Chapter 18

For just an instant.

For just one fleeting instant, my eyes met Christ’s.

In the next moment, my body was slashed diagonally, and my right arm went flying into the air.

A searing, scorching pain ignited in the wound, and brilliant red blood began to pour out.

Having lost a massive amount of blood, my life signs began to falter.

I could feel my “Life Extension” and “Divine Protection” skills mobilizing with everything they had.

Yet, even that was not enough to counter such a fatal wound—

In that moment, I felt the terror of the end and the joy of liberation simultaneously.

Dying is scary.

But at the same time, a life with no future was just as terrifying.

As I collapsed, my vision blurred and flickered.

I felt like I could see a landscape from somewhere far away.

And then, I remembered.

Ah.

Is this… my life flashing before my eyes?

…

It is a story from the past.

A tale from long ago about the explorer now known as Diablo.

I had no name.

When I was born into this world, my mother feared me as a demon, and so, I was never given a name.

I was born with an immense amount of magic power.

Not just a little bit. It was an amount so vast that a normal person would feel ill just looking at it—and a newborn infant possessed it.

Furthermore, my body was different from a human’s; small wings grew from my back.

I was not a normal human, but clearly a different race.

When such a child is born between two pure humans, it is only natural that the parents would be terrified. Thus, I was abandoned, left in the care of a village church.

Fortunately, I was treated well afterward.

The priest dubbed me an “Apostle” and worshipped me.

According to the Levan Church—the dominant faith on this continent—an “Apostle” is a proxy for God. The village priest constantly preached about how magnificent I was and raised me with great care.

By the time I was five, I was known throughout the village as a being who brought miracles.

Then, following a village legend, I came to be called “Sith.”

The legendary Apostle Sith was a messenger of God who descended from the heavens and supposedly brought miracles to people suffering in poverty. The legend concludes with the belief that Sith married a certain hero, and the villagers are their descendants.

The villagers continued to call me Sith, placing their hopes in the “miracle” part of the story.

By then, my parents no longer looked at me with frightened eyes.

However, they did not treat me like their own child—I was a god to be revered within the village.

Knowing nothing of the world, I fulfilled my duties as an “Apostle.”

I learned Holy Magic from the priest and used that power to heal injured villagers.

I shaved away my own life to create barriers to keep out the monsters that attacked the village.

For children suffering from illness, I mastered magic by denying myself sleep.

My power was, truly, a miracle.

In my childish heart, I might have thought that if I worked hard enough, my parents would acknowledge me.

But that effort only served to further my deification. The villagers bowed their heads to me, eventually becoming too afraid to even look me in the eye. That was how abnormal my power had become. It didn’t take long for my parents to start bowing to me as well.

Stories of the reborn “Apostle Sith” became famous across many nations.

By the time I turned ten, I finally began to possess a sense of self. I realized that mastering magic simply because I was told to—simply because I was praised for it—had left me utterly alone. But it was all too late.

I had already been robbed of my parents, my way of life, and my neighbors.

Next, the State moved to take the “Apostle Sith” into its grasp.

From there, it happened in a flash.

My home village was too small to stand against the country.

Using a minor crop failure as an excuse, I was “offered” to the nation.

Looking back, it started then.

If those with power want something, it becomes reality. That was the first time I felt the weight of such unreasonableness.

From there, I was moved from place to place.

I was asked for miracles at a lord’s mansion. I was made a spectacle for a merchant’s profit. I satisfied the curiosity of nobles. Finally, I was made to offer prayers before a certain King.

The miracles intended for those suffering in poverty were being used only for the powerful who sought to line their own pockets. I began to lose sight of what an “Apostle” was supposed to be, the ideal taught to me by the village priest.

I lost track of why I was living and what I wanted.

So, wanting to confirm my origins, I asked the State to let me see my hometown.

—That was this year.

A modest but warm village stretched out before me.

There were villagers living strongly despite their poverty.

Naturally, I went to see the house where I was born.

There, I saw my parents living with smiles I had never seen before.

There was a child walking, holding their hands.

