The mercenary roared.
Fire coiled around him like serpents, devouring his hair and burrowing into his skin with bone-searing agony.
Bell's dagger struck straight for the gap in his armor, but the mercenary swung his longsword in fury, effortlessly parrying the blow.
Bell hadn't expected his opponent, even while engulfed in flames, to remain calm enough to block his attack.
His strike failed, forcing him to retreat swiftly.
The mercenary had no means to suppress the fire. Though his armor was reinforced with the outer hide of a Minotaur, it could only guard against external flames. The potion's liquid had seeped beneath the plates, carrying the fire deep inside.
Flames crawled under the armor, and the mercenary's pupils dilated as he glared ahead.
At this point, only a swift victory could save him.
The physique of an Adventurer far exceeded that of an ordinary man—especially one at the peak of Level 2. All he had to do was endure the burning pain long enough to crush the youth.
The final battle began.
Anyone could see both fighters were on the brink of collapse. The next exchange would decide everything.
The mercenary's roars shook the air, his surging aura so fierce it made the hall tremble. Flames licked across the floor, devouring spilled potions, climbing the tables, and dyeing the entire room in crimson light.
The final stage was a sea of raging fire, a hellscape made manifest.
Without hesitation, the mercenary cast aside his sword and dropped into a charging stance.
It was the same attack that had knocked the boy aside twice before.
The movements were familiar, yet under the blaze, they felt strangely alien. Flames clung to his body, and every inch of his scorched flesh seemed to scream with him in unison.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. The floor, their battlefield, began to crumble.
They stared at each other across the inferno.
The mercenary's eyes burned red, molten with fury. Bell's gaze pierced straight through him like a spear.
A table leg gave way under the encroaching fire.
With a sharp crack, the table collapsed.
The mercenary lunged.
The ground quaked beneath his charge. The flames wavered, twisted by the wind pressure of his advance.
He moved faster and faster, his momentum no less terrifying than a raging Minotaur in the Dungeon.
Under the distortion of the heat, his form looked monstrous.
Facing that oncoming force, Bell drew in a long breath.
In that fleeting instant, countless thoughts flickered through his mind.
A hero shouldn't act recklessly.
A wise man doesn't repeat his mistakes.
And yet, the youth chose at that moment to defy both.
There was a gap in the mercenary's armor—not only at the joints but also on the right side of his abdomen.
It was about the size of a small loaf of bread, clearly intentional.
When Bell first faced the charge, he had aimed for that very point.
His blade had shattered then—but now, with Chloe's dagger…
Staring at the tongues of flame spilling from that weak spot, Bell made his decision. He would bet everything on one final strike.
The wind howled.
Two figures burst forward, accelerating toward one another.
Just before the impact, the mercenary thrust out his right hand, covering the gap in his armor.
It was a countertrap—meant for inexperienced adventurers. Let the enemy strike, then crush them in turn.
But that same moment, a chilling instinct ran through him.
That weak point, against the boy's dagger, was too dangerous.
That sudden premonition changed everything.
The flames illuminated the final clash as the two collided.
Clang!
With a crisp, ringing sound, Bell's dagger shattered in his hand.
A shower of silver fragments scattered before the mercenary's eyes.
A faint smile crossed his face.
It wasn't the sneer of mockery—rather, the brief release that comes from acknowledging a worthy foe before claiming victory.
The boy was clever.
As if anticipating the mercenary's reaction, he swung with his left hand instead.
This time, his target wasn't the gap at the abdomen, but the joint of the right arm.
Unfortunately...
The difference in their Status was too great.
In that final instant, the mercenary caught the movement and adjusted his arm's position.
The dagger struck the armor—and shattered into a spray of silver needles.
Wait.
Silver?
A sudden, icy dread crawled up his spine.
Even the fire consuming his body couldn't burn it away.
In that instant, the mercenary understood the danger—but it was already too late.
The shattered dagger reflected the firelight like shards of a mirror.
And in that reflection, another dagger gleamed.
A surge of azure light erupted forward.
By the narrowest of margins, the mercenary shifted his right hand, guarding against the silver dagger. That tiny adjustment, however, was exactly what the youth had wanted. It was a calculated opening—a trap born of his own cunning.
Deceived.
The mercenary's faint smile softened, as if conceding to the youth's wit and bravery.
Amidst the thunderous impact, Bell's right hand clenched the dagger and drove it with precision into the gap in the armor.
Blue light intertwined with fire, slicing through the open space and piercing something solid. Blood flowed freely along the blade.
Before Bell could even savor victory, the recoil sent him crashing backward once again.
The mercenary fell to his knees. Pain and searing heat tore through him, but an even greater wave of exhaustion overwhelmed it all.
Every potion had been consumed by the blaze—finding an antidote was impossible now.
Was that too part of the youth's plan?
His eyelids felt as heavy as iron. No matter how hard he fought to keep them open, they sank lower with each breath.
In the final instant before his eyes closed, he saw the boy—battered and bloodied—standing tall amid the sea of fire.
The mercenary smiled.
Better to be devoured by the light than to rot forever in the dark.
If only, on that day when he lost his comrades and staggered through life half-dead, he'd had even half of this boy's strength… how different things might have been.
Bell gazed down at the fallen mercenary.
For some reason, the deep brown scars had vanished from the man's face.
In the flickering firelight, he saw only a peaceful young man's expression.
So I couldn't take that hit after all, huh… hallucinating already.
Bell clutched his bleeding side, letting out a faint, self-mocking smile.
With all that noise, and no one else rushing in—it must mean Naaza-san has been rescued.
That's… good.
His thoughts faded as his consciousness drifted away.
In his final moment, he felt only a cool, soothing breeze.
...
"The song of a now distant forest. The nostalgic song of life. Please bring the mercy of healing to those that seek you."
Ignoring the watching eyes, Ryuu ran to the boy's side, chanting her healing spell.
Bell's body was torn and bloodied, shards of wood still embedded in his back and arms.
Even against overwhelming odds, he had fought as he promised—and won.
Ryuu's brow creased as she wondered how she would ever tell him the truth.
As his body began to fall, she caught him gently.
"He won…"
At some point, Eina's face had become streaked with tears.
What kind of resolve had the boy carried when he spoke to her of becoming a hero?
She, who had told him to give up on adventuring, had never once truly considered that resolve.
Regret and worry poured out in tears she couldn't stop, even as she covered her face.
"Bell…" Freya whispered softly.
Her cheeks had been flushed, but when she saw the Elf girl holding the boy close, her expression hardened into anger.
The goddess shut her Divine Mirror, recalling her own healer's "underhanded" deeds, her gaze thoughtful.
Under Riveria's magic, the flames died quickly.
She approached the masked green-haired Elf and asked, "Need a hand?"
"No need," Ryuu replied calmly.
"But it looks like someone's waiting for you," Riveria said, nodding toward Naaza leaning weakly against the wall.
Ryuu blinked, glancing between the boy and Naaza. "Then I'll leave him to you."
"Mm."
Riveria said nothing more. She tightened her grip on her staff, stepped closer, and gently lifted the boy onto her back.