Commerce Emperor Chapter 44: The Sword Dance (Patreon)

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Here's an appropriate Battle Music to go with the chapter, as usual ;) 

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Their blades sang as they clashed.

Both the Lord of Wrath’s sword and Roland’s royal regalia were forged from adamantine; only the former had been soulforged and anointed in all of the world’s hatred, but both were stronger than steel and carried the weight of centuries behind their strikes.

So when Roland’s sword’s edge cracked slightly, he came to a terrible realization.

Belgoroth was stronger than him.

Roland had expected as much, but to feel the power difference in his flesh and bones was another matter entirely. The Knight had been unmatched in battle since he received his mark. He had broken swords during training, lifted carts above his head, and slaughtered demons on his lonesome. His skin could stop arrows and his legs couldn’t tire. His body was a weapon.

But for all of his might, he was a squire facing off against a legendary Knight.

The blow sent Roland reeling a few feet back, his metal boots blowing up ashes and embers around him. His Vassal Heroes were the first to jump into the fray after him. Soraseo charged forward, her sword whistling as it cut through the air, and Alaire descended upon Belgoroth with a spear. Belgoroth dodged the latter’s aerial attack by swiftly stepping out of the way and easily parried the former’s blow with his sword. The Lord of Wrath’s burning essence clashed with the enchanted winds swirling around Soraseo’s weapon. It looked like a breeze trying to push back a volcanic eruption.

Still, Soraseo distracted Belgoroth long enough for Marika to drag Robin away to safety with one hand and start purifying his essence-befouled wounds with the other.

In spite of the threat to his allies, Roland’s mind was clearer than water. The flow of anger suffusing the air washed over him like water on a smooth stone. Robin’s workaround was proving most effective.

Perhaps too much. Roland looked at Robin’s horrifying wounds with concern. I hope that your plan will prove effective, my friend.

Roland’s strategy was simple enough: keep Belgoroth away from Robin, whose death would jeopardize everything, and take the Lord of Wrath’s sword from his cold dead hands. A plan so elegant in its simplicity yet so nightmarishly difficult in its execution.

This is it. This is the moment I was born for. Roland steadied his sword and spear for battle. His mark burned on his skin. His Class yearned to trade blows with its corrupted template. I cannot falter today.

For his kingdom. For his people. For the world.

With Robin out of immediate danger, the other Heroes struck Belgoroth all at once. The Lord of Wrath’s flames had consumed everything around them. The field of flowers had turned into a barren wasteland of ash and the river nearby had boiled into a shallow canyon under the heat-induced drought.

There was nowhere for any of them to hide; only a plain of cursed embers on which to die.

Cortaner first tried to strike Belgoroth in the back, but the Lord of Wrath absentmindedly kicked him in the chest with enough strength to crack the Inquisitor’s armor. Another parry threw Soraseo off-balance, forcing Roland to throw his thundering spear at the Lord of Wrath before he could cut her down where she stood. The projectile surged with the speed and strength of a cannonball.

This proved to be an ill-fated decision. While it forced Belgoroth to interrupt his attack to dodge the projectile, he quickly grabbed the spear in midair with his free hand. The lightning coursing through his armor would have killed a normal man thrice over, but the Demon Ancestor hardly seemed to notice. He pivoted and threw the spear back at Eris, who barely managed to teleport out of the way and caused the spear to fly across the horizon.

Eris’ temporary departure left a gap in the Heroes’ encirclement, which Belgoroth immediately attempted to break through. Soraseo and Roland immediately chased after him, but the Lord of Wrath proved faster than either of them. His superhuman strength and innate understanding of movement let him move faster than the wind. His steps wiped up a dust trail in their wake.

But even he couldn’t outrun light.

A cataclysmic white beam smote Belgoroth from above like divine judgment. Selestine hovered above the Lord of Wrath, her hands surging with sunlight. She had grown wings out of her back, though Roland was too focused on the battle to ponder this miracle.

So great was her power that it nearly brought the Lord of Wrath to his knees.

Roland had to cover his eyes so as not to go blind. A pillar of pure white light two meters thick pushed onto Belgorth from above until his shape became akin to a shadow swallowed by the dawn. The ground collapsed beneath his feet, and his knees bent slightly under the pressure.

