The flames that stood in his path seemed capable of incinerating everything. Gavid stood in the way of those flames. There was no place to retreat.
He had raised his sword, but Gavid already knew how powerful the blazing divine fire was and what legend it would leave in its wake on this battlefield.
In that legend, Gavid would be recorded as a foolish demon who defied a god. This legend was already predetermined and irrevocable. The demonic sword in Gavid’s hand would be consumed by the fiercely burning divine flames.
‘God,’ Gavid thought, inwardly denying the word.
Even if Eugene truly attained a god-like brilliance, that divinity was not born from the faiths of the demons. Gavid believed it was absurd for a demonfolk to worship a god. There wasn’t anything more ridiculous.
‘Even if your sword has truly become a miracle,’ Gavid thought.
He did not want to silently acknowledge the truth and perish. Even if Hamel or, rather, Eugene Lionheart had indeed achieved divinity, Gavid would not recognize him. This was simply because he was not human. He was a demonfolk, and demons did not follow the faith of humans. That was Gavid Lindman’s last act of defiance.
“Aaaaaah!”
Gavid screamed as he swung the demonic sword towards the flames. However, Gavid’s sword fell short of being a miracle in the face of the divine. As if it were predetermined, the flames of Levantein incinerated the demonic sword.
The destruction did not stop there. The flames that had turned the demonic sword to ash now invaded Gavid’s body.
The pain was not just physical but soul deep. It burnt him to ash. The pain he experienced was incomparably worse, even compared to the thousands of deaths he had experienced in the barren wasteland.
He endured. His soul, which should have disintegrated completely, maintained its form, though imperfectly, amidst agonizing pain.
The flames continued burning, and with them, Gavid experienced the pain of his entire existence burning. There was the crackling sound of the flames. Amidst those, a sound he had not heard for a long time grew louder.
‘Ah.’
Gavid Lindman had discarded everything he possessed to stand here. Apart from his loyalty to the Demon King of Incarceration and the glory of the Helmuth Empire, he remained solely for the duel with Hamel and the desire for victory. Glory was shattered. He had pierced his eye himself where the Demoneye of Divine Glory resided.
That decision to discard his demoneye had been Gavid’s choice. However, the Black Mist did not respect Gavid’s decision as they watched the duel from the stands. Just as Gavid wished for victory in this duel, the Black Mist also desired Gavid’s victory.
They sighed and despaired when Gavid collapsed, called his name with hope when he took up the demonic sword again, and now, as Gavid seemed about to perish into legend, they fervently shouted his name.
It was not just the Black Mist. The duel in Raguyaran was being broadcast across the continent. Not just the humans but demons were also watching the duel.
The demons naturally hoped for Gavid’s victory. They were anticipating the end of the Oath and the beginning of the war. Even young demons, who had yet to fully grasp the concept of war, cheered for Gavid’s victory as he stood up again and again.
It was inevitable. While human hopes were concentrated on Eugene, all the demonic aspirations were focused on Gavid.
He thought it was cruel and bitter. He had discarded everything to retain only his sword, and now, the very things he thought he had abandoned were supporting him from behind. Gavid found it both ironic and pitiful. He could only mock himself.
‘Nevertheless,’ Gavid thought.
He moved forward. The voices supported him from falling and held onto his body, which should have already turned to ash.
‘I am….’
This wish that poured on him was different from what Eugene had received. If the wishes concentrated on Eugene had brought an absolute miracle, the wishes focused on Gavid merely postponed his inevitable death.
‘I am….’
Beyond the still-raging fierce flames, he saw Eugene. Eugene was staring at him with wide eyes, his gaze devoid of any ridicule or contempt — only astonishment and admiration.
‘I, you….’
Gavid’s feet staggered forward.
“Gavid Lindman.”
The voice was clear and close amid the fading cheers and the sighs.
It was the voice of the Demon King of Incarceration, sitting on his throne of chains. The usual ennui that was everyday life for him was absent. The Demon King of Incarceration wore a bittersweet smile as he witnessed the end of the knight he had long kept at his side.
“Do not leave with regrets.”
That phrase pierced Gavid’s mind.
Regret, regret…. Wasn’t it inevitable? Despite everything he had forsaken and devoted himself to, this was his end. Even having reached such heights, he had ultimately failed to reach the man he truly wanted to defeat.
Had he been wrong? Should he not have discarded those things? Instead of insisting on a duel, if he had perhaps….
“Ha ha.” A chuckle escaped Gavid’s lips.
Such regrets were useless. The cruel flames, the already decided death, the consciousness that could vanish at any moment — had these made him weak in his last moments? Gavid chuckled and reached out his hand.
“Yes,” Gavid acknowledged.
The Black Mist was watching. All the demons of Helmuth were watching. Noir Giabella was watching. And the Demon King of Incarceration was watching.
He could not leave a legacy of regret or disgrace.
The ash left by his burnt soul became his sword.
Do not stop in self-pity with regrets. If you are not yet fully dead, continue to struggle.
‘I did not come here to die with regrets,’ Gavid told himself.
