Ch.781Are You Picking a Fight With Me Right Now?

I descended from the mountain peak and continued flying northwest until sunset.

It wasn’t particularly fast. Perhaps comparable to a light jog.

In a land where all I could see was snow and mountain ranges, I had to determine my direction by comparing vague old memories with the scenery before me, making it impossible to increase my speed.

If I wasn’t careful, I might miss the timing to change direction and end up on the wrong path.

“Let’s rest here.”

Just like yesterday, after sunset I created a cave by boring through a mountain peak and rested inside.

“Haaah…”

I stretched out in front of the campfire, grinning contentedly in the pleasant warmth.

So warm. Magic is truly wonderful. Without the fire rune, two swordsmen wandering through the Sky Mountains would have been an impossible feat to even attempt.

—–

Unlike yesterday when we were completely exhausted, we still had plenty of physical and mental energy left, so instead of going straight to sleep, we sat across from each other by the campfire and leisurely passed the time.

Unlike yesterday when we just melted some dried rations to eat, we properly cooked a stew and even brewed some black tea with tea leaves I had brought just in case.

“Hey, Haschal. About what happened earlier today…”

After warming up enough to remove my coat and purifying the musty air with mint tobacco, Demian suddenly spoke up as if something had just occurred to him.

“What happened earlier?”

“You know, what you said when we saw the World Tree.”

Ah, when I told him that what he was feeling was hostility and hatred.

At the time, I had spoken naturally with the flow of the conversation, but thinking about it now, it seemed like I was a witch teaching hatred to a hero who lacked malicious emotions.

…Surely he wouldn’t be unable to draw the holy sword just because he realized such emotions?

I’m a bit worried… but it should be fine. Hatred and disgust toward evil shouldn’t be considered particularly malicious emotions by holy sword standards. Even Elpinel’s doctrine teaches to hate evil.

“Why bring that up suddenly? Is something bothering you?”

“Well… you said that feeling was disgust or hatred, but thinking about it more carefully, it seems a bit different.”

“Different?”

I tilted my head and asked.

“How should I put it… hatred is when you absolutely cannot tolerate an ‘enemy’ and want to kill them horribly by any means necessary, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then… I don’t think it was hatred after all.”

Demian nodded as if he had confirmed something and looked straight at me.

“Because… although not as intense as when looking at the World Tree, I feel something similar when I look at you, Haschal. My head and chest get a little hot, and I feel like swinging my sword, you know?”

“…What?”

What the hell is this guy saying?

I frowned in bewilderment and asked again.

He wants to cut me down?

After getting along well all this time, what nonsense is he suddenly…

Could it be that, true to being the protagonist of the original story, he instinctively hates the entity predetermined to be the boss—in other words, the entity known as “Hersella the Mad”?

Was the cub I’ve been raising all this time not the hero who would ensure my comfortable retirement, but a tiger who would stab me in the back?

…No, that can’t be.

If that were the case, there would have been trouble long ago.

Normally it would be out of the question, but if I were lying incapacitated after a fierce battle with a powerful enemy, he would have had plenty of opportunities to cut my throat.

…Right?

I forcibly held back my gaze that was unconsciously trying to drift toward Durandal’s hilt and questioned Demian accusingly.

“You hate me enough to want to kill me…? Are you saying you want to fight me to the death?”

“Huh…? No, wait, that’s not what I meant! Just listen to me until the end!”

Demian jumped up in alarm and retreated a couple of steps.

His wide eyes were staring intently at my right hand. My right hand that was gripping Durandal’s hilt, half-drawn.

…What’s this? Why is my hand here?

I looked down at the silver blade emitting a blue-silver light and let out a hollow laugh in disbelief.

With threats and combat becoming so frequent lately, it seems my body automatically entered combat stance the moment I verbally threatened him.

Like Pavlov’s dog salivating at the sound of a bell.

“…Go on.”

I said as I sheathed Durandal back. Demian approached the campfire again, plopped down, and answered.

“Listen. Hatred is the feeling of wanting to kill an enemy, right? But I don’t think of you as my enemy, Haschal. Besides, I want to swing my sword… but not to the point of wanting you dead.”

“What does that mean?”

Wanting to swing a sword but not wanting to kill—what kind of feeling is that? What, like a sniper shooting gently?