Roland was no expert witchcrafter, but he knew enough to understand what Selestine was doing: she drew upon the raw elemental fire essence around them, purified it, and then channeled it in such a concentrated form that it became akin to a focused ray of sunlight. Any of these steps would demand considerable witchcrafting expertise, let alone all three. She had to be attuned to the Firewand, just as Roland dedicated himself to the Windsword.

However, for all of her talent, not even Selestine could keep up such a mighty spell forever. The light in her hands died down and the Lord of Wrath emerged from the resulting crater. His armor steamed at the edges and the fury of his Berserk Flame’s shine had muted slightly, but his fury remained undiminished.

That spell would have vaporized any other man caught in its midst. For a Demon Ancestor, it proved little more than a temporary inconvenience.

The brief time Selestine earned their group proved useful nonetheless. Eris reappeared to plug the gap in their encirclement and a lightning bolt erupted from the runestones on her staff. Belgoroth stopped it with his sword only to find himself open for attack. Seeing her chance, Alaire dived down from above and dropped a slew of glass bottles on the Lord of Wrath. They shattered on impact and showered Belgoroth in green ooze.

The substance covered the Lord of Wrath and immediately hardened. Colmar promised that his alchemical creation would be stronger than stone once it finished solidifying.

It failed to reach that stage.

The Lord of Wrath erupted like a volcano. So great was the heat coming from him that the Heroes had to widen the circle they formed around him. The Berserk Flame covered every inch of the first Knight’s armor and wreathed it in a yellow inferno. His head became a lion’s mane of fire around two blackened eyes. Colmar’s alchemical concoction failed to withstand the flames’ unholy warmth and soon turned into brittle dust.

Roland’s eyes widened in shock when he looked at the ground beneath the Demon Ancestor’s feet. His flames had turned a small area of dust around them into blackened glass.

“Quicklime? Your predecessors tried something like that seven hundred years ago.” Belgoroth rolled his shoulders and shrugged off the last of Colmar’s substance. “It did not work the first time either.”

So much for that plan.

“Don’t let him break the encirclement!” Roland ordered his allies as he rushed back into the melee. “Pin him down!”

Soraseo reached Belgoroth first and pressed on with a flurry of blows so quick that Roland’s eyes struggled to keep up with her sword. Belgoroth’s defense proved impenetrable nonetheless. Whereas Soraseo put all of her strength and will in each blow, the first Knight parried her with casual ease. Not a single move was wasted. He predicted every feint, every movement of the wrist, every attempt to bypass his guard.

Roland joined in with his sword. Knight and Monk double-teamed the Lord of Wrath with all of their strength and speed. Their three swords clashed in a blinding dance of metal, each blow sending ripples traveling through the air.

Soraseo switched tactics. Instead of trying to break past the Lord of Wrath’s guard, she started adapting to Roland’s own movements. When he struck to the right she hit left; when he stepped one way, she jumped in the opposite direction. For the first time in his life, Roland fought side-by-side with someone who could keep up with him.

Cortaner was circling Belgoroth from behind in an attempt to fade out of his vision and strike him from a dead angle. The others stayed on standby for fear of friendly fire.

My heartbeat quickens. As much as it shamed him to admit it, Roland could hardly suppress his excitement. It had been so long since he fought a foe that could take his blows and push him to his limit. This is a fight worthy of a song.

“You are talented,” Belgoroth complimented Roland and Soraseo in a backhanded fashion, “but inexperienced.”

“You are powerful,” Roland replied, “but alone.”

“A true Knight needs no one, Roland.” Belgoroth parried one of Soraseo’s swings. “Let alone a Mother-Killer.”

Soraseo grit her teeth at the taunt, but she did not waver. Her sword lunged for Belgoroth’s head.

This time, he did not parry it.

The Lord of Wrath moved his head to the left and let Soraseo’s sword kiss his shoulder. The sharpened blade sliced through the mantle of flame and then the metal underneath. It continued its progress all the way to the upper ribs, though Belgoroth shed no blood.

The sword remained stuck.

When Soraseo realized that a trap’s jaws had closed on her, it was too late. Belgoroth unleashed a stream of fire from his blazing face straight at her. The Monk barely had time to raise her arms and protect her head before the flames swallowed her whole. Soraseo did not scream, but she let go of her sword in her pain and fell to her back.

Roland immediately attempted to rescue her, but Belgoroth countered his attack with a swift vertical swing. Roland dodged, and his foe’s blade moved all the way to the ground.

Then Belgoroth turned it upward at the last moment, so fast his sword’s edge appeared to disappear.

A feint, Roland realized, far too late.

