I Became the 101st Hero – Chapter 59

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Wjin
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“The second condition… is the annihilation of my being, the vessel that has gathered the hopes and prayers of my people.”

No.

That was unacceptable.

Because…

“Then you wouldn’t be able to keep your promise either!”

“…You’re right.”

She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“But if my sacrifice can save the kingdom…”

“No. I should be the one to sacrifice myself.”

“Are you saying… you can stop the Chaos? With your sword?”

She pointed toward the horizon.

In the distance, the encroaching Chaos was clearly visible, a wave of darkness slowly but steadily consuming the world.

It would reach the kingdom within six months, regardless of the Chaos Beasts.

And stopping it with his sword… it was impossible.

“Can the God of Light stop it?”

She nodded.

‘Damn it.’

Abandoning the kingdom had only been a temporary solution.

If they couldn’t stop the Chaos, it would eventually consume the entire world.

But if the God of Light could stop it…

“I understand your intentions, Your Majesty. But I have one request.”

“What is it?”

“Wait until after the child is born before you begin the ritual.”

She blushed.

“You knew…”

“Of course, I did. You can start the prayer later. I’ll handle the Chaos Beasts until then.”

He drew his sword, pointing it at the distant darkness.

“And if I… if I manage to cut through the Chaos… you’ll stop the ritual.”

“Alright. Then promise me something in return.”

She placed a hand on her belly, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination.

“If you fail… grant our child one wish. Whatever they desire.”

“Just one? I’d do anything for them.”

He didn’t want that to happen, of course.

He would cut through the Chaos. He had to.

She smiled at him, her gaze unwavering.

“I trust you, Libero. You’ve always been my hero.”

From that day onwards, he fought the Chaos Beasts with a renewed fervor.

Maybe, just maybe… if he kept pushing himself, he might be able to reach that elusive “pinnacle of swordsmanship.”

And then, maybe he could cut through that vile, encroaching darkness.

Three months passed.

The Queen gave birth.

And without taking time to recover, she immediately began the prayer ritual.

He had no time to visit her, to see his child.

He couldn’t return until he had fulfilled his promise, until he had cut through the Chaos.

He and the head of the Lidval family were the only ones who still stood on the front lines, their skills and strength the kingdom’s last bastion of defense.

The people were exhausted, demoralized by the relentless onslaught of Chaos Beasts.

But his swordsmanship continued to improve.

‘From line to space.’

He could cut things that were beyond the physical reach of his blade.

‘From space… to time.’

He could cut things that shouldn’t be possible to cut.

And yet…

He couldn’t cut through the Chaos.

He slashed and slashed, his strikes growing more powerful, more precise.

But the darkness remained, an impenetrable wall.

And as he fought, the Chaos seeped into him, slowly corrupting his body, twisting it, changing it.

It started with his fingers, a subtle discoloration, a tingling sensation… then it spread, slowly but surely, throughout his body.

He knew it was bad, this insidious invasion.

But he couldn’t stop.

He had to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship. He had to cut through the Chaos.

He slashed and slashed, his swordsmanship reaching a fever pitch.

He cut down countless Chaos Beasts, his body a blur of motion.

Time was running out. He had to find a way, and fast.

Four months had passed since the Queen began her prayer. His body was wracked with pain, exhaustion pulling at him, the taint of Chaos spreading through his veins.

And then, he heard a voice.

(Do you desire to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship?)

He didn’t know who was speaking.

But he was desperate.

Desperate enough to make a deal with the devil.

‘Of course,’ he responded, his voice a strained whisper.

(Then what do you need to reach that goal?)

‘Time,’ he thought. More time.

(Then I can give you time.)

He should have ignored that voice.

He should have rejected that offer.

It was a pact made in desperation, a deal destined to backfire.

He regained consciousness a month later, his transformation complete. He was no longer human.

The Queen had already completed the ritual, sacrificing herself to create a barrier that protected what remained of her kingdom.

She was gone.

He was consumed by guilt, by the crushing weight of his failure.

He tried to kill himself, but his newfound regenerative abilities as a Demon King prevented him from dying.

Regret gnawed at him, poisoned his soul.

He had failed to save her.

She had believed he was her hero, but he wasn’t worthy of her faith, her love.

He wasn’t strong enough.

If only he had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship…

He was an empty shell, a vessel driven by regret.

And now… he had an eternity to hone his skills.

