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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: A Somewhat Serious Story
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1. A Somewhat Serious Story (1)
#1
The battle ended on the evening of the third day.
The rain showed no signs of letting up. The raindrops lashing at his skin felt more like whips than water.
"Kuhuk... Huuk..."
Ronan barely caught his breath and lifted his head. The battlefield, now silent, was filled only with the sound of rain.
As his narrowed vision widened, a hellscape unfolded before him, as if a piece of hell itself had been transplanted there.
The wasteland stretched to the horizon, tinged overall in a dull reddish-brown—the color of mud mixed with blood.
Scattered across the sodden ground were fragments that had once made up human bodies. Puddles had formed here and there, with bloated corpses floating in them.
Nothing moved except for him. As he wiped his blade on his collar, a voice came from behind.
"Strong. To think a human could be this strong."
The voice rang clear even through the torrential downpour. It was deep, like the rumble from a cave of flowing lava. Ronan turned with an exasperated look on his face.
"You still not dead?"
"A clear blunder on Ahayute's part."
About five paces ahead lay a massive figure sprawled out in a star shape—the culprit behind this devastation. The giant called himself Ahayute.
The giant, who stood at least four meters tall, had two pairs of wings sprouting from his back. His form resembled the angels often depicted in religious paintings.
His head was bald as an egg, with distinct features. Dozens of deep, long gashes scarred his muscular, pale white body.
Blue blood oozing from the wounds had pooled around the giant.
"Indeed. Not yet."
Ronan gripped his sword hilt tighter. If he could, he'd tear the bastard into a thousand pieces, but he had no strength left.
This one alone had wiped out ten imperial legions.
Every flap of his four wings unleashed a storm, and every swing of his spear of light claimed hundreds of lives. The innocent who vanished before the final battle were countless.
"But it won't be long. Ahayute has been defeated and will soon return to His embrace."
"Good for you. Step in some fresh dog shit on your way."
Ronan plopped down on the giant's shoulder and let out a loud fart. Seeing he still didn't stir confirmed the wounds were fatal. Rifling through his inner pocket, Ronan spat a curse.
"Damn it, you bastard."
The expensive pipe he'd bought was completely smashed. He chucked the broken pieces at the giant's face and stood up.
"By the way, you know your friends are dead too, right?"
"Friends?"
"Yeah, the other assholes who came down with you."
"You mean Nirvana and Duaru?"
"Don't know their names... but yeah, they're dead."
Twenty days ago, three giants had descended to the earth. No one knew why.
They rampaged across the continent, wreaking destruction on a scale that redrew maps. Ahayute was the last one remaining.
"One got roasted by a foul-tempered dragon, and the other was eternally sealed by some wizard geezer named Rorhon. I don't know what the hell you guys are, but it's over now."
Ronan wanted to see despair twist the giant's face.
So he omitted details like how the red dragon Navardoje and her kin had nearly perished together, or how the great mage Rorhon had used his own soul as the medium for the sealing ritual.
But the response didn't meet his expectations.
"Fortunate, then."
"What?"
"That there are no more strong ones like you. You can no longer stop us."
Ronan slowly drew his sword. The gleaming tip aimed at the giant's throat.
"...You knew?"
"The Children of the Stars share their senses with one another."
"You really... are a piece of shit to the end. What do you mean no more strong ones?"
I'm still here.
Ronan didn't bother saying it aloud. He was confident he could finish this lump off in a day if they fought again. But Ahayute knew everything.
"I know you don't have much time left."
"Hah."
"Mighty one, do not hide the truth with shallow deceptions."
The sword trembled faintly, but Ronan didn't show it. He pressed the tip into the giant's throat.
Tough skin tore, and blue blood spurted out in gushes. Ahayute continued indifferently.
"It is truly fortunate for us. You let your talent rot in the mud. Had you honed yourself, you would have been a massive obstacle to our wish."
"Enough chit-chat. I'm sick of it."
"You are an extraordinary human. You can be proud. The tale of the man who kicked the heavens and slashed the stars is worthy of echoing beyond tomorrow's horizon. However— "
He drove the nail in.
"Your world will ultimately sink into the starlight and vanish."
Slash!
Ronan's sword arced through the air.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"If you're alive, answer me! Is there no one!?"
Ronan cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. No reply came.
Ahayute died without so much as a groan. His blue blood flowed like a river instead of soaking into the dirt. Ronan pissed on the giant's corpse and left.
He began wandering the battlefield, searching for any possible survivors. Death was everywhere his eyes fell. Navigating around the mangled bodies was no small hassle.
Crunch.
Ronan ground his teeth as he scanned the pale faces. Most were familiar—the comrades from the Penal Legion he'd shared life and death with. He muttered softly.
"You idiots."
The Penal Legion was a special unit made up of criminals. The dregs of an army that demanded patriotic sacrifice. A ragtag mob where even discipline was a joke.
He knew why these guys, who usually slacked off and ran, had charged so fiercely at such a monster.
"Thought you were hot shit just 'cause I am? Huh?"
