FSFSLU 33

chapter 33

The Demon Sword struggled with all its might.

It punched against me, swelled its body to become like a giant.

But.

“Ugh, ugh!”

Its blows felt like being struck with cotton, whereas every time I hit it, the impact felt vivid and real. It seemed the outcome of this battle had already been decided.

I dragged up the chains made of that fine string from the sandy ground and wrapped the Demon Sword tightly, then climbed on top and kept pounding its face with my fists.

“Ugh, stop! Stop!”

Even it seemed to have given in.

“Stop! I won’t do anything! I won’t, I promise!”

Only then did I stop punching.

It’s strange. Maybe because I’m an angel now, I can hit someone more freely than when I was human.

Of course, even as a human, I never really hit anyone. Usually, I was on the receiving end.

“Geez, that hurts…”

“Shut up for a bit.”

Perched atop the whining Demon Sword, I created a glass window to look out at the ground below.

The situation was the same as before. Isabel was tirelessly treating Dyke, whose consciousness had been consumed by dark mana, while Gerolt, furious at Isabel, repeatedly struck his sword down onto the protective barriers.

Judging by the signs, Isabel could hold out in there for hours.

Gerolt must have been frustrated by now—having the Demon Sword taken right before his eyes, while the person who took it calmly heals Dyke behind the protective barrier.

He may not realize it, but Isabel had healed every soldier who had tumbled down the slope as well.

She had much to answer for regarding taking the sword, but aside from that, everything else was going well. Isabel, indeed.

“What the hell are you?! There’s no way you’re a low-class spirit!”

As I stopped punching, the Demon Sword began screaming again.

Hearing it ask that made me curious too.

I turned my head toward it and raised my fist again.

The Demon Sword gasped in surprise.

But I didn’t strike it. Instead, I asked a question.

“And you are?”

The sword glared at me for a moment, then transformed itself.

At first, I thought it would change into a giant again. But its shadowy form wavered and gradually shifted into something entirely different.

The drooping surface hardened into what looked like polished armor, and hair and facial features appeared.

When the transformation was complete, the Demon Sword astonishingly resembled the Demon King, Daerex.

It wore black armor from head to toe, its skin was gray, and its eyes glowed like burning embers.

But having faced Daerex in the Divine Realm myself, I knew it only resembled him. The armor was plainer, the body smaller.

Still, the Demon Sword seemed satisfied with this transformation, and in a commanding voice despite me sitting on its stomach, it spoke:

“I am… the one granted life by the grace of Demon King Daerex. The being you humans call the Demon Sword. The sword of ruin, ‘Yuga.’”

Its tone had changed. And why was its title so long?

Had it been preparing its self-introduction during 300 years trapped in the Dragon’s Lair?

“…What’s with that look?”

“Just… a bit pitiful.”

Ignoring my reply, Yuga again asked in its commanding voice:

“Now that I’ve revealed my name, you too must reveal yours. Who are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“To understand. My power is still insufficient, but a mere spirit should not be able to overwhelm me! My master’s divine power is formidable, yes, but not unbearable!”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! Then why can I not defeat you? Why does this space obey only you? Why!”

“Well… perhaps…”

I muttered, looking down at Yuga with a small smile.

“Because I’m an angel?”

“An… angel!”

And then I punched it squarely in the face again.

How does it feel, you Demon Sword, to taste the Sacred Punch of the great Archangel?

Yuga wriggled in pain, clutching its nose.

“Ugh… you’re… an angel?”

“Yes.”

“My chosen master was that collapsed brute over there… so how did an angel come to be a mere priest…?”

Hearing that, I suddenly recalled a scene from The Long Story.

During the first iteration, when Dyke drew the Demon Sword, the sword spoke directly to him: Come, draw me, and slay Gerolt. Everything you desire will come true.

So this is exactly what Yuga was doing.

Poor thing. Our Isabel is so unpredictable.

I hadn’t expected it to behave this way either.

More importantly, I still had a question.

“Yuga, how did you get into this unique space?”

“Unique space? Damn… was it that?”

“Don’t talk like only you know, explain properly.”

“I just moved myself to the place where I could manipulate my master. But when I arrived, it happened to be here. I’m the one aggrieved! After 300 years, I find a new master and now an angel clings to him. How can I grow like this…?”

