Damp, the wind blows against my face and howls over my ears. He hums poetry about the glory of a fair duel, reminding me of how many of them I have already won. On the other, it screams with the suffering of the men fallen in combat and reminds me of how many of them sacrificed themselves so that their home would be safe, even if they never return.

  Fliori's soldiers, far more numerous than Dufae's, protect the village by standing between it and the monsters. Red shields Aloft, a wall of spears rises, fortified with magic and determination. Gunners line the tops of walls and towers, their mechanical arches creating gaps for wizards to reach the rear lines.

  While the magical battle takes place in the background, physics stretches out before my eyes. We were spared from direct attacks from the tribe of Organon because of the barriers we erected to stop the monsters, but that would not save us now. Fliori's protection held just long enough for the men to stand up, then dissolved before the veil of reality parted.

  Emerald grass shines against the naturalness of our world, its primal power is a size that reaches the supernatural. What was once an ordinary forest now bears trees that reach to the heavens and roots that shake the ground beneath my feet. Multicolored clouds invade the skies, and the luminosity of a lucid dream takes control of my eyes.

  Men who advance are caught. My vision darkens when my horse stumbles on one of the expanding roots and flies meters from the ground. I roll against the ground, but the magic that surrounds me makes a deadly fall become a scratch. With supernatural focus and balance, I stand without losing momentum and advance against the monsters.

  Before the enemy troops even attacked, the wilderness had already knocked out half of our defenses. A few more meters, and it would not be the axe that would destroy civilization, but the forest that would take back the materials we took from it.

  Before that happens, I can act. If I win and destroy that which influences the opening of the veil, I can prevent the village from being buried. The default strategy remains, now urgent. Mages change the battlefield, Warriors move forward to overthrow the generals and points of importance of the enemy. Gunners fire at each other and fall to the ground.

  Not me.

  Monsters-any creatures that oppose humanity-usually group with their own kind. Beastmen have the brains to make deals with trolls and goblins, but that's different. Something's wrong.

  If trolls are comparable to rats, orcs are wild boars. I can't say for sure when one ends and another begins—but no Beastman is so disgusting. Still, having all subspecies marching on an invisible flag is not common.

  One of them approaches and brandishes his axe, almost lethargic. I easily avoid him with a step to the right and cut his rib with Lugnir, then retreat.

  He does not shout, does not inspire, does not care. Its skin is green and bulbous, layered so that it continues to fight after a serious injury, but an ordinary creature would have felt something.

  In his eyes I saw that there was not the savage fury of a barbarian, or the treacherous wickedness of a thief. There was nothing. Eyes empty and dead, glowing yellow. A mushroom grows from the opening I made in your flesh. I could see vines spreading inside his organs, his green skin camouflaging some bits of vegetation that I mistook for dirt.

  The orc was not alive. He never was.

  A puppet controlled by plants that have invaded it. So much mastery and technique over Magic could only be done by-

  Impaled bodies. Smell of burning flesh. Sapphire Blue Fire rises through the skies and turns white clouds into black. You deserve it. You deserve it. You-

  “No!” I scream, tearing the warrior's body in half.

  I inhale, then I frown and face the veil that separates the worlds. I feel something in my torso crackle. I'm not sure if it's in the belly, chest, or something in between. My emission decreases, I can't complete regeneration. My body collapses from the effort, but I still force him to stand.

  I was never good enough at medicine to regenerate properly. I just grind my organs on each other and worry about the damage after the fight. Without the Healers, I would have died a long time ago.

  But it doesn't matter. I couldn't destroy Aldwyn last time. But whatever that creature is, I swear in my heart that I will destroy it.

  “Elron!”

  Cloud plucks and pierces an orc in the chest with his spear, the unearthly speed creates a cloud of dust below his feet. “Wait!”

  “Don't try to stop me.”

  He took a deep breath, observing the surroundings. “I'm not going. But you can't win alone.”

  I inhale, then nod. “Come on.”

  Lugnir cuts meat like butter just as he did in the past, his Magic Blade naturally enhanced. I've lost count of how many times I've done that.

  I deflect an arrow as strong as a bomb, then trim a spear, approach and cut the creature in half. Roll to get out of range of a fireball, throw Lugnir and the carnation at the mage who conjured it. I go forward, grab it again and turn on its own axis to cut an orc.

  I let my body become the machine it was before. Freedom from fighting and killing. Sieghart said he hated her. The truth is, I've always known better.

  He hated that he didn't hate her, and he loved watching the red gush through the skies. After seeing so much of it, I wonder if I won't stay that way, too. Is it so wrong if it's with a monster? Can my moment of rest and usefulness be one in which I forget that I am a man and become more of a creature?

