Ch.17056. Do Not Rest Easy, Warrior.

“I can see where this is going.”

“What?”

A white-haired boy stood shoulder to shoulder with the golden girl.

He pointed at Kariel and spoke.

“He has achieved divinity, yet possesses neither divine rank nor divine character. A warrior and hero, a true champion. Could he be someone’s avatar?”

“I don’t know about later, but he isn’t now.”

The Demon King snorted at those words.

“In your era there may not be such a thing… but in that era, there exists a position comparable to heroes and champions, yet with a different purpose and significance.”

Holy Son.

Widely known as an expression referring to the son of God, but that’s not all there is to it.

However.

“But that one is not a saint.”

Kariel has not yet completely eliminated his personal feelings.

He still harbors vengeance, retribution.

Along with resentment.

That trivial emotion has become the greatest foundation supporting him.

Because of this, he is material that could become a Holy Son but never a saint.

Though who knows how he might change later.

The boy asked with curiosity:

“We are those who advance by overcoming crises, obstacles, trials, and resistance. That’s why we’re heroes and champions, ultimately even regarded as gods. In the end, isn’t everything about whether problems are solved or not?”

“But you were born to be such beings, weren’t you?”

For someone born as nothing to become a hero is almost miraculous.

Let alone becoming a god, being elevated to such status?

It’s nearly impossible.

And being the son of a god is a position that can only be attained by birth.

A hereditary, innate condition.

Just like royal bloodlines.

And most gods were born as gods.

Even those who become gods later are mostly demigods.

Beyond that, there are only idolized false gods.

Or great heroes, great champions, great kings who have accumulated tremendous achievements and countless feats.

Even they are merely thought to be such because they are so revered and praised in the mortal world.

Whether they truly ascended to such positions, there’s actually no way to know.

Rather, who knows if they themselves might be wandering the most horrific hells or netherworlds, suffering miserably.

Didn’t even the ancestors of the Berk Empire come to Kariel as specters?

If not for Kariel, they could have easily become more than specters—turning into undead with the slightest trigger wouldn’t have been strange given their circumstances.

That’s why saints and holy sons are the most desperately needed beings for those in dire straits.

Because only such beings can understand and embrace them.

But the moment the living, the foolish, and the blind oppress and exile him,

That thread-thin salvation and chance of redemption smaller than a needle’s eye instantly vanishes.

“As you said, that may be the duty of champions and heroes… but that one is different.”

A Holy Son is a protector, an awakener, and ultimately a savior.

Not one who defeats enemies, solves problems, breaks obstacles, slays foes, or crushes resistance.

“If your world needs such beings, then unlike our era, it must be an age that requires peace, coexistence, and altruism.”

“No. That’s a rash statement that underestimates the world’s foolishness and malice.”

Barbarism exists in every era.

Irrationality and incompatibility exist in every era.

The structure of the world does not inherently desire harmony.

It is chaos.

If civilization is about creating a garden of order on the territory of chaos, then even there, rise and fall—birth, growth, withering, and decline—will exist.

From the beginning, territory and resources are limited, and living beings and sentient creatures are instilled with terrible desires.

When the strong torment the weak, both earth and sky merely watch.

They have acknowledged and permitted it.

To do so.

That it is acceptable.

Moreover, even when fools waste time and energy, humans will continue to repeat the same mistakes unless someone tells them, unless they realize it themselves.

“I’ve heard you well. So, having stood by to this extent, I’ve saved face, haven’t I?”

“Well…”

One corner of the Demon King’s mouth curled upward.

This formidable military god isn’t respecting me.

He’s respecting my essence that I don’t know myself.

An extraterrestrial being.

There are too many things that come to mind, that’s the problem.

Is he referring to one who is not summoned?

Is he speaking of a being that must never be called?

Is he naming one who has never been called for even a moment?

An extraterrestrial being.

Because their kinds and numbers are as abundant as dust and sand spread throughout the entire world.

