Episode 23

Zeke tore across the battlefield like a comet. He layered freezing cold onto his blade, carving monsters apart, weaving magic into the slaughter. He was a true war demon. The soldiers behind him could do nothing but watch as he fought alone.

With Frozen Geyser, Zeke formed pillars of ice and launched both himself and the monsters into the air. He kicked off ice footholds he created midair, darting around, and slashed through enemies as he passed, striking those who couldn’t move.

Glittering ice particles danced through the sky—alongside a rain of blood. The battlefield belonged to Zeke alone.

“Persistent trash. Do you still not understand the gap between us?”

The monsters rushing him carried no emotion at all—none of the anger or fear living beings should have felt. It wouldn’t have been strange if they hated Zeke. And yet they mindlessly tried to kill the enemy before them and push on toward the town.

“How pitiful. To have your emotions erased… and die by my hand.”

He slipped past the swing of a Minotaur’s battleaxe—bull-headed, humanoid—then stepped into its guard. He drove mana into a short-range release, a shockwave-like burst, and blasted it away. The massive body crashed through other monsters, then finally detonated as it went.

An original technique unique to Zeke—an unarmed art that had never even existed in the game.

Zeke fought alone.

The soldiers watched.

What separated them—raw power, resolve, or something else entirely?

“…Are we really just going to stand here?”

“What do you want us to do? It’s not like we can handle that.”

Even the soldiers had doubts: should they help, should they run and leave it to him, should they stay in case Zeke fell?

They asked themselves again and again, but no answer felt right.

“He looks like a noble, doesn’t he? Why would he do this?”

“Who knows. Nobles and their pride? I thought that only existed in books…”

Zeke leapt high, then hurled a massive spear of ice. He looked like a storybook figure delivering judgment to evil.

“…Hey. Black hair, a noble, and ridiculous ice magic…”

“…You’re kidding. Don’t tell me that’s… Zeke Lagias?”

Even in Westen—where news traveled slowly—the rumors were infamous.

A corrupt noble who hurt his people, spread curses, and supposedly aided the capital’s attack. A monster who crushed anyone who resisted with money and force. Even these complacent townsfolk felt fear and disgust toward the name Lagias.

“Zeke Lagias… that’s the big villain.”

“Why is the Lagias devil here?”

With fear of monsters and fear of Lagias colliding, the soldiers’ confusion twisted into suspicion, and the air changed.

“What if he’s the one who called the monsters…”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“But listen—people say he hunts vicious monsters for fun! A battle maniac! There’s no way he’d risk his life to save nobodies like us!”

Zeke’s image burned into their eyes: grim-faced, swinging his sword, firing spell after spell.

He was fighting alone.

A young man—probably younger than them—facing terror without flinching, fighting for strangers he didn’t even know.

That desperate figure didn’t match the stain of Lagias’s reputation.

It shouldn’t be forced to match.

“…He doesn’t look like he’s plotting anything.”

“Yeah… he’s kind of… cool.”

Zeke fought against countless monsters, and he never let a single one slip past him toward the soldiers behind.

“We’ve got to be able to do something.”

“If there are wounded ones, we can pick them off from range.”

Among the instantly killed were also monsters left grievously injured and unable to move. If Zeke was overwhelmed, they could finish them. If it helped him even a little—

“Fireball!”

The soldiers unleashed a volley of fireballs all at once—aimed at the dying monsters away from Zeke.

Monsters that had, yes, advanced here from deep in the forest.

“—You idiots!”

The soldiers cheered at the hits, thinking they’d landed kills.

Then multiple magic circles appeared in front of them.

From them rose summoned giants—trolls.

“—Huh?”

“What is that?”

The soldiers froze as towering giants planted themselves before them. The difference in power was obvious.

A club swung down. The soldiers stared at it.

There was no room to resist.

“Icicle Protect.”

A cold voice—then a wall of ice, and the heavy impact of the club.

Zeke, who had been flying through the air, appeared in front of them as if he’d teleported, blocking the blow completely.

“You’re in the way. Disappear.”

Zeke blurred—

—and a troll’s head flew off in a spray of blood. Only a heartbeat later did the body realize it was dead and collapse.

“Wha…?”

The soldiers couldn’t speak. Every emotion arrived late, stuck somewhere behind their throats.

“What are you doing? Do you want to die?”

When Zeke fell back, the defensive line fell back with him.

Which meant the horde would surge forward.

“Run! Useless trash like you isn’t needed! Take the women and children and get out of here—now! Don’t ever enter my sight again!”

Crushed by Zeke’s abuse and pressure, the soldiers sprinted for the town all at once. They reacted as if they’d seen something more terrifying than the monsters.

“Idiots. …But this is fine.”

Zeke lifted his eyes to the sky, smiling as if he’d found something.

