“What was I lacking?” The question rang out in the void.
“In truth, I know the answer. There was too big a gap between our techniques. Even though I modified and evolved them in my own way, they could not be compared to the real deal,” the voice continued.
He didn’t expect a reply.
“But that wasn’t the only thing I was lacking, was it? I… I believe that I am strong. I am far stronger than the Demon Kings who perished three hundred years ago,” he continued.
The specter knew this to be a fact.
“I’m aware that this strength isn’t entirely my own, but… I don’t think that matters. I didn’t want to boast or take pride in my strength. I needed power, and you provided as much as was necessary.”
It almost felt as if the specter was reciting a soliloquy.
“Honestly, I’m still not sure what you expected of me or what you wanted from me. But since you kept supporting me with your power… that must mean that my choices weren’t entirely wrong.”
With that, the specter fell silent for a moment. He felt a mix of emotions surging from deep inside his heart. They were deep, complex, and sticky. The specter let out a deep sigh as the wave of emotions engulfed him.
“I’ve failed in the end.”
The sigh turned into a bitter laugh.
“I thought I did my best. I thought I could reach him with just a bit more effort. But in the end, I failed.”
What had he been lacking in? He had been given the dark power of Destruction, Vermouth’s White Flame Formula and magic, Hamel’s techniques, as well as instincts and intuition befitting the Incarnation of Destruction. Had he been clumsy in orchestrating all that he had been given?
“…Well.”
After a moment of thought, the specter slowly shook his head.
“I can’t necessarily say that my failure is the wrong outcome.”
But he couldn’t help but think of the worst outcome. Even if Eugene proved himself today, he could very well lose against the Demon King of Incarceration.
If that happened, then this era, this world, everything would be left without a next. The cycle of reincarnation and the special outlier would all cease to exist. The Demon King of Incarceration would never show mercy if there was no longer anyone with whom to keep his promise.
The specter’s imagination caused him deepening anxiety. Simultaneously, he felt fear rising from his heart.
“Was I right?”
What if he had done better? What if he had been stronger, and the Demon King of Incarceration had shown him the truth as one last act of mercy? What if Vermouth had made him the Incarnation of Destruction with the intention of securing hope for the next era?
“No.” The specter swallowed hard and vigorously shook his head. He didn’t want to entertain such weak thoughts.
He had used everything at his disposal. He had given his best. He had used everything he had to kill Eugene.
He had simply failed to reach Eugene in the end. Eugene was strong. The fool had managed to defeat the specter without the support of the Saints or Sienna’s help.
“Is it inevitable that a fake can never beat the real thing?” the specter whispered under his breath.
“It has nothing to do with being real or fake,” someone responded.
The specter was startled and raised his head in the empty realm. In front of him, he saw Vermouth bound to a chair with chains. However, his head was no longer bowed like before.
Even though Vermouth’s face looked worn and haggard, there was a clear twinkle in his eyes.
“You are simply you,” said Vermouth.
His voice was hoarse and rather unpleasant to the ears. It was vastly different from the voice the specter held in his memories. Yet, changed as he might be, he was still unmistakably Vermouth Lionheart.
“It was I who acted however I wanted,” continued Vermouth.
The specter couldn’t find words to respond and simply stared at Vermouth. He had so much he wanted to say, but he could not decide where to start.
“Hamel, Sienna, Anise, Molon, and… even you. I imposed on your understanding without explaining anything. I acted solely on my own will,” said Vermouth.
His voice was slowly fading away, forcing the specter to close his mouth reluctantly. Vermouth wasn’t in a state to converse. Speaking this much was already an extreme effort for him.
“I don’t think it was wrong to give you power. The choice… was yours to make. Whatever you did, I have no right to say it was wrong,” explained Vermouth.
The specter shuddered at his words. He had given up on making an effort to speak with Vermouth because he didn’t want to burden Vermouth any further.
However, Vermouth’s words were the answer to the questions that had been tormenting the specter.
“I feel… guilt toward you,” Vermouth said. “I feel like I’ve dragged you into this mess. Like I’ve forced you into a position to make a choice you never wanted.”
Vermouth’s eyes had held hostility during their first encounter. It was most likely that Vermouth simply could not accept the specter’s existence at the time.
The specter was a Death Knight born from the corpse of his dear companion, and he had falsely believed himself to be Hamel.
However, Vermouth’s view changed over time. The hostility he felt towards the specter was replaced by pity, and now, the specter could finally understand why Vermouth had harbored such feelings toward him.
“I acknowledge your existence,” said Vermouth.
He gave a bitter smile, and blood trickled from his cracked lips. The specter stood still and silent as he watched Vermouth.