  To the right of the battlefield, a ravine stretches. At the bottom of this ravine, at its top, a pale and conscious tree watches us as it spreads its roots through the soil and steals its nutrients to strengthen itself. Cloud arrives first and jumps on the emerald grass. The ravine that exists next to Fliori is not as large as the one that exists now, which indicates that it was influenced by the fairy world.

  I wander my gaze across the field. Verdant against the sun, the trees cast shadows over my shoulders. Some of them smaller than me. Some of them so high they pierce the heavens. The environment around me glows, mushrooms stretch over the ground like houses. Behind me, human warriors and sorcerers fight for their people.

  Anyway, we advanced to it while observing the presence of other monsters, but there was none besides him. The tree turns its attention to us—a single eye sprouts from its center and is then reabsorbed by the wood. It trembles, twists, and then deconstructs itself.

  Vines become muscles and nerves, wood becomes flesh and armor. A matte, green glow pulses from the vegetable heart of the articulated creature like a natural machine. Its upper part reminds me of a human, but with a single eye. The bottom, quadrupedal, emulates a horse.

  The warrior wields a dark wooden spear that uses a stiffened leaf as its point. He brandishes her against the air and then spins her around, coming into posture as he stares at us with a single, large, empty, listless eye.

  “What are you?”

  “I am Mirdon, the Ent of Vanusia, and I have again awakened to protect this world.”Your voice is loud, resonates through the wind. “Where is the Demon King?”

  “I don't know who or what you're talking about. It's attacking my village. Make your troops retreat immediately, or I will destroy you!”

  He looks at me as if I didn't understand what he said. I know he's conscious, intelligent, can hear and understand me, but he doesn't seem to care about the attack on the village - as if the mere concept of stopping an invasion because of humans is alien to that. Invading and alien eyes of a beast that does not recognize humanity as more than ants.

  He had that look too.

  “The corruption of the Demon King again spreads as it did in the past. Preventing Hilda's invasions is insignificant. My only mission is to find the bearer of chaos. Where is he?”

  I grit my teeth and go into West stance, Mirdon reacts and switches his to North. I reposition my feet and switch to the southern posture, he responds with the eastern one. I frown. Where the hell did he train? Why do you know human postures?

  “Where did you come from?!”

  “The fairy world brought me here: the blasphemous place where the terrible Morgan Verchneb, the White Raven of death; and Aldwyn, the Consumer, were set free. Only the Demon King or one of his affiliates could have done it.”

  I frown. Repeating himself for the third time, he says his goal. Empty eyes like those of the manipulated orc as before, but that fully work. For a moment, I mistook it for one of the much-talked-about wonderful machines that existed. But this is not mechanical or automated. A machine just follows orders. The Centaur ignores them, simply and completely.

  It's not obedience. That's crazy.

  “No one in this village did anything like that! We are not to blame for the troubles of this talking Demon King!”

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  “You lie, Ainsworth.”

  “What?!”

  Cloud frowns. “Demon King… He's not talking about him, is he?”

  No.

  You can't be serious, can you?

  All this time?

  The conscious tree tilts its head. “So you know him. They have been corrupted by his presence. It is necessary for Fliori to be cleared from the map, so that the corruption of the Demon King does not spread to the rest of the world. I will bury your village beneath the eternal roots, that they may renew the nature of this world.”

  I frown. That's all I wanted to hear.

  Cloud looks at me in the corner of his face. “We need to escape. He's not normal. Same with Aldwyn. He's going to kill us.”

  “If I kill you,” he told Ent. “Will the rift close?”

  “Possibly. Still, insignificant.” He replied, then prepared for an onslaught.

  “I understand.” I say, then I take a step forward.

  Cloud widens his eyes. “Elron, you are wounded. We're not—I'm not—strong enough. Let's reposition ourselves. We can make a trap, or-”

  “And how many will die if I do this?”

  “…”

  Warriors scream. Houses collapse. Roots spread and wizards heal the skies. Dufae has already been destroyed. Their people have been reduced to mere strangers in the land of relatives who hate them. Arlong's reign ended the night Aldwyn avenged his imprisonment.

  But if I can defeat him here and now, then at least the battle will have been worth it.

  “Die.” The Ent says.

  Cloud follows me, but it is Mirdon who attacks first. Using the power of his body and equine legs, he lunges forward and disappears into what appears to be a lump. I roll to the side and narrowly miss being hit by the onslaught that almost goes all the way down the ravine.

  Cloud maintains the rapprochement. The weakness of this form of Ent is clear: once it does, it needs to stop and reposition itself before doing it again, as well as not being able to slow down right away. He capitalizes on the enemy's mistake and stocks up with the spear, but Mirdon parries with his own.

  A storm of steel and razors ensues, the ground shaking with every blow and trim as the speed of the Warriors makes their attacks blur.

