"No… you and I are not from the same world. In my world, there were no magical things, no spells… or any of that ridiculous nonsense."
Neith stood proudly amidst the wreckage. His clothes were torn, revealing the wounds and scars on his body. He gripped his glowing holy sword tightly. His expression was indifferent, his face marked with scars, as he gazed up at the empty sky.
"…"
"Hmmm? One… two… three… four, five… five against one, and you're the ones called heroes while I'm the villain?"
"Neith! …That's enough! You've done enough… Stop now! Surrender! Surrender, and let's end this here and now!"
"Stop yelling… York!"
York glared sharply at Neith, leading the group standing before him, holding his golden holy sword.
"Today you'll fall! And next… I'll defeat the Demon King myself!"
***
Twelve years ago, heroes were summoned to this world — that was when Neith and York first met.
Neith was an ordinary 19-year-old student from Earth.
York was from a world ravaged by war and famine.
Their journey began together — training, fighting monsters, clearing dungeons.
Two heroes, two holy swords, united by the goal of defeating the Demon King.
But they had to part ways to each find their own holy sword.
Then, eight years ago, after obtaining his sword, Neith suddenly began spreading chaos without any clear reason — killing comrades, attacking guilds, mercenaries, and humble villages.
***
Now, Neith and York stood face to face.
"Come! You and everyone with you!!"
Neith unleashed his full power, a wide, terrifying smile carving across his face. He took a ready stance with his glowing sword.
York took a deep breath.
"…My wish for friendship with you was completely genuine."
York took his fighting stance and raised his sword, releasing a golden radiance of power.
***
***
***
The saint — decapitated, dead.
The priest — split in half, dead.
The elf princess — stabbed by her own sword, dead.
The mercenary king — limbless on the ground, dead.
"You bastard!!"
Neith roared as his sword pierced York's body.
"Huff… huff…"
Throughout the battle — even now — that terrifying smile never left Neith's face.
It remained even as York pulled his sword from Neith's stomach. Neith collapsed hard onto the cold ground, drowning in his own blood.
"Heh… heh…"
As Neith's life began to fade, he looked at York. The dark aura around him slowly dissipated.
"Listen… York…"
"…"
"Hmmm… forget it… it doesn't matter."
Neith suddenly gripped his sword tightly — it began glowing with immense power.
York instinctively raised his sword in defense.
"!!…"
A blinding light.
***
***
***
Twelve years earlier — in the royal castle of the Central Kingdom.
"We did it!! …Welcome, heroes!"