If possible, he wanted to approach Vermouth and converse with him. He wanted to ask what had happened, why he had ended up in such a state, and how he could help him.
But that was an impossible task. The specter could feel it. It would be impossible for him to even approach Vermouth. Any attempt at conversation wouldn’t yield the answers the specter desired. Just being able to face Vermouth like this was in itself a miracle.
Vermouth continued, “And I’m sorry. I’ve been too—”
“It’s okay, you bastard,” the specter interrupted. He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. I did what I wanted. It was my choice.”
His voice trembled slightly.
“Still… thank you for saying that,” said the specter. He composed his emotions before continuing, “Thank you for giving me strength.” He stared directly at Vermouth’s face. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
He could feel Vermouth’s presence growing fainter. The sound of clanking chains reached his ears, followed by a noise resembling distant waves.
“Just hold on a little longer,” the specter assured.
Their time together was running short.
“Your comrades,” he started.
The specter wondered if it was his place to say such things. ‘After everything so far, why not?’ He smiled while entertaining such a thought.
“Your friends will come to save you,” he corrected himself.
Vermouth’s lips parted slightly. It looked like he wanted to speak, but no sound came from his mouth. Vermouth gave a sad smile.
The chains tightened around him with a creaking noise. Vermouth’s figure grew fainter as the world seemed to collapse around them. The specter felt grateful for this moment of miracle. He slowly raised his hand to his chest and said, “That’s right.”
He had been defeated, but he hadn’t failed. The specter decided to see it that way. He had given everything he had. He had tested the hero, Eugene, with all his might and lost.
However, this defeat was not a failure. The specter may have lost, but Eugene had won. He might make a loser’s lament, but he should not curse the future with anxiety and fear.
There was one thing left for the specter to do, and that was to trust in Eugene.
He had to trust in his comrades.
He had to trust in the world that followed Eugene.
“Ha.” The specter gave a curt laugh before turning away.
He had been granted a reunion by a miracle. Although he had not exchanged as many words as he had wanted with Vermouth, in the end, it did not matter. He had already heard what he most wanted to hear.
So now it was time.
“Let’s go.”
It was time for him to face the end.
Kwaaah!
The third swing of the Divine Sword, despite being the last, emitted a more intense light than before. The attack was fueled by the prayers and wishes of the battlefield. As everyone chanted Eugene’s name and held him dear in their hearts, his divine power was amplified.
The specter thought he had reached, but his flames never touched Eugene. The light emitted by the shattered Holy Sword denied the flames’ intrusion.
The Divine Sword Eugene drew from his chest cut through everything — the flames, the magic, and even the specter’s existence.
The specter calmly accepted his fate.
His eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was a clear expanse of the sky above. It was a sky purged of malice and magic. His gaze lingered on the heavens for a moment, and he gave a soft chuckle.
“Miracle,” he whispered once again.
When had the tapestry of miracles begun to weave itself? At the drawing of the Divine Sword? When the sword cleaved through the flames? Or was it when it severed the essence of the specter himself? The specifics eluded his grasp. The moments had been fleeting.
Yet, the miracle lingered, sweet and extended. The specter inhaled deeply before lowering his gaze to his chest. The gaze remained there. To his surprise, his body was whole. It wasn’t mutilated nor cleaved as he had expected.
However, that was only how it appeared on the surface. The essence of the specter had been sliced beyond revival. His Core had been nearly obliterated. The specter stood on the brink of dissolution, even if it hadn’t been for the final strike from the Divine Sword.
“This, then, is my testament,” the specter murmured with a faint smile.
Eugene stood near the specter. The weight of exhaustion pressed upon him, and it proved challenging for him to even remain upright. He longed to fall to the ground or simply collapse. However, it wasn’t yet time for him to fall unconscious.
“Testament?” Eugene’s terse voice cut through.
The battlefield was slowly settling. Surprisingly, the Nur had ceased their advance once the Divine Sword tore through the specter. The bodies of the monsters began to disintegrate once what remained of the specter touched the earth, once the sustenance of his dark power dissipated.
As such, the battlefield no longer demanded Eugene’s vigilance. Now, his duty was to see this moment through to the final curtain, to witness the specter’s end.
“It’s a testament for you,” the specter said, his gaze locking with Eugene’s. There was a smile gracing his visage. “I exerted every ounce of my strength in an attempt to kill you, yet here you stand. I am defeated, and you remain victorious.”
His defeat was a testament to Eugene Lionheart’s might. It was evidence that Eugene Lionheart was stronger than the specter, and his victory was untainted by cowardice. It was unassailable.
“Remarkable,” the specter lauded. “You are… strong. You possess strength that’s incomparable to mine. And you will only continue to grow stronger.”
