, he had no resources left to fight back.
If he stayed here, he would be picked apart and burned alive.
A chill ran down his spine. Killed? Me? By a human?
"Vampire," Glen said, speaking for the first time. "Are you ready?"
"Hie—!"
Faced with a killing intent so thick it felt physical, Melfius felt true terror for the first time in his life.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
He erupted in a pathetic, desperate surge of magic power. It wasn't an attack or a defense; it was a blind explosion of mana. But even a Vampire’s tantrum was dangerous. The chaotic energy whipped up a storm of lightning and ice, creating a massive crystal wall between him and Glen.
Glen’s assault stopped. Within the safety of the crystal, Melfius scrambled to activate his final escape route. A magic circle began to glow beneath his feet.
"Damn it! Damn it all! Just you wait, human! I’ll come back and kill every last one of you!"
"Tsk—Fixed Teleportation Magic! He’s trying to run!" the sword hissed.
Teleportation was a high-tier spell that usually took days to prep, but his Father had placed a pre-set coordinate here while they were monitoring the experimental subject, Alphana. Melfius had laughed and said he’d never need it, but pride was a small price to pay for his life.
"Hmph...!"
"The 'mighty' Vampire is running with his tail between his legs? What a coward!"
Glen hadn't expected the retreat. He slammed his sword into the crystal, but the barrier was meters thick. It wouldn't break in one hit.
"Haha... too bad for you..."
Melfius only needed three seconds. In three seconds, he would be gone. He didn't care if they called him a coward. He would lick his wounds and come back with every resource at his disposal to erase them from the map. He liked slaughtering the weak, not fighting for his life.
"Goodbye, huma—urk!"
Zap.
A sudden jolt of electricity surged through Melfius’s body, causing the teleportation spell to fizzle and fail.
"Wait... what?"
He didn't understand. The crystal was still intact. No one had touched him. How? Why now?
The cause was a cruel twist of fate. Ramsey’s final Blixt had been so powerful it had blown Melfius to pieces. When Melfius regenerated, some of that residual lightning mana had been trapped inside his new body. It had finally reacted with his own magic at the worst possible moment. It was a purely natural phenomenon—a freak accident.
And yet...
"You... bastard...!"
He heard it. It had to be a hallucination, but he heard the voice of the man he had just killed.
Serves you right.
The crystal wall shattered, and the Hellfire Magic Sword tore through Melfius’s chest.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! YOU FILTHY HUMAAAAAN!"
"Hahaha! Look at you, Vampire! Tripped up at the finish line! That’s the tenacity of a human for you!"
Pinned to the scorched earth and wreathed in flames, Melfius screamed, releasing every drop of magic he had. The energy lashed out, shredding Glen’s hands and arms, but Glen didn't flinch. He drove the sword deeper.
"Die."
"————"
That was the end. The hellfire consumed Melfius, devouring his body and soul until not even a shadow remained.
The barrier faded. The passengers of the stagecoach stirred, waking to the roar of a fire that seemed to challenge the heavens. The clouds broke, but no rain fell.
"It’s over, Ramsey-san."
Claesta sat quietly, stroking the cheek of the man resting in her lap. This world was cruel, unfair, and utterly rotten—but there had been a flicker of salvation in the dark.
She wouldn't cry. She had promised herself she wouldn't.
"You should have made that face from the start, you idiot..."
The terrifying warrior was gone. In his place was a man with a peaceful, almost kind expression—a man who had given everything to win a future for others.