I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

Slowly.
Time was flowing slowly.
Not that it truly was—but to Gray, that was how it felt.
Time scrambled, the scene before her blurring as it burned itself into her mind.
Carlyle was collapsing, blood gushing from his stomach.
On the surface, it looked like nothing more than a coin-sized hole, but with razor-sharp instinct, Gray’s eyes immediately classified his condition.
The internal damage was severe.
It wasn’t just a puncture wound. A pressure powerful enough to pulp all of his organs had swept through his entire body just now.
If it had been her instead, she would have classified it as a mortal wound without hesitation.
“—”
But apart from that analysis, any feelings about it came far too late.
It didn’t even feel like she herself was experiencing this—more like she was observing it from afar.
As if she had become a third party, watching the scene in a daze.
…How should she put it.
Her brain was rejecting it.
Rejecting the idea that this man could be collapsing like this.
“I heard that smuggling a hydra into the Imperial Palace hadn’t been particularly difficult either, but how could you be so lacking in suspicion?”
Gregory’s words, too, fell into her subconscious as meaningless noise.
She couldn’t grasp what was happening, or how.
…Her vision.
Turned stark white, buzzing.
Like a ruined photograph, like the torn static of a mis-tuned radio.
“You’re a demon.”
Who had said that?
Was it she who had spoken?
She didn’t know. She could no longer process any of the stimuli or information flooding in.
“A Hero who hasn’t even awakened half her power yet, and still exposes such a weakness so easily. Truly lamentable.”
Still—
In that gentle voice, Gregory spoke on.
“Did you learn nothing when your father was targeted? You mustn’t make comrades so carelessly. How selfish you are.”
“…What?”
“You should live in misfortune, Hero. Alone, with not a soul near you, gnawing on solitude. Otherwise, this is what you lose.”
Thud—
Gregory kicked Carlyle’s fallen body.
—I’ll be the one to make you happy, My Lady.
As he trampled the man who had once said that, the demon whispered poison into her ear.
“For one who resolved to oppose Evil, you mustn’t tend to your emotions. You must not feel anything. You need only make the proper ‘decisions.’”
Chiding.
As though a teacher instructing a student who had made a mistake.
“If you continue like this, you won’t withstand us twice.”
The demon spoke on, with an air of pity.
“Still, at least you’ve learned an important lesson today.”
“…”
“If you gain anything, it will be taken away. Because we will see to it.”
“—”
Gone.
Gone?
Was he saying Carlyle Belfast was gone now?
“That concludes my advice.”

At that point, Gregory’s voice began to warp.
Simultaneously, his body swelled grotesquely.
Beyond the twilight, darkness seeped into the surroundings. A miasma of death billowed out, rotting and festering flesh with just a touch.
“Baron of Hell, Astarion. I offer my formal greetings to Humanity’s Hero.”
From the torn human frame, insect-furred limbs sprouted, and above them, a twisted human face grinned hideously.
“How is it, Hero? Do you enjoy dancing with demons under the moonlight?”
She didn’t know what answer to give.
But the moment she looked into that grotesquely twisted visage—
The static clouding Gray’s vision vanished entirely.
Her mind felt clear.
Or rather—
She had the distinct sense that for now, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
What would happen to her afterward, she didn’t know—but for now.
Before her stood an enemy.
Someone she was allowed to kill.
“—”
For now.
That was enough.
***
Even among noble demons, a baron—the lowest rank—was unfit to face a Hero.
The priest Gregory—no, Astarion—knew this better than anyone. Any fool too blind to recognize that fact would never have risen to nobility in Hell.
But in two respects, he held the advantage.
From his long and meticulous observation, he had confirmed—
She was strangely strong. Stronger than expected.
Of course, she had barely wielded the Holy Sword for a few years and hadn’t awakened even half its granted power.
Even so, she stood far beyond where she “should have been” at this stage.
As though she had watched and learned from someone.
As though she had found some model or guide to emulate.
…Such a phenomenon could never occur with a Hero who regarded all others as beneath her.
She was too arrogant to ever even think of learning from anyone.
That was how it should have been.
Unless someone had been there at her side, correcting her.
And who that someone was—Astarion saw it plainly.
Hmph—
He sneered at the man’s body lying at his feet.
So much of that strength ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ must have come from interacting with this one.
But in the current situation, even that was a weakness.
His disadvantage: his opponent was Humanity’s protector.
His advantage: his opponent had lost her reason.
To lose composure in battle was tantamount to death.
Even a baron, lowest of the noble demons, could stand as an equal against a Hero under such conditions.
Let’s try it.
The hydra he had smuggled into the palace earlier had achieved little. This time, he would have to make something of it.
He had no intention of winning. But if he could leave even one conspicuous wound upon the Hero, it would grant tremendous advantage in battles to come.
Hit and retreat—that was the goal.
Mulling his demon’s cunning plan, Astarion braced himself.
The insect demons under Duke Fly were each exceptional fighters with unique traits. And Astarion, a baron among them, had a specialty most straightforward of all.
Unlike the hydra, he possessed no exotic poison that melted all it touched. Instead, he wielded perfected physical durability, speed, and brute force.
Even demons of far higher rank could not guarantee victory over him in close combat.
So—he would lay a trap.
Black miasma swelled thick around his body.
The energy wielded by demons outstripped any power in the material realm.
Even without spells or curses, the blow he now charged within himself was one he could boast would tear apart anything of the material world.
One strike. One strike was all he needed.
Mar the Hero. Win acclaim in Hell. Lay the foundation for advantage in future battles. That was enough.
Scar the flawless Hero.
Come closer.
The miasma stretched taut across his form.
The Hero walked toward him, step by step.
Those who had lost something always burned with rage, and the path of the enraged was always easy to read.
And as a seasoned warrior, Astarion was well-practiced at calculating the exact moment his opponent would leap.
From the Hero’s body, trudging closer, magic seeped out, vibrating the air.
Even compared to his own demonic miasma, its output was like the sea.
But power meant nothing without composure.
A hunter caught beasts not with strength, but with cunning and technique.
And now, the beast was walking into his snare of her own accord.
He waited.
Calmly. Timing it perfectly.
Now!
The moment her power gathered into one point, Astarion inhaled deeply and drew back his arm.
The Hero was being drawn in. Her trajectory exact. His counter would pierce her vitals—
“?”
—Before it could.
Before he could even attempt it.
The Hero, with dead eyes, was already at point-blank range.
Fast.
Much faster than expected.
And not only her speed sent chills down his spine.
The greater reason was the look in her eyes, in that fleeting instant when they met.
Not eyes that had lost reason.
Not eyes consumed by rage.
Rather, empty. As empty as an abyss.
As if her very personhood had been erased.
Leaving behind only pure killing intent.
A look so chilling that even a demon’s spine crawled.
—Danger—
He realized something was wrong, but still threw his strike.
—!
Muscles pumped. Blood surged. Noble demonic miasma condensed and launched.
That dreadful blow flew. And Gray, eyes still void of anything, watched it.
And then—
—!!!
With a thunderous roar, the impact burst between them like a bomb.
…Monster… bastard…!
The first sensation was shock.
This was a strike he could boast would shatter anything in the material realm—yet it felt like punching a vast continent itself. The recoil through his body was overwhelming.
Was this what it felt like for a powerless human to strike steel walls? The sheer difference was maddening.
But—
At least it had connected. That was what mattered.
His opponent must have taken the blow. With that thought, Astarion forced his eyes open through the shock.
The fist he had thrown—
Was halted against Gray’s single outstretched finger.
Her extended index finger alone.
“….”
Astarion’s entire body went rigid.