Ch.298Tell Me Honestly.

“Kugh…!”

With a groan, the boy falls to the ground and rolls. Along with his dented greatsword.

I throw my broken longsword to the floor and draw a new one from the wall.

This makes the third one. Come to think of it, how long has it been since a sword broke on me?

They used to break all the time, but lately I’ve only been using Durandal, so it hasn’t happened.

“Get up. I still haven’t heard your answer.”

Gritting his teeth, Demian struggles to his feet, using his greatsword as a cane.

His knees are half-bent, and both arms hang limply.

I haven’t broken anything. He’s just too exhausted to put strength into his limbs.

Demian’s stamina, after swinging his sword non-stop, had clearly reached its limit.

The thirty minutes of serious fighting was like play for me, but for Demian, it was like sprinting at full speed with his nose and mouth covered.

“Haa…haa…. Answer? What did you even ask…?”

Well, until now, the ‘preparation’ wasn’t complete. Questioning an energetic opponent would be pointless.

But now he seems sufficiently worn down… I can start our ‘conversation.’

With my longsword resting on my shoulder, I approach Demian with light, cheerful steps.

Startled, Demian musters his strength to lift his greatsword.

“That’s true. Then let me ask you, why do you think you haven’t reached Master level? It’s not for lack of talent or experience!”

I speak casually while delivering a relentless series of attacks.

The slashes rain down like a downpour, gradually eroding both Demian’s body and mind.

“Answer me!”

I don’t give him time to think about his answer.

The longer one has to think, the more convincing lies become.

“How would I know that!”

Barely deflecting my endless slashes, Demian answers as if gasping for breath.

His tone sounded indignant, but his weakened eyes held questions rather than anger.

As expected. No energy left to manage his expressions, I see?

Despite this utterly unreasonable situation, he doesn’t—or rather, can’t—feel outraged. Clearly an abnormal reaction.

Maybe Demian is saintly enough to control his anger, but if not?

Rather than someone kindly suppressing their anger, he seems more like someone who doesn’t even realize he should be angry at his situation.

My vague suspicion gradually turned to certainty.

“I’m not certain, but it seems that to reach Master level, you need some kind of emotional desperation. Whether it’s a sense of duty, sadness, or anger. You need intense emotions. Isn’t that strange?”

“What…!”

He deflects my blade downward, and as he turns, I strike his left arm with the pommel of my sword.

Not below the elbow where I broke it earlier, but closer to the shoulder. I clearly felt the bone break with a cracking sound.

“Nggghh…!”

“Surely you’ve experienced plenty of situations that would trigger intense emotions. Fighting Werebeasts or training with me couldn’t have been easy. So why are you the only one who hasn’t reached Master level?”

Ophelia’s rage after being covered in bodily fluids should be less intense than Demian’s indignation at being beaten nearly to death.

Judging by how he’s fought with his life on the line, his sense of duty could rival Frider’s.

…At least, that’s how it would appear to others.

“That’s…!”

Demian’s words caught in his throat.

So, he has his own suspicions?

With our blades pressed together, I lean in close to his face. Close enough to feel his heavy breathing.

Up close, the boy’s face was a mess of dirt, sweat, and blood.

And in his eyes…

As expected, there was no emotion at all.

“You actually don’t feel anything, do you?”

As if I’d hit the mark, Demian’s body froze for a moment.

—-

“That reaction confirms it’s true.”

“No, what are you saying…?”

Trying to make excuses? Now? You’ve been exposed for a while.

You might not realize it yourself, but… thanks to your depleted stamina, the mask of the ‘exemplary knight’ you’ve been wearing has long since fallen away.

I can see right through you just by looking at your face.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul.

His empty gaze, like hollow glass marbles, nakedly revealed Demian’s true nature that everyone had misunderstood.

“That’s it. You have the ability to become a Master, and you’ve had plenty of experiences that could trigger it, but you still haven’t reached that level… which means that even during those experiences, your emotions never truly intensified. Your anger toward enemies and your dutiful appearance of protecting others were all just an act.”

Yes. This was the conclusion I had reached.

This bastard Demian had been deceiving everyone all along, naturally playing the role of a proper knight.

“How much was sincere and how much was an act? No, looking at those eyes, I don’t even need to distinguish. Was anything ever sincere?”

The image of a brave, righteous, and pure young knight was just a facade; his true nature was that of a doll without joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure!

[Hmm… that’s surprisingly intelligent reasoning from you. Could it be that reaching a higher level also increases intelligence?]

What are you saying, you barbaric woman?

I don’t have time for jokes with you right now.

“……”

“Now I understand why I felt vaguely uncomfortable every time you apologized. You never actually felt sorry, did you? Of course I’d be uncomfortable with insincere apologies!”

I raise my longsword high and bring it down like lightning toward the silent Demian.

Was it anger or disappointment I felt in my blade? Either way, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

First a genocidal racist, then a deranged sadistic incestuous rapist, and now someone with an emotional disorder.

