Quit The Hero Party

*

EP.502 Heavenly Reprisal (6)

*

“You kept your promise.”

The white hair swayed in the wind.

The torn and blood-soaked hem of the clothes fluttered. A young man with his back to Natida slowly bent his knee. With his remaining arm, he reached for the axe embedded in the ground.

Shiiiiiing!

As he spun the axe, which dripped with red molten metal, it transformed into a shattered Holy Sword. The young man turned back while holding the Holy Sword, locking eyes with Natida, who was looking up at him.

“I didn’t want to die by your hands.”

The words Natida had thrown down, threatening to kill him even if he was resurrected if he didn’t keep his promise, were tossed back by Lac von Grace with a smirk.

His body was covered in wounds, and he had lost one arm.

Yet, Lac’s breath remained steady.

Upon closer inspection, the severed arm had been neatly cauterized, and the large wound was filled with traces of divine magic. Natida blinked in disbelief.

…Divine magic? Who in the world?

Just as that question formed, someone jumped down from the hole in the ceiling. Remia, her blonde hair fluttering, a disheveled Karioth draped in torn clothes, and Destel fluttering his star-patterned robes.

The extermination squad, which had wiped out the forces prepared by the Braver, joined the battlefield. As they landed one after another in the underground space, Natida’s eyes widened in surprise. There was one unfamiliar figure among them.

“Remia’s back isn’t bad either. It’s not as comfortable as Kyle’s, but still.”

“Kyle does have a broad back.”

An individual landed in the underground space on Remia’s back.

With cherry blossom-colored hair flowing down to her waist and the unique green eyes of a Saint, the woman’s face was familiar yet strange to Natida.

During her time in the Deloheim Church, she had seen this person’s portrait and records several times.

“…Saint Sara?”

The Blessed Saint, Sara.

Aside from the First Saint, she was the strongest in holy power among past Saints. She had restored the waning power of the church and achieved countless feats alongside the Hero, Kyle Toven… the former Saint.

Now, she turned her head to look at Natida.

Noticing Natida’s green eyes and the Saint’s priestly robe she wore, Sara smiled brightly.

“I’m not a Saint. You are, rather.”

Boom!

Destel slammed down his shield.

Karioth lowered his sword, Remia pulled back her bowstring, and Lac took a step forward. As they prepared to confront the Braver… Sara stood right next to Natida.

And then, grip.

Sara held Natida’s wrist tightly and smiled.

“I just realized I hadn’t handed over the baton. It may be late, but shall we do it now?”

Sara had lost most of her holy power.

She had even lost her value as a Saint. Nevertheless, she could still wield divine magic. Because her prayers did not require divine power anymore.

A white light began to bloom from Sara’s touch.

Compared to the light she had when she was a Saint, it was weak, but it was still a clear light. With her glowing white hand gently gripping Natida’s wrist, Sara whispered.

“I may not know much, but I can teach you blessings and healing. So, let me borrow a bit.”

Particles of light floated up.

Through the rising particles, she chanted divine magic. It was magic that belonged solely to her, neither the First Saint’s nor anyone else’s.

“Watch closely.”

The current version of her couldn’t complete the divine magic. Thus, borrowing Natida’s holy power, Sara completed the miracle.

“It will be helpful.”

The completed divine magic radiated light.

White particles and platinum particles swirled like snowflakes. As those particles touched the bodies of those present, they began to recover in an instant. No, that’s not right.

Natida’s eyes widened.

‘It’s more like…’

This was closer to turning back time.

Flesh reformed. Twisted bones found their place. The blood that was spilled returned. While it couldn’t regenerate severed body parts, it was enough to be called a miracle.

Natida had never seen, nor learned, such divine magic.

“………”

Without a word, Natida glanced to her side.

She saw her senior, gripping her wrist.

In the records of the Deloheim Church, Sara was often described this way. The Blessed Saint, the girl loved by God who wielded divine magic that transcended the realm of miracles. Natida realized that it wasn’t just empty flattery.

Even if she lost most of her holy power…

She was still a woman who performed miracles.

Destel quickly assessed the situation.

The swirling flower petals, the flowing streams of starlight, the expanding flowerbed indicated that the plan was proceeding successfully. However, he quickly recognized that the situation was not unfolding as planned.

The First Braver was still not subdued.

A moment ago, the spear thrown by the Braver had strangely returned to his hand. Each time he swung the spear he held, the waves that sought to engulf him split apart, foam rising.

…Wasn’t the Braver a mage?

That movement was anything but magical.