Ahayute was strong. Arrow barrages that blotted the sky, the aura blades of renowned knights, even the secret techniques of Schlieffen—the Sword Saint called the Empire's Greatest Swordsman—failed to land a decisive blow.
Only Ronan's sword could slice the giant's flesh and draw blood. No one, not even Ronan himself, knew why a penal soldier's blade—who couldn't even sense mana, let alone wield aura—worked on the giant.
But in a battle on which the empire's fate hung, status meant nothing. The Grand General scrapped all prior plans and restructured the strategy around Ronan.
Suddenly, the Penal Legion became the key force backed by ten legions. The worthless thugs didn't hesitate to turn their comrade into a hero.
They were torn and shattered, paving Ronan's path, ultimately proving the Grand General's judgment correct.
"You dumbasses..."
Ronan's eyes flashed as he gently closed the eyes of his fallen comrades one by one. The stiffened eyelids were tough and hard like old tree bark. How many times did he repeat this?
"Huh?"
Suddenly, a chilling dizziness crept up his temples.
Splat.
The ground slapped his cheek without warning. The world spun like he was drunk. Face-down in the mud, Ronan grumbled.
"Ugh."
His body wouldn't move. Even as whip-like rain battered the side of his face not buried in the mire, he felt nothing.
Ahayute's words about his remaining time echoed in his mind. He knew it too. His body, wrung out from the fierce battle, had long passed its limit.
This was his body's declaration. It wouldn't play along with his bravado anymore.
"Kuhk!"
A cough burst out of nowhere, laced with thick clumps of dark red blood. Ronan felt his senses, numbed by extreme tension, slowly returning. Pain hit first, like a racehorse surging ahead.
"Fuck... you..."
If he was going to die, he wanted to do it gazing at the sky. Ronan mustered all his strength to flip over. A coppery, shit-brown sky loomed above. No sun, moon, or stars—just fleeting bluish lightning flashing between roiling storm clouds.
"Shit to the very end..."
Feeling even more depressed, Ronan closed his eyes. He just wanted to die quickly now. As death crept in, flashes of his life bubbled up from the darkness.
"It is truly fortunate for us. You let your talent rot in the mud."
The bald bastard's words flashed through his mind again. Infuriating, but true.
His life's montage was mostly scenes of idiocy or wasting time like an idiot. No one but Ronan himself had squandered his shining talent.
"Maybe I should've... gone to the academy..."
He'd realized his talent early. Prodigies couldn't be hidden any more than poverty or a cough.
His only family, his sister, had repeatedly urged him to get a proper education. She'd raised him with love and care, insisting he was destined for greatness.
Ronan hated that and ran away from home. It was annoying and burdensome.
For the next three years, he wandered the continent like a stray dog. Like most crimes, Ronan ended up in the Penal Legion for losing his temper in a moment. Technically, he'd turned himself in.
The military was surprisingly tolerable. In a unit that discharged you after three years of survival, Ronan stayed for seven.
They fed and housed him just for swinging a sword. No reason to leave. He turned down recruitment offers from everywhere.
And this was the result.
The giants' invasion took everything. The fools he'd rolled with for seven years, his kind sister, the countries and villages he'd indebted himself to during his wanderings—all reduced to ash.
If he'd properly learned the sword and trained diligently, would things have been different? Could he have protected them?
He didn't know.
Pointless worries.
Ronan relaxed his body with eyes closed. He felt his soul slowly departing. Who was it that said death was just a deep sleep...
His mind...
Was growing...
Drowsy...
[Is there... no one...?]
A human voice rang out.
"I'm here!"
Ronan shot up like a spring. Mud flaked off his back and the nape of his neck. He focused all his nerves on his hearing, straining his ears. The voice came again.
[...I'm injured and can't move. Is there no one...?]
"Damn it, I'm here! I'm right here!!"
A woman's voice. Resonating directly in his head rather than his ears—it was telepathic magic.
"Keep talking! I'm coming now!"
Ronan bolted in the approximate direction. His legs buckled, slamming his face into the mud several times, but he didn't care. A survivor was all that mattered.
[...Over here...?]
The voice grew fainter. Whatever the reason, she was clearly dying. Ronan pushed harder. Regrets had long since flown away.
Soon, he reached a rock. Two slanted boulders faced each other like a roof, forming a shelter from the rain below.
"Huuk... Haa..."
Blood dripped from his mouth with every exhale. Ronan wiped his lips with his sleeve and slipped into the crevice. There lay the voice's owner.
"You're..."
The moment he saw her face, Ronan swallowed a sigh that rose to his chin.
"Grand General."
He knew her.
"...You."
The woman laboriously lifted her head and spoke. Her voice was cracked from dehydration, but her dignity remained undiminished.
Taller than most grown men, with silver hair plastered thickly with blood and mud. In stark contrast, skin so pale it was ghostly white.
Ronan repeated himself, as if entranced.
"Grand General Adeshan."
Even witnessing the idol of all imperial forces, Ronan didn't salute. She had no arm left to receive one.