Belgoroth’s sword sliced his left hand at the wrist, and he screamed.

Unimaginable pain coursed through Roland’s arm. None of his years of training nor the thousand blows he had taken in battle prepared him for it. He didn’t even have time to bleed, since the Berserk Flame cauterized his wound in an instant. His sword fell to the ground alongside the hand clutching it.

The golden mark on it faded away.

Roland heard Alaire call him from above, but he failed to focus. Belgoroth pushed Roland back with a kick so strong that his foot cracked his chest plate; if he had worn no protection, the blow would have punctured his ribs and squashed his heart.

Belgoroth would have finished him off with a second swing had Cortaner not tackled him from behind with all of his might. The Inquisitor weathered the unholy flames and managed to force the screaming Lord of Wrath to the ground. Belgoroth thrashed around, each missing movement of his sword carving the ground open.

“Shoot us both!” Cortaner shouted fearlessly.

Eris and Selestine both answered his call, the latter less eagerly than the former. The witchcrafters rained light and thunderbolts upon Belgoroth and Cortaner alike, all in vain. Their spells bounced off the cloak of fire swirling around the Lord of Wrath without reaching either duelist.

Belgoroth finally pushed Cortaner off him and then answered Selestine’s magic with a blazing breath of Berserk Flame. The Priest’s light clashed with the Lord of Wrath’s inferno, but where the former wielded her own limited essence, the latter could call upon all of the world’s hatred. The unholy fire beat back the light and swallowed Selestine whole. Her robes burned alongside her skin, revealing reptilian white scales on her back and chest.

Selestine fell.

Alaire surged from the smoke and caught the Priest in mid-fall, but Belgoroth did not let her counterattack. After grabbing Soraseo’s sword, which was still embedded in his shoulder, he swiftly threw it with deadly accuracy at Alaire’s pegasus and managed to hit a wing. The Cavalier’s mount and its riders crashed into the dried riverbed in a cloud of dust.

The Heroes’ line of defense had utterly collapsed. Only Cortaner and Eris alone remained to fight the Lord of Wrath, and the latter’s spells failed to do anything. The Inquisitor stood his ground nonetheless.

Belgoroth remained unimpressed.

“You are the worst of humanity,” he told Cortaner. In a supreme show of disdain, the Lord of Wrath planted his sword on the ground and elected to fight Cortaner with his bare hands. “Look at you, a condemned man trapped in an iron maiden. You think going through the pain you inflicted on your victims is punishment enough for your sins? Your very existence disgusts the Goddess.”

“Mayhaps,” Cortaner replied calmly. His fists burned with twin blue flames. “But I will not look the other way again.”

He rushed at the Lord of Wrath and engaged him in battle.

They wrestled among the flames and smoke, two men of steel drowning in an ocean of fire. Belgoroth was faster and stronger, each of his blows swifter than lightning, but Cortaner somehow held his own thanks to some kind of strange martial art. The Inquisitor managed to dodge strikes at the last moments and answered them back with punches of his own. One of his uppercuts hit the Lord of Wrath in his blazing face and sent him reeling. Another nearly threatened to leave him stumbling.

But then Belgoroth quickly adapted.

His power let him understand Cortaner’s fighting style and counter it. Soon he avoided all of the Inquisitor’s punches and countered with lightning-fast strikes powerful enough to bend metal. One such blow tossed Cortaner into the crater left by Selestine’s magic. Belgoroth jumped inside, stomped his foe’s head under his foot, and then grabbed his armor.

He ripped out Cortaner’s chest plate in a superhuman show of strength.

A Penitent One’s armor was merged to their bones so it could never be removed. The steaming metal plate that Belgoroth removed carried two ribs with it and exposed Cortaner’s raw flesh. An entire layer of skin had been flensed off his body.

Cortaner did not scream. Losing that chest plate must have felt like being flayed alive, and yet, he did not scream. But he did not rise up again.

And all Roland could do was watch. Even if he tried to seize Belgoroth’s sword, it would do them no good so long as its wielder remained alive.

His heart swelled with despair. Selestine, Robin, and Alaire had been defeated. Soraseo struggled to extinguish the flames consuming her armor. Cortaner was being beaten to death one punch at a time. Eris’ magic failed to do anything, and Colmar…

Roland sensed something burning on the back of his right hand. A warmth different from the Lord of Wrath’s baleful flames filled his body. When Roland looked at his remaining hand, he saw a light shining beneath his gauntlet.