Even if defeat was already certain, he did not want to fall pathetically and pointlessly. The unattainable victory, its very unattainability, made him desire it even more. He did not want to remain in the myth that Eugene Lionheart would write as a foolish, insignificant demon who accomplished nothing.
He grasped his sword.
In the flames that seemed capable of incinerating all in their path, Gavid stamped the ground and charged through them toward Eugene. Demons did not believe in gods. His desperate will defied the divine.
Eugene scattered the flames by wielding Levantein.
He felt a profound respect for Gavid. Eugene had not anticipated movement in such a state. The miracles and myths were stronger than Gavid’s sword, but at the brink of existence, his burning determination dared to defy even miracles.
No.
This was not merely determination. It was a curse born from a desperate end.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, the flames of Levantein disappeared. That fierce myth became concentrated on the glass tip of Levantein.
At that moment, Gavid’s mind cleared. He saw how he should swing his sword, and he struck.
His strike, scattering dark ashes, touched Levantein.
Crash!
Myth and curse collided.
“Ha ha…” Gavid laughed with a voice that was hoarse and breaking. “Just a bit longer.”
He could hold on no longer. Gavid knelt, muttering. His last strike had been blocked by Levantein. His longing had not overcome Levantein but was blocked and shattered.
However, a small fragment that had broken off brushed against Eugene’s cheek, managing to reach him, if only slightly.
“Why do you think I lost?” Gavid asked.
He looked up at Eugene, who slowly lowered Levantein and raised his left hand to touch his cheek. The blood that smeared his hand was hot, and the wound was painful.
“Because I am stronger than you,” responded Eugene.
Despite being sliced and severely wounded numerous times, those wounds had healed. But this wound on his cheek would not disappear. It would remain indefinitely.
After a pause, Eugene continued, “You and I carry different burdens.”
“What we carry,” echoed Gavid.
“I absolutely cannot lose here,” Eugene spoke in a matter-of-fact voice.
He had died as Agaroth and as Hamel. Then he was reborn as Eugene Lionheart. He had received the Moonlight Sword. He was chosen by the Holy Sword, by the Light.
Eugene carried all of that. He had not discarded anything. He could not afford to.
“Still,” Eugene said. He felt the blood trickling down his cheek and muttered, “The end was thrilling.”
The dark cursed sword.
Without divinity, he would not have discerned the treacherous path of the blade. The sword that bent just before the collision had become a deadly curse aimed at Eugene’s neck. Had he not blocked it, his neck would have been severed, and a slight misstep would have cost him an arm. He incinerated the fragments immediately after shattering them, making them only graze his cheek; otherwise, he might have lost an eye.
“Is that so?” Gavid chuckled and nodded.
Crack!
One arm turned to ash. Death, which he had pushed to its limits, began to approach.
“You won,” he said.
The sword had broken, but he wanted to curse. He wanted to declare a harsh and despairing end to the myths that would be written today and used in the future.
He did not proceed with the complaint, for it would have merely been the grumbling of a defeated man. He had given his all… truly his utmost effort. It was a desperate fight, one he deemed a fitting climax to a life.
“Hamel… no, Eugene Lionheart,” Gavid called out.
He moved his stiff fingers, and the space around him warped, albeit without stability. Even this meager manipulation seemed to fail him. He chuckled bitterly and opened a small gap from which a half-empty bottle of liquor rolled out.
“A modest gift for the victor, but take it,” said Gavid.
“What is this?” Eugene asked.
“Can’t you see? It’s liquor,” answered Gavid.
Eugene picked up the rolling bottle from the ground. It was an opened bottle, half-drunk, with no label. He inspected the suspicious alcohol and then looked at Gavid.
“There’s no poison. Not that poison would work on you anyway,” declared Gavid. “I had intended to toast to my victory over you. But having been defeated, it’s only right that you, the victor, should have it. Feel free to throw it away if you dislike it.”
“No,” Eugene said with a shake of his head and tucked the bottle inside his cloak.
“I shall drink it after I have killed the Demon King of Incarceration,” he declared.
Gavid blinked blankly, then looked up at Eugene and burst out laughing in a hoarse voice.
“I hope it doesn’t come to be used for that,” said Gavid.
“Gavid Lindman,” Eugene glanced briefly upward. “I was weaker than you three hundred years ago. If you had not backed down, I would have died then by your sword.”
“I know I was stronger than you,” Gavid replied. “Three hundred years ago and even a year ago, I was stronger than you. If I had truly wanted to kill you, I could have done so at any time.”
“That’s true,” Eugene agreed.
“But as you said earlier, today, I was the weaker one,” said Gavid.
It was not a satisfying admission. Nor was he without regrets. He was frustrated. Gavid closed his eyes briefly.
“But this defeat… feels different compared to the one from three hundred years ago. It seems inevitable, and rightly so,” declared Gavid.
Eugene just accepted these words silently.
“Eugene Lionheart,” Gavid said as he opened his eyes. He struggled to lift his scarcely moving body. “Will you grant me the time to report this defeat?”
“Yes.”