“Of course,” Eugene responded as if it were the most natural fact.
“A moment ago,” the specter began, his voice trailing as the weight of his impending dissolution became palpable. “I encountered Vermouth.”
“Is that so?” Eugene’s response was devoid of surprise. His intuition had already whispered to him of the specter’s encounter.
As the Divine Sword cleaved the specter’s essence, a fragment of his existence had drifted somewhere beyond Eugene’s reach, yet not beyond his understanding. It wasn’t difficult for Eugene to deduce the destination of the drift and what his essence had been tethered to.
“What did that bastard have to say?” Eugene inquired, a hint of curiosity beneath the veneer of indifference.
“He acknowledged me,” the specter relayed, the edges of his words tinged with a complex blend of emotions.
“Well, that’s good for you,” Eugene remarked, allowing a soft chuckle to escape him as he comfortably settled beside the specter. “Did he not say anything else?” he prodded further.
“He expressed his regret to me. He apologized,” the specter shared.
“As he should have, that bastard,” Eugene muttered, his voice laced with a blend of jest and bitterness. “But he didn’t apologize to me, did he?”
“No, that he did not,” the specter confirmed.
“Damn bastard,” Eugene sighed while shaking his head.
“I told him that you will come to rescue him,” said the specter.
“Right,” responded Eugene.
“Other than that… we didn’t have any conversations that you might find interesting or necessary. It’s the same for me, but Vermouth also didn’t have much time,” the specter explained.
Eugene did not respond to his words but instead glanced at the specter’s face. “I can’t summon Molon… but if you wish, I can call Sienna and Anise,” he suggested.
“Bastard. What am I supposed to talk about with those two?” The specter chuckled. His feelings for Sienna, Anise, and Molon ultimately stemmed from Hamel’s memories. Mixed in with his feelings for them was a sense of longing. “I don’t need that kind of consideration. I… like how it is now.” He was being sincere.
Eugene licked his lips, then asked, “Any regrets?”
“Regrets? I decided not to have any,” the specter responded with a grimace. “Feeling regretful and thinking that I have failed.”
Regretting his defeat. Regretting his failure.
After a pause, the specter continued, “It’s meaningless to have any regrets right now. So—”
“Stop with the bullshit,” Eugene interjected. With a scoff, he gently punched the specter’s shoulder. “How can a dying man not have any regrets? Forcing yourself to think otherwise doesn’t mean your regrets are going to disappear magically. If you feel any regrets, just leave them here,” Eugene suggested.
He raised his hand from the specter’s shoulder and rested it on top of the specter’s hand, which lay on his chest.
“I’ll take them with me,” declared Eugene.
The specter managed to turn his head towards Eugene. He was met with shining, golden eyes. There was not even a hint of mockery present in those eyes. They only contained firm conviction, belief, and determination.
“…Ha-ha!”
He thought he wouldn’t leave any regrets behind. He tried to consciously ignore them. But in the end, Eugene’s words were true. Even if one thought they were meeting a satisfying end, everyone still had regrets at the time of their death.
“Alright.” The specter squeezed his chest with his fingers before continuing, “You take them.”
He had lost. He wanted to win, but he lost. He had thought victory to be within his reach, but he fell short.
What would become of the world now? Could the Hero, Eugene Lionheart, defeat the Demon King of Incarceration? Could he defeat the Demon King of Destruction? Could he save Vermouth? What would happen to Anise, Sienna, and Molon?
He decided to entrust all of his regrets and worries to Eugene. That was his wish.
Eugene slowly nodded.
The specter’s smile faded when he saw this. Slowly, the specter’s body began to crumble into ash. He watched his own body disintegrate with a smiling face. It felt more comforting leaving and entrusting his regrets rather than insisting he had none.
“If it’s you, it’s possible,” said the specter.
“Of course I can,” Eugene answered with a smile, and the specter smiled back.
“Alright.”
His hand and the rest of his upper body turned to ash. For the last time, the specter turned his head up to look at Eugene.
“Because you’re Eugene Lionheart.”
He was the reincarnation of the God of War.
He was the reincarnation of Hamel.
He was the Hero.
Such words were left unspoken. Just as the specter was simply himself, Eugene, too, was simply himself.
“I’m not tired.”
Did his memory as Hamel end with an onslaught of sleep? It was hard to say. After all, the end he met in his memories had been fabricated.
In any case, he didn’t feel sleepy now.
But slowly and quietly, he could feel his consciousness fading.
“Go,” the specter murmured.
“Alright.”
Eugene clenched the ashes remaining in his hand.
“Let’s go,” the Hero responded.