His Hero’s mark had transferred to his right hand.

The fight was not over yet. Not so long as he lived.

It was such a gruesome and hideous thing to pick a sword from one’s own severed hand, but Roland powered through the pain and disgust.

“You asked me to let you perish in silence once,” Belgoroth said as he turned his back on the defeated Cortaner, emerged from the crater, and took back his sword. “I shall grant your wish. Meditate on your sins as you bleed to death.”

He turned his baleful gaze on Eris next. The Wandered gritted her teeth and then teleported away. The searing wind swiftly blew away the white smoke that remained.

“I expected as much,” Belgoroth said with scorn. He turned his gaze on the wounded Robin. Marika was treating his injuries near the empty riverbed, but they had nowhere to hide. “Perhaps she will show up again once I slay this one.”

Realizing the danger they were in, Marika grabbed her warhammer and prepared for a doomed last stand. Belgoroth took a step towards her, only to find Roland standing between him and the Artisan.

“If you want to reach him, you will have to go through me,” Roland declared.

“Why protect the false Merchant of all people?” Belgoroth asked with suspicion. “What trickery are you planning?”

He knew. He knew that they needed to protect Robin in order to secure their victory.

Roland steadied his sword, his teeth clenched. He couldn’t let Belgoroth pass. If he did, then his friends would die within a minute’s turn.

Robin had trusted Roland to win this battle. It was time for him to repay that trust with victory.

“It matters not,” Belgoroth stated as he raised his wicked sword. “Your allies have fled or fallen before my might. You would do well to surrender and accept the inevitable.”

“This man is a citizen of Archfrost and a friend,” Roland replied without fear. “I would be a poor king if I did not defend my subjects.”

“Then you are a false Knight, but a true warrior,” Belgoroth said with a hint of respect. “Very well, Roland. I shall grant you a quick death.”

His sword struck in a blur of speed.

It took all of Roland’s strength not to be brought to his knees in the first clash. Holding his weapon with a single hand meant he couldn’t pull all of his weight behind the parry. He was fast enough to intercept his foe’s swings, but not enough to make up for the immense gulf in strength and experience.

Their one-sided duel’s outcome was decided before it even began.

Belgoroth left Roland no opening, no moment to breathe, no option to counterattack. All Roland could do was parry and stall for time. Each strike cracked his sword’s edge further like the ticking of a clock nearing close to the fate hour. The blowback sent waves traveling through his bones. His feet sank into the ground. The very earth bowed before the Lord of Wrath’s overwhelming power.

The last parry snapped Roland’s sword like a twig.

The royal adamantine blade of Archfrost was split in half, one part falling on the ground, the other a last line of defense against the Lord of Wrath.

“It is finished,” Belgoroth said, his sword raised for the coup de grace. “Farewell, Rol–”

His armor turned to stone before he could finish his sentence.

The flames rising from Belgoroth’s body were swallowed by a gray tide of granite. Cursed metal plates changed in an instant into a thick hard mineral. His armor became a prison, a statue from which the fire inside could not escape.

Eris stood behind the Lord of Wrath, an old dusty glove of worn leather steaming on her hand. A silver mark glowed on its searing surface.

The Lord of Wrath wasn’t the only one who could practice a feint.

Eris’ false retreat had succeeded in lowering Belgoroth’s guard. She had waited until he became so sure of his victory and so focused on striking down his successor Knight that his awareness of movement wouldn’t let him keep up, then struck him in the most unexpected of ways. A wealth of charged runestones helped the Wanderer protect herself from the Berserk Flame until she could get close enough.

“That power…” Belgoroth rasped through his helmet. The armor began to crack under his pressure. Not even a shell of stone could contain his inhuman might for long. “The Alchemi–”

A crimson blur beheaded him in a single stroke.

Soraseo’s skin bore burn marks, but her aim was true. Her bloodied sword sliced Belgoroth’s neck through a weak spot and sent his head rolling across the ash-covered ground.

This should have killed the Lord of Wrath, yet his stone hands slowly raised his weapon for a counterattack. Roland seized his moment before their foe could break out of his prison. Putting all of his might behind his broken blade, he sliced off Belgoroth’s left hand.

The Lord of Wrath’s wicked sword fell to the ground. His body turned inert like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Do it now!” Eris all but ordered Roland. “Before he pieces himself back together!”

