“…Damn it.”
As the heavy rain, which had suddenly started falling after sunset, pounded down on him, Nero cursed for what felt like the umpteenth time.
Now, what was he being stingy about this time? The capricious autumn sky, or the gloriously heavy red cloak soaked with rain? Everything was unpleasant.
(What am I doing…?)
He didn’t even feel like showing his face to Nel again, but he also didn’t want to quietly return to the boys’ dormitory. However, wandering aimlessly through the town of Spada like this wasn’t particularly interesting either.
Dissatisfaction and complaints—no, what was building up in Nero’s chest was an anger with nowhere to go.
Nel, with a broken heart. He was painfully aware that he could do nothing for his dear sister, who was more important to him than anyone else.
Anger towards his own helplessness. And anger towards the root cause that had driven his sister mad.
Neither could be resolved now. A problem of the heart that he couldn’t solve.
Thinking back, feeling this helpless had only happened to him twice in his life.
How did he recover back then? He gave up; no, he cut his losses. He decided that such things were never needed for him in the first place.
That’s why that experience was of no use at all. Abandoning Nel as “not needed” was something he could never do as a brother, a prince, and above all, as a proud man.
(Should I have challenged him to a duel like that fool Kai…? No, I would seriously kill him…)
Even if he killed him, nothing would change. There was no point in taking out his frustration on someone. Unless Nel could smile and be happy again—
“Nero Julius Elroad, right?”
Suddenly called by a man’s voice, Nero’s consciousness snapped back from his loop of thoughts to the real world.
When he raised his gaze, the first thing that caught his eye was a dark stone tablet sitting against a backdrop of gloomy clouds, with ancient letters dancing in pale white light upon it.
It was the monument “Beginning of History,” engraved with words praising the most illustrious ancestor, the Ancient Demon King, Pandora.
Apparently, he had been walking in a square near the School of the Gods.
“Sorry, wrong person.”
He didn’t know who it was, but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain them.
“…I see.”
Ignoring the flat mutterings of the man, Nero continued to walk straight—until a step forward suddenly halted.
He stepped hard on the stony pavement with slight puddles, paused for a moment, and then turned around.
“Who the hell are you?”
Suddenly releasing an aura of killing intent, Nero showed strong wariness. He hadn’t yet reached for the hilt of his beloved sword at his waist, but he was ready to cut the man down in an instant depending on the situation.
The man in question. As Nero turned to look, he finally saw the man properly.
Dressed in a gray robe with his hood pulled low, making his expression hard to discern. He appeared tall, and even through the thick robe, he could tell he had a well-trained physique.
However, that alone didn’t make him particularly stand out. In the crowd of Spada, he would hardly attract anyone’s attention.
Unlike Nero, this man with an extremely plain appearance did not give off any intent to kill or hostility. Of course, he wasn’t acting suspiciously either, nor did he give off any sign of casting magic. He simply stood quietly in the pouring rain.
“Quite the strong array to keep people away. Unless you’re particularly sharp, it’s hard to notice.”
The gray-robed man showed no signs of aggression. However, there was a powerful barrier in this entire square, one that exuded an aura of inducing hypnosis, making it so that people naturally felt compelled to stay away. Even for Nero, who had sharp senses, it was a high-level concealment.
The mere fact that he was present within such a barrier was proof enough. It was obvious that this gray-robed man was the one who had set up such a suspicious trap.
While remaining wary of the possibility of other allies and an attack from the blind spot, Nero kept a close eye on the man’s actions.
Yet, the man merely stood defenseless, quietly opening his mouth.
“I want to ask just one thing. Are you going to become a Demon King?”
“…Huh?”
It was such an absurd question. Was this some kind of scheme to lower his guard, he wondered, but there was no sign of an ambush.
Silence stretched for about ten seconds, filled only with the sound of the rain. Finally, Nero replied.
“I might become the king of Avalon, but I will never become a Demon King. Absolutely not.”
It was a ridiculous question, but he answered with a clear “no.” Normally, he would dismiss such a thing with a vague “how should I know,” but he couldn’t let his pride allow him to leave this question unanswered.
“You, being a direct descendant of the Ancient Demon King, Mia Elroad, are the most likely candidate. Even if you don’t intend to, fate might not allow it—like me.”
