Chapter 27: Future

Raiga recovered enough to cremate Lancelot’s body with his black flames. He gave him a symbolic funeral and did not celebrate his victory in the slightest. Instead of raising his hand as he normally did after a great triumph, he simply watched in silence as the dark flames consumed his rival’s body. Emi took his hand and stood beside him. She did not look away from the unpleasant sight, choosing to remain with him even through the bitterest moments.

“Are you going to open the door now?” Emi asked without letting go of his hand for even a moment.

“I’ll wait a little longer. I want to recover enough in case there’s another surprise waiting inside.” Once Lancelot’s body had been reduced to ashes, Raiga sat down on the ash-covered stones, staining his already torn clothes as well. “Lancelot was the hardest opponent I’ve ever faced. I don’t think I’ll ever have another battle like that in my life. Even if I fight stronger beings someday, I doubt anything will ever be that complicated.”

“I could tell. Lancelot wasn’t a bad person. His ideals simply couldn’t coexist with ours. It’s a shame.” Emi settled beside him, leaned her weight against the adventurer, and allowed herself to be held.

“There’s nothing left to stop us from going inside, using the coin, and resolving everything. So the divine disease isn’t really a disease at all. It’s just the gods’ desperation and distrust. You know something, Emi? I think the world would see me as a true villain—the man who killed the will of the gods. But it’s far too late for regrets now, don’t you think?”

“Yes, that’s true. We can’t turn back anymore,” Emi added. “Once this adventure is over and the curse disappears… what will we do?”

“The future, huh? I guess there’s no harm in thinking about it now. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep working as an adventurer, or perhaps I’ll settle down in a city with the savings I’ve accumulated. A simple life is all I really want. But I don’t want to get my hopes up just yet. There’s still one final challenge ahead, and maybe it’ll demand a greater sacrifice than either of us expects.” Raiga did not want to think too far ahead.

If life had taught him anything, it was never to celebrate too soon.

“One final sacrifice… Do you think they might ask you to die?” Emi fought back the urge to cry. Her violet eyes nearly spilled their tears, but she held them in at the very last second.

She could not cry.

Not now.

“Who knows? I’ll deal with it when the moment comes. There’s no point stressing about it right now.” Raiga gently squeezed Emi’s soft belly, possessively pulling her closer. “You’re really soft and cute.”

“I know. I’m adorable.” Emi played along.

After such a violent and grueling battle, this intimate moment felt like the perfect balm to help them relax.

The young blonde turned toward him and kissed his lips once more. She surrendered to the tension between them, pouring every ounce of her love into a passionate gesture that, for a moment, nearly became something more.

“My faithful knight, you’ve fought so hard for a world that treated you unfairly. I know everything will turn out all right. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me. I’m going to protect you.” Emi buried her head against the adventurer’s battered chest.

“You’ll protect me?” Raiga whispered.

“Of course I will. I’m the guardian of your heart. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never feel sadness, pain, or loneliness again. I’m going to take very good care of you. I’ll be your personal hero, someone who shines only for you.” Emi was completely in love. Her words contained all the affection Raiga had lacked since the day he was born. She pulled her face back slightly to look at him again, blushing and smiling at the same time, a combination that made her natural charm even more irresistible.

When the Heretic lowered his gaze to meet her expressive violet eyes, he immediately understood that his decision had never truly come from some heroic desire to save the world.

It came from something far more primitive and, in a way, far more personal…

Protecting his precious Emi.

She was his entire universe.

The reason he wanted to live.

He could no longer imagine himself as he once had, living a solitary existence where survival was his only purpose.

Now he could dream of happiness.

Of a future beyond weapons and violence.

I will stop being the Heretic.

“You’re right. I’m entrusting my heart to you. You’re the only one allowed to have it. No one else.” Raiga smiled from the deepest part of his soul.

He was not used to smiling like that.

Even now, forcing his lips into such an unfamiliar curve still felt awkward.

But to Emi, who understood everything he had endured, that smile could not have been more perfect.

Nothing made her happier than watching Raiga slowly escape the dark depression that had clouded his mind for nearly his entire life. Even someone as kindhearted as Emi could not help feeling proud that she had played a part in something as wonderful as bringing happiness to someone who had suffered so much.

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The royal army suffered a stroke of terrible luck.

A brutal snowstorm struck the road toward the halfling capital, bringing the march to a complete halt and forcing the humans to establish a more permanent camp. Marching across ice would have been suicidal, especially with the powerful winds threatening to freeze everyone to death. Even so, Jora could not help feeling relieved by this intervention of nature.

Unfortunately for him, the situation only grew worse.

The soldiers became increasingly violent. Fights throughout the camp multiplied to an absurd degree, and not even floggings seemed capable of keeping them disciplined. Being trapped in the freezing weather triggered a domino effect, and there was no longer any peaceful solution to the problem.

Sir Jora resorted to controlled executions of the most troublesome members of the army. He had them beheaded and mounted their severed heads around the camp as a warning to potential dissidents. Yet the freezing winds began causing illness, and little by little, even the soldiers’ fear of death started to disappear.

Why should we accept staying here just to freeze to death?

That was the sentiment spreading among the soldiers.

