The heavy sound of the monastery's front door opening echoed through the ruined chapel.
Along the nave, illuminated by moonlight, a pink-haired girl walked while cradling the body of a small child.
After informing Linie of the monastery's crisis and bringing back the lifeless body of the young girl, Linie gently laid her down on one of the pews that had suffered comparatively little damage.
She turned her gaze toward the statue of the goddess erected upon the altar.
…It wasn't as though she truly believed.
When she had prayed before that statue while chanting her incantations, it had only been to imitate Anju.
Even so, just as Anju had once said… if the goddess truly was watching over them, how did she see Linie as she was now?
Would she mock her as a fool for turning her back and chanting spells? Pity her? Or bless her? That was something only the goddess herself could know.
────Still, perhaps it didn't matter whether she truly existed or not. Linie knew there were humans who felt saved simply by believing.
…Would she one day grant salvation to her as well? A thought like that—like a monk's—crossed her mind.
Realizing it, she slowly shook her head.
She wasn't seeking salvation.
She didn't want to be praised like they had been.
She no longer had the right to such things.
And yet, if she were permitted—
If, even now, she could at least continue to pursue it, if she could at least yearn for it—
…Would the goddess simply watch over even that, without a word?
Clutching Anju's keepsake hanging around her neck, Linie asked the statue that question in her heart. No answer came.
"…Alright."
She muttered as she looked over the several buckets of water she had prepared.
On the empty pews were rows of wine bottles brought from the cellar, all unopened and brand new.
After Anju had begun to be called a saint, more townspeople had chosen this monastery for family funerals—even though they could have used the church in town. "This is a monastery, not a church… why go out of your way to choose such an inconvenient place…?" Anju had once grumbled, collapsed over her desk in the study.
The townspeople who attended those funerals would leave behind large quantities of wine—not so much as offerings to the goddess, but to "Saint Anju." Faithful to the goddess's precepts, Anju had tried to refuse with a nervous step back, but in the end she had been overwhelmed, and things had turned out like this. The coffins themselves were not kept at the monastery; instead, they were loaded onto carriages returning to town, with Linie forced to escort them as guard.
Eventually they had even prepared a dedicated wine cellar.
Now, Linie was grateful for its existence.
…Of course, not to drown herself in drink.
Beside the rows of wine bottles, medical instruments—scalpels and needles and thread—were neatly cleaned and arranged upon trays.
"…If I could use the goddess's magic, I wouldn't have needed to prepare all this…"
Unfortunately, she couldn't. Gazing at her powerless hands, Linie laughed at herself bitterly.
All she could do was imitate.
She picked up a scalpel and closed her eyes in meditation.
"────Possession Experience."
She poured mana into the scalpel and read from it.
She read the memories of its former owner.
The joy of lives saved. The frustration of those she could not save.
The feelings of a human who had run across battlefields as a doctor, treating countless wounded.
She could not truly empathize.
But once, she hadn't even been able to read such memories at all.
Yet she still could not empathize with the process of growth that had led to this point.
Was that simply the fate of her race—demons, who lacked empathy?
(…In the end, I'm just a fake.)
But being a fake was fine.
Even if she herself was false, what those people—what Anju and the others—had directed toward her that day had never been false.
It was true she could not empathize.
And yet—
"────Imitative Magic, Airfahren."
She could imitate the movements they had reached through that growth.
Even without empathy, from the flowing images within the memories she absorbed, she could memorize the flow of mana within the former owner's body and reproduce it through magic.
A so-called "pseudo-possession experience."
Unlike the Hero of Wrought Iron, the advantage was that she could acquire the imitated techniques as her own.
The drawbacks were that she did not imitate the heart and spirit behind them, so she could not fully reproduce even a certain degree of physical strength—and above all, that layering "Imitative Magic" atop the step of possession took additional time before completion. Against a mage, perhaps there would still be leeway. But in the midst of battle with a master warrior, there would be no such luxury.
If she were to use it in combat, it would be best to prepare beforehand.
"…Yeah. This will do."
Having finished imitating the surgeon's skill, Linie turned to face the children's bodies. Among them were even those cruelly torn apart and scattered.
…Still, it was better than being erased without a trace.
She hadn't been able to protect them. At the very least, she wanted to make their remains beautiful.
Even if it was too late.
First, she hurried to two bodies.
The two boys who had fallen before Anju.
The red-haired one was Karl.
And the other, Abel.
Placing them upon a pew covered with blankets, Linie rinsed the scalpel in a bucket of water and stood before them.
