“How was it? Was my friend’s past worth listening to?”
Vitalianus spoke from beyond the monitor screen, and I tapped out a nonchalant reply in chat.
This was a story from a time when the world of Ventair, where Abyss Monsters poured forth, still held the symbol of hope alive.
“Hmm.”
Looking back, it’s amazing that an NPC in the game could understand such chat and keep the conversation going, but at the time, no one thought it strange.
“Just a typical villain’s story. It’s pitiful, sure, but that doesn’t erase the things he did.”
That was my first impression upon hearing Atawolf’s past.
I understood there were circumstances, but that didn’t justify what he had done.
At that, Vitalianus burst out laughing.
“You’re right. That’s why I hated him so much. To stop his atrocities, his aimless hatred, I ran straight to the place where the Black Mist appeared.”
Vitalianus chasing after Atawolf, and Atawolf fleeing while committing evil acts.
A hero chasing a villain, and a villain evading a hero.
Decades passed like that.
“Many things happened during those years.”
The knight who once dreamed of becoming the best eventually earned the title of the Star by the sword and became the greatest.
He became the Guardian Knight of the Emperor and the Empire, earning the respect of all people.
He became someone’s goal, a dream, a beacon of hope.
“But then, I had a sudden thought.”
So many years had passed, and naturally, much had changed.
The comrades who had stood beside him had long since retired and were hard to find.
The contrast between the graying men of white hair and himself was stark.
Even the Emperor he had loyally served with all his heart was no longer there.
The passion that drove him to swing the sword with the single-minded desire to become the best had faded away.
“It’s lonely.”
Looking around, there was no one by his side.
“That’s when I realized how lonely my friend must have been.”
A boy from a kingdom that had rotted and fallen apart on its own.
A boy who tried to become a hero himself to wipe away all the disgrace of the Luxen people.
But he was called a traitor and seen as an ill omen, receiving no comfort from anyone even before the cold corpses of his family.
My poor friend.
“At the end of a long expedition, all that awaited him was the bodies of his family. If I had been there at that hardest moment, would the story have been different?”
‘Maybe then, you and I could have stood shoulder to shoulder.’
The day a child cried in fear at your voice.
If you had gone to the child and explained the glorious secret in your voice, wouldn’t the child have smiled brightly and handed you a White Wildflower?
‘Wouldn’t a smile have blossomed on your face as well?’
But that didn’t happen, and he was always alone.
“How lonely and desolate he must have been.”
Before being absorbed into the Empire, the situation in Luxen was the worst.
Wars raged daily, and children starved to death without protection.
The nobles treated their people like cattle, endlessly filling their own bellies while fighting ceaselessly over that small patch of land.
Those who cried out for the restoration of the kingdom were such people. Luxen’s nobles.
They knew that if the Empire swallowed them whole, they could never survive.
So they desperately raged under the pretense of the kingdom’s revival—a mere group of criminals.
Atawolf did not want all Luxen natives to suffer persecution because of such men.
That was why he tried to become a hero himself and change their image. He had fought with all his might.
Yet no one understood him.
No one even tried.
He was called a traitor by Luxen and treated with suspicion by the Empire’s people for being Luxen.
In the city he protected while losing his voice, people doubted him.
‘Why didn’t he come sooner to save them?’
How lonely you must have been, worn down by such feelings.
And when even your family was finally murdered, how sorrowful you must have felt.
“If only we could have talked properly… but you probably wouldn’t have accepted it.”
Too many years had passed. All the trust and friendship built up between them had been buried under the weight of time and everything that came with it.
“But still, I want to try talking. Even if it costs this useless life.”
Vitalianus’s tone carried an unusual gravity, so I had no choice but to say,
“…Don’t entertain foolish thoughts.”
In a world falling apart, the Golden Lion of the Empire is a symbol of hope.
The golden aura that everyone in the Empire looks to and relies on. The great Sword Saint.
If he lost his life in vain, the situation would spiral out of control.
But Vitalianus just smiled wryly as if nothing were wrong.
“Don’t worry. I know the weight I carry.”
His expression was so vivid it was hard to distinguish from real life, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time.
“Unless a new hope appears, I won’t make a foolish choice.”
His tone and expression almost suggested he secretly wished for just that, but unfortunately, it never happened.
Vitalianus, the Empire’s great Sword Saint, remained the symbol of hope until the very end, and the only one at that.
“If, later on, you could deliver a message to my friend on my behalf…”
Maybe he foresaw he would never meet his friend again.
“Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Tell him if he can forgive a worthless friend.”
And so it was.
Not long after that conversation, the Sword Saint died.
The hero’s aura couldn’t reach the grotesque force defying the laws of the world. The black mist shattered, and the once great Star of the Sword was forsaken.
So, after the Sword Saint’s death, I went to find Atawolf.
I relayed the Sword Saint’s story.
I told him of his final moments and thoughts.
Atawolf burst into laughter.
Maybe he was crying.
After that, well, as I said—
He took the old sword he used, gripped it upside down, and pointed it at his own heart.
I had wanted to be a hero, after all.
And so ended Atawolf’s story in Ventair.
That’s where the villain’s scenario stopped.
Of course, reality wasn’t much different.
There were some differences.