It was the motion of a top-tier warrior who honed himself. Moreover, what was that bizarre spear? Destel frowned, extending his gaze.

Ka, kkkkrrr!

He caught sight of the approaching storm in the distance.

Dust and storms rose high into the sky. The ground trembled. Numerous spells adorned the air. Amid them was… the clash of a giant skeleton and a black dragon.

‘…Am I too late?’

Destel’s expression twisted.

He realized what Belnoa had chosen.

“…Destel Sir.”

Destel turned his head. There stood Chloe, looking at him with a ready-to-crumble expression. Belnoa, she stuttered.

“Get a grip, Chloe.”

Destel gripped, her shoulder tightly.

“I’m sorry to say, but focus on what needs to be done right now.”

Destel stared at Chloe.

“We need to take down the Braver and resolve this situation to help Belnoa. So, focus.”

At first glance, she seemed delicate, but Destel knew she wasn’t weak. Just hearing this much would suffice. What she needed now was someone to steady her wavering self.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“……”

Chloe bit her lip. She lowered her head. When she lifted her head again, her expression had changed a bit. She opened her mouth.

“Buy time.”

Chloe said.

“Please restrain the Braver’s spear. Even for a moment, that’s good. Just for a moment…”

She pointed at the spear held by the Braver.

“Don’t let that spear reach the waves.”

Nodding, Destel stepped forward. Chloe took a deep breath and grasped the air. The floating flower petals gathered into a rod-like shape in her hands.

With a starlight rod clenched tightly, she concentrated again on the movements of the waves.

The previously subdued waves began to surge again, flooding toward the Braver. As the swirling flower petals danced, Destel began to make his way forward. In his hand, he held a long spear.

Tap.

Holding the spear of the savior Ganyr, Destel took the lead. Beside him stood Lac von Grace, and Karioth lightly stepped into the flower field.

“Lac.”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

Lac let out a short breath.

“I can’t move well but…”

Spin, he twisted his wrist.

The broken Holy Sword made a shiiiing sound while dripping red molten metal over the flowerbed. In his hand, a single axe had appeared. A red-hot axe.

“It should be enough to split some heads.”

Destel shot a sideways glance at Lac.

His arm had been torn away, and even with the recovery from divine magic, the healing of his wounds was agonizingly slow. It was probably because he had pushed his body beyond its limits.

Standing was already a miracle.

The intensity in Lac’s eyes hadn’t dissipated in the least. Shiiiiiing, steam rose from Lac’s body. Destel couldn’t help but click his tongue. Amazing stamina, really.

“Karioth.”

“I’ve got the general idea.”

Sighing beside Destel, Karioth breathed out.

“That spear looks bizarre. If it hits, it’ll pierce even immortality. So, don’t use strategies that rely on that immortality. Right?”

“Correct.”

“I got it. I’ll do my best.”

A spear that could pierce even the immortal lay ahead.

While being the opposite of Karioth, he didn’t back down in the slightest. After a long time, he allowed the sense of death to crawl back down his spine, chuckling bitterly.

“The kids are working this hard, I should do something too.”

He smiled, gripping his crucifix sword tightly.

And thus, the three began to stride forward. Each with their breaths and respective methods, they dashed toward the Braver. Amidst the swirling flower petals, three figures were concealed.

And the Braver…

The Heavenly One, Acrita, watched those rushing toward him through the petals, letting out a hollow laugh. The issue wasn’t just with them. Alongside a flash, the moon rose high in the sky.

Pam pam pam pam pam pam pam!

Swinging his spear to cut through the rain of moonlight and slicing through the waves crashing in, Acrita let out a long breath.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Moreover, the waves intensified.

The former Saint, the Archery Master, a Superhuman, and the Hero whom he had thought would be a variable too… They were all showcasing their presence on the battlefield.

Especially, that Hero, known for his cowardice, irked Acrita.

He realized that this Hero had shattered the army he prepared and brought the former Saint and Lac von Grace to this battlefield. And he felt a deep sense of unease over that fact.

‘The coward shouldn’t possess that kind of power, should he?’

How could he acquire such potency in such a short period?

How did he wake the Saint who should be dormant?

Numerous questions began to chain together. The one person who could be the greatest variable was him. The unexpected variable that neither he nor even Raniel van Trias had envisioned had overturned the board.

‘Wait.’

Acrita furrowed his brows.

If the Saint, Sara, had awakened…

“This is insane.”

Acrita’s expression twisted.