Belgoroth’s head was already rolling back to his corpse. Roland did not waste any more time. He let go of his sword and then seized Belgoroth’s prized weapon; the very seat of his immortal soul. The Knight’s mark burned as his fingers closed on the hilt.

His world turned red.

—------------

A veil of evil had fallen upon Pangeal.

To Roland, it appeared as if all of reality had been swallowed by a crimson tide. The burning plain and its Heroes vanished in an instant. An endless sea of blood arose in their place, so deep that it reached all the way to his knees. Countless weapons stood atop its surface like islands, from piles of swords to axes and polearms.

The red sky was devoid of sun and clouds, but a searing light burned Roland’s skin nonetheless. He smelled the putrid stench of Sebastian’s treacherous sweat and recognized the taste of his first poisoned cup on the tip of his tongue. A sinister wind blew a thousand curses at him.

“Pederast,” his mother’s voice whispered in his ear. “Get out of my sight.”

The memory struck him like a dagger to the heart. More soon followed.

“Hard to believe he’s blood,” his uncle Clovis added, his words a distant echo sharper than a blade’s edge. Cruel lies spread by both nobles and commoners accompanied this condemnation. “I heard he fondles little boys no older than eight… The younger the better…”

A thousand haunting insults battered Roland. This world taunted him with all of the snide comments and rueful remarks that ever wounded him.

And yet, none of them affected him anymore.

“You should not have taken up my sword, Roland.”

Belgoroth was sitting on a guillotine throne right in front of his fellow Knight. Lines of iron maidens, brazen bulls, and wicker men surrounded the Lord of Wrath like a court of death and suffering. His helmet was off, and the visage of flames in its place glared at Roland and the cursed sword in his hand.

His baleful gaze would have terrified the bravest among men, but Roland held his head high. “What is this place?” he asked the Lord of Wrath. “An illusion?”

“This land exists between two clashes of a sword, between dream and reality,” Belgoroth replied. “You visited it a thousand times before, each time you touched a weapon.”

He waved his iron hand at the crimson horizon. Entire mountains of weapons sprawled out as far as the eye could see. Roland witnessed hills of swords, spears that reached all the way to the clouds, mountains of cannons piled up like castles of steel, forests of axes, and so many more abstract constructs.

Men had invented so many ways to kill one another.

“This is the Weapon World, Roland. The purest incarnation of our power.” Belgoroth’s tone turned to bitter scorn. “This place is where all the harmful tools that humanity has ever conceived are collected. A monument to mankind’s appetite for violence and conflict. Each time a man wishes to inflict pain upon another, a new weapon rises from the blood.”

“I see…” The sight filled Roland with immense sadness and melancholy. “There are too many to count.”

“Their number increases constantly, as does the depth of this sea of death. Mankind filled it, one drop of blood at a time.” Belgoroth rested his burning head against his fist. Roland detected a hint of pity in his fiery gaze, and maybe regret too. “To wield my anger is to be me, Roland. You were a true warrior worthy of respect, but you have sealed your fate by taking upon my sins. You will succumb to the sword’s curse or to your false mark’s judgment. It is inevitable.”

Roland looked at the cursed blade in his hand. The hilt burned hotter than lava. Even if his power let him wield it somewhat safely, every fiber of his being demanded that he let go of it. The sword was a key to a bloodstained abyss of madness and evil. Its foulness latched onto Roland like melting tar.

“Traitors deserve death,” the wind whispered in Roland’s own voice. “Those who have killed my father and betrayed my people… the world would be better off without them…”

Roland had uttered these prayers himself once. How many times had he prayed for the Goddess to strike down Griselda where she stood, to avenge Sebastian’s treachery, and to punish those who had betrayed his trust? With this sword, he could fulfill these wishes himself. He would have a Demon Ancestor’s power and all the time in the world on his side.

But Roland didn’t care about old grudges anymore.

“No,” Roland said with a mind clear as water. “You are mistaken, Ser Belgoroth. This shall not go as you plan.”

Belgoroth shifted on his throne. He stared at Roland in confusion, then utter surprise.

“Robin was right.” Roland took a long, deep breath. The air tasted of blood and poison, yet it failed to deter his relief. “This sword hurts me to carry and I hear its foul promises… but I do not care enough to fulfill any of them.”

“Impossible…” Was that fear that Roland detected in Belgoroth’s voice? “I sense no anger within your heart. Not a single trace of it.”

It was true. All of Pangeal’s fury had gathered in this awful realm, but Roland could not feel any of it.