For one, Vitalianus spoke to Atawolf directly, not through Hio.
He said he was sorry for not being there and asked if he could forgive him.
And then.
Vitalianus, the one who delivered the message, collapsed onto the floor, bleeding profusely.
He had no hesitation in offering up his left chest to deliver his true feelings to an old friend.
Atawolf stared blankly down at the fallen Vitalianus.
With swords crossed, there was no chance for him to defeat the great Sword Saint.
At the moment the golden and black swords clashed, Vitalianus extinguished his own aura. Otherwise, it would have been Atawolf whose heart was pierced.
No, even more absurd was—
“‘Sorry I wasn’t there for you’—what a arrogant thing to say.”
‘If he had been there, things would have been different?’
That’s just him assuming his existence meant that much to Atawolf.
What a deluded statement.
“To think you could change now, that change is even possible—how much of a fool must you be? How naive and pathetic, Vitalianus.”
He muttered dully, his gaze still fixed on the fallen Vitalianus.
“But maybe that’s exactly why it’s so like you.”
That’s how a hero can be.
“Isn’t that right?”
Atawolf slowly turned his head.
His gaze fell on Hio.
Or more precisely, on the worn sword in Hio’s hand.
Atawolf approached Hio.
No, he approached the sword that had once belonged to him.
“Trying to be a hero now. Almost made me laugh.”
His eyes were unfocused as he spoke.
The highest tower of the gray castle.
As expected, the view was excellent.
The forest, cleared of fog, was visible in a single glance.
Silver armor marched in, surrounding the castle from all sides. Gleaming blades.
Among so many people, there was not a single soul who cared for him.
As always.
“Once, I wanted to be a hero too.”
He reached out to the worn sword in Hio’s hand.
Hio handed it over willingly, knowing exactly what he wanted.
Atawolf grasped it upside down with a vacant gaze and pointed it at his heart.
The sword and the ever-present fog were not there beside him in his final moments.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Without the slightest hesitation, he stabbed himself.
The worn sword pierced through his heart and emerged from his back.
Blood poured out. His body collapsed.
Though the process might have differed slightly, the ending was the same.
Just as in the game, he chose to end his own life.
Once the heart was destroyed, no matter if he was an 8th-rank knight or the continent’s worst criminal, death was inevitable.
You didn’t even need to check to feel it—the overwhelming death energy, the sensation of a high-ranking soul leaving the body.
So Atawolf was definitely dead.
‘…Then why?’
‘Why was the Black Mist, his symbol, still lingering?’
‘Why was the Black Mist, which should have protected Atawolf, clinging to Vitalianus instead of his side?’
Wrapping around Vitalianus’s upper body like bandages and pressing against his left chest.
Even though its master was dead, the mist remained, carrying out its final command.
‘How incredible must that loyalty be?’
If the heart is destroyed, whether a knight of the eighth rank or the continent’s worst criminal, death is unavoidable.
This means, if the heart hadn’t been destroyed, a superhuman body could endure considerable injury.
At the last moment they faced off, Vitalianus extinguished his own aura and stabbed at his own heart instinctively, twisting the sword to deflect the strike.
「Trait – ‘Ghost’s Eye’ activates」
Hio lifted his head and looked up at the enormous soul.
A soul stained blacker than any he had ever seen before, a sinful soul.
A high-ranking spirit, freed from the confusion of memories that come immediately after death, gazed steadily downward.
Atawolf’s immense spirit.
Their eyes met.
[So you really are a magician. I had a vague idea about souls, but I never imagined such a world existed.]
Atawolf’s voice, calmly directed at Hio, was not unpleasant. It was surprisingly ordinary, almost strange.
[Magician, is there such a thing as Hell?]
Hio shook his head slightly.
“I don’t know. I haven’t died yet.”
[I see.]
His tone showed no real curiosity, as if it didn’t matter.
He simply looked down silently, staying behind instead of departing.
“You didn’t become a hero while alive, but there’s nothing you can’t do after death.”
Hio spoke toward Atawolf’s soul.
The forest was thick with the aura of death.
Atawolf’s soul was of a higher rank than Theordo’s, so if he agreed, there was nothing they couldn’t do.
Especially if they used the Death God summon to fully bury that death energy.
Surely he had some lingering regret, which was why he remained instead of moving on.
But Atawolf’s black soul shook its head.
[You speak cruel words, magician.]
And then—
“Cough!”
A breath, as if clearing an airway.
Along with a spray of blood, the sound of a beating heart began again.
Vitalianus’s heart, which had stopped even for a moment, began to beat once more.
[Hell was this world to me.]
The superhuman body, beyond human limits, held tremendous vitality and could not die, so it lived on, breathing again.
・Hey, magician. Will you pass a message to my foolish friend?
And with that confirmation, Atawolf’s soul turned away without regret.
The Black Mist that had wrapped around Vitalianus slowly faded away as well.
[I wonder what kind of life a hero lived.]
The soul, stained with every sin and now without the slightest lingering attachment, quickly drifted away.
[Enjoy it to the fullest for me, then come back and tell me the story.]
Whether in the game or reality, I thought the villain’s ending was the same.
[Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise, friend.]
Maybe it’s a little different after all.
DAM YOU, ONION NINJA!