Eugene nodded and stepped back.
“One last thing,” Eugene called out. “Thank you for dueling with me.”
Without waiting for a reply, Eugene turned away. As he staggered, Gavid watched Eugene’s receding back. There was not a trace of mockery in his last words.
“Eugene Lionheart,” Gavid spoke again, “Thank you for making this duel my last.”
Eugene did not respond. He did not turn back. He simply raised a hand and waved once. Gavid chuckled softly and turned away.
From the opposite stands, cheers erupted. Everyone was shouting Eugene’s name. Gavid paid no attention to it. He extended his foot and took a step forward with difficulty.
Crack!
His weakened leg crumbled into ash, and he failed to maintain his balance, which normally would have been effortless. His drained body fell forward.
However, he did not face-plant onto the ground. Someone supported Gavid’s body from collapsing.
“Any regrets?” came the question.
Barely lifting his head, Gavid saw the Demon King of Incarceration. His vision was blurry, but even if he were to lose his sight completely, he would not fail to recognize the Demon King.
With a wry smile, Gavid nodded. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
“There are some,” he answered.
“If you wish, I can erase those regrets,” responded the Demon King of Incarceration.
The Demon King, having descended from his throne without using chains, personally supported Gavid with his hands. His voice was serene, devoid of any sadness or pity.
It was inevitable. For a sinner like him, who had entwined all causality with chains, such emotions had long been worn away.
Yet, even if he was devoid of sorrow or regret, the words of the Demon King were sincere. It was not the Demon King’s practice to choose directly. However, if Gavid desired it, the Demon King would even incarcerate the predetermined death that awaited Gavid.
“This duel must end with the loser’s death,” Gavid answered, shaking his head in response. “Please, do not cling to my end.”
It was a sufficient answer. The Demon King did not press further. Following him, the Black Mist descended and surrounded both the Demon King and Gavid.
Gavid’s body continued to crumble into ash. All the while, the Black Mist drew swords and pointed them skyward.
Looking down at Gavid, the Demon King spoke, “Duke Giabella.”
Noir, who had been above in the sky, descended beside the Demon King. The veil that had previously been tossed back was now draped over, concealing Noir’s face.
“Do you have anything to share?” the Demon King questioned.
“I never expected such consideration from you,” Noir answered in a quiet voice, devoid of her usual laughter. She raised her hand as she asked, “Will you grant me a moment of mourning?”
Without responding, the Demon King looked down at Gavid. Gavid managed a bitter smile and nodded.
“You got what you wanted, yet you do not seem pleased,” Gavid said to Noir.
“I am quite surprised myself,” Noir answered.
She took over supporting Gavid from the Demon King. She gently lowered herself and placed Gavid’s head on her lap.
“Should I have stopped the duel back then?” she questioned.
“No,” Gavid answered.
“Right, it would have been impossible to stop you then,” Noir murmured softly as she gazed down at Gavid’s face. His eyes, now clouded, saw nothing more, and his body continued to disintegrate into ash.
“I could show you one last dream,” Noir offered.
Her purple eyes shimmered.
Noir continued, “Everyone hopes to dream a happy dream in their final moments, Gavid Lindman. Whatever you didn’t achieve, whatever you couldn’t reach… the dream is—”
“Merely emptiness,” Gavid replied. “And I have already lived a life that was much like a dream. Everything I abandoned was the dream I had cherished since childhood.”
“Even this death?” Noir asked.
“It’s a defeat, but not a nightmare.” A brief laugh followed, and then Gavid continued, “There are regrets, there are lingering thoughts. Yet, it is quite satisfying.”
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Noir didn’t know what to say.
“I hope the eye I entrusted to you helps you realize your dream,” said Gavid.
Noir said no more but closed her eyes momentarily. She could feel the Demoneye of Divine Glory embedded in her left socket. With a long sigh, she nodded. Gavid sensed Noir’s tremor and chuckled hoarsely.
“…Your Majesty,” Gavid said. “May I wish for Your Majesty’s reign and prosperity?”
The Demon King of Incarceration looked at Gavid with somber eyes, understanding the weight of his question.
“No,” he answered.
The Demon King shook his head.
“I do not seek to reign nor to prosper. If you wish to hope for something, Gavid Lindman, hope that the aspiration I have pursued comes to fruition,” continued the Demon King.
Gavid did not know what aspiration the Demon King pursued.
However, he felt that the Demon King did not desire power or glory. If he truly pursued such things, there would have been no reason to make the Oath three hundred years ago, no reason not to kill Eugene, the reincarnation of Hamel, no reason to wait in Babel….
“Yes,” Gavid said readily.
But he did not ask about the Demon King’s aspiration.
“I hope your aspiration is realized.”
Even in death, the souls of Helmuth’s demons could not leave the Demon King of Incarceration. But the Demon King did not hold onto the soul of Gavid as he turned to ash.
Gavid did not wish for it.
“So be it,” the Demon King closed his eyes and replied.
The Duke of Helmuth, the Sword of Incarceration.
The demon, Gavid Lindman.
He disintegrated into ash.