She drained the blood, disinfected their bodies with wine in place of antiseptic, stitched their wounds, and finally applied makeup to restore luster to their skin.
"You did well. Both of you."
As she sewed their wounds, Linie smiled gently.
"You stood in front of Anju to protect her… and you told the fastest runner, Else, to call me back, didn't you? You followed my teachings properly and fought until the very end…"
Her smile trembled, on the verge of tears.
Regret overflowed from her narrowed eyes.
"And compared to that… I'm truly hopeless… Even to the end, such a useless teacher… In the end, once again, I wasn't in time…"
Her hands trembled so badly that she had to stop stitching halfway through.
"I'm sorry… truly… You both did so well…"
As she carefully restored their skin with makeup, Linie praised them with all her heart.
When she had finished cleaning them, she laid their bodies upon cloth spread across the nave, gently closing their eyes with her hands so they could rest peacefully.
"Else… even with wounds like that, you ran all the way to me. You avoided their pursuit and reached me to deliver the warning… You fulfilled your duty to the very end."
She hurried to where Else lay and performed the same treatment, speaking words of mourning as she worked.
"In the end, I couldn't keep my promise to you. I wasn't as decisive as you were. But you didn't hesitate for even a step when you came to me."
"At first, all of you seemed so unreliable… yet you became so strong… No, that's not right."
"You were strong from the very beginning."
After a pause, Linie corrected herself.
They had worried about becoming a burden to Anju and had sought her guidance of their own will.
They endured her harsh training, and eventually, with the weapons she gave them, they grew strong enough to drive off the magical beasts threatening the farm.
The reason they had reached that point was undeniably the gift of their own strong wills.
"Thank you. You are far more—far more—noble warriors than I am."
If only she could have seen what lay ahead for them as their teacher.
They deserved to live far more than she did.
Beyond this, they might have saved strangers she would never know.
"…I'm sorry. I'd like to talk a little longer, but I still have to clean the others… Wait just a bit longer, alright?"
Lining the three of them side by side, Linie replaced the scalpel, needle, and wine bottle before heading to the next child.
This one, perhaps unable to escape to Anju in time, was in a far worse state than the previous three—cruelly dismembered. Yet without hesitation, Linie prepared her instruments for draining blood and began her work.
No matter how torn apart they were, she would stitch them back together and make them whole.
"Elmar…"
After draining the blood, disinfecting, and carefully sewing the body back together, Linie spoke the name and gave a faint, exasperated smile.
He had been the boy who, during that snow play day, had envied Karl for receiving a jacket and scarf from her—and had theatrically thrown his own into the snow first.
"You… don't go doing anything that stupid over there, alright? And get along with Karl properly."
She remembered how, ever since that incident, he would pick fights with Karl at every opportunity.
Though for Karl—who had endured Linie's harsh training—it had likely felt no more than being pelted by pebbles.
Gently stroking Elmar's restored body—something she hadn't done back then—she laid him upon the cloth and moved on.
"Rena… you were always peeking at my and Else's archery practice. If you'd asked, I would have trained you alongside her."
"Nicola… your cooking on duty days was always delicious. I wish I could have taught you those sweets I learned back in that village."
"Ralph… you cried easily for a boy. Especially when you lost your toys. Every time, I would imitate another one for you… Over there, try not to lose them, alright?"
Placing an imitated toy gently into the repaired boy's hand, she spoke to him.
Of course, no reply came.
Linie understood that.
Continuing such actions despite receiving no answer or reaction would likely seem foolish for a demon. Her own kind would tilt their heads and call it meaningless.
Even knowing that, Linie continued repairing them one by one, speaking to each of them as she did.
"Oskar, Paul, Anna… You three were especially afraid of me at first, weren't you? You were always clinging to Anju… But when you slowly started coming closer to me too… looking back, that actually made me happy, you know?"
Linie gave a faint, wry smile, remembering how all the children had regarded her with curiosity at first—yet fear as well.
But as curiosity gradually won out and more of them began approaching her, these three in particular had taken the longest.
After that, Linie moved from body to body, continuing to speak to each of them in the same way.
Even if they had been torn apart, she carefully disinfected and stitched them back together with meticulous care, restoring their bodies to their former beauty while speaking as though reminiscing about the days that had passed.
One by one, she called their names, engraving her memories with them into her heart so she would never forget.
"Thank you, everyone… for accepting someone like me. I wonder… was I able to become your 'big sister,' like Anju was?"
As the cleaned bodies were laid out one after another in the nave, at last only one remained.
