—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Thwack.
Ophelia tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. Elliot had always emphasized the importance of grip strength during their training sessions.
While Ophelia wasn’t a knight, his lessons were proving useful.
Crack!
The black projectile fired by the dark mage struck Ophelia’s sword and ricocheted off of it. The impact tore the skin on her palm, but she quickly healed it with divine magic.
The dark mage gritted his teeth.
“Why is the Saintess wielding a sword?!”
“Some bastard forced me to learn.”
“Forced… you?”
“It’s a long story.”
Ophelia scowled and advanced, and the dark mage, panicking, summoned black thorns. But the menacing thorns evaporated the moment they touched the divine power Ophelia radiated.
Miasma was weak against divine power. It was common knowledge. And Ophelia was probably the second most divinely favored person in this world, after the hero.
“Aaaaagh!”
The dark mage’s desperate attacks couldn’t penetrate Ophelia’s barrier. A few stray projectiles managed to graze her, but the wounds closed instantly as she focused her divine power.
The dark mage’s attacks were completely ineffective. As Elliot had said, The dark mage before her was weak.
Ophelia, feeling almost disappointed, closed in and swung her sword.
“Aaaaagh!”
Blood splattered, and the dark mage’s hand flew through the air. The sensation of cutting a person was different from cutting a monster.
“N-no… stop…!”
The dark mage, his hand severed, dropped to his knees and pleaded,
“P-please! Spare me!”
“Why should I? You tried to kill us. Weren’t you prepared to die?”
“It… it wasn’t my will! Truly!”
“Tell it to the judge in hell.”
The dark mage was speechless. Ophelia raised her sword.
He frantically kowtowed.
“I… I know about you! I’ve seen you!”
“Seen me where?”
“I… I’m from another world. A transmigrator, a soul from another world. And in my original world, I observed this world… in a game. That’s why I know you. You’re kind, and you hate killing. I know everything.”
“….”
Ophelia tilted her head, confused.
What nonsense was this? It seemed like a desperate attempt to stall for time, but the dark mage’s expression was serious.
Ophelia frowned.
“So… you’re saying I’m kind and I hate killing. That I’m a good and virtuous woman?”
“Yes. You are…”
“Are you an idiot?”
The dark mage’s face froze.
“E-excuse me?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Do I look like a fool?”
“….”
The dark mage looked bewildered, as if his common sense had been shattered.
“Do I look like a good woman to you?”
Ophelia was capable of self-reflection. She knew she had a terrible personality. The dark mage asked, dumbfounded,
“Why…?”
“Because I’m not Ophelia Meredith. I’m just Ophelia.”
Ophelia adjusted her grip on her sword.
“Before you die, tell me everything you know.”
—
Crack!
Azar’s Smite clashed against my sword. The result was unexpected.
“….”
Both my sword and Azar’s hand axe shattered, unable to withstand the force. I clicked my tongue, looking at the broken hilt of my sword.
It was the sword I had received during my paladin investiture ceremony. It was sharper and better quality than the one I used in the north. I had grown fond of it.
I sighed, and Azar, looking at me, having blocked his attack, expressed genuine admiration.
“Impressive. No one has ever withstood that blow.”
“You must have been fighting weaklings.”
“A sharp tongue, but a Hero nonetheless. I can’t deny that.”
I didn’t like his tone. He sounded like he had given up. How could he be so defeated after just breaking a weapon?
“What are you doing?”
I frowned, stepped forward, and took a fighting stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one hand on my hip, the other clenched into a fist in front of my chest.
A fight didn’t end just because a weapon was broken. A fight continued until one side was dead or incapacitated.
Weapons were just tools. So…
“Put your fists up. Don’t you even know the basics of fighting?”
I decided to beat him up. I prepared to throw a punch, but Azar shook his head.
“I’d like to, but… there’s no need.”
Azar stepped back, his hands behind his back.
“Didn’t you notice?”
“Notice what?”
“It’s raining.”
I looked towards the window. The black barrier was gone, revealing the starlit night sky.
The gentle sound of rain filled the silence. That meant…
“Yes. It’s over.”
“….”
“You won. I lost.”
Azar said, then removed his helmet and dropped it at his feet.
A gesture of surrender in a duel.
“The dark mage is dead.”
“….”
“And… probably Aria as well.”
Azar’s voice trembled slightly. He pulled a dagger from his robes and tossed it to me.
“Kill me. I have no regrets.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I said I’d beat you up, not kill you.”
“I see.”