“Cling?”

“M-misstatement!”

“Say it properly.”

“I said it wrong!”

“Good.”

Yuga immediately backed down.

Anyway… now I roughly understood the situation.

The Demon Sword, infused and corrupted by the Demon King, is indeed formidable. I didn’t expect it to even invade a unique space.

Well, the good thing is I can control it.

Then, as if changing strategy, Yuga began transforming again. Was it attempting another form?

The next moment, I chuckled.

Yuga had become a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

Her features were clear, eyelashes elegantly extended. Her gray skin had a silvery sheen, making her even more alluring.

She looked at me with desperate eyes, her hands bound in chains.

“Will you let me go…?”

Hah.

Of course it would try every trick in the book. Even it seems desperate.

“I understand everything. I apologize for entering without permission and for speaking carelessly of my master. So could you please release these chains and the restrictions on me? I can do anything you ask…”

Her body was fully revealed, her voice seductive, exposing some bare skin… Might as well have said, I’ll be using the charm tactic, so watch closely.

I looked down at Yuga and asked:

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I watch Isabel bathe at least once a day.”

“…Yes?”

“And it doesn’t affect me. You, either. So return to your original form.”

“It doesn’t affect… you?”

Look at that face. Still doesn’t understand.

I’m an angel. Not human.

My masculinity, if there ever was, has long since vanished.

No matter how much you try to tempt me, it won’t matter.

Yuga stared, flustered, then curiously asked:

“You’re… castrated?”

…Not wrong, but kind of annoying.

I swung my hand, creating a solid platform beneath Yuga and lifting it into the air.

I built walls and a ceiling around it, forming a floating box in the middle of the unique space.

Restricted by my constraints, Yuga was trapped inside.

“Hey? What’s this? Angel! Let me out!”

“Talking has become brief?”

“Please, angel! Let me out!”

Now trying to appeal to emotion.

Through the walls, Yuga’s voice quivered.

“Don’t lock me in! Please! Or at least make bars!”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be trapped! 300 years in the Dragon’s Lair is enough!”

“Not my problem.”

“Then just make a small air hole! Anything! Please…”

Sigh…

I replaced part of the wall with bars so it could extend its hands.

It seemed the fear of being trapped was real, not an act. Yuga extended its arms through the bars, sobbing, collapsing.

“Hah… thank you…”

“…”

A Demon Sword with claustrophobia. Funny.

I had really expected it to be a terrifying monstrosity.

Strictly speaking, it is one.

Had I not restricted its ability to interfere in this space, it would have killed Isabel and handed the sword to Gerolt or Dyke without a shred of conscience.

Thinking about it, that’s infuriating.

“Hey, angel? The prison is shrinking?”

“Yes, shrinking.”

“I’m going to get crushed…”

Yuga’s tone changed to urgent screaming.

“Angel! The ceiling too! Come down! Save me!”

“Nope.”

“If I die, my master dies too!”

This was difficult to ignore. I turned sharply.

Yuga, now shrunk to a box the size of a small crate, had limbs sticking through the bars, desperately trying to speak.

“What do you mean? Isabel dies?”

“Stop! It keeps shrinking!”

“I’ll stop if you explain. Hurry.”

Yuga quickly explained:

“Don’t you understand what it means for a Demon Sword to be bound to its master? It’s like taking their soul as collateral and lending them power. If the holder dies, the master can never regain their soul! If I die, my master dies too! That’s how Demon Swords work! Ah! It’s shrinking, shrinking! Save me!”

Hearing this, I stopped shrinking the prison.

The ceiling had descended too far; Yuga’s ears were about to be pressed between the floor and ceiling. It lay face-down, panting, crying.

Good grief.

Still… I wasn’t fully convinced.

“Not convinced? Test it then! Let’s make a bet! If you kill me, will my master survive? Oops, slip of the tongue! Too noisy!”

Too much chaos. If I can’t kill it, I’ll have to cohabitate with this Demon Sword in the unique space.

Hearing its explanation, I restored the prison to its original size. Yuga gasped, tears brimming.

So it really was scared.

“Why did you do that!”

“You’ve been around 300 years, yet you fuss so much.”

“I’m not 300 years old! You’ve seen a sword age?”

