That was an attack that surpassed the realm of speed.
A spear forged from lightning crossed space and time the instant it formed, piercing Urek’s left chest—striking his heart dead-on.
The Dwarves are a race famed for their immense stamina, tenacious vitality, and bodies as tough as stone.
So, for most wounds, death is not a concern—but if it’s an attack that penetrates the heart, it’s another story.
“Boom!”
His solid body crashed down, shaking the ground with a resounding thunder.
His eyes, wide open and bloodshot, were filled with disbelief—refusing to accept his own death, as if blood might spill from them at any moment.
“Damn it!”
“Urek!”
The party, led by the Hero, rushed in desperation to check on their comrade Urek.
But.
“…He’s dead.” Saintess Chloe pronounced his death.
For Chloe, who could revive the dead and even imprison souls, her words carried a heavy meaning.
It meant that even with her infinite divine power, she could not bring back Urek’s soul.
“Why?”
“Even his soul was burned away by that lightning.”
Lightning.
The most powerful natural force, capable of burning all things.
That power had burned even his soul, reducing him to utter annihilation.
Manuvia—they don’t call him the God of Thunder for nothing.
With his almighty power that could incinerate even souls, he earned the epithet ‘God.’
That is also why I coveted him.
“Manuvia!” The Hero, shedding bloody tears, rose to his feet and said, “You… what have you done…?”
“What I’ve done? Obviously, what I had to do.”
“What you had to do?”
“How naive. You know why I traveled with you all, don’t you?”
Manuvia joined the Hero’s party solely as punishment from the gods.
To free himself even slightly from those heavy shackles and restrictions, he had to become a slave to the Hero, bound to serve him.
And eventually, he was fated to meet death.
“We thought of you as a companion.”
At the word “companion,” Manuvia’s body flinched for an instant and then a crazed laughter, tinged with madness, burst out, “Kahahahahaha!”
“Companion? That’s laughable.” He sneered at the very mention of that sentimental word.
“Since when did ‘companion’ come to mean selfless servitude? When I risked my life to protect you all, what did you do for me?”
“That’s…”
“When I was trapped in the endless cycle of death, did any of you ever try to find a way to break this curse?”
The Hero standing before me now—I don’t know which generation he is.
But from what I know, Manuvia has lived through dozens of reincarnations.
Protecting the Hero, sacrificing himself for their sake, ending each era in the same manner.
And when a new Hero was born, he would reincarnate again, guard the Hero once more, and once more face death—an endlessly repeating, accursed punishment.
He has died dozens of times, and been revived dozens more but the Hero’s party never once tried to find a way to stop Manuvia’s reincarnation.
No, rather than “couldn’t,” it would be more accurate to say “didn’t.”
Because he was a useful tool.
It wasn’t just their own generation at stake.
For future generations, and for the inevitable battle with the Demon King, Manuvia was the ultimate weapon.
So even while calling him a companion, they accepted his help one-sidedly.
At first, Manuvia had only wanted to help the Hero’s party to lessen his own sins and punishment, but such an environment was more than enough for resentment to take root within him—towards them, towards the Hero’s party.
“We were just convenient tools for each other. You, a shield for your party’s growth, and I, a means to lessen my divine punishment.”
The relationship between the Hero’s party and Manuvia was clear.
A relationship of mutual utility, using each other as tools for their own benefit.
Demanding camaraderie in such an environment was nothing but laughable.
“I used you all. But now, there’s no need for that anymore.” He turned his gaze toward me.
Now, a new relationship had been established.
I would grant him the greatest gift—freedom from the god’s punishment that plagued him to his core—and in return, he would aid me.
That was a relationship of far greater benefit to both sides than what the Hero’s party could offer.
“You… you don’t actually think the goddess’s punishment can be broken so easily, do you?”
The atmosphere shifted.
The hot-blooded Hero, who just moments ago was thinking only of his companion, now cast aside his mask and began to threaten.
“Kuk. So you’re finally showing your true colors.” And Manuvia, as if he’d long known this side of the Hero, laughed at the display.
That was a truth known only to him—and to me as well.
In the past.
The Hero died by my hand but contrary to the tales, his end was anything but glorious.
‘Please, please spare my life.’
A Hero who had lost his companions.
At first, after gaining power through ‘sacrifice,’ he charged at me as if to kill.
But when he realized it was futile, when he sensed the end, for the first time, he removed his mask.
‘I only did what the Goddess of Light commanded. If I did, I’d defeat the Demon King and gain eternal glory and rest…’
The Hero was… an actor.
Able to pretend to be righteous and hopeful in any circumstance.
His real goal was the glory that would follow the defeat of the Demon King and the partly unmasked face I saw then is exactly what I see now.
No longer a Hero crying out for hope and justice, but one threatening others for his own benefit.
“That’s right. You’re easier to talk to like this, than when you’re hiding behind the Hero’s mask. Now, I suppose it’s time I answered your question.”
Manuvia, who had watched the Hero’s mask crack, opened his mouth.