That child was my younger brother. Without my knowing, I had gained a brother.

I hadn’t known. He wasn’t much younger than me. Yet, I hadn’t known of his existence.

My brother was playing like a normal child.

Above all, he loved playing with swords and said many times that he would become a knight.

My mother laughed, saying, “How dependable.”

My father laughed, saying, “I’ll be the one to teach you the sword.”

They were laughing.

“I’m so relieved to have a son like you.”

“I always thought that if a son were born, I would be the one to teach him the sword.”

“Such a fine boy.”

“He’s a strong boy; in the future, he’ll be a swordsman who won’t lose even to me.”

“Yes, he’s our pride and joy.”

“Our pride.”

“Our child”—

“What about me?”

The air felt noisy.

So, I whispered.

“Hey, what about me? I worked hard. I loved fairy tales too, and I wanted to be a cool swordsman… But everyone told me to learn magic, that the Apostle creates miracles with Holy Magic. So I worked desperately to learn it. Father, Mother, you both said so too. So, I… I—”

There were many books in the village.

To pass down many legends, books containing hero tales and fairy tales had been preserved.

It was the same in my home and at the church.

While fulfilling my duties as an Apostle, that was my only entertainment. Or rather, it’s more accurate to say that was the only entertainment the village had. That’s likely why my brother read them as well and longed to be a swordsman, just as I had.

“I wanted to, too. I wanted to—”

Before I knew it, I had appeared before my parents.

The State had strictly told me only to watch, but my body had moved on its own.

“Sith-sama!?”

“Why are you in a place like this!?”

As soon as my parents saw me, they bowed their heads.

It was the moment the “noise” turned into definitive sadness.

“Hey, who is that pretty person?”

My brother didn’t know who I was.

My parents had likely worked desperately to hide my existence from him.

“You’re an only child,” she must have said, raising me with such gentleness.

“I-I’m… your—”

I tried to weave the words together, but—

“This is Sith-sama. She is the Apostle sent from the heavens.”

My mother’s words smothered my own.

“—!!”

An emotional upheaval so violent it made me want to die.

The end of the life of “her”—a life I wanted to reduce to nothing but ash.

That was the moment “the current me” was born.

Afterward, I defected from the country. I did so because I realized there was never a reason to serve them in the first place. I didn’t think about what would happen to that tiny village because of my desertion. I didn’t want to think about it.

I realized what I truly wanted.

I wanted to be like that younger brother.

To be born a boy, to grow up reading tales of heroes, to admire swordsmen, and to chase a dream enveloped in the affection of a mother and father. Eventually, I would become a fine knight and return to my parents as a brave hero of the blade.

That was what I wanted.

And I knew what was necessary to obtain it.

In the end, only those with power get everything. Money and influence pull the things you desire toward you. I had understood that with a precocious clarity.

At the same time, it was only a matter of time before the country reclaimed me. They knew my utility. Because I had always been so obedient, I had managed to disappear successfully this time. But with the nation’s wealth and authority, my capture was a certainty in the near future.

Until then, I had to acquire money and power. Money and power to fight back.

—I set out.

I aimed for the stage of the stories that had shone most brilliantly among the legends I had read.

The Great Labyrinth that appeared on the continent.

The heroes who challenged it.

The meetings and partings with companions.

The approaching hardships.

The gold, silver, and treasures waiting beyond.

The glory bestowed upon the victors.

Possessing only biased, narrow knowledge, I chose the treasure chest known as the Labyrinth.

I set out on my adventure not as “Apostle Sith,” but as a “boy with no name.” That nameless boy aimed to be a swordsman. I couldn’t use things like “Holy Magic”—the very thing that had robbed me of what was precious. I was just an ordinary boy found anywhere in a fairy tale.

Through that, I harbored a faint dream that I might be able to start over.

I walked straight toward the Labyrinth of the continent. Along the way, I encountered bandits and fled. I was deceived by guides. A merchant who reached out to me tried to turn me into merchandise. I was nearly eaten by monsters. My money ran out, and I had nothing left to eat.

After a long journey, I arrived at one of the Labyrinth Allied Nations.

