The reason I sought out Garad's castle was not only to show Benedict the strength I now possessed, but also to objectively assess how far I had come and what I could accomplish.
After all, the way I had fought until now was always by gaining an advantage—whether it be through stats, information, or some other form of dominance—and then overwhelming my opponents.
If none of that worked, I resorted to provocation, shaking my enemies to make sure they couldn't fight properly.
But even now, it's hard for me to assess just how far I've truly gone in martial skill.
The fact that the God of Martial Arts recognized me with a single skill must mean I'm at a respectable level, but if I can't feel it myself, it means nothing.
In that sense, the knights guarding Garad's castle made for excellent test subjects.
These knights, trained by Garad himself with the help of his close friend Erginus, were the perfect measure for me to test how far I could go with my current strength, and determine what level I've reached.
The reason I didn’t use provocation or take the shortest route to conquer Garad’s castle was precisely because of this.
“Thank you. Hero of the future.”
My thoughts shifted when I heard the knight's final words as he crumbled into dust.
His words of gratitude, after having lived for centuries following the commands of his master, Garad, stirred something indescribable within me.
It reminded me of the time when I witnessed Garad’s legacy, embodied by an automaton, fade away.
Conflicted, I wondered if I could ever embrace the regrets of these knights after facing a few more of them.
The answer soon came to me. I was a servant of the God of Darkness, bestowed with the power of compassion.
If I could embrace the power of the Dark God, why couldn’t I take on their regrets?
After making my decision, I stormed the castle’s main gate and challenged every knight in my way to a duel.
I wanted them to recognize me by testing my martial prowess against theirs, to feel with their hearts that a hero, whom they acknowledged, was moving forward.
“Truly strong! Just like the one who bears the shield!”
This was no easy task.
I was far from being in perfect condition.
In such a state, fighting knights who were skilled in their own right, with only my own strength and martial arts while limiting my abilities like provocation or divine power, was excruciating.
“You were fooled by my cute appearance! I got you!”
“Stop the nonsense. You attacked with everything you had and still lost.”
“You’re just on the road to disappearing. No one will care for your pathetic excuses.”
“What can I say? You trashy comrades.”
“Haha! Comrades? We’re brothers! Have you forgotten?”
“Ah... That’s right. It was like that.”
My breath was coming in short gasps.
I was too overwhelmed to think. My brain was telling me to move based on instinct.
My heart, pounding wildly, protested with pain.
My trembling hands seemed unstable, as if they might drop my weapon at any moment, and my once steady steps became heavy, as if bound to the ground.
“How about resting for a while, Hero of the future? If you keep going like this... Um, I’m sorry, I underestimated your determination.”
My mind told me I needed to rest, but my heart refused to stop.
There were too many things I had embraced to slow down now.
I’m the kind of person who moves with emotions rather than reason, so I willingly followed my heart’s command and raised my weapon.
I struck down knight after knight, one step at a time, until I reached the highest level of the castle, where another knight waited with a similar white shield and longsword.
The knight flinched when he saw my shield, but after a brief moment, he smiled and assumed a battle stance.
It was certainly the stance I saw Garad use months ago.
At that time, I couldn’t pay tribute to Garad as I fought him. I had no time for such luxury.
Honestly, even now, I couldn’t say I was relaxed, but at least I didn’t feel like I would be crushed as hopelessly as before.
I raised my shield and took the first step forward.
Having faced many knights up to this point, I realized that I couldn’t become the heavy shield typically found in fantasy stories.
Though I longed for an unshakable wall of defense, my small frame made that impossible.
Even if my strength were exceptional and my shield skills miraculous, overcoming the weight of my small body was impossible.
Even if I could block the harsh wind, how could I withstand floating into the air?
Once I accepted this, I saw a new way forward.
Instead of clinging to what I couldn’t do, I focused on what I could.
Not as a warrior, but as a trickster.
Seeing me charge forward, Garad’s knight took a step back and positioned his sword in a straight line.
A thrust. He must have aimed to push back my force by concentrating all the impact on one point.