Linie hurried to the final body.
A girl with long, radiant golden hair, clad in a black habit.
A priestess who had been the heart of this monastery, a girl whose gentle smile resembled that of a saint.
"…Anju."
She murmured her name.
The words wouldn't come.
It was the same as that time.
She couldn't put it into words. No—perhaps she didn't want to.
Unable to find what to say, Linie looked down at Anju's body—and her eyes widened.
"…Are you… smiling?"
Despite having suffered such cruelty.
Despite losing her life because she had been with Linie.
Even so, Anju lay there with her eyes closed, wearing a soft, satisfied smile.
"Ah… ah…"
Linie collapsed.
The bucket, the scalpel, the instruments in her hands all clattered to the floor as she desperately tried to stifle her tears with both hands.
Even after being struck by a demon's magic, even as blood had poured from her entire body, Anju had died with that gentle, beautiful smile still on her face.
Linie remembered the healing spell Anju had cast on her at the moment of her own death.
Anju must have known Linie would return here again.
She must have foreseen that a desperate battle would take place here.
Perhaps she hadn't predicted Frieren's arrival—but still, she must have felt relief that the wish she had placed upon the sleeping Linie had not been in vain.
She died smiling, satisfied simply because she had entrusted that miracle—for Linie's sake.
"…That's unfair… why… how can you go that far…?"
—I haven't given you anything in return.
—To begin with, this happened because you were with me.
—So why can you die with such a happy expression?
"You're too kind for your own good…" Linie whispered.
"…But somehow, it's just like you."
If her own end came someday, would she be able to smile like that?
Could she die satisfied, simply because she had saved someone?
And yet, that smile saved Linie too.
Knowing that Anju had died smiling, content—
That smile was truly beautiful.
"I'll make your body beautiful too, alright?"
Linie picked up the dropped instruments, replaced them with clean ones, and returned to Anju's body.
She laid her upon the altar and first removed the soiled habit.
Then she drained the blood and carefully wiped away the stains from her skin with a cloth soaked in wine.
After confirming not a single drop of blood remained, Linie gently threaded needle and string through each wound.
So carefully. So delicately.
As though determined not to mar her skin any further.
She discarded the ruined habit and brought a fresh one from Anju's private room, dressing her in it.
Before she knew it, there lay a saint upon the altar—her body immaculate, her smile serene.
Putting away the instruments, Linie sat before the altar and gazed at Anju's beautiful face.
"You gave me so many things."
"Your smile was dazzling… the tears you shed for me were precious… You were always by my side."
You always were.
At the farm.
When you spoke to me about "sin."
When you embraced me, weeping, after I returned battered and broken.
Anju had always supported her.
She had healed the heart that had been worn thin during Linie's days as an executioner.
"And only now I realize something so simple… I really am slow, aren't I…"
It was only when Anju had been blown away protecting the townspeople from the dragon's attack that she realized how precious she was.
Only through her time with Anju had she finally understood the affection the children directed toward her.
None of that had existed in that hell.
It reminded her of the days in that village.
They had truly been happy days.
"Because of you, I was able to realize my true feelings. You… you found the real me, didn't you?"
She had wanted to stay with them longer, as that true self.
But Anju had said it was a miraculous time.
And that the time to pay its price would come.
"But still… it's unfair. That I'm the only one left alive again."
And yet, it couldn't be helped.
If she had been left behind, she had to stand up.
If she didn't, she would have no face to show the villagers, those two, or Anju and the others.
She had sworn that whatever lay at the end of this ideal, she would walk to it without stopping.
"…So this is goodbye, Anju."
Holding Anju close one last time, Linie wept.
For minutes—tens of minutes—she sobbed, until at last she lifted her tear-streaked face and smiled gently.
"For the last time… let's all eat some delicious apples together, okay?"
With that, she stepped outside.
◇
After placing Anju and the children into the coffins she had prepared, Linie began clearing the burned remains of the orchard.
Avoiding the trees that had survived, she cut down the charred ones, uprooted them with a warrior's strength, and filled the ground.
Eventually, she secured enough space to bury all the coffins together.
The remaining branches overhead watched over the site, making it feel like an ideal resting place.
She felt gratitude once more toward Frieren for extinguishing the fire—and guilt as well.
"…Maybe I did something terrible to Frieren."
She smiled awkwardly.
But she wasn't pessimistic about her.
Because Frieren was one of the people she had once admired, Linie believed she would rise again somewhere.
After leveling the land, Linie dug neat graves for each coffin.