Azar chuckled dryly, then placed his hand on his forehead and slumped to the ground. He looked small, vulnerable, like a wounded kitten.
After a few minutes, he spoke.
“Hero, did I… lose Aria in that game world as well?”
“Yes. You were heartbroken, practically living at her grave.”
“How pathetic. What happened after that?”
“You picked yourself up. You said you’d try to forget her, that it’s what she would have wanted. And you joined the hero’s party and defeated the Demon King.”
“…Is that…”
Azar turned his head away. I couldn’t see his expression.
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes. I swear on my name as the Hero.”
“…I understand.”
Azar didn’t move. I left him there and hurried towards the basement stairs.
I had expected to win the fight against the dark mage, but I hadn’t expected it to be bloodless.
Right now, checking on Ophelia’s safety was more important than persuading Azar.
As expected, Lyla was lying near the basement corridor, half-buried under the corpses of demons and chimeras.
“Are you… dead?”
“…I’m in a lot of pain.”
Lyla replied weakly. She was covered in wounds, but dragonoid scales were tough. They weren’t fatal. I had seen her with worse injuries during our mercenary days.
I knelt beside her to examine her wounds, but she waved me off and raised her middle finger.
“Go check on the Saintess. She went in alone.”
I headed towards the lab. And…
“…Ophelia.”
“You’re late.”
Ophelia was sitting against the wall, her face pale. The lab was surprisingly clean. There were no signs of a struggle.
And the dark mage…
“You know… this is the first time I’ve killed someone.”
“….”
Ophelia’s sword was still embedded in his heart. He was dead. His eyes were wide open, blood oozing from every orifice.
It wasn’t a pleasant sight. I averted my gaze and approached Ophelia.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I got hit by a few thorns, but they healed quickly. The Mark is pretty useful.”
Divine power was the antithesis of miasma. Ophelia, with her Mark, had an overwhelming advantage in a fight against a dark mage.
And thanks to two years of being beaten by me, she had not only improved her swordsmanship but also her resilience. She was the dark mage’s perfect counter. He never stood a chance.
“Elliot.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t walk.”
“You said you weren’t injured.”
“I just… can’t walk.”
Ophelia’s face was pale, and her hands were trembling.
Her first kill.
When I killed a man for the first time in the north, I hadn’t felt anything. I had simply swung my club, driven by the instinct to survive.
I had to kill to live.
But Ophelia, who had never had to worry about survival, was clearly affected. It was understandable that her legs had given out.
“….”
I had no choice. I picked her up, bridal style.
“W-what…?”
“What’s with that pathetic yelp?”
“S-shut up… you just picked me up without warning!”
Ophelia looked flustered for a moment, then rested her head against my chest.
“What about Azar?”
“He surrendered.”
“Is he injured?”
“Not a scratch.”
“You monster.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t expected to block his Smite so easily. The Hero’s Mark was more powerful than I had thought.
“Elliot,” Ophelia said as we walked through the basement corridor, “that bastard said something strange before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was from another world. A transmigrator.”
I stopped walking. Ophelia continued,
“He said he saw me… in another world. In some kind of game. Isn’t that strange?”
“….”
“I don’t know… it didn’t sound like a lie. He said he wasn’t doing this of his own free will… he begged me to spare him. It was pathetic.”
“What did you do?”
“I stabbed him. His heart was pulsing with miasma. I thought it was going to explode.”
“You did the right thing.”
“And then he said something even stranger…”
Ophelia looked up at me, her green eyes meeting mine. She spoke hesitantly,
“Elliot, are you…”
I knew what she was going to ask. I tried to find the right words, but Ophelia didn’t finish her sentence.
“Never mind.”
“….”
“It’s just…”
Before she could finish, I set her down. Ophelia frowned, but I couldn’t focus on her. I collapsed to the ground, my legs giving out.
“Hey! What’s wrong?!”
“I…”
My body ached, the pain almost unbearable. The Hero’s Mark lasted for ten turns. Ten minutes, in real time.
The backlash was far worse than I had anticipated. The hero in the game used it without any problems.
‘Well…’
I wasn’t the real hero. Just a fake, with a Mark. It was natural for my body to reject it. I lay on the ground, looking at Ophelia.
“Ophelia…”
“What, what’s wrong?! Are you hurt? Do you need a healer? Divine magic? Where does it hurt?! Just tell me, and I’ll…”
“Muscle aches.”
“….”
“I… can’t walk either.”
Ophelia’s eye twitched at my pathetic words.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
They’re all adorably pathetic