“It took more time and mana than usual… but it looks like it was worth it.”

From above, an ice comet descended. A massive meteor flew straight toward the monsters.

“Inverno Gate.”

Zeke cast an advanced barrier spell, shielding both himself and Westen behind him. His smile didn’t fade.

“Don’t think this is a one-time deal. This starfall is special.”

The ice comet smashed through the horde. Extreme cold and impact devoured the monsters that had no way to fight back.

As if they’d been waiting for it, new magic circles flared—and more monsters were summoned. You could practically see the caster’s rotten personality in the setup.

But the villain on the field went further than that.

“Now then—how many more can you endure?”

The stars Zeke called were not just one.

Multiple ice stars descended with delays between them.

A meteor shower.

Again and again, ice meteors rained from the heavens. Each impact unleashed a blizzard of cold and a spreading shockwave that erased monsters from existence.

If monsters were summoned, he dropped more meteors.

Over and over, as many times as it took—until nothing remained.

It was a scene that could be called hell itself.

But to the people of Westen behind him, it looked like a hero punishing evil.

In a barren town with nothing, a hero worth boasting about was born in that moment.

On the other side—

The monster horde did not break.

They tried magic to distract and slow it, tried to draw its attention, but achieved little.

All they could do was watch the advance out of the corner of their eyes.

The regional town of Osten. A backwater so similar to Westen that people often mixed them up—equally lacking anything to brag about, equally lacking ambition.

A relaxed town, if you were kind. A town with no sense of crisis, if you weren’t.

Westen and Osten.

What decided their fates wasn’t strategy or courage.

It was whether the villain existed there.

The first to notice the abnormality wasn’t a soldier, but a traveling merchant from outside the town. After finishing business and preparing to leave for the next city, he saw the raging black tide. Outside the town, an unstoppable violence was approaching.

The soldiers who heard the report were half-convinced at best.

Only after seeing it with their own eyes did they panic—rushing to arm themselves and prepare evacuations.

But everything was too late.

It was hell.

A vast number of monsters charged straight for the town and poured in.

Those with power fought desperately; those without were swallowed in an instant.

People, homes, the town itself—everything was trampled.

A light pierced that endless nightmare only because four people arrived from outside.

A fortress-like shield that rejected evil. Swordsmanship flowing like water. Varied magic that crushed monsters. And a knight wrapped in holy radiance that purged corruption.

Because they fought until their bodies were ground down, Osten didn’t lose everything.

Dusk fell. Normally the crimson sky would have colored the town—but the buildings meant to be lit by that sunset were mostly collapsed.

The peaceful everyday life that had existed until yesterday was gone, replaced by countless dead and wounded.

Osten was devastated.

No longer a town—just ruins.

“Mom! Where are you!?”

A little girl screamed and cried, clutching a doll to her chest and calling for her mother.

But no mother answered.

‘What… is this?’

Luke reached out toward the girl—

but his hand couldn’t reach her.

Because Luke himself was spent beyond words, so exhausted he could barely stand. They hadn’t stopped the monsters. Even surviving was a miracle. His memories from the middle of the battle were gone.

“…Luke. Are you alright?”

It was Yorn who spoke. His usual breezy attitude was gone; he looked worn out.

“Yorn… the monsters…”

“There’s no reaction anymore. Looks like… it’s finally over.”

Yorn sank to the ground, exhaled, and stared up at the sky.

His clothes were shredded with blood and dust.

“Brink is pulling things together as acting commander. Strohk is treating the wounded. We should rest a bit, then join them.”

The residents of Osten had been robbed of their entire daily life. Those who survived by chance—those who survived and were left behind—what would they live for now? Could they even live?

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t… know anything.’

“This… wasn’t supposed to happen.”

What were they even “pulling together” in a destroyed town?

Who were they “treating” when more than half were dead?

‘Is this… my fault?’

Rovinz’s words flashed back:

“Why didn’t you kill me? That softness will become your sin.”

No matter how tightly he covered his ears, it wouldn’t stop.

“Luke. You should rest. You look awful.”

“If I rest and wake up… will this nightmare be gone?”

“…It won’t. Not no matter how much time passes. The dead don’t come back.”

No gentle comfort. Only fact.

Whether those words were for Luke or for someone else, he couldn’t tell.

“…Then say it clearly. Say Osten fell because of me…”

“Luke. If you hadn’t been there, more—”

Yorn’s words were cut off by two newcomers from outside the town.

“…Regimental Commander Yorn.”

Nahal and Skinny, pale, stared around at the devastation. They looked stunned by what they saw.

“I was going to send someone for you, but… how did you get here?”

“We found a carriage that had been left in the forest by chance. We came straight here. …But why Osten?”

They had rested until they could move.