  As they exchange blows, I reposition myself and attack. I extend Lugnir's blade using aura to increase my range and catch the Ent by surprise, and pierce his hand. But he doesn't react. On the contrary, it throws wooden spikes that I need to deflect so as not to be crossed.

  I get into his rear and the Ent spins to catch up with me, trimming two lunges at once and forcing us to reposition. Its unique structure and the fact that it also manages to extend its weapon using parts of its own body makes a direct approach almost impossible.

  Mirdon plunges the spear into the ground, and from it roots emerge. Giants, they loom over me like solid waves. Unable to get away, I jump against them and turn Lugnir, maximize the intensification and poke a hole through the wood until I come out the other side. The ground is pierced, Rock is pierced like flesh and shows me what it would have done to me.

  It's not important. At this time, Mirdon and Cloud were fighting—the latter already bleeding from some cuts. He trims a cut, prepares himself and invests using all the strength of his giant body and hind legs. In one figure, he crosses the battlefield, leaving a trail of destruction and dirt. The dust invades the air and almost blinds me, but I don't get carried away by the Ent strategy.

  Still need to stop and readjust to change direction even faster and stronger. His magic could be cut off by Lugnir, and Cloud could lock him in direct combat.

  We can win.

  We move forward together, Cloud presses the creature with lunges as I support him. My body burns from the injuries, but I ignore them. Lugnir cuts against the Leaf spear, but it does not yield, so Cloud splits his cable. The enemy uses the spear as a knife and extends more wood and leaves from his own arm. He spins with his new weapon, fighting both Knights at the same time, gracefully.

  His voice echoes through the ravine, once empty, now crowded with trees. It's a countdown. It may not have as much control over what it spawns, but once it turns everything into a forest, I will be killed by its magic.

  His deer antlers light up in yellow before he uses geomancy to destabilize the ground below us. We fall to the ground and roll, roots and wooden stakes are thrown along with another onslaught. I trim, twist, and pull my shield off my back at the last second to block the Centaur's attack;

  But the shield gives way.

  The spear pierces my arm and a scream echoes down my throat. Cloud staggers, coming towards me in a figure and cutting off the Centaur's arm, but he doesn't affect himself like the other times. It merely keeps fighting with the other hand while the cut regenerates, not being stopped by mere human instincts like pain or compassion.

  It's not important. I extend the blade once more and maximize the emission, a storm of cuts joins the sprinter's attacks until the Centaur's defense, now in a bad position, breaks. I cut off one leg from the front, my arm snaps. Cloud disarms him at the cost of his hand. A moment of carelessness is enough. I step forward one last time and pierce his heart with a burst of bluish aura.

  The Ent pushes us with its roots. Apathetic eyes like those of a tormented boy's madness. Still, conscious. SAP seeps from his chest, and his moment of weakness is the only—and perhaps last—we can take advantage of. I pluck to prevent it from restoring its body, but other trees come in my way, reinforced by mana.

  I cut them off one by one. I jump through the ascending stones and trees that are born from the ground, chop wood, roll, and sneak. I keep moving forward, wind buzzing in my ears, and I lower the sword over his head-

  Too late. Both Cloud's spear and my arm are interrupted by vines, their thorns sinking into the flesh and giving enough time for Ent.

  How to defeat it?

  He lets go and fights back. Weakened, it is not long before their strength, technique, and magic overtake us. Mirdon stabs a thorn in Cloud's leg, then forces him away from him with a breath of wind. His body rolls downhill and leaves a trail behind.

  I keep moving forward, even alone. The Magic Blade chases the Centaur into the depths of the fairy kingdom, but is unable to reach him.

  Images repeat themselves, incessantly, in my mind. Blue collides with green, bodies stretched. Arlong not only trained me, but also read the stories of the Knights who fought against beings of extraordinary strength and narrowly won. Stories about honor, strength, and courage that shaped what they came to call Elron.

  Mirdon and Aldwyn are not the same. They weren't the same race, they didn't have the same goal, they didn't even look alike. Still, this horrendous feeling that comes when our guns clash is the same.

  As if I was seeing a duplicate, as if my body refused to believe that such a creature—that such a world—was real. He fights against the possibility and rejects the hypothetical, not only from imaginary monsters, but also from the fact that I failed to defeat them.

  How?

  Advance one last time, crossing the distance of one spear and cutting the other. I grab one of the creature's legs and gnash my teeth, then drive the shiny blade against the creature's belly. Mineral water leaks, wood sagging against the pristine blue—but it doesn't matter.

  A scream comes out of my throat as roots pierce the steel of the armor and reach my skin. The Centaur steps into the ravine and he once again trembles beneath my feet, his structure nearly collapsing as the earthquake hurls me down the hill.

  Carnation Lugnir against the ground and hold me. Its roots function as Spears and geomancy makes fighting impossible, Conjuring shifting lands and throwing debris to the wind.

