Chapter 27

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Felsa. My name is Ares Crown. I am your worst enemy—the one person you have been so desperately searching for…the Holy Warrior.” All that remains visible behind the mask are Ares’s eyes and mouth, making his expression impossible to read. The werebeast that calls itself Felsa turns to me with a demonic gaze that he did not show to Wurtz. Werebeasts are a powerful species, but in general, they’re below followers of darkness in terms of the danger they pose. This is the reason why: There may be differences between individual races, but their weak points are exceptionally vulnerable. In my hand, I twirl my knife, which I’ve covered in scraps of the demon skin Gregorio sent me. There’s nothing more terrifying than a wounded beast. Keeping Felsa’s agility in mind, I stop ten meters—or one pause length—in front of him. Both ankles, his shoulder, and his arm. All vital points. Although not mortal wounds, for Felsa, whose primary weapon is his agility, this definitely puts him at a major disadvantage. Wurtz remains stupefied as he opens his mouth to speak. “Ares—” “Yeah, I know what you want to say. I’ll listen later, so just be quiet for now.” I’ve done something terrible. Using Wurtz and Amelia as a decoy is an affront to humanity itself—however, if I’d been honest with him, Wurtz would have rejected the idea completely. That said, even if he didn’t reject it, he would have known that I was lying from my behavior. I am not a righteous man. I only live for results. If Wurtz and Amelia place all their pride on winning a fair-and-square battle from a place of decency, then it is my job to do whatever it takes to win. “Felsa. You are a tremendous warrior. I estimate the appropriate level to take you down to be…seventy-five. Of course, that’s in terms of an entire party against you.” A mage and a priest, plus a healthy vanguard and plenty of long-range physical damage weapons—a party of six that isn’t too particular about how they win could finish him in five minutes. Conversely, taking down Felsa one-on-one would be a massive challenge even at level 90. Felsa’s prominence would be too much for one single warrior to handle. Given how Wurtz was losing hand-to-hand despite mustering every last bit of his strength, the Demon Lord was quite prudent in dispatching Felsa. Not that he should even have a warrior of this level to send to a place like this… If Toudou and his party had come across Felsa, they wouldn’t have lasted a minute. “Holy…Warrior… Impossible— Why here—? Wait— Level seventy-five, you say?!” Holy Warrior. The fact that Felsa repeated the words greatly increases the chances that he’s connected with the Demon Lord. Felsa gets to his feet, but his center of gravity is amiss. I’ve aimed for his tendons. He won’t be able to stand properly. “This is called a party play. Learned something today, didn’t you? Taking you on by myself would require too much effort.” As I speak, I launch one of the knives with all the force I can summon, aiming for Felsa’s eye. It races like a bullet toward his face, but he breezily strikes it down with his claws. Werebeasts are highly resistant to physical damage. Ideally, you’d need a mage to properly take them on. His body is covered in golden fur, alongside razor-sharp claws and fangs. His long tail points straight to the heavens as if the very embodiment of his rage. Felsa stumbles toward me. I stare into his eyes, which are rife with violent derision, and speak again. “You’re a steel tiger. Golden fur stronger than any armor, claws sharper than any sword. Born with a steel muscular system and the most advanced race of all werebeasts—a mighty warrior with the strength of a thousand men.” “Tch… And you’re—” Felsa’s brow perks up, and he bares his fangs, threatening me. This behavior confirms my suspicions. From the moment I knew we were going up against a werebeast, I made a guess as to what type it was. Steel tigers are the strongest of all. I’ve fought against two of his ilk in the past, but neither of them were quite the individual he is. A mighty warrior of Felsa’s repute can’t be taken down by even a sizable troop of ordinary soldiers. Had he shown up in a more frenetic battle, he’d likely amass a mountain of corpses in his wake. “Very lucky.” “…?!” I lift my mace and point its spiked ball at Felsa in provocation. “I am so very lucky to be able to exterminate you here today. Being the hero comes with baggage. I have to fight each and every hideous creature I come across, no matter how ghastly, and protect my party at the same time.” “Rrgh… You bastard—I’ll kill you!!” Felsa’s voice is rife with resentment and malice. He seems to have steadied his faltering balance. He’s mustering his final ounce of strength—these blazing, fierce eyes are not the sign of a beast that’s been critically wounded. I can’t imagine he’ll last much longer, but he can likely still exhibit the same speed he showed earlier. I switch up my game plan. He’ll only last a few minutes, if that. Even if he can move forward, I doubt