Because they understood exactly what had happened, they couldn’t keep resting forever.

They came to Osten for one reason: they knew Yorn’s hometown was Westen. If a choice had to be made, they assumed Westen would be chosen—meaning Osten would suffer the worst. So they came to help.

“A lot happened. —As you can see, this is what the four of us accomplished.”

Collapsed buildings, shattered streets, corpses of people and monsters.

Was this the result they wanted? The best possible outcome?

Now that it was over, no one could know.

“I know your bodies still hurt, but I’m going to need you two to move as well.”

“…Yeah. What do we do?”

As Yorn started giving them orders, a soldier ran up.

“Mage-sama, we have a report. We received a message from the neighboring town of Westen via communication artifact.”

“…Of course. Go on.”

“Yes. A massive monster assault came from the forest. After several hours, they repelled everything. The town suffered no damage.”

“…Huh? What are you talking about?”

“It’s hard to believe, but… they say one young man annihilated all the monsters. A relief force has now been organized and is heading for Osten.”

Yorn froze, unable to process it.

From what Rovinz said, Westen should have faced a similar number of monsters. To handle that alone—and with zero damage— what kind of hero was that? It sounded like a fairy tale.

Nahal and Skinny looked at each other, still confused.

Only Luke wore an expression of grim certainty.

‘Of course. The only one who would do that… who could do that… is you. You’re nothing like me.’

A black-haired figure walked in through the town gate.

A luxurious noble outfit had darkened into red-black. He looked like someone who’d dived into a sea of blood.

“Zeke Lagias… why are you here?”

“Would it sound more convincing if I said I came to laugh at you?”

Two years since they last met—since the day they parted in the capital after Luke became a knight.

Thinking back, maybe they’d already diverged from the moment Luke swore he’d change things.

Their positions were now completely different.

“You came to laugh? You can laugh after seeing this?”

Nahal took Zeke’s words at face value, confusion and anger mixing on his face.

“I can. You’re licking each other’s wounds in a situation like this?”

Skinny held Nahal back. Their usual roles had reversed.

“Wait! Westen’s report says the one who stopped the monsters was a black-haired, noble-looking young man!”

“That’s what it sounds like, but what’s the truth? And hey—Nahal, calm down. Don’t go swinging. You still hurt!”

“Who knows. What happens to some backwater town doesn’t concern me.”

Hearing that, Nahal bristled again, and Skinny let out a pained shout.

‘So it really was you. You saved Westen. And I couldn’t save Osten…’

Luke couldn’t look Zeke in the eye.

Zeke stood firm on his own two feet.

Luke sat on the ground.

Their difference could not have been clearer.

“Just chill for a second! Whatever he says, Westen survived, right? If so, isn’t that enough to call it a win!?”

“How can I be calm!? Even as a joke, there are lines you don’t cross! In front of the people who suffered—this bastard—”

“Correct. This tragedy happened because of your failure.”

The air went still.

Nahal stopped mid-step.

Skinny went silent.

“Because you lacked power, this town fell. Because you were insufficient, the town, the people, the buildings—everything was taken.”

“W-what…?”

“Can’t understand simple words? Then you’ll repeat this again. Over and over. And many more will die.”

‘Because I lacked power. Because Zeke had it.’

Luke wanted to deny it, but he understood too well—because he had been there fighting.

‘How did it turn out like this? What did I do wrong? I never wanted this…’

“That’s enough. That hit them hard.”

Yorn finally spoke, trying to stop it.

“Hmph. Be grateful to those regimental commanders, at least.”

Zeke turned to leave.

Luke forced himself up, pushing through the pain, and stepped into Zeke’s path.

Two years since they’d faced each other like this. Luke was taller now, his face sharper.

They were about the same height—but Zeke still looked many times larger.

“…Zeke. How can you do that? Why are you that strong?”

“Forgot? I’m more special than anything in this world.”

‘No. This isn’t what I want to talk about…’

There was so much Luke wanted to say. So much he needed to ask.

But only shallow, useless words came out.

“What… did I do wrong?”

“How should I know?”

Luke could see it: Zeke was acting tough, but his body was already wrecked. He was forcing ice over wounds, sealing them just to keep moving.

What Zeke needed wasn’t talk—he needed treatment and rest.

Luke knew that.

‘What I really want to ask is—’

“What’s different between you and me? How do I become like you? How do I change—how do I change things?”

“…You will never stand at the same eye level as me. Never.”

‘Why do you look… so sad? Who pushed you this far? Who did this to you?’

“Tell me, Zeke. If I’d met you one year earlier—could I have stood at your side?”

“Nothing would’ve changed. Including this outcome.”

As if there were no more words to exchange, Zeke walked into the ruined town without looking back.

Luke’s consciousness cut out completely right there.