  “You fought well, Ainsworth.” He says as I avoid the roots, my emission dropping with each new injury. “But now it's the end.”

  My vision becomes dark. My ears are ringing. Another scream, but not of fury. Pain. More pain than I've felt in my entire life. My body goes into shock, unable to respond properly as I look down.

  Ent's spear pierces my belly. I vomit blood, unable to intensify my body properly. The air is ripped from me and I fight against my instinct to stay in control.

  Like everything I've done so far, it's useless.

  The Ent withdraws the spear and blood gushes on the ground. I lap my belly and its organs, but it's not enough. The deep wound was not something that could be ignored. Not like that. Not with the strength I have now.

  In what I think are my last moments, I observe Flioria. The soldiers still fight, but they are unable to win. The effort I had to group them is gone. The determination with which I fought my battles, that I served as bait, that I had my body lacerated and punctured so many, many times.

  Sieghart knew he had to find himself. If being the Demon King was your choice for alternative, it doesn't matter. He always knew that he needed to try to do something—to find out his goal, what it was, how it was, why it was. I never had this problem.

  I am Elron Ainsworth, son of Arlong Ainsworth II, Chief of Dufae, bearer of Lugnir. I like red-haired women, dogs, and fencing. There were no doubts or complaints, only simplistic knowledge that I considered to be complete.

  Now, I am Elron: nobody's son, boss of nowhere. What is or has ceased to be no longer appetites the living: because of my failure, they no longer have time to think.

  So what am I?

  Wasn't being the perfect kid my destiny? The illustrious boss? The good man? The one who doesn't flinch? The hero?

  Hero.

  The Ent turns to Fliori, his two spears in hand. Cloud crawls towards my body, tears in his eyes as he regenerates his.

  Hero.

  I crawl, then secure Lugnir.

  Hero.

  I understand. This is the only one left. It feels right, and yet incomplete. A lie. If you cut out all the textures that make up my being, is that what you'd find?

  But what does that mean?

  Lugnir glows as I get up, blood leaks from the wound and falls asleep all over my body. Something inside me moves me more than any flesh or motivation could. My heart pulses with vitality it lacks as I rot my organs to strengthen them.

  One step. Two. My body moves by itself. The conclusion comes before the question.

  Cloud grinds his teeth. “Elron!” He screams in the distance.

  “Now…” I whisper. Knowing he can't hear, I let him approach as I stagger behind the Ent.

  Cloud holds my body and tries to stop me. I let him get closer, then I grab him by the armor. “Sorry. I'll leave the rest with you.”

  Cloud widens his eyes. “What…?”

  I press to his chest, then push him away. It stumbles over uneven ground and rolls until it stabilizes, just enough so that I maxed out the emission one last time.

  So, I move forward.

  The blue blade rips the air. I transfer the force to the vital areas so that my body does not collapse. Heart, lungs, brain, liver, nerves. They repeat themselves again and again in my head.

  The process has become second nature. To produce as much impact as possible, one must concentrate the aura at a specific point when attacking, then intensify all the attributes that make up the sudden attack. Weight, speed, force, density, impact, cutting, extension. The more specific it is, the greater its strength. Therefore, a generalized attack should not have so much power.

  This will be the exception. It won't be sis I use.

  The reason the body is destroyed is that it cannot hold more authority than it should. If you use more mana than you are allowed, then your body breaks down. In some cases, the spell has to use something else to complete: you.

  A direct attack would not kill him, nor would it delay him long enough to stop the rest of the attack.

  He prepares, but the blow never comes.

  Hero.

  Of course it means it seems incomplete. A hero is one who saves. I didn't save my mother, or my father, or the village I loved so much. I could not even save a friend from himself.

  It ends here.

  If I can't defeat him, I'll save them like I couldn't before.

  I jump into the air and extend the blade with my own aura. My arm tingles as I sacrify it to increase the emission more than it should, and along with it, Lugnir becomes white. Lightning bolts and pillars of light expand in the skies as I fall and stab the blade against the battle-destabilized ravine.

  “You-” the centaur says, but I never hear the rest of the speech.

  “LUGNIR!” Shout.

  Power emanates from the sword until it breaks, its strength erupts in a rumble that spreads to the depths. The ravine shakes, and the landslide blasts dirt, dust and rocks through the air. Sudden and violent, its expansion buries the Centaur and the entire rear of the battalion of monsters attacking Fliori.

  The ground collapses beneath me. Not directly hit by the slide, but still carried by it, I catch a glimpse of Cloud's trail escaping the collapse by only a few meters, then smile one last time at Fliori city as I fall.

  Pain spreads through my arm, exploded by the pristine Blade. But it doesn't matter anymore. Numbness spreads through my bruised body as it is carried away by the slide and sunk into the depths of the fairy world.