She lowered Anju's first.
Then the children's, one by one.
Next, she brought stones from somewhere nearby.
Imitating a battle axe with magic in her hand and copying Eisen's movements, she carved the massive rocks into gravestones of proper size and shape.
Perhaps she was misusing Eisen's techniques—but surely he would forgive her for wielding them to honor the dead.
After placing each gravestone before its grave, she carefully engraved their names.
—Ange, Carl, Abel, Else, Elmar, Lena, Nicora, Ralph, Oskar, Paul, Anna, Ein, Kurz…
When she had finished making graves for every child who had spent time with her, Linie climbed an apple tree and picked enough apples for everyone.
She placed one before each gravestone.
Then, standing where she could see them all, she picked up her own apple.
"…Itadakimasu."
She bit into it.
At once, her vision blurred.
She wiped away the tears with one arm and took another bite. And another.
Eventually, she lowered it and laughed softly at the half-eaten fruit.
"Huh… that's strange… It's so sour."
She told herself the tears must be because of the sourness.
Still, holding the apple carefully in both hands, she continued eating, bite by bite.
As if savoring something far more than fruit.
Praying that somehow, the taste might reach Anju and the others sleeping before her.
"Thanks for the meal. Still sour, huh, everyone?"
Having eaten it down to the core, Linie smiled at the graves.
Lonely. Amused. Smiling.
For a while, she stood there, gazing at them with that lonely smile.
At last, she closed her eyes, as if satisfied.
"…It's about time I go."
She turned on her heel.
As if seeing their figures watching her from behind, she gave them her final farewell.
"Goodbye, everyone. I'll never forget you."
We cannot see the expression hidden beyond her back.
All we know is that this time, she truly said farewell.
Without turning back, Linie left the monastery grounds.
She never looked over her shoulder again.
◇
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
She walked along the snowy road.
Instead of heading north as she once intended, she went the opposite way.
She had meant to return north to that village—to her origin—or perhaps to resume her life as an executioner hunting demons from within.
But before that, there was something she had to do here in the south.
Going north would have to wait.
"…The snowfall is almost over."
She watched melting snow fall from the leaves.
Soon the cold would ease.
And after that—
When the snow melted and the seasons returned, the cold war would end, and open conflict would erupt once more.
That hell would roam the southern nations again.
The fools who had been waiting and gathering strength would rise all at once.
The melting snow was its omen.
She couldn't ignore that.
She didn't believe she could save everyone.
Perhaps she would save fewer than she had as an executioner.
Even so, within the world she could see, she wanted everyone to be happy this time.
Then she had to go.
"Are you truly going?"
She stopped.
A man's voice.
There was no need to ask who it was.
"Even if the path ahead is full of contradictions?"
"…Yeah. Even if all that awaits me is regret."
The man sighed.
"To not regret and to not be wrong are entirely different things."
"…"
"I too found my answer that I was not wrong. And even so, the regret never vanished. Knowing that, will you still go on?"
"…Yeah. If I'm going to regret something anyway, then at least I want to regret it without being wrong."
The man seemed to hesitate.
Linie didn't know the details of his life.
What she had received from him was only the nature of that inner landscape—"Unlimited Blade Works." The stored weapons, the piled sins, the cherished ideals—though influenced somewhat, the answers were her own.
"…Then I have nothing more to say. At least—don't lose sight of it."
"Yeah."
She accepted the words, whether resignation or encouragement.
Then another voice from the same man—yet different.
"That's why I told you not to let go, you imitator. And yet you distanced yourself from the one thing you most wanted to protect. You fool."
"…You're right."
She nodded, unable to argue.
If she hadn't left them, perhaps things would not have ended that way.
Instead of leaving because it was dangerous to be with her, she should have stayed and protected them.
But it was too late.
"Still, that's not a reason to stop. I lost them—but at the same time, they made me realize this wish."
The scornful man snorted and fell silent.
"Then you have to go."
A final voice—young, innocent—rang out.
Unlike the other two, it was the voice from before he had been crushed by ideals.
"For your own wish. And for hers."
"Yeah."
Receiving that push, Linie began walking again through the snow.
Watched by those three men, carrying what had been entrusted to her, she moved forward.
From here on, it would be true hell.
But she would not falter.
She had decided to go.
Even if she no longer had the right to call herself that—
First, she would stop the wars of these southern nations.
She would save the people she saw, wherever she went.
Now then—let's go become one.
────A hero of justice.
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"And with that, all the chapters have been translated. We now await the author to upload more."