Chapter 298

“Ugh…!”

With a single groan, the boy collapsed and rolled on the floor, alongside a crumpled greatsword.

I tossed the broken longsword to the ground and grabbed a new one hanging on the wall.

This makes it the third one. How long has it been since a sword broke? Back in the day, they’d snap all the time, but lately, I’ve been using Durandal, so it hasn’t been an issue.

“Get up. I haven’t heard your answer yet.”

Gritting his teeth, Damien used his greatsword as a crutch to stagger to his feet. His knees were half-bent, and his arms hung limp, but he wasn’t broken. Just too exhausted to muster any strength in his limbs.

Damien’s stamina, relentlessly pushed to its limits, was clearly spent. The thirty-minute battle, which felt like child’s play to me, must have been like sprinting with his nose and mouth covered for him.

“Haa… haa… Answer, you say… What are you even asking…?”

Well, until now, the “preparation” wasn’t complete. Asking questions to a fresh opponent would’ve been pointless. But now that he’s been thoroughly worn down… it’s time to start the “conversation.”

With the longsword resting on my shoulder, I walked toward Damien with an annoyingly light step. Startled, Damien struggled to lift his greatsword.

“Yeah, that’s right. So, tell me—why do you think you haven’t reached the level of a master? It’s not lack of talent or experience, is it?”

I casually threw out the question while continuing a relentless barrage of attacks. The onslaught of strikes, like a torrential downpour, chipped away at Damien’s body and mind.

“Answer me!”

I didn’t give him time to think. The longer he pondered, the more convincing his lies would become.

“How… would I know?!”

Damien barely managed to block the endless strikes, his answer coming out like a choked breath. His tone sounded resentful, but his exhausted eyes held only confusion, not anger.

As expected. He doesn’t even have the energy to manage his expressions anymore.

Even in this absurd situation, he didn’t—or couldn’t—harbor any resentment. It was clearly an abnormal reaction. Maybe Damien’s just saintly levels of good, but what if it’s not that?

It’s less that he’s too kind to get angry and more like he doesn’t even realize he *should* be angry. My vague suspicions were turning into certainty.

“From what I can tell, reaching the level of a master requires some kind of emotional intensity. A sense of duty, sorrow, or rage. You need strong emotions. Doesn’t that sound strange?”

“What are you…?!”

I deflected his greatsword and struck his left arm near the shoulder with the hilt of my sword. The sound of bone breaking was unmistakable.

“Guh…!”

“Strong emotions should’ve come naturally to you. You’ve been through plenty—fighting beastmen, training with me. So why haven’t *you* reached that level?”

Ophelia’s rage, drenched in bodily fluids, might’ve been intense, but Damien’s frustration, on the verge of being beaten to death, should’ve been even stronger. And judging by how he’s fought so far, his sense of duty could rival Freide’s.

…At least, that’s how it looks to others.

“That’s…!”

Damien’s words caught in his throat. Seems like he’s starting to suspect it himself.

With our swords locked, I leaned in close, close enough to feel his ragged breath on my face. Up close, the boy’s face was a mess of dirt, sweat, and blood.

And in his eyes…

**Just as I expected, there was no emotion at all.**

“You don’t actually feel anything, do you?”

Struck to the core, Damien’s body froze for a moment.

—

“Your reaction tells me I’m right.”

“No, what are you talking about…?”

Trying to explain yourself now? It’s way too late for that. You’ve been exposed for a while now.

You might not realize it, but with your stamina drained to the bottom, the mask of the “exemplary knight” has long since fallen off.

It’s obvious just by looking at your face.

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Those hollow, glassy eyes laid bare the true nature of Damien, the one everyone had been mistaken about.

“Right? You’ve got the ability to become a master, and you’ve had plenty of experiences that should’ve been turning points, but you still haven’t reached that level… That means even in those moments, you never truly felt intense emotions, did you? The rage toward your enemies, the sense of duty to protect others—it was all an act.”

Yeah. This was the conclusion I’d reached.

Damien, you’ve been fooling everyone. Playing the part of the noble, pure-hearted knight so naturally.

“How much of it was real, and how much was an act? No, looking at those eyes, I don’t even need to ask. Was there ever a moment when you were genuine?”

The image of the brave, just, and pure-hearted young knight was just a facade. The truth was a doll-like figure devoid of any emotion—that’s the real you!

[Hmm… For a brute like you, that’s surprisingly insightful. Does your intelligence increase as your level rises?]

What the hell are you talking about, you barbarian? This isn’t the time for jokes.

“……”

“Now I understand why I always felt a little off whenever you apologized. You never actually felt sorry, did you? It was all just a show, so of course it felt insincere!”

I raised my longsword high and brought it down like a thunderbolt on Damien, who remained silent. The emotion behind the strike—was it anger or disappointment? Either way, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

First, we’ve got a genocidal maniac, then a deranged sadistic incestuous rapist, and now an emotionally stunted freak. Just how messed up is this damn world?