He physically couldn’t.

“Where is it?” Belgoroth asked in disbelief. “Where is your wrath, Roland?!”

“Oh? That?”

Roland smiled ear to ear.

“I’ve sold it.”

—---

I struggled to stay awake.

Marika had managed to exorcize the vile essence that threatened to consume me, but none of her ministrations could soothe the terrible agony of having three cauterized limbs. I had run out of tears of pain long ago.

But I couldn’t pass out yet. Not before the moment of truth.

All of us still awake looked at Roland with dread. Our friend stood in front of Belgoroth’s petrified remains with his wicked sword in hand. The Knight’s mark glowed so brightly that I could see its shape under Roland’s metal gauntlet.

It seemed to take all of his self-control not to let go of the sword.

“Roland?” I asked, my voice so low I could barely hear my own words.

Roland looked at me.

For a brief instant, I feared to meet his gaze. I had heard tales of what a cursed weapon could do to a man from Marika. The worst of them wielded their wielders, and this one carried all of humanity’s potential for malice. If I had overestimated Roland’s willpower, if I miscalculated, then we were all doomed.

But when I finally dared to lock eyes with my friend, all I saw was warmth.

“Will you buy this sword’s connection to all the world’s anger?” Roland asked with a strained, pained smile. “Alongside a… silver coin?”

In spite of all of his pain and exhaustion, I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew it wasn’t time to rejoice, but the way he said those words sounded so utterly absurd to me.

“Was a gold coin too pricey?” I asked with a smirk of my own. “I’ll buy them as a package deal.”

My mark burned brighter than stars in the night sky.

A silver coin manifested in the palm of my hand, so hot it burned through my glove. All of the world’s anger coursed through its metal. So great was the strain that it didn’t even have time to melt.

The coin disintegrated in the blink of an eye, and the wind of victory carried its dust away.

Tremors shook the Blight around us. The bright yellow flames scourging the wasteland around us weakened. The air grew chiller. The smell of blood and corpses lessened. All the foul essence summoned by the Lord of Wrath weakened in potency. Even his corpse and armor vanished in a cloud of red smoke.

Cracks appeared all over Belgoroth’s cursed blade. Now that it had lost its immortal, unchangeable nature, the weight of a thousand years’ worth of blows and damage suddenly showed. The wheel of time crushed the adamantine, with interest.

The Sword of Belgoroth shattered into a hundred pieces.

—---

A holy light shone through the Weapon World.

Roland watched on as the crimson sky turned golden and the sea of blood started to recede beneath him. The tide that once reached his knees slowly dropped one drop at a time. The winds of fury became silent.

“What…” Belgoroth looked at his hands. The flames coming from them were dying one by one. “What have you done?!”

“We have separated you from the world’s anger,” Roland explained. “The flow of vile essence that fueled your immortality shall no longer reach you. This sword of yours will become your soul’s prison.”

“You… You sold your ability to feel anger and then killed me, so you could master my…” Belgoroth quickly caught on. “The false Merchant. He planned this.”

“I must confess that Robin is the greatest cheater I have ever encountered.” And worst of all, the Merchant was proud of it. “I suppose it is morally right to bend the rules when they are unfair.”

Roland would have loved to say that he had mastered his anger enough to wield Belgoroth’s sword, but he knew better. No man could shoulder the burden of all of the world’s hatred.  Anyone with the ability to feel fury, even a paragon of virtue, would have fallen under the vile artifact’s sway.

So Roland sold it away. For a time.

“Truthfully, I miss it,” Roland confessed. “The beastmen’s conditions, the suffering of my people, the way you hurt my companions… These are things worthy of indignation. I struggle to care without it.”

His lack of anger had left him a serene and hollow thing. He had fought Belgoroth in the name of duty and to protect innocents, but he lost his passion in the process. It felt akin to cutting off an arm to prevent an infection: it had saved his life at the cost of sacrificing a part of himself.

“I shall master my anger one day,” Roland promised. “I will let it inspire me to take the righteous path, but I will not let it drag me down to the same depths as yours.”

“This… this is not over…” Belgoroth shook his head in utter disbelief. “This can’t… this can’t end like this.”

“It will take a long time to purge your mark of the corruption you seeped it in,” Roland conceded. “But your long war has come to an end.”

Roland looked at the strange world around him. Now that the sea of blood had lowered in depth, he could finally see what it hid under its surface: countless swords planted in the ground like flowers on a field.