“Don’t joke around—Whoa!?”
It was a completely unconscious, reflexive defense.
The moment he realized it, Nero had drawn the Spirit Blade “White King Sakura” from his waist and stopped the approaching dull blade.
“Not bad for a reaction.”
The man’s tone carried a slightly haughty quality, as if assessing a painting. It was the kind of nuance that Nero hated to hear directed at him, but at that moment, pure astonishment dominated his thoughts.
He had not seen the man’s movements coming at all.
“Damn it—don’t mess with me!”
He pushed against the hilt fiercely. No, it was simply that the man took a step back.
“Seriously, how annoying. I don’t know which organization sent you as an assassin, but don’t think you can take my head. And don’t think you’ll escape alive either.”
While hurling such flippant remarks, Nero observed his opponent without letting his guard down.
Indeed, there was still no real change in the man’s demeanor or atmosphere. The lone long sword he wielded, which was wholly unclear where he had drawn it from or how he had hidden it, was the only noticeable thing about him.
That sword appeared to be a mass-produced item commonly found in Spada. It was hardly of good quality steel, let alone enchanted with magic.
Yet still, this man had managed to hold his own against Nero’s country’s treasured magical sword, wielded by a Rank 5 adventurer, even if just for a single exchange.
Nero’s keen intuition was on high alert. This guy was stronger than me.
But at the same time, he thought.
(There’s no way I haven’t beaten someone better than me before!)
“—A momentary flash!”
Not a horizontal slash as usual, but a downward strike aimed at distanced enemies cut deeply into the stone plaza. But that was all.
(Tch, he completely read me!)
The man evaded by moving just a half-step to the right. It was less an act of evasion and more like he had known in advance where the attack would come from; he moved with a sense of ease.
Nero’s intuition was correct. This was not a mere momentary read, but rather a complete understanding of his actions.
(This movement shows that it’s not just sharp instincts. He’s either grasped all my motions or has an understanding of ‘reading’ on par with a battle shrine maiden… Damn, this guy’s a real pain to deal with.)
As the sense of crisis piled on, the man who had shown such ease of evasion began to move again.
Every element of his powerful advance, tightly executed stance only hinted at a master swordsman—yet, it was visible.
(You’re underestimating me, aren’t you? You let your guard down a bit!)
If he was serious, the man should be capable of achieving movements that would surpass the focused motion of Nero’s keen eyesight and intuition. He had learned that from their first exchange.
However, for those with inferior abilities, this kind of opponent’s lapse in concentration provided the most effective opportunity to defeat someone more skilled.
And Nero wasn’t the type to let such an opportunity slip away, nor did he have the luxury to do so now.
“One flash!”
The technique he chose to counter was the basic martial art known as “Flash.”
He hadn’t matched his power to the man’s lack of concentration during this attack; rather, it gave him pure versatility thanks to its foundational nature. Even with just his right hand, there was no problem activating it.
In a one-on-one battle, it was not just firepower that decided the outcome. As long as the power was enough to kill his opponent, it was sufficient.
Nero’s “Flash,” a unique variant adjusted to fit his two-sword style, concealed a sharpness that could undoubtedly kill a man of the human race.
(But it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t hit—)
The one-hit-kill potential of “Flash” was effortlessly dodged by the man, who had read him completely.
The horizontally swung white blade passed vainly just an inch above the gray hood.
At this moment, it would seem to the man that Nero, who had just made a swing, was wide open. He would appear to be prime prey, akin to a training dummy.
With his right hand, which gripped the proud weapon, already fully extended, his left hand was completely open.
While there were indeed techniques in traditional martial arts that involved catching an opponent’s slash with bare hands, he couldn’t believe it would work against the undeniable strength of this man.
Nero’s strategy was to make the man think he had exhausted all options.
Before the man could swing that long sword of his, Nero unleashed his second strike.
“—Run, ‘Thunderbolt’!”
Nero unleashed his original magic “Holy Sword.” The golden magic circle that appeared on the back of his left hand indicated the attribute it would manifest.
That attribute was lightning. The swift attribute. Of course, it was the fastest in casting speed as well.
As Nero’s glowing left hand thrust forward, a fierce blade of lightning materialized.