“Everything happening here is the proof. If this were the Gritia Continent, divine punishment would have struck instantly. But here? The goddess, the so-called Goddess of Light, cannot lay a finger on me. Her power and influence are still too weak.”
As expected of Manuvia.
He who bore the god’s punishment had realized it.
Here, on Earth, the power of the gods is not so great.
Of course, the divine punishment remained (since it had carried over from the Gritia Continent), but that was all.
Despite breaking the rules and killing Urek, a member of the Hero’s party, no punishment befell him.
“It’s proof that I have no further reason to stay with you.”
At first, he must have had his doubts but he would never have had the courage to act on them.
After all, if he tested it and the goddess’s power did affect him, he might have faced an even harsher punishment.
While he hesitated, I loosened the god’s shackles and Manuvia was certain.
Here, on Earth, the goddess’s influence was not so great.
Unlike the Gritia Continent, there were no significant restrictions on his actions.
“Light is everywhere. Should you insult the Goddess of Light here, at any moment—”
“You sound desperate.” It was I who answered the Hero’s words.
“You…”
He must feel threatened.
“Of course. If things keep going like this, all your hard-earned accomplishments and your long-running act will collapse in an instant.”
“And don’t worry about Manuvia. Before the Goddess of Light’s power and influence can grow any further, I plan to cut them off at the root.”
Certainly, as the Hero said, light is everywhere, and its power can always grow stronger.
That’s why I intend to sever that possibility at its source.
“By killing you, right here.”
The Hero, he is the arbiter and spokesman of light.
The more he acts, the stronger the Goddess of Light becomes.
His feats bring new followers, and that faith increases her influence even here on Earth.
Therefore, by killing him—the one who represents and acts for the light—I can greatly diminish the goddess’s influence.
“…Is that really possible?”
On the Hero’s lips—
A crooked smile.
A twisted grin.
Not the kind of expression one would expect from the so-called Champion of Light and then, a shocking scene unfolded.
“Thud!”
A grisly sound as a blade drove through flesh.
“Why…?”
Shockingly, the victim was Saintess Chloe.
The sword of light, Luminaire—called the messenger of the goddess—was driven deep into her chest.
“Drip—”
Blood streamed out, staining her pure white robes crimson.
“Velator!”
“W-What are you doing!”
Kro and Taro, startled, rushed toward him in alarm.
“Slice, slice!”
Once again, the sound of flesh being cleaved.
“Thump, roll—”
Their heads, severed from their bodies, rolled across the ground.
With a single stroke, the Hero’s blade beheaded Kro and Taro—the fastest among the Beastkin.
Why?
“What…?”
Even Manuvia, who had remained composed all along, stared in shock at the unfolding carnage.
Of course.
I was the exception.
I knew why he did this—from past experience.
“Now the conditions are complete.”
The Hero, with a sinister grin, raised the sword of light, Luminaire.
At that instant.
– Fwoooosh!
A blinding radiance flooded the entire hall, enough to threaten blindness.
“Ugh!”
It wasn’t just ordinary light.
The power dwelling within that light was far beyond what the Hero had displayed moments ago.
How should I put it?
It was a transformation akin to .
In that fleeting moment, the Hero possessed a strength nothing like the rookie from before.
“Vvvvmmmm!”
Gripping Luminaire, which now exuded a tremendous aura of light.
‘The death and sacrifice of comrades always awaken the Hero.’
It was a kind of power I had experienced before.
The more comrades the Hero loses, the greater power he awakens.
Normally, he would awaken it after losing friends to the Demon King, but this time, he killed them himself to trigger that power.
‘No different than the Hero of the past.’
The Hero I killed before also gained that power through this process.
No, in truth, the increase in strength wasn’t the main problem.
When the Hero loses all his comrades, he obtains, for a moment, absolute power.
That is—
“Bwoooong!”
The radiant shield that enveloped him.
It was the divine barrier—one of the absolute requirements for defeating the Demon King.
Its effect was invincibility.
A barrier that protected the Hero from all physical, magical, and elemental attacks.
“Haaaah!”
Believing in that power, the Hero charged.
To deal with the traitor and demon who dared interfere with his performance.
The sword of light he swung slashed through the air with dazzling brilliance.
His blade held absolute faith.
He believed he could cut down any enemy.
And if not?
He had no need to defend—he was shrouded in the invincible barrier.
Even Manuvia, momentarily shaken by the divine barrier’s power, recoiled.
“Step—”
I stepped forward.
In a scene reminiscent of the past, the words leaving my mouth were—
“Light…”
With a single word, I focused my mind.
Aura, demonic energy, and toxic miasma swirled together.
“Crackle, crackle, crackle!”
Forming a gray chaos.
But it was neither the Turba nor the Irregular that I had displayed before.
Having absorbed the origin of death itself—the primordial Demon—my understanding of chaos had deepened further.
The Sword of Chaos, Illeon.
That sword, which denied all order—
“Slash!”
Denied the mightiest order called invincibility and cut down the Hero’s body.
“…I told you, it’s useless.”
Just as it had been with the Hero I slew in the past.