This cursed world, how twisted can it get?

– KWANG!

The lightning-like strike on his greatsword slams the boy into the ground.

—-

The dust rises like a wave and settles on the training ground floor.

Demian lay sprawled like an overturned frog, groaning beneath my feet.

“Does it hurt?”

“…What?”

A quiet question.

Looking down, Demian’s face was contorted with pain.

“I asked if it hurts.”

Even without emotions, his senses should work fine.

“Answer me.”

I kick down hard on the black iron greatsword.

Unable to withstand it, Demian flies backward and tumbles.

“Ugh…! Of course it hurts…!”

Right. That’s natural.

How could it not hurt after taking a beating like that?

“Do you dislike pain?”

“Who would like—”

I raise my foot and bring it down toward his prone head, with enough force to shatter his skull.

Demian hurriedly rolls away. My right foot sinks ankle-deep into the ground, leaving a clear footprint.

So he at least has the mindset to dislike pain.

Whether that means he has faint emotions or it’s just survival instinct, I’m not sure.

“—it!”

He swings at my ankle, using the momentum from his roll.

Even in this state, his fighting spirit was admirable… but his weakened strike was neither threatening nor effective.

I block his greatsword by thrusting my reversed longsword into the ground.

– KRAK!

His greatsword stops abruptly, like hitting a pillar.

Demian lets out a soft groan.

“…Then why do you fight?”

I kick away his greatsword and grab him by the collar, lifting him up.

“Fighting is always painful and difficult. Like you are now. Why does someone who hates pain fight? When your emotions are just an act.”

To fight, one needs a reason to endure pain.

Whether it’s rational judgment or emotional impulse.

Duty, pride, love, grudge, desire, obligation, fear, survival, pleasure, coercion.

Thinking of countless different reasons, I pull Demian close as he grabs my arm.

“Tell me. Why do you fight, Demian?”

“…Because a knight must fight without retreating.”

Chivalry? That sounds like Nigel.

But I don’t sense the obsession or pride that Nigel has.

“Ha, what an empty answer.”

I throw Demian toward his greatsword on the ground.

Waiting for the boy to roll and stand up with his weapon again.

“You fight because you’re a knight? Then you could just quit being a knight. Why continue? When you don’t even sincerely want to protect others!”

The greatsword and longsword clash again.

Scattered sparks melt like snowflakes, and the overworked black iron screams.

“That’s…”

Demian barely blocks my strike despite staggering.

Seeing him hesitate and trail off… this guy still has enough mental capacity left? Was I too lenient?

“If your answer takes more than 2 seconds, I’ll assume you’re lying. Like just now!”

I swing a wide horizontal slash. Demian blocks it but flies into the wall.

Among the crumbling rocks, the boy’s blood spatters in dots.

“So answer immediately.”

“Kuhk, kuhuk… My mother, my late mother told me to. To become an excellent knight who helps people…!”

[A mother’s dying wish… Yes, that’s worth enduring pain for.]

What is she saying now?

Are you sympathizing as fellow motherless children? There’s a fundamental difference between you and him.

“That’s not an answer. How could someone without even love for his mother risk his life to keep her dying wish? What reason could you have?”

I throw away the nearly shattered longsword and approach Demian, who can no longer stand.

“Hmm? I’m asking you. You can still move your mouth, right?”

I crouch in front of Demian and grab his hair, lifting his head.

“If you don’t want to answer, I’ll strike you down right now. Is that okay? I don’t have a habit of keeping untrustworthy people alive.”

A crimson aura rises from my right hand.

The murderous intent weighs down on the boy’s body.

[…Wait, are you really going to kill him?]

‘Well. If necessary.’

I was half serious.

In my experience, keeping emotionally problematic people around always led to major incidents.

I might consider raising a hero destined to draw a holy sword, but I have no interest in embracing a ticking time bomb.

I don’t know what would happen if I killed a future hero, but my willingness to make that judgment means this Demian was never meant to be a hero in the first place.

“…Because I have to. I can’t survive unless I become an excellent knight!”

Finally, unable to hold out, Demian revealed his true feelings.

…What is he saying?

He acts like a knight to survive? Even though he’s nearly died doing so multiple times? That’s contradictory.

Still, judging by his eyes, he doesn’t seem to be lying…

Maybe it’s because he’s about to die. In his trembling eyes, there’s clearly a faint emotion of fear.

…I’ll hold off on striking him down for now.

I can decide after hearing the details.

I release Demian’s hair and sit down on the floor.

“Explain.”

Demian, collapsed and breathing heavily, eventually calmed down enough to lean against the wall and began to explain.

He told me about his childhood, something he said he’d never told even Millia.

“…I killed my father. With my own hands, when I was ten.”

[Excellent!]

Hersella exclaimed as if about to applaud.

No, what’s excellent about that? You crazy woman…!

Stunned by this unexpected confession, I stared at Demian, at a loss for words.