“Purple Blade Scatter!”
The technique exclusive to “Thunderbolt,” with its basic motion being that of a “thrust.” Leaning his upper body back slightly, he set up for an attack at zero distance.
Even with only this, Nero’s fierce thrust could pierce rock; however, the magical technique produced by the lightning blade demonstrated an even more astonishing effect.
The instant it appeared, the blade resembled that of a one-edged sword with a slight curve, but as the technique activated, its form began to transform. Rather, it might be more accurate to say it exploded.
Like Charlotte’s “Thunderous Roar,” the purple blade burst forth in an instant, unleashing a blast of lightning that swept everything in front of it.
Indeed, it was more akin to a magical area attack rather than solely a “thrust.”
If every inch of space was covered, no matter how well an opponent could detect an attack, there would be no gap to escape through.
(Still, you’ll dodge this, won’t you?!)
The only remaining escape route for the man was right in front of Nero, within the zero distance of his thrusting left hand.
Responding to Nero’s expectations, the man stepped deeply forward without fear of the unleashed barrage of lightning, successfully slipping into the safety zone.
No matter how powerful he was, it must have been difficult to maintain an attack stance while executing such a hyper-evasive maneuver. His stance that had already been prepared faltered, and he dove toward Nero’s left side.
Having missed the initial strike of “Flash,” and evaded the follow-up technique “Purple Blade Scatter,” Nero found himself in a position where he had to seize the next opportunity — the man was the one showing more openings now.
In reality, it was the man who made the first move.
“—!?”
Nero’s left hand, which gripped “Thunderbolt,” was seized by the man.
The man was already no longer holding a sword. In a close-quarters combat scenario, it was obvious how useless a sword was.
He discarded his weapon and chose to fight with martial arts in this fleeting moment.
(I saw it coming; I knew you would get this far!)
A mere street thug would have been killed by “Flash.” A seasoned warrior would have succumbed to “Purple Blade Scatter.” But those with even greater abilities would slip through two deadly assaults only to reach him—Nero had anticipated this from the start.
“I got you!”
With the man’s hand gripping his wrist, he in return seized the man’s hand with his right.
Having released the Spirit Blade “White King Sakura” just as he unleashed “Purple Blade Scatter,” it resulted in both Nero and the man discarding their swords at the exact same moment.
And now, this very moment was the true chance Nero had been eagerly awaiting.
“First form—Flush!”
The decisive technique he chose was from traditional martial arts. A fundamental skill that controlled the opponent’s strength and reversed their momentum into his own attack. Naturally, it boasted powerful, versatile performance, just like “Flash,” which is why it qualified as fundamental.
The flow of force generated from the man’s hand—the instinct of power dragging Nero down became apparent.
This was a classic move by the enemy. But the brute strength expended in that simple action was comparable to Kai’s raw power. The man’s overwhelming physical capabilities were certainly astonishing.
Yet, no matter how much power he possessed, he could not compete with the principles of the ancient martial arts, proudly born from the Ancient Demon King.
This technique is not merely “gentle overcomes rigid” martial arts. It isn’t pure power; it is an advanced masterful technique requiring control of kinetic energy using nothing but the body. Furthermore—yes, it adds an element of energy vector manipulation through magic as a “martial technique.”
By efficiently deflecting the opponent’s force while adding magical energy control, it allows for a powerful counterattack that cannot be achieved solely through physical laws.
Even the charge of a Rank 5 adventurer boasting a massive build could be effortlessly thrust aside with a single outstretched hand.
Compared to Gustave’s crafting blow obtained from the Iskia Village Adventurer Guild, this man’s power was nothing extreme.
The force was one that Nero could easily handle. The activation succeeded with no chance of failure.
In the next instant, the man should have been slammed to the stone pavement soaked by the rain with overwhelming force—
“—Second form—Return.”
(Huh? What did he just say—)
At that moment, Nero could not comprehend what had just happened to him. No, it would be more accurate to say he couldn’t “believe” it.
Because the kinetic energy he had funneled into the opponent had unexpectedly reversed. Yes, it had turned back upon himself.
“—Gah!?”
The cruel reality only reflected what was happening to Nero as it was.
The one slammed into the hard stone pavement was not the man, but himself.