he’ll be able to do anything precise. I’ll likely come out ahead in this game of tag, but…there’s just one thing that concerns me. I’ve got the general idea, but— “Ares. This is my—” Wurtz puts a damper on my werebeast duel as he opens his mouth again. I ignore him and focus on Felsa, who’s watching me like a hawk and focused on ripping into my jugular. “Hey—what happened to your friend?” “…Huh?” Felsa stops dead in his tracks at my query, and his eyes go wide. I pay close attention to him while I look up at the sky. There’s nary a cloud or shadow within it. “Your friend. I was keeping watch on him. He’s around, right? You know the guy—highly capable, able to fly. He’s just a little bit smarter than you.” “…” The color suddenly drains from Felsa’s eyes, and his ears twitch restlessly. I continue to address him as if in admonishment. “I was honestly paying more attention to him than I was to you. Besides, it’d be quite difficult for you or I to attack him, given our lack of wings. If he’s set on fleeing, chasing after him would prove difficult. The more I think about it, the more I realize the guy’s a pain in the ass. I was late to your battle here because I got so wrapped up in tagging him. Taking both of you on by myself would be a challenge, after all.” I’m lying. It’s true that I was tracking his companion, but only because I figured that in most cases, provocation would lead to catching just one of the two. The reason being, if the smart one of this pair were still alive, he would have tried to stop Felsa from doing anything reckless. In other words, the steel tiger in front of me is now sorely companionless. I’ve been camped out far below these cliffs, concealing my presence and watching things play out. I left Amelia here to create one point of intrigue in an otherwise blank battlefield. That alone turns the tables in terms of who’s keeping on guard. I had decided either to take out the enemy while he had yet to notice Amelia, or to let him inevitably become careless from keeping an eye on her. I went with the former and launched a surprise attack. Felsa mumbles, looking around restlessly before screaming, “Sa…po… Yes, that’s right! SAPO! COME HERE!” “Hmm? You think he’s alive…?” I ask, playing dumb. If he’s still alive, then whose blood do I smell, wafting from your mouth and claws? Felsa doesn’t seem to have a firm grasp on things, so I help him. “Just as I expected, you came here after you devoured your companion.” “…Ah… Mmm… Wha…?” Felsa utters a noise of utter bewilderment, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. I walk toward Felsa, fully caught in a trance, and raise my voice so that he can hear me. “Hey, it’s a tale as old as time. You forget yourself, and you give in to base instincts. This tends to happen to your kind, right? It’s certainly not unheard of for someone like you to eat one or two of your allies. There’s no reason for you to get down on yourself! If anything, I ought to thank you for lightening my load of annoying enemies.” I knew it was possible. Not exactly probable, but certainly within the realm of feasibility. Every possible outcome ran through the back of my mind. The situation we’re currently facing is the most advantageous one I came up with. At any rate, you could just say that Felsa had a falling out with a werebeast who had the rare capability of flight, and he settled the score. That his movements are now dulled from the shock is icing on the cake. “Ares… You heretic,” mumbles Amelia, looking repulsed. Look, if being a heretic means saving the world, then sign me up. “Preposterous… You think I would…eat…Sapo?” “Was he tasty?” “SILENCE!!” Felsa staggers and leaps toward me instinctively, but he’s lost considerable speed. I wind up with my mace and clock the werebeast in midair with one swing. I feel a dull sensation through my mace as if knocking into something metal. I only claimed to be the Holy Warrior for good measure. I have no intention of letting Felsa live to tell the tale. Felsa bounces on the ground like a rubber ball before landing facedown. I rush toward him and lift my mace high over my head, aiming for his skull. In that moment, Felsa covers his head with his hands—surely a survival instinct. This beast is terrifying as long as he can still move. However, werebeasts have terrible regeneration capacity. There’s no way he’ll heal during the span of our battle. “Did you eat him or not? You should be able to feel it in your gut, no?” I continue to rile him up as I bring the mace down on his now wholly immobile body. I would finish him off more easily if I had lethal poison handy. If I had paralysis poison or a means to restrain him, I might’ve even been able to capture him myself. But I don’t. Not enough personnel on hand. Just when I might’ve had the chance, my only option now is to kill him. Felsa’s golden fur scrapes along the ground and becomes dingy, dark. However, his eyes are well and truly alive. He’s definitely still in shock from learning that he ate his companion. Yet, I can tell he has some fight left in him. Felsa