“Just, well… it’s like… I want to hold the sword sideways and strike with the flat of the blade… Yes, that kind of feeling.”

Demian answered hesitantly.

Hearing his answer, I finally understood what kind of confusion he was experiencing.

“…I see, now I understand.”

To summarize Demian’s nonsense, it seems the emotion he felt looking at the World Tree and the emotion he felt looking at me were almost identical, just differing in intensity.

He wants to kill the World Tree, but with me, he just wants to hit me once. Not even considering me an enemy.

Then indeed, it was different from hostility or hatred.

“I was mistaken. The emotion you felt wasn’t hostility or hatred.”

Hatred always accompanies killing intent. If you only feel the urge to hit someone without killing intent, then that emotion should be called—

“Anger.”

It should be called anger.

—-

“Anger?”

Demian tilted his head.

“Yes. Anger is correct. From wanting to tear someone apart and kill them, to wanting to smack an ill-mannered child once, it’s a violent impulse that varies in intensity depending on the target.”

I continued my explanation as I moved the cigarette from my fingertips to my mouth.

“In short, you were angry.”

“…I see. So this is… anger…”

Demian nodded as if he understood.

“Thank you for teaching me, Haschal.”

His eyes now showed the light of understanding, as if he had finally found the answer.

“What’s there to thank me for?”

Of course, I had no intention of accepting Demian’s gratitude, so I loosened my shoulders slightly and stood up.

“…I haven’t even finished what I was saying.”

– Crack, crack.

This bastard is trying to end things on a warm note.

“Uh, Haschal…?”

Perhaps feeling uneasy at the sight of me clenching my right hand tightly with the sound of cracking joints, Demian flinched.

“You just said it, Demian. That you felt a similar emotion toward me. What was it… you wanted to hit me with the flat of your blade? So you were that pissed off at me?”

This ungrateful bastard.

When he should be thanking me a thousand times for taking care of him all this time, he dares to harbor anger toward me.

Then I have no choice but to punish him, right?

“No, wait, that was just, um, a metaphorical…”

“Perfect. Let’s release some pent-up feelings today. No rank, no Karma, just bare fists.”

“Wait, wait, stop, Haschal! Calm down!”

As I approached Demian while spinning my right arm like a windmill, he backed away just as much as I advanced, desperately making all sorts of excuses.

“Think about it. This isn’t the time for that, is it? If we spar here, the cave might collapse, and we need to conserve energy for tomorrow…”

“Wrong.”

I lightly bounced my knee to get right in front of Demian, grabbed his collar where a faint smell of sweat was coming from, and smiled.

“You should have… apologized right now.”

With Hersella’s tentacles of Murder Karma writhing threateningly, excited at the prospect of finally getting to beat someone up.

“I’m sorry, I was wrong, so please just…!”

Demian, sweating nervously, finally apologized.

Lifted up and unable to move either way, his struggling appearance was, how should I put it, cute like a bird caught in a trap.

“Yes, that’s right.”

At that funny sight, I let out a chuckle, put him back down, and lightly patted his shoulder.

– Thud! Thump!

Lightly.

“Ugh, urgh…! Hasch, al. Wait, my shoulder…!”

Such a drama queen. With that thick werebeasts leather he’s wearing, it shouldn’t even hurt that much.

As soon as my hand left, Demian started massaging his shoulder.

I brought my face so close to his that our noses almost touched, and gave him a piece of advice in a very low tone to convey my sincere feelings.

“I’m working so hard to help you get stronger as quickly as possible, and instead of being grateful, you harbor anger. That won’t do. You’re not such an ungrateful person, are you, Demian?”

“Y-yeah. That’s right. I’m… th… thankful. Haschal.”

Demian swallowed dryly and expressed his gratitude.

“Good, that’s the right attitude.”

I smiled broadly and stepped back, as if teaching him that his response was correct.

Yes. A person should know how to express gratitude for what they’ve received. Especially someone who isn’t an ordinary person but a future hero—it wouldn’t do for him to become a trash who doesn’t recognize kindness.

Such a hero would either get stabbed by his companions as soon as his role is fulfilled, or he himself would stab his companions in the back and fall into corruption. That’s the only future for someone like that.

So to prevent Demian from meeting such an end, I need to teach him the proper attitude as a person in advance, right?

Demian’s mother in heaven would have nodded vigorously in enthusiastic agreement with my opinion.