It was impossible to specify anything at all.

“This place is where the power of time intervenes. Thus, I can face you like this, though we normally couldn’t meet, but I think this too is the arrangement of time and infinity, fate and destiny.”

“……”

Zurvan Akarana.

Parent of the dualistic gods.

Eternal god of infinite moments.

Origin of all things.

Yet a buried and forgotten god of space.

Subject of the First Principle.

“And I, for any possible mishap, have kept my eyes here so I can fly in at any time. Now that this scene has entered my sight, they can neither escape nor flee.”

“I suppose so. You can fly anywhere.”

The most important thing for victory is timing, catching the right moment.

When that ability reaches beyond capability to authority, one can monopolize not just appropriate timing but exquisite timing.

For instance, he possesses the authority to appear before their enemies at the most opportune moment whenever he wishes to achieve victory.

Probably the most despairing authority for enemies.

And for his allies, the most proud and reassuring authority.

For example, his appearance at this moment when the giants trapped in the sealed temple are about to escape is certainly no coincidence.

“But, I just thought of something curious.”

“Tell me. I’ll humor you for the sake of courtesy.”

“What do you think is most important for victory?”

“Everything.”

Not just one thing.

Everything that meets the conditions is important.

If something is lacking, one can only awkwardly fill in with what remains.

“But no one can have everything, can they? So what I’m saying is, that person over there has the most precious thing I possess.”

“An unyielding heart. Are you talking about will?”

“Exactly right.”

Indomitability.

An unyielding heart.

“That clearly originated from me. Then is he my descendant or one who has inherited my will?”

“That’s not… entirely wrong. The one who is his father must have a deep connection with you.”

So that’s why there was no answer through ordinary methods.

No matter how powerful a being is, there exists some way to defeat them.

But for one destined never to lose, who bears the fate of victory… strength alone is insufficient.

Strength, wisdom, skill, technique, schemes, strategy, tactics. Even sophisticated planning.

All are merely minimum requirements.

“Yet he shows me no respect or awe despite seeing me. If he simply doesn’t recognize me, does that mean I’ve been forgotten in his era?”

“Even the most brilliant glory eventually fades like the setting sun. You of all people should know that.”

“Even so, that would only happen after an unfathomable amount of time has passed.”

The boy, sentenced to downfall, showed no sign of disturbance.

“Then it doesn’t matter. I too know well that nothing in this world is eternal.”

Even the sun will someday be extinguished.

No matter how glorious a moment may come, it will eventually become flowing past.

No matter how much one struggles not to be forgotten, eventually one will be.

That must happen for other futures and different futures to progress.

Clinging to the past and being trapped by past glory is truly…

“The path of the defeated.”

“Hmph.”

A fellow with straightened thoughts.

To an absurd degree.

The Demon King, contrary to his outward expression, was beginning to feel irritated.

Therefore, striking with words and language would be… impossible.

Normally, at the point where communication was established, it would have been possible to toy with him verbally.

But he doesn’t.

That one is not the kind to heed anyone’s words from the beginning.

Truly.

…Even his personality reminds me of someone.

Is this what that damned fellow becomes when matured?

“……”

Kariel.

You probably sensed it instinctively.

That’s why, unlike usual, you reduced your words and responded immediately with combat.

“That should be enough.”

The boy.

As he softly pronounced what seemed like a sentence,

Suddenly, a fierce rupture appeared between Kariel and the golden warrior who were clashing.

“—!!!”

Though it appeared he was desperately suppressing something,

Kariel’s movements were deteriorating in real time.

The black lightning that had pierced the bull and swept around also dispersed as if suddenly extinguished.

Finally, Kariel’s body was sent flying by the warrior’s kick.

He rolled several times before barely managing to stand up.

“……”

Yet he immediately assumed a stance.

His face remained calm.

Truly formidable patience.

“A battle that would have been difficult even in perfect condition, bearing such a burden must be extremely arduous for him.”