– Kwaaaang!

The black lightning crashing down on the greatsword slammed Damien’s body into the ground.

—

The rising dust settled like a wave over the training ground. Damien lay sprawled like a flipped frog, groaning at my feet.

“Does it hurt?”

“…”

“Huh?”

A soft mutter.

Damien’s face, looking down, was twisted in pain.

“Does it hurt?”

Even without emotions, the senses should still be intact.

“Answer me.”

A kick, like a stomp, landed on the black iron greatsword.

Unable to withstand it, Damien was flung backward, tumbling to the ground.

“Ugh…! Of course, it hurts…!”

Yeah, obviously.

How could it not hurt after getting hit like that?

“Do you dislike pain?”

“Who would like it—”

I raised my foot and slammed it down toward his head, aiming to crush his skull.

Damien quickly rolled away to dodge. My right foot sank deep into the ground, leaving a clear footprint.

So, he has the capacity to dislike things—does that mean emotions exist, even faintly? Or is it just an extension of survival instincts?

“—There’s no way!”

A slash aimed at my ankle as he rolled.

Even in this state, his tenacity to keep attacking is commendable… but his weakened strikes are no threat at all.

With a reverse grip, I drove my longsword into the ground, blocking Damien’s greatsword.

– Crack!

The greatsword stopped dead, as if stuck in a pillar.

Damien let out a soft groan.

“…Then why do you fight?”

I kicked the greatsword away and grabbed Damien by the collar, lifting him up.

“Fighting is always painful and exhausting. Like you are now. Why does someone who hates pain fight? Even your emotions are just an act.”

To fight, one needs a reason to endure pain.

Whether it’s rational judgment or emotional impulse.

Sense of duty, pride, love, hatred, desire, obligation, fear, survival, pleasure, coercion.

Countless reasons flashed through my mind as I pulled Damien closer.

“Tell me. Why do you fight, Damien?”

“…Because as a knight, I can’t back down and must fight.”

Chivalry? Sounds like something Nigel would say.

But I don’t sense the obsession or pride that Nigel carries.

“Ha, what a hollow answer.”

I threw Damien toward the greatsword lying on the ground.

Waiting for the boy to get up and pick up his sword again.

“You fight because you’re a knight? Then just quit being a knight. Why keep going? You don’t even genuinely want to protect others!”

The greatsword and longsword clashed again.

Sparks scattered like melting snowflakes, and the abused black iron screamed.

“That’s…”

Damien staggered but barely managed to block the strike.

Hesitating and trailing off… This kid still has the luxury to think. Was I too lenient?

“If you take more than two seconds to answer, I’ll assume you’re lying. Like now!”

A wide horizontal slash. Damien blocked it but was sent flying, crashing into the wall.

Blood sprayed from the boy’s mouth as the rock shattered around him.

“So, answer quickly.”

“Ugh, cough… My mother, before she passed, told me to become a great knight who helps people…!”

[His mother’s last words… Well, that’s a reason worth enduring pain for.]

What’s this kid talking about?

Are you bonding over losing your moms? There’s a fundamental difference between you and him.

“That’s not an answer. You, who don’t even have love for your mother, would risk your life to fulfill her last wish? What reason do you have?”

I threw away the nearly shattered longsword and approached Damien, who couldn’t get up anymore.

“Huh? I’m asking you. Can’t you still move your mouth?”

I crouched in front of Damien, grabbed his hair, and lifted him up.

“If you don’t intend to answer, I’ll just crush you here. I don’t have a habit of keeping untrustworthy people alive.”

A crimson aura began to seep from my right hand.

The surging killing intent pressed down on the boy’s body.

[…Wait, are you really going to kill him?]

‘Maybe. If necessary.’

I was half-serious.

In my experience, keeping emotionally unstable people around always leads to disaster.

Raising a hero to wield the holy sword is one thing, but I’m not about to cuddle a ticking time bomb.

Killing a future hero might have consequences, but if I’m making this judgment, it means Damien was never meant to be a hero in the first place.

“…Because I have to. If I don’t become a great knight, I can’t live!”

Finally, Damien, unable to hold back, spilled his true feelings.

…What’s this?

You’re acting like a knight just to survive? Even though you’ve nearly died multiple times doing so. That’s a contradiction.

Still, looking into his eyes, it doesn’t seem like he’s lying…

Maybe it’s because he’s on the brink of death. In his trembling pupils, there’s a faint but unmistakable trace of fear.

…I’ll hold off on crushing him for now.

I can decide after hearing more.

I released Damien’s hair and sat down on the ground.

“Explain.”

Damien, still lying down and breathing heavily, eventually calmed down a bit and began to explain, leaning against the wall.

A story from his childhood that even Milia hadn’t heard.

“…I killed my father. With my own hands, when I was ten.”

[How admirable!]

Hersela exclaimed as if ready to applaud.

What’s admirable about that, you crazy woman…!

Stunned by this unexpected confession, I stared at Damien, speechless.