Any other human would have questioned such an action, but Garad was different.
A knight who had built mountains from dirt, he would pierce through the concentrated power of my charge and achieve his goal.
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I had no doubt about that.
I was certain, having faced him before.
That’s why I wouldn’t step back.
I saw his sword flying toward me.
I slowed my pace slightly, shifted my shield to the side to distract him, and, as if it were natural, I confirmed the tip of his sword coming at me before timing my counter.
It wasn’t the result of endless research behind a monitor, nor was it the help of other skills that acted like an unbreakable wall. This was the result of my own thinking, my own judgment.
The timing of the parry.
A bright, clear sound.
My arm felt no pain, but the tip of his sword was sent flying far away.
This was the conclusion I had reached.
Why would I take on the full force of his attack?
That’s the approach of a noble knight or a warrior with a head full of muscle.
The method a mischievous child like me would take is to mock and trample the enemy, watching them squirm.
With my heart lifted by the confusion of my opponent, I swung my mace.
Naturally, Garad tried to block my attack with his shield.
A shield exists to block attacks, after all.
Thud! With a dull sound, I saw his shield slightly dented, and I grinned.
It seems that a fake shield could never compare to a real one.
Slowly.
One strike. Another strike.
I crushed Garad’s knight, mimicking Garad himself.
Tearing through his shield, breaking the shoulder armor, knocking away his weapon-bearing arm, crushing his leg as he tried to wrestle, and finally bringing the mace down on the knight’s head as he lay on the ground.
Despite all I had gone through in this harsh world, I had never taken a life.
I felt a deep aversion to such actions, but somehow, I sensed that my opponent desired this outcome. So, I swung my mace with all my might.
The last remaining knight disintegrated into dust.
“Ha! Garad! You lost to the same opponent twice!”
“I didn’t defeat Garad. He, in truth, is much stronger than this.”
“Then what does it matter? That was his strength, not the strength of his sword. From the moment you challenged this place as a warrior, it was a contest between his strength and yours! And you won! I taught you, and you won!”
“Ah, so you want to say that Garad won after all?”
“Exactly!”
Seeing my grandfather so happily reveling like a child made me not even want to tease him. He’d be begging me to ease up soon enough, so I decided to let him enjoy it for now.
“Ugh.”
As I stretched and tried to soothe my weary body, I heard crying from behind.
Benedict was crying. The man, whose giant stature matched his grief, had tears staining his face.
“Well done. Sob. Well done, Lucy!”
I tried to pull away from his hands, which were reaching to embrace me, but Benedict was too fast.
Ah, seriously! Isn’t it supposed to be that the bigger you are, the slower you are in fantasy worlds? Why is this man strong and fast!?
Just as I was about to be crushed by Benedict’s dirty face, the silly fox stepped in between us.
“You! How dare you tarnish Lucy’s beauty with your filthy liquid!”
“Please, don’t stop me! I must convey my feelings to Lucy!”
“Shut up, you troll! Do you think she would want that!?”
“...Huh?”
Finally regaining my composure, I made a show of spitting at Benedict, who looked at me in confusion, and his massive form crumpled effortlessly.
Ignoring his sobs and apologies, I stepped forward and reached for Garad’s legacy.
The sword, not the shield that he had gifted to his close friend, Erginus.
The sword that had been wielded with Garad during the mythic era.
The sword, red like blood, unlike the pure white shield that no speck of dust could touch.
I stopped in my tracks as I saw the ominous sword, feeling that it had inherited the very blood of Garad’s descendants.
I could use this sword as is. After all, it was considered a near-endgame weapon in Soul Academy, one of the countless swords in existence.
Upon reflection, I realized this was a better choice than the final sword. The term "final" hides the inefficiency of its use.
But for some reason, I felt I should not use this sword as it was.
I had sensed it when I first heard the knight’s final words, when I faced the knights of the castle, and when I finished the last knight.
I realized this was the power I had sensed.
It was probably the power of divine authority.
“Now, Hero of the past.”
You have passed on your regrets to me, and now it’s time for you to rest in peace.