44: My Blade
The moment Samarkand clenched his bloodied fist…
The white knight’s body exploded.
A light sound, like a water balloon bursting. Blood and gore splattered, and even with the mask, I instinctively turned away.
The knight’s body, blood gushing from every gap in his armor, swayed unsteadily, then collapsed like a broken marionette. The impact sent ripples through the expanding pool of blood, already too large for the carpet to absorb.
“Samarkand…”
I whispered his name. His eyes were closed. He didn’t move.
All that remained in my vision was a lifeless husk, drained of blood.
“Damn it…”
Something glowed behind me.
A faint, green light.
It had glowed before. Twice now, I’d seen that light.
The ominous glow sent a chill down my spine.
I turned around, and the mangled corpse, what should have been a mangled corpse, was rising, its movements stiff and awkward, but undeniably human. And that, somehow, made it even more terrifying, a grotesque mockery of human life.
He’s dead. I thought he was dead.
“…Does a monster mourn the death of another monster?”
But instead of attacking, the white knight, slowly raising his sword, spoke.
A clear provocation.
A clear attempt to buy time.
I, too, steeled myself. Fine, I’ll play along.
I was a pragmatist, a realist. I didn’t possess any lofty ideals like ‘pride,’ something others might consider worth dying for.
“He was my subordinate… and my friend. You didn’t kill a monster.”
But I wasn’t so meek that I would tolerate insults to my friend’s memory.
“—Are you… the Lord of Disease?”
“Indeed. I am the Lord of Disease.”
The mask felt tight, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Probably from the heat.
I reached up, pulled it off, and threw it aside.
“A woman…?”
“A human one.”
“Wha—?” He was clearly startled, though I couldn’t see his face.
“…A traitor.” Even knowing I was human, he still pointed his bloodstained, beautiful white and silver sword at me. Well, I’d expected this.
Being human wasn’t a reason for humans to spare each other.
“Go ahead, kill me. But we will win. I may die, but the Lord of Disease will not. The disease, the poison, will not vanish from your nation.”
I was certain of victory. My death wouldn’t be my defeat.
“Your forests and your nights will forever be haunted by arrows and blades. Your fields will burn, and rain down filth.”
Samarkand was dead.
And perhaps Liz, too.
But the disinformation unit and the assassination squad remained intact.
My victory was assured.
“I am the Lord of Disease! Those who inherit this name will kill you!”
“Is that all you have to say, traitor to humanity…?”
As he raised his sword, I thrust my staff forward.
The sword struck the staff, the blade biting deep, snapping it in half. The impact sent splinters into my shoulder, and the numerous amulets around my neck, their cords severed, shattered before they hit the ground, their protective enchantments screaming their final cries as they reached their limits.
The fragments scattered, and the blade, unimpeded, sliced deep into my shoulder. The next blow would be far worse.
But as the blade tore through the layers of defensive magic, a blue arc of lightning coursed through the knight.
I was wearing numerous magic items imbued with defensive enchantments. Destroying them triggered a backlash.
The knight stumbled—then, enveloped in a pale green light, he steadied himself.
The magic had definitely activated, and he’d clearly taken damage. But apparently, it was less effective against someone who was no longer entirely human.
My provocation and the magical backlash hadn’t killed him.
I was out of options. I quietly accepted my fate.
But I wouldn’t remain silent. Even if it served no purpose, even if it didn’t buy me any time… I wanted to tell this knight, this hero who likely believed he was fighting for humanity, about the reality I knew.
“…I came from another world,” I gasped, glaring at the white knight.
“Your nation summoned me here…”
“What…?”
“They dragged me from my world… to use me as a disposable mana battery…!”
“…Who would believe such a story?”
“I told you. I’m human. Just a human, barely able to block a single blow from your sword. Think about why a human like me could do all this.”
I’d been ripped from my peaceful life, summoned to another world, treated as a disposable tool, and nearly killed.
I couldn’t forgive any of it.
What they’d done to me.
What they might do to those I cared about.
The fact that the demons who had saved me, a human, in this world of conflict between humans and demons, might be killed by humans.
I couldn’t forgive any of it.
“Because that’s what was done to me…!”
He silently raised his sword again.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? That’s all you can do. Kill me, then think about what I said! Think about why I, a human, became your enemy! When the demons are gone, humans will be your next enemy!”
I screamed, the words torn from my throat.
If only all worlds were kind.
If only every world were kind.
“Because I come from a world where humans kill each other—!”
The knight’s sword wavered for a moment, then descended.
Sparks flew as the sword clashed against large knives.
My vision swam in darkness.
A navy and white maid uniform.
Two large knives, their designs differing, clutched in her hands.
A red scarf wrapped around her arms.
Pointed, dark elf ears.
Silver hair, like captured moonlight.
“…I apologize for the delay, Master.”
Lizlit Finis, the Darkling Blade—Liz for short.
My most trusted assassin, was here.
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