“Swords get worn too.”

“Then will maintenance make it young again?”

“Then you’re not really 300.”

“I was unconscious while stuck in the Dragon’s Lair. I returned when it broke, so my age isn’t really that much. What kind of adult torments a child like this?”

“Child, my foot. If it tried to kill someone, it’s a future murderer. Want me to shrink the prison again?”

“Ah! Don’t! Sorry!”

“Then obey me from now on.”

“Yes!”

“You can’t interfere with me or Isabel, so let’s live together without discomfort.”

“Sure! Let’s try cohabitating!”

That one is truly unpredictable.

It’s troubling. If the Demon Sword dies, Isabel dies too. Such a penalty is fitting for a Demon Sword, but having to share a unique space with it… a real headache.

If Isabel hadn’t drawn the Demon Sword, none of this would have happened. Trouble just keeps piling up.

What to do next…

“Ah, but…”

Yuga’s timid voice interrupted.

“Why now?”

“I’ve been concerned about something… can we leave that glass window as it is?”

I glanced at it. The ground looked the same. Isabel’s healing was nearly done, and Gerolt had given up breaking the barrier, resting his sword.

“Leave it? Speak clearly.”

“The mana… that sword keeps absorbing it.”

“Why care? Let it die addicted to mana…”

I trailed off. Something had concerned me.

“…!”

I quickly checked the window, then looked at Yuga inside the prison. It didn’t seem deceitful.

I repeated Yuga’s words: “That sword keeps absorbing mana.”

Right. Absorbing. Not corrupting.

“Ah!”

The lingering, dense mana in the Dragon’s Lair. Most had escaped when the wall collapsed, but some still remained.

Unlike Isabel and Dyke, Gerolt, outside the barrier, was still exposed to the mana.

“Hoo, hoo, hoo…”

Gerolt absorbed the surrounding mana, filled with hatred and frustration.

Why does divine power heal?

The faith teaches that human will is inherently good, untouched by gods. The divine only guides; the steps forward must be taken by the individual.

Thus, divine power acts on the body, providing strength and health, not interfering with the soul. That’s why it heals.

But why does mana bring pain?

Mana denies human goodwill. Those immersed in mana are convinced humans are evil, living only to harm others.

Thus, mana affects the soul, not the body. It clings to lost souls, dragging them into the abyss.

Humans rarely succumb easily. Protective mechanisms convert spiritual damage into physical pain to safeguard the soul.

This explains why mana’s corruption is so painful and why simple divine healing cannot suffice.

Occasionally, exceptions appear.

Those whose souls are already twisted. Closer to monsters than humans, madness over intellect.

For them, mana is a medicine, a blessing, not a curse.

Exposed to mana, their already fallen souls sink deeper. Their bodies transform to contain the corrupted soul.

Twisted inner selves manifest outwardly as monsters. They are called Mutants.

The Dragon’s Lair held condensed mana for 300 years. Dyke’s destruction scattered much of it, but enough remained.

Gerolt standing inside met the conditions to become a mutant.

Normally, this wouldn’t happen. Only a tenth of the mana remained, and he had barriers protecting himself.

But seeing Isabel’s actions, he lost reason and rampaged like a monster, breaking the barrier.

Driven by his desire to kill Isabel, he crossed the last line maintaining his humanity.

Absorbing the remaining mana in the lair, he transformed.

“Grrr…”

Gerolt became a monster.

“Ah…”

Isabel looked at him with pity.

His mouth had grown wide, long sharp teeth emerged, skin turned to stone, and his broken longsword had transformed into two arm-sized blades.

The appearance of a mutant reflects its desires: a large mouth shows ambition, hardened skin shows defense, arms as swords reflect violence.

And the missing eyes and ears?

“A reflection of escapism…”

Isabel bit her lip.

“I drew the Demon Sword… and this happened to you, Gerolt.”

No answer came. His grotesque mouth was no longer functional for speech.

Even without a mouth, he seemed to know Isabel’s exact position.

“Grrr…”

Slowly turning his head, Gerolt—or rather, the mutant that was once Gerolt—emitted a chilling sound.

“Raaah!”

He charged at Isabel.

What drove him now was the final desire before full transformation: the single thought of killing Isabel.