The situation reached a critical point when a dozen sergeants stormed into Sir Jora’s private tent armed with axes, maces, and shortswords. The commander received them while fully armored. He had known that sooner or later, someone would attempt to overthrow him in order to issue more aggressive orders.

“Commander, we have decided that you are no longer worthy of leading our forces. We will take command as a soldiers’ council and attack the halflings immediately.” One of the conspirators was a mature man around forty years old. He wore a brigandine, a conical helmet, and carried an undecorated but extremely heavy iron mace.

“Are you insane? If we march now, we’ll all freeze to death,” Jora replied, discreetly moving his right hand toward the hilt of his longsword.

“Better to die trying than freeze here.” Jora never gave him the opportunity to attack. He moved as fast as lightning and mercilessly decapitated the sergeant before the man could even reach for his weapon. It was a clean strike. The other conspirators were stunned by their commander’s sudden action and lost precious milliseconds of reaction time.

The young blond knight killed them all.

One after another, he drove his longsword through their throats and decapitated them like wooden training dummies. By the time he stepped out of the tent, riots had already erupted throughout the military camp.

Soldiers loyal to the commander and emboldened rebels fought across the entire area. Flames warmed the frozen air, and chaos reigned for the next hour.

“With me!” Sir Jora gathered a loyal battalion and headed toward the center of the camp, where an enraged and poorly equipped mob was already waiting for him. Most of the rebels belonged to militia units recruited out of desperation, people whose villages had been looted and who no longer had families or friends left to protect. They had joined the army for the promise of three meals a day, economic advancement, and the opportunity to plunder.

The state of the world, politics, and other noble concerns could not have mattered less to them.

But there was no turning back now. They had chosen to rebel. No one had forced or compelled them to do it. And so Jora showed them no mercy. Many of them did not even have time to reflect on what had happened before they fell one after another to Jora and his knights, warriors who actually knew how to wield magic.

Between torrents of flame, spikes of ice, and slicing gusts of wind, bodies began piling up.

And before anyone fully realized it, the army that had left the capital had been reduced by more than half.

“Ah… This is a failure…” Sir Jora whispered.

Flames covered the military camp, while nothing but smoke filled the horizon, revealing their position to every traveler nearby.

Everyone is far more violent than usual. What the hell is happening? It’s almost as if some savage, murderous instinct is awakening inside their hearts.

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Raiga’s wounds finally healed.

After two days of barely moving, the adventurer had recovered almost completely. He drank all of his mana, stamina, and healing potions. Emi repaired his damaged clothes, and after resting in the courtyard of Olympus, Raiga finally regained enough strength to walk toward the iron gate.

“Emi, I want you to stay here. I have a bad feeling about whatever is behind that door.” The Heretic did not say it out of annoyance. Something deep inside him warned that whatever lay beyond that small iron barrier was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

The young woman did not object.

Not everyone would be as honorable as Sir Lancelot, and after their battle with Agatha, Emi understood perfectly well that perhaps she was not meant to be present for this final moment.

“All right. I’ll wait for you here, Raiga.” Emi gave him a gentle embrace. “After everything we went through to reach this place, it would be ridiculous for the story to end on a bitter note.”

“I’m not planning to die, so don’t worry. We’ve come too far for that.” Raiga returned the embrace, pressing her delicate body against his before giving her one final kiss on the lips, so sweet that Emi almost knocked her glasses off while eagerly returning it.

“Good luck, my beloved Raiga.”

Emi released him.

Raiga gave her one final look before walking toward the iron gate. He climbed the few stained steps that served as the threshold leading into the heart of Olympus.

The place where the gods had been born.

And where they might ultimately meet their end.

He pushed the enormous doors open, and a blinding light immediately engulfed him…

When the Heretic opened his eyes, he found himself inside an immense liminal space. There was nothing but white in every direction. No walls, no buildings, nothing at all.

Only a depressing white void.

Raiga reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out the special coin the Prophet had given him. After taking a few steps forward, a small black chalice appeared before him.

“Let’s see.”

He placed the coin inside.

Nothing happened.

There was only silence within that infinite space, where time itself seemed frozen and not even ghosts disturbed the emptiness.

Strange. Nothing’s happening.

Seconds later, the ground beneath his feet flickered. For an instant, it took on a dark color that gradually began alternating with the original whiteness.

And then he saw it.

A figure that had not been there only seconds earlier.

It was humanoid, with skin as black as coal, inhuman and completely devoid of a recognizable face. Its appearance resembled a mannequin more than a living creature. It possessed no reproductive organs or identifying features of any kind. Raiga examined it from head to toe and immediately reached one conclusion:

This thing was just born.

“Who are you?” Raiga asked.

The figure did not answer with words.

It answered with action.

Two matching swords appeared in its slender arms. They were simple blades, completely devoid of decorations or symbols. Even so, the mana emanating from them reminded Raiga of Tizona, Sir Lancelot’s legendary sword.

“I see. So you’re the final trial… Gods.” Raiga understood immediately.

If no Divine Champion had been able to stop him, then only the gods themselves could do so.

The figure standing before him as the final obstacle was none other than a DIVINE AVATAR.

An amalgamation of every god fused into a single being of flesh and blood.

The most powerful being that had ever existed—or ever would exist—upon the face of the planet.