raises his arms to attack, but I swing my mace directly on top of him, blasting through the arms he lifted to block me and smashing directly into his skull. “Urgh—” “Did you actually think I would be weaker than Wurtz?” I can think of some reasons why—my posture, my weapon, my level. But even now, he’s still mocking me. “I abandoned my battle plan…because I knew it was the optimal solution.” He’s still rock hard. It goes to show just how much of a threat his defenses are, even without wearing armor. I don’t give him a chance to stand up, approaching again to bash him back into the boulder with my mace. I’ll scramble his brain and pulverize his muscles. Yet, Felsa continues to match me. He’s still highly vigilant—I’m looking for an opening and keep throwing knives, but he’s still blocking it all without fail. His endurance is frightening. You could scarcely believe that he hasn’t used a buff or Regen. Goddammit—I can’t believe I’m facing adversaries of this level when we’re still within the Kingdom of Ruxe’s borders! He must have some brain damage by now—a line of blood-mottled drool hangs loosely from Felsa’s mouth. I can’t fathom how he’s still conscious, how he still has the will to fight, or why he hasn’t begged for his life. “But I’m glad you’re here! Without producing results, we would have never made it to the next stage.” He’s alive. What a truly remarkable will to live. But he’s getting weak—he won’t last another ten minutes. I must put him down. If he somehow escapes, that could become a huge problem. The simple thought of being hunted by a werebeast of this rank turns my stomach. As Felsa tries to stand up yet again, I bring my mace down on him once more. In that instant, a powerful gust of wind blows between the two of us. I unconsciously take a step back. “?!” Looking up at the sky, I realize the gravity of my mistake. It wasn’t the wind—there’s a massive bird soaring through the sky, roughly the same size as me and gray in color. A golden pendant dangles from its neck. Lying on the rock-hard earth, Felsa turns a muddled eye to the sky and just barely squints. Amelia calls out to me. “Oh no… Ares, look!” “…Shit, you’re right. It wasn’t the two of them—there were three…” A different breed of demon…? No, it must be something of strong werebeast origin. With its giant wings, it hardly resembles a human, but a closer look reveals that its body is indeed humanlike. Furthermore, it seems to have some form of intelligence from the way it eyeballs me from the sky. It’s either a messenger or supply troop. I thought Felsa’s companion might have been performing both functions, but it looks like there was a third party involved. I had considered the possibility, but no one would have thought that two flight-capable troops might be deployed to the same place. The bird creature observes Felsa and I for a while before retreating. It flies away smoothly, flowing through the sky like water. I might be able to catch it if I jump high enough. Is it trying to escape or inviting me to give chase? At that size, it could lift Felsa and fly away without issue. Did it refrain from trying because it knew that doing so would hinder its speed and altitude? If it made that decision independently, it’s definitely smarter than Felsa. …No matter. I may not have expected it to show up at this juncture, but the battle has been won. Wurtz remains largely undamaged. He could easily take down the injured Felsa now. I lower my arms and tap Wurtz on the shoulder. He’s stiff as a board. “Wurtz, I’ll chase after that thing. If you can finish this now, then by all means.” Word of Felsa’s death will eventually make its way to the Demon Lord. However, reducing our number of flight-capable adversaries will also pay dividends. Even small victories like this lead to substantial results. “You and Amelia work together to wring the final breaths from Felsa’s throat.” “Hmph…” Wurtz grunts softly but not in agreement. I can see he’s vacillating and that he’s displeased with me. Yet, I’ve conceded enough. Truthfully, I’d like them to pick Felsa apart for his fur and bones, which make excellent defensive implements, but I haven’t asked them to—largely because I can sense how Wurtz would feel dishonoring a worthy opponent. Wurtz still looks dumbstruck, and I tell him, “This is business. If you let him go, there’s no telling how many people will die as a result. Don’t you dare forget—we’ll never be able to take full responsibility if that happens.” So pour your entire heart into it. No matter what the outcome, at least take some pride in your actions. Wurtz remains rooted to the spot and doesn’t move a muscle. Amelia steps out from his shadow. “Ares, I’ll take care of it.” “All right. It’s on you.” I would be worried leaving Wurtz alone with Felsa, but having Amelia there, I know she’ll stir up the gumption in him. I look away from Amelia and head toward the bird creature in the distance, running as fast as I can. “Sa…po…” His world is on end, the ground spinning in every direction. Pain shoots throughout his body. Likely due to the deep