Upon first glance, it might have appeared that the man had only tossed Nero toward the ground with his raw power.
Wrapped in the red cloak that marked him as an executive candidate, he struck the ground forcefully. The area where he landed collapsed deeply, with the surrounding space denting shallowly.
The cracked stone pavement exploded with cloud dust from the shock. However, through that enveloping smoke, a shadow surged.
Needless to say, it was Nero’s body.
Not only was he slammed to the ground, but the force contained immeasurable destruction; his body bounced off the pavement and continued to fly even further.
As he soared through the air, he found himself not landing on the gray stone pavement once again but being met instead by a pitch-black stone slab.
Before he could remember gravity taking hold and starting to fall, this ten meters by three meters giant obelisk coldly caught his body, as if moved by the hand of a Demon King.
“…Guh…ah…”
Nero could do nothing but gnash his teeth in pain, crumpling at the feet of the ancient relic “Beginning of History” that remained solemnly seated.
How ironic it was for a descendant of the Demon King to find himself crawling helplessly before a monument that praised him.
“Martial arts, magic, and even your body techniques are quite impressive. At such a young age, you’ve come quite far.”
The man’s voice reached Nero’s ears only faintly, but those words were sharp enough to grate against his nerves.
(Damn… he’s looking down on me…)
In his blurred vision, he could see the man calmly approaching him.
He was unarmed, not picking up his sword, yet Nero couldn’t shake the feeling that this man could easily strike the killing blow with nothing but his fists.
Fearfully, anger outweighed it. Yet, the reality was that the damage he had taken was not so shallow that he could simply rise back up on pure emotion.
“But, the fact that you didn’t use your blessing from the beginning was probably a mistake of youth. If you’re really as high up as you claim to be as an adventurer, you must possess it—”
“…Don’t you dare joke with me.”
That unsolicited comment from the man struck a nerve deep within Nero.
Flashbacks of those painful memories rushed through his mind. The foolish child who once immensely idolized the legendary Demon King. The pain, humiliation, and purposelessness that arose from that effort now resurfaced.
Thinking of that, his body surged anew with raging fury. His spirit overcame his flesh.
“Don’t mess with me! Who the hell would ever rely on a god!!”
“—It’s fine; you can rely on me now.”
Just as Nero attempted to rise defiantly, he was met with an almost childlike rebuttal. It sounded like a child who had taken a mischief—no, it felt precisely like it belonged to a child in both pitch and timbre.
“Wha—who—?”
Following the direction of the voice, Nero turned his gaze to find, without surprise, a single child standing there. However, his red eyes widened in disbelief.
Because that child had emerged from within the black stone slab of “Beginning of History.”
Upon closer inspection, the unchanged white letters engraved on the obelisk glowed bright crimson. Additionally, he noticed that their arrangement had drastically changed.
What formed was unmistakably a magic circle. A circular structure composed of blood-red ancient letters filled the massive pitch-black canvas.
From the center of that magic circle, a small voice exclaimed, “Alright!” as the child effortlessly passed through the dark slab, landing right next to Nero.
“Since the real hero has come all the way out to this place, it can’t be helped. Just this once, it’s special, you know?”
The mysterious child gazed down at Nero with an innocent expression.
With flowing black hair and round red eyes, he didn’t recognize such an adorable face. Although the child wore the boys’ uniform of the School of the Gods, he had never seen that face among the students.
But he immediately realized that this was a sight that should never be. He had realized it.
“Black hair, red eyes… no way!?”
“Exactly what you think, but… sorry, just like your sister Nel, I’m going to have to have you forget this too. From here on, it’s a realm that no human should tread into—God’s domain.”
From the mysteriously shimmering crimson eyes, Nero couldn’t tear himself away. Against his will, he felt drawn in. In the next moment, consciousness transformed involuntarily; “you must not see” changed to “you must see.” Overwhelming compulsion. Absolute obedience.
However, that might have been understandable. Once he grasped the incredibly heavy identity of this small child—Nero could no longer maintain a clear state of awareness.
“D-Damn it… What the hell is that… I can’t make sense of this…”
As his consciousness rapidly faded, he could only watch the scene unfold where the nameless gray-robed man and the unnamed black-haired child stood in a standoff.