Wald.

It had been a journey of suffering. Just arriving there had nearly broken my heart against the harshness of the world.

“No, that’s not it… I was already…”

I reconsidered.

My heart had likely been broken from the very beginning.

Since that moment, my heart had probably been necrotic, rotting, and mad. If I wanted money and power, I should have used Holy Magic; if I wanted to protect my dream, I didn’t need to fixate on the Labyrinth.

My heart had lost its sense of balance.

Foolishly, I had desired both. I realized that, in the end, I was just a child. I wanted this and that—everything. Greedy, self-centered, selfish, and above all, wretched. In a negative spiral, my body stopped moving. I sat down and couldn’t stand up. I huddled there.

I understood nothing anymore. Anxiety loosened my tear ducts. But I couldn’t let them fall. I couldn’t, yet, I just couldn’t help it—

That was when it happened.

I met him. A boy with black hair and black eyes, with the faint trace of a burn on his neck.

“Hey… are you awake?”

“—!”

I looked up instinctively. Someone was watching. Since I was “not a girl,” I couldn’t show my tears. A trivial bit of vanity roused me just a little.

Amidst the white crystals flickering in my vision, I resumed my battle as a boy.

Yes. That was a cold night, when the snow of mana was falling.

The life-flashing-before-my-eyes sequence ends with Christ’s face as the final image.

I return to reality.

My right arm has been severed—and now, the monster Teida’s returning blade is about to take my head.

“DIABLOOOOOO—!!”

However, a battered Christ parried that blade to protect me. That flash was sharp—like the hero of my dreams. A meeting of swords so fast the eye couldn’t follow. Though it was out of place, I thought it was beautiful—and I felt envious.

I tried to crawl away so as not to get in Christ’s way, only to realize I was missing an arm to lift my body. Simultaneously, I spotted my own right arm rolling on the ground ahead, still gripping the sword.

Ah, so this is “my” end…

Hahaha… If “her” end was like that, then “his” end is like this…

I stared blankly at the pool forming from my flowing blood. In a few more moments, I would die. Without any treatment, it was a certainty. That was fine. That was okay.

But I absolutely could not forgive the idea of Christ dying.

I was the one who had forced Christ—who was just an ordinary waiter at a tavern—to come along. Because of that, I had to prevent Christ’s death at any cost.

So, first, I thought I would save Christ with my life. But my life alone wouldn’t be enough to save him. I couldn’t even create an opening in Teida.

—I had to choose.

Dreams are more important than life. I had decided that in my heart long ago.

Then, what about Christ?

My first companion. The first person to acknowledge me as the boy named Dia. We had only known each other for a few days, but he was a person who had given me so much.

Ah. Which means—

Dreams are more important than life, but my friend (Christ) had become more important than my dream.

And so, I began to construct the Holy Magic I had sworn never to use even if I died. The light of magic I had hated like a blood enemy began to generate from within my body. The nostalgic magic of “her” that I was supposed to have cast away. The sensation of my spirit being scooped out—something I had repeated tens of thousands of times.

“Holy Magic: 《Sion》.”

The Labyrinth was filled with the compressed magic of light. As the “price,” my vision nearly blacked out.

Not yet. I couldn’t lose consciousness yet. It wasn’t over until that monster Teida was defeated. Teida said he specialized in mental magic, but his true value lay in that amorphous body. I had to solidify it further, like Christ’s freezing magic.

There were plenty of spells for that. I had a variety of Holy Magic cultivated since childhood that could handle any situation. Honestly, I didn’t have the luxury to calmly select my spells. Blood wasn’t reaching my brain. I had to choose by instinct.

A vision that was blacking out. A reality that was warping.

Even so, I glared at the enemy. Even if I died, I would defeat him. I thought only of that.

To protect Christ.
To protect Christ.
To protect Christ.

For that purpose alone, the magic was constructed, surpassing the limits of my body.

My dream had crumbled. But a replacement gave me the power to exceed my limits.

That was why I wanted to protect Christ at all costs. From the bottom of my heart. Betting my life. Without fail—