They reminded him of tombstones.

“I do not think that the Goddess meant for this place to be a monument to human cruelty as you said, Ser Belgoroth,” Roland said. “I see it as a memorial to warriors past and present. It might take decades before it can shed its curse and regain its former splendor, but… I hope to witness it again when the time comes.”

The Lord of Wrath let out a roar of defeat and anger. He jumped out of his throne and raised a finger at his fellow Knight.

“Your people will disappoint you, Roland!” he shouted with a shriek of fury. “They will put you on a pedestal, ask you to save them from their own mediocrity, beg for you to shoulder their sins, and when you fail, they will cast you down and spit on your name! They will answer your efforts with entitlement and your sacrifices with ingratitude!”

“Mayhaps,” Roland conceded. “I do not know what the future holds for me.”

“I do, because I remember being like you!”

The flames around Belgoroth’s head vanished.

Roland’s mind had conjured countless fearsome pictures of the Lord of Wrath’s face, but Belgoroth looked quite handsome under his lion-faced helmet. His blonde hair had grayed with age. His blue eyes burned with cold fury. His gaunt cheeks showed signs of wrinkles and old battle scars.

He looked so much like Roland himself, albeit older and wearier.

“You think humans are worth saving, Roland, but they have spent a thousand years proving otherwise!” Belgoroth’s eyes burned with anger and despair. “All they do is steal and cheat and rape and kill, kill, kill! You are fighting for a lie!”

“Perhaps,” Roland conceded. “But it is a lie worth fighting for.”

“You idealistic fool,” his reflection said, seething. “The only way to fix this broken world is to wipe it all out and let the Goddess start over! None of its inhabitants deserve Her salvation!”

“That is not for you or me to decide,” Roland replied calmly. “I am not a god, and neither are you.”

“Who else will right the world’s wrongs, if not us?!” When Roland refused to answer him, Belgoroth clenched his teeth and grabbed his hair. He looked at the blood under his feet with haunted eyes. “I… I can’t fail in my duty, Roland. If I do… then all I’ve done… it can’t have all been for nothing.”

He looked so impossibly old at that moment, like a battered shield that had chosen to break rather than bend. Maybe it was because he had sold away his ability for hatred or because he too had surrendered to his anger over past injustices once, but Roland found himself feeling some compassion for this madman.

In spite of all the atrocities he had committed against his friends and subjects, Roland couldn’t bring himself to completely despise Belgoroth. He had seen the world through the first Knight’s eyes and shared his grief.

“Even before I sold away my capacity for anger, Ser Belgoroth, I never truly hated you,” Roland said in a final attempt to comfort his predecessor. “I pitied you. Because as you said, I remember being like you.”

Roland gathered his breath.

“I remember my brief flash of grim satisfaction when Alaire told me that she had slain Sebastian… and the emptiness that followed.” Even now, it just sounded so wasteful. He had almost corrupted his own Class for nothing. “A part of you knows that you knew that you were doing wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go. You kept killing because you know that only a hollow void awaited you beyond that horizon of blood. You didn’t have the strength to face the regrets piling up behind your back.”

Belgoroth fell to his knees in utter defeat. His hands covered his face, maybe to hide tears of sorrow and frustration.

“But no one is above judgment, even a Hero. The crimes you have committed against our world and its inhabitants are severe, Ser Belgoroth, and you have shown no desire to atone for them. Maybe if you had been willing…” Roland shook his head. It was too late to ponder such things now. “The broken sword which you used to kill countless innocents will become your prison. You will haunt this Weapon World until your soul fades away. This shall be your punishment.”

The Lord of Wrath did not say a word.

His fate was already sealed.

“I pray to the Goddess that you find peace one day,” Roland said with an air of finality. “We shall not meet again.”

The Weapon World faded away and Roland returned to reality. His friends and allies looked at him under a pure blue sky.

It was over.

The true Heroes had won.

---------

A/N: phew, that was a battle and a half!

A lot of things that happened here were planned for a while, from Roland's "I've sold it" part to having the battle be waged by Robin's allies instead of himself; the idea was that ultimately, his true power was the allies he gathered around him. The people he helped and guided ultimately prevailed even against overwhelming odds.

Only two chapters remain before the volume's end and the Commerce Emperor pause; the next should deal with the battle's fallout and the one after will be the epilogue. I hope you enjoyed this long-awaited conclusion and I hope to see you for what comes next ;)