If the former Saint had opened her eyes, then the one who could turn the tides would also have awakened. The person who could overturn the board single-handedly. Kyle Toven thrust his sword onto the board.

…Should he be grateful that he wasn’t here, or should he see it as a misfortune?

Raniel van Trias, standing at the opposite end of the continent, would no longer perish alongside the Demon Lord and Death’s Blade. Because Kyle Toven headed there. The moment he realized that, the Braver’s spear became ominous.

The board had flipped.

The plans were thrown into chaos.

Everything, everything had gone wrong.

Thanks to the manipulation of the Star, the Ashen Mage, who once anticipated a mutual destruction with the Death’s Blade and Demon Lord, would return alive. She would simply grasp the ending she wished for.

Lac von Grace, who had expected to perish at the hands of Barta, or at the very least, die alongside him, had joined the battlefield alive.

Stella and the Watcher had completed the blades that would kill her. They were no longer vessels to harbor magic.

The Archery Master who had thought to be swept away in his own army had unexpectedly joined the battlefield unscathed.

Everything, all of it had gone beyond all his expectations.

The plan Acrita had built had crumbled. The perfect picture had turned into a mess. Acrita looked again at the image he had drawn in his mind.

Smeared, splattered with paint, torn, and mixed up.

The image was no longer recognizable in its original form. This painting held no value at all. As he looked at his devalued painting, a smile appeared on the Braver’s lips. It was a sneer. A derision aimed not at others but himself.

A ruined plan, a broken picture.

Spin, the Braver gripped his spear tightly.

With this, only one answer remained.

Leave the battlefield. Run away. Hide in the darkness once more, awaiting the moment. Just like he had escaped from Gletus thousands of years ago, just like he had run from Ganikalt. Hide back in the darkness, wait for another opportunity.

If he waited long enough, the chance would come again.

So…

“……”

Acrita fell silent.

He looked at the spear he held. He let out a long laugh. The sneer transformed into a genuine smile. Laughter of insanity flowed down his face. Acrita pushed his hair back.

“No, no.”

He murmured.

“It’s too early to end this.”

He tightened his grip on the spear.

The Spear of the Fool glimmered blue-black.

Wrrr, wrrr wrrrrrr.

His mind felt hazy.

The sound ringing in his ears was of something being bitten and crushed. In the midst of this noise, his thoughts didn’t continue for long. Only broken words swirled around Belnoa’s mind.

Open your mouth. Breathe fire.

Swing your claws.

Flap your wings. Flames. Storms. Tear them apart.

Moving as he heard in his ears and saw before his eyes, he forgot why he had become like this. All that came to mind was his objective. Kill the enemy in front of him and trample them. That was enough.

A simple, understandable objective.

With that goal in mind, Belnoa moved his body. He moved through the thick darkness. Whenever he moved, his vision distorted. Something pierced and ripped through him, but he felt no pain.

【 】

【 】

【 】

Someone’s voice continually echoed in his ears, but he could not comprehend it. Due to the thick darkness, his sight was narrow and his ears were blocked. Thus, Belnoa moved through the darkness. With each movement, his soul crumbled.

Swish.

With the shattered remnants of his soul, Belnoa’s heart was revealed. A shard of the star embedded in his heart fell to the ground, plopping down into the darkness. It wasn’t just the shard that fell. The roots intertwined with it, the lineage of sorcery Belnoa had built, fell to the ground.

The moment the fallen shard touched the earth.

【 】

The voice that had been echoing in Belnoa’s ears grew louder.

However, that voice was not directed at him. It was oriented towards another place. The moment Belnoa shifted his gaze to where the voice was directed.

“Well, well.”

A clear voice rang out.

“You wrote down records so diligently and gave advice so earnestly, yet ignoring it like this? Isn’t that a bit much?”

Thud, footsteps echoed.

In the space filled with darkness, something gripped Belnoa by the collar. A rough hand. A clumsy grip pulled him from the shadow.

The shadow dispersed. His vision opened up. His ears were unclogged.

Belnoa blinked and looked down.

There were footprints leading from the spot where the star’s shard—no, the fragment of the Holy Grail—had been embedded. The footprints came to a halt right in front of him. Slowly, very slowly, Belnoa raised his head.

“Isn’t it so, boy?”

Someone stood there.

He didn’t need to recall where he had seen that face. There was no need to rummage through memories. The one standing before him was his idol.

Belial van Dragonik.

The previous contractor before Belnoa and a hero of antiquity.

“It’s been a while, Belnoa.”

He was looking down at Belnoa.

---