“Swan, are you unharmed?”
Alaya dismounted from the massive zombie warrior and turned his head toward Swan, who was slumped on the ground. His face bore its usual inscrutable smile, difficult to read, yet somehow comforting.
“I-I’m not injured… b-but the people inside the tent…”
“The tent is full of holes. That ‘Great Rain of Light,’ I presume?”
Shrugging, Alaya turned his gaze forward again, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“—Well then, we must quickly deal with the elf and move on to treating the wounded.”
“!!?”
Swan emitted a soundless gasp, something he had never experienced before.
Deal with the elf?
That’s absurd!
“Dr. Alaya ! Shouldn’t we focus on retreating?!”
With all his strength, Swan shouted, his throat still weak and paralyzed with fear.
“The disparity in forces is too great! There are no other squads left here…!”
“Do you wish to flee?”
Still smiling, Alaya replied.
“You may, if that’s your choice. I, however, won’t be running.”
“W-why not?!”
“Because such an opportunity is exceedingly rare—take this!”
A beam of light shot forth from the elf before them. Alaya intercepted it with his right hand, snuffing it out within a vortex of purple energy.
“Kuhuhu… To think I’d encounter an elf here. How fortuitous.”
Swan couldn’t understand what Alaya meant. What was so fortunate about this situation?
Yet one thing was clear: Alaya had no intention of fleeing.
“How fascinating. Is that sacred art of yours common in Western Elf nations?”
As he spoke, Alaya held his hand, the one that had nullified the light, up to the sky, his grin unwavering.
“…Who are you? A necromancer?”
The elf woman responded with a question of her own, narrowing her eyes as if to examine him closely. The earlier beam of light had likely been a test of his capabilities.
Alaya didn’t seem offended and replied smoothly, “Can’t you see this white coat? I’m a Dark Healer.”
“I see. A Dark Healer… though I’ve never seen one who keeps a zombie around. How exactly did you cancel out my sacred art?”
“I merely used Dark Heal the moment I touched it. Sacred power can be neutralized by magical power. Dark Heal, after all, involves infusing magic into the target. Surely you understand such basics, as an elf? Or was that just a pop quiz?”
“…”
“Now, would you kindly tell me about your sacred art—the one producing those beams of light?”
“No. I’ve no intention of sharing knowledge with you.”
The elf coldly rebuffed him, raising her staff, but—
“—I suspect it’s an applied technique of the sacred art ‘Divine Word Bullets.’ That art can combine with healing arts or anti-magic techniques, correct? Similarly, you’ve likely imbued your sacred energy with a piercing technique before firing it.”
Alaya ’s analysis didn’t stop, his tongue moving faster than usual.
“…Haa. Fine, I’ll tell you.”
The elf sighed, resting her staff on her shoulder, as if resigning herself to his persistence.
“This is my original sacred art. I call it ‘Sacred Power Convergence and Projectile.’“
“Ah, an excellent name. Clear and descriptive.”
“Isn’t it?”
The elf sniffed, looking proud.
“Most elves devote their lives to mastering a unique sacred art. This one is mine. I’ve worked on it for centuries—though I occasionally take detours, I’ve dedicated hundreds of years to perfecting it.”
The elf fired another beam of light from her staff, but this one passed harmlessly by Alaya , disappearing into the dark forest beyond.
“Dark Healer, did you know this world is round? Oddly enough, life persists even on the opposite side, where creatures don’t fall off.”
“Yes, that’s been common knowledge for centuries.”
“Well, when I first heard that, I was around 200 years old. And I thought: ‘If I shoot a straight beam of light forward, won’t it eventually come back to me from behind?’ That’s why I decided to perfect this art—to prove it.”
“…How intriguing.”
“Heh, laugh if you want. Call me a simpleton. Anyone who understands the properties of light knows a mere beam won’t circle the planet.”
“No, dismissing it like that would be too simple. Surely, someone aware of this has been refining it for centuries. You’re likely still improving the sacred art itself, staying true to your original goal—correct?”
“You understand?”
“Indeed, I do.”
Alaya and the elf exchanged smiles, as if they were old friends.
“How unfortunate it is to kill such a brilliant researcher,” Alaya said, almost regretfully.
“And to think there’s someone so well-versed in sacred arts in the Demon Nation. I’ll make your death swift, Dark Healer.”
The massive zombie warrior beside Alaya stirred, while the elf raised her staff again, ready for battle.
Alaya glanced back at Swan.
“By the way, shouldn’t you have escaped by now?”
“—Huh?”
Swan froze, realizing with shame what he had missed.
Dr. Alaya was buying time for me to escape!
To an outsider, the conversation might have seemed like idle banter between researchers. But their foe was an elf, a vastly superior enemy here to kill them. Alaya had risked himself to keep her talking—for Swan’s sake.
“Never mind.”
Alaya shrugged.
“If you’re staying, heal the beasts behind us. I’ll finish this by then.”
“F-finish…?”
“Of course. I’ll handle the elf. Rest assured—I won’t die, nor will I let them touch you.”
“…!”
As Alaya stood in front of him, Swan saw a vision of his past—a memory of his hometown, Elden. The broad back of Agito, a leader of the Demon Nation, bore the weight of the people’s trust and affection.
It was an image utterly unlike Alaya ’s slight, fragile frame.
Yet, in this moment, Alaya ’s back overlapped with Agito’s.
Swan thought, Perhaps… perhaps he really can defeat this elf.
After all, this is Kiwi Alaya , one of the Demon Nation’s strongest leaders.