He trained relentlessly, driven by an obsession that bordered on madness. And eventually, he reached a devastating realization.

‘The pinnacle of swordsmanship… it doesn’t exist.’

That realization shattered him. His life, his purpose… it was all meaningless.

He had spent centuries honing his skills, pushing himself beyond his limits, only to discover that the goal he had been chasing… was an illusion.

His memories, his personality… they had been eroded by time, by the endless cycle of death and rebirth, by the corruption that came with being a Demon King.

New Demon Kings emerged, taking their place in the ever-shifting hierarchy.

The original Demon Kings from the Age of Chaos were fading, their numbers dwindling. Only a handful remained.

A council was formed, rules established to maintain a fragile peace between the Demon King factions.

He drifted through life, a hollow shell, following their orders, his purpose lost.

He clung to a sliver of hope, a desperate belief that perhaps… if he fought someone stronger, someone who could push him beyond his limits, he might find a way, a path to that elusive peak.

He hadn’t truly given up on his dream.

He lived a meaningless, contradictory existence.

Until he met that boy.

“I’m here to collect on a promise you made to my ancestor.”

A promise he had made to her, a promise he had forgotten.

He didn’t know how her descendant had learned about it, but he couldn’t refuse.

And then, something unexpected happened. The boy, with his relentless spirit, his unwavering determination… he had started to change Libero.

“No, even if the outcome proves me wrong… I can’t give up.”

The boy wouldn’t give up, no matter how impossible the task seemed.

He tried and tried, failing again and again, picking himself up and dusting himself off, his eyes still burning with that defiant spark.

He had accomplished so much, far exceeding expectations.

And even when he hit a wall, he refused to give up, searching for new paths, new possibilities.

He had followed Libero on his nightly excursions, eager to test his skills in real combat. And then he had vanished, leaving without a word.

Why would someone with such limited talent, with a finite lifespan, push himself so hard?

Libero couldn’t understand.

And perhaps… that was why he had been drawn to the boy.

The most significant change, though… was the reawakening of emotions that had been buried deep within him for centuries.

Not all his memories had returned.

He still couldn’t fully comprehend his own actions.

He was driven by something primal, something instinctive, a force beyond his control.

And that force… it exploded when he saw his favorite bar, destroyed, its wreckage a testament to Gineus’ cruelty.

And now, here he was…

‘What am I even doing?’

He was exchanging blows with the boy, his swordsmanship a blur of motion.

And the boy, despite his obvious limitations, was keeping up, his movements becoming faster, more fluid, with each passing moment.

‘From line to space…’

Libero thought, impressed. That level of understanding, even in just two months, wasn’t impossible.

But then the boy’s movements became a blur, matching his own speed. His eyes widened.

‘Space… to time?’

This wasn’t something that could be achieved in a few months.

It would take centuries of dedicated training…

‘Centuries of training?’

His eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he analyzed the boy’s swordsmanship, unraveling the layers of accumulated experience woven into its very essence.

‘How… why would he do that?’

And then… he felt it.

A warmth, a burning sensation in his chest.

He still didn’t understand what it was.

But he knew that this boy, this persistent, impossible boy… had rekindled something within him, a spark that had been dormant for far too long.

And for a brief moment, he wanted to surrender to that feeling, to let it consume him.

His body felt light, energized.

The boy’s movements slowed down, and he effortlessly deflected his attack.

His mind felt clearer than it had in centuries.

And then… he understood.

He understood what that burning sensation was.

He understood why he had donned that mask and played the role of a hero all those years ago.

It hadn’t been just a meaningless hobby.

‘She believed in me. She believed I was her hero, until the very end.’

He had failed to be her hero.

He had lost the one he had wanted to protect more than anything else in the world.

But there were still things he had to protect.

“You’ve grown strong, Allen.”

“Of course I have.”

“But you should have rotated your upper body more, aligned yourself with your blade. Thrust deeper,” he said, smiling.

“You might have been able to graze me, if you had.”

He had forgotten.

Lost in his obsession with ‘the pinnacle of swordsmanship,’ he had forgotten why he had desired that power in the first place.

‘The sword is merely a tool. The true essence of swordsmanship… lies in the will of its wielder.’

He had realized this truth far too late.

It was too late for him to become a hero.

He lowered his sword.

“What are you waiting for? Strike me down.”

He had gone too far, crossed a line he could never return from.

This was the only way.

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