wounds in his ankles, he can’t stand no matter how hard he tries. Felsa has never experienced this before, but even worse than the pain, that man’s words are digging deep into him. He ate him. He ate Sapo, according to that man. Felsa is a steel tiger. Sapo may be of a different race, but they serve the same lord. And that man claims Felsa ate him. Yes—the man who claims to be the Holy Warrior. Felsa mumbles to himself and looks up at the sky. Sapo was weak. Far weaker than Felsa. Even so, he had powerful wings that allowed him to traverse the skies, and his cunning intellect in devising strategy was something Felsa respected. Above all else, he understood Felsa. Their lineage was different, but they were companions. He looks to his bloodied claws. It’s not his blood. It’s not Wurtz’s blood. He wants to deny it, but he cannot. He has no recollection of the act. Before he knew it, he was face-to-face with his opponent. The last thing he remembers is hearing the provocation—the Howl—and the blood rushing to his head, consuming his entire being. That is all. His belly is full, his body replete, and the smell of blood lingering on his claws and fangs indicates the validity of that man’s claim. I see… So I did devour my companion. The words finally enter his head. They were thrown at him in the heat of battle, and he refused to ingest their meaning. Now, he silently marvels and understands it. He puts both hands on the ground and gets up slowly. The pain is unbearable. The fatigue. The inexorable pain threatening to rip his body asunder is a welcome friend. Felsa did not become a warrior simply by being born of a superior race—he did it through trial and tribulation. Felsa wipes blood from his eye with his paw. He is enraged, filled with hopeless resentment. But he refuses to vocalize it. It’s a waste of strength to speak. He knows what he must do, what he must accomplish above all else. After devouring his own companion, he will not simply lie down and perish—doing so would bring him utmost shame as a steel tiger. Felsa stands up wearily, and pain shoots through his ankles. He’s been injured in vital points, but if he can withstand the pain, he can move for at least a limited period of time. And if he can move, his battle-ready claws can tear anything in his wake to ribbons. His life essence still burns brightly. Felsa knows this full well: He is stronger than ever when his life is at risk. The woman notices his movements and furrows her brow. She calls on Wurtz, who reacts accordingly and looks down at Felsa. The Holy Warrior is not here, but he is guaranteed to come back. Wurtz purses his lips and raises his fist. The woman takes a few steps back. No matter—after he kills Wurtz, he’ll eat her, too. Felsa stands steadily on his haunches and stares at his enemy with pure malice. Perhaps it’s the endorphins coursing through his brain or his sense of resignation, but the pain assailing his entire body has completely dissipated. Felsa stomps on the ground using every last ounce of strength he has left. He has to kill the Holy Warrior, Wurtz, and that spectator woman—or he’ll never be able to face Sapo in the realm of the dead. “It’s over, then…” “Welcome back. Did you catch up to it?” “No, it was no use.” The creature’s daunting speed and precise movements proved they’re also an accomplished warrior. Hopefully, losing track of them this time won’t have any ramifications in the future… The battlefield is in worse shape than when I left. Felsa must have put up quite the fight at the end. The ground is shattered and riddled with scratch marks everywhere. Wurtz groans in agony. His priest’s robe is shredded, and a deep gash runs along the right side of his abdomen. I cast Heal on it as I gaze down at Felsa lying on the ground. He looks like he’s sleeping, but there’s no doubt—the werebeast is no longer breathing. Even the devil himself would be unlikely to take it this far, biting and thrashing at their opponent, truly murderous intent seeping from their bones until their last breath. Felsa’s golden fur is spotted with blood, and his limbs are splayed out in every direction from overexerting himself. Resisting his adversary to this degree, despite being at death’s door, proves how truly fearsome a warrior Felsa was. I so desperately want to skin him…but I guess I’ll have to resist. Wurtz is staring at Felsa’s corpse, facedown on the rock-hard earth. “Let’s head back. It won’t be long before the golems return in droves,” I say to him. I have to consult with the Church about how to proceed next. I’m confident we unearthed the source of the unusual phenomena plaguing Golem Valley, but there’s still a chance the Demon Lord will dispatch a new breed of horror soon. It’s a slim chance, but still… Just before I go to climb down the cliff face, I turn to Wurtz, who’s still kneeling. “Wurtz, finish this up quickly.” “…? Finish…what?” Wurtz lifts his head with a sluggish motion. He looks awful… I bet he’ll get a scolding from the madam for this. “A service for the dead. There are no allies among the fallen, right?”