“…What can be done? That’s his fate.”

Thanks to the injuries inflicted by the current Demon King just before, various pains seem to be flaring up like seizures.

If not for that, the current variable would essentially be an impossible error.

“A terrible curse.”

The boy seemed to recognize what it was at once.

However.

He shows sympathy but offers no mercy.

The steel-like warrior charges with a bear-like momentum and swings down his massive golden sword.

In that fleeting instant,

A black trajectory suddenly swelled as if inflated, embracing the area around Kariel.

Thus Kariel managed to defend against the strike.

Then he suddenly began thrusting and sweeping with a massive jet-black lance.

“Excellent.”

This time even the boy couldn’t help but let out a short exclamation of admiration.

“……”

The difference in physique.

The difference in weapon length.

To overcome these, what he chose was the art of the spear.

With Astrape withdrawn, Bahram’s avatar bodies once again fiercely assaulted the giants.

This placed an enormous burden on the group of giants.

But now was not the time to worry about others.

However, surprisingly,

Kariel’s skill in handling the jet-black lance was truly extraordinary.

“He handles it well.”

Whether a longsword, cruciform sword, or one-handed sword.

What he had learned was a method that allowed him to use all weapons proficiently.

He holds the lance upright in both hands before his chest.

Boom!

The vertically held spear strikes the ground.

Para.

Having created distance, normally he would transition to Grate, resting the sword on his shoulder, yet ready to strike down or swing or defend at any moment, solidifying his stance.

But that is not a sword.

Therefore.

Fortes.

Pulling the shaft of the spear to his waist with both hands.

Now he is ready to thrust the spear at any moment, to strike with both hands.

With the spearhead diagonally, clearly aiming at the chest of the warrior holding the golden sword, he was staring intently.

“……”

In the end.

What he can ultimately rely on is that.

Not authority, ability, or tricks.

If all those disappear.

What remains is ultimately that.

“Hmph.”

The warrior who laughed briefly charges head-on.

Stepping back half a step, Kariel deflects the opponent’s weapon with a combination of Vetita-Grate-Para-Fortes, and simultaneously aims for the opponent’s waist.

It’s because of the difference in physique.

Otherwise, he would have aimed for the throat.

“Hmm!”

With a small exclamation, the golden sword makes a sound like a massive axe splitting the air.

Again, rapidly transitioning through four stances, he deflects it and counterattacks.

Not attack but defense and protection.

And based on this, trying to lead the opponent to collapse and break their flow.

But the opponent is no pushover.

As a result,

The savage battle between Kariel, who brilliantly wields and sweeps his spear, and

The warrior, who brutally strikes down and slashes with his golden sword, their impact indiscriminately tore through the surrounding space.

“Truly, his technique has reached divine mastery.”

The boy, having withdrawn his intention to intervene, continues to watch the battle with renewed admiration.

Surely his warrior is an entity more noble, great, and incredibly powerful than the golden sword he holds.

Yet that small young man, enduring a vicious curse,

While fully bearing the pain that comes from it,

Faces him without wavering—how can this not be beautiful?

In this terrible battlefield where blood splatters, flesh flies, splits and breaks, bones shatter and are pulverized.

If one finds beauty in life-threatening combat and bloody struggle, in desperate fighting and martial conflict,

Wouldn’t that be disrespectful and a severe mockery of war?

Yet he can’t help but feel that way.

Truly, truly rare and difficult to taste… pleasure.

The god of the battlefield, the god of combat, the god of war.

At this very moment.

The resistance and struggle shown by this fragile but indomitable warrior facing a merciless god has changed his heart.

Watching this scene led by his fighting spirit and will to struggle, the boy recalls a familiar sentiment.

Here in this place, another myth is rising.

But do not be reassured, warrior.

Even a glorious journey… after passing the middle and reaching the end, falling into a swamp or filthy quagmire and sinking—

That is a very common ending.