How many swords had she forged, she wondered.
How many techniques had she imitated.
And each time, how many corpses had she piled up.
She didn't know. But there was one thing she knew for certain.
In the wasteland within her heart, countless swords were already stabbed into the ground. What Linie possessed did not merely replicate the swords themselves, but even the magical effects imbued within them.
Among them were not only magical properties, but also numerous weapons and armaments composed of materials not of this world—creations of demon warriors.
At the same time, they were gravestones for the warriors Linie had buried, whether human or demon.
Linie was aware that these replicas were indeed stored within her. Much like the countless Noble Phantasms of heroic spirits he had stored, these too were surely embedded in her wasteland—and so long as Linie continued to fight, their number would only keep increasing.
…and yet, Linie could not visualize that world within herself.
She could infer that the swords of the warriors she had slain were stabbed into that wasteland, but she could not grasp the landscape born from her own inner image that contained them.
Aside from the certainty that swords were embedded there, everything else around them was obscured, as if covered in noise.
Magic was, in essence, a world of imagination. If one could not understand one's own inner image, that world would never be complete. Simply imagining an infinite number of swords stabbed into the ground was far too incomplete to form a true world.
What kind of sky existed over such a world of infinite swords? What lay in the background? What was the nature of the ground into which those swords were thrust?
The ultimate self-understanding.
Unless she reached it, Linie's sword-forging would never manifest outward as a true inner world.
There were no countless giant gears floating in the sky to represent his despair.
Nor was there the powerful, crystal-clear crimson sky he possessed before he became what he was.
One's own nature should be something one understands better than anyone else.
To deny her own helplessness, she continued to kill demons.
To completely erase from her mind that scene which proved her helplessness.
And yet, despite believing she understood her own nature, Linie still could not visualize her inner world.
That was why she could not stop.
A child who had wandered into a hill of swords knew nothing but that hill—and remained unaware of the very foundation that formed the surrounding world: herself.
Even though the lingering taste of those two people's flesh in her mouth kept warning her of that mistake…
Even though it kept sounding the alarm…
Linie, who could not even understand that, had no choice but to continue walking that path.
And so, Linie's execution continued—and accelerated.
Though her face was unknown, the upper ranks of humanity were aware of the existence of Linie, who had infiltrated the Demon King's army and continued killing demons. Linie herself was aware that they knew of her existence.
Whenever Linie leaked information through various channels, they would immediately send ignorant soldiers to clash with the targeted demon forces. Taking advantage of the chaos, Linie would stab those same comrades in the back.
Such days continued.
Each time, Linie could feel her methods becoming smoother, more refined. The other side, aware of her existence, began willingly offering sacrifices to her.
They offered their own soldiers as sacrifices to an unseen someone.
It was an act so vile one could hardly tell which side were the demons.
And yet, humanity chose to use Linie.
Linie, in turn, made full use of what they offered, as if it were only convenient.
Ordinarily, she believed it taboo for her existence to be detected at all—but seeing how they never informed the lower ranks and only offered sacrifices to her directly, this arrangement was, in fact, more efficient.
Before long, without ever seeing each other's faces, Linie and the human leadership had reached a mutual understanding: they would use one another.
Their gears had meshed perfectly.
Linie wanted to kill demons.
Humanity wanted to minimize their losses.
Humanity would offer sacrifices, and in return, Linie would surely annihilate the demon forces.
Such a vile and bizarre relationship had been formed.
Like an employer and an assassin—yet neither knew the other's face.
How convenient.
Send more.
She would bury her targets along with them.
Despite the warning taste in her mouth, Linie's executions appeared, from the outside, to be proceeding smoothly.
Today, as always, sacrifices would be offered—and she would bury the demon army along with them.
…However, today was different.
"I'm sorry, but I won't let this continue any further."
Amid the scattered corpses of humans and demons, with the few surviving humans behind him, a man stood before Linie.
From his muscular physique alone, he was clearly a warrior. Faced with him, Linie had no choice but to stop.
She could tell at a glance that he was strong.
Likely far beyond any human or demon warrior she had ever encountered.
Even in the presence of blood-soaked Linie, he showed not the slightest sign of agitation. There was no tension in him, as if facing a powerful enemy.
He stood at ease—and yet without a single opening.
But more than that, Linie's eyes widened at the pointed shape of his ears.
"…An elf… male?"
She muttered suspiciously, raising the Cyclone-Strike Great Axe Belwind and watching him closely.
His pointed ears marked him as an elf. He wore black robes reminiscent of a priest.
Yet she sensed none of the magical flow typical of a mage—instead, it resembled that of a warrior.
From the knowledge she had gained while infiltrating human society, Linie reached a conclusion.
A warrior pretending to be a priest.
Unable to use the Goddess's magic, yet possessing deep faith like a true priest.
Neither priest nor warrior. Something incomplete.
A monk, perhaps.
(…How many years has he lived?)
She had heard that most elves had already been exterminated by the Demon King who led the demons now.
The fact that he had survived that purge and still stood here forced Linie to be cautious.
An elven warrior who had escaped the Demon King's purge and continued to live.
That title alone spoke volumes of his strength.
Even the techniques she had copied—including those of the warrior Eisen—might not be enough to defeat him.
"…You don't rush in carelessly. At your age, you must have walked through quite a battlefield."
There was pity in the elf's eyes as he spoke.
Linie could not interpret it—but she felt irritated nonetheless.
"Girl who kills both humans and demons, I will not ask why you walk such a path. But if you value your life, leave. Even if you are a demon, I do not pursue those who turn their backs."
…
That was not an option.
No matter how strong he was, Linie would not retreat for such a reason.
The human soldiers behind him—those who looked at her in fear—had already seen her hunting ground.
They had seen her face. Her methods. Her weapons.
There was no choice but to kill them.
And yet, she could not envision victory against this man.
Then she would have to eliminate them without fighting him.
…
She lowered her axe and turned her back to the elf, walking away slowly.
Even without looking, she could feel the relief spreading among the soldiers behind her.
And the moment she reached a distance where he could not close in a single step—
—Imitation Blade, transformation off.
At some point, her great axe had transformed into a white bow. She turned and fired.
The motion was seamless. Too fast to perceive.
The sword released as an arrow shot past the elf's side toward the humans behind him—
—or should have.
"—!?"
Linie's eyes widened at the sight before her.
"A shallow trick. Did you really think I'd fall for that?"
There, in her view, was the elf calmly catching every single sword she had fired—with the fingers of one hand.
Impossible.
Blocking them would have been understandable.
Dodging them would have been understandable.
But catching them with his fingers?
This was the supreme bow technique combining Wahrhait's archery, a magic bow strung with threads replicated from a demon's power, and Linie's own eyes.
It was not something that could be stopped so easily.
And yet—
"Soldiers behind me. Run. Now."
"…What?"
Ignoring Linie's shock, the elf spoke calmly to the frozen human soldiers behind him.
"It seems she has no intention of sparing you. I'll handle this. You all get out of here. Now."
"Y-yeah…"
"H-hey! Let's move! Run!"
"…Understood. Nameless monk, you have our thanks."
One by one, they turned their backs and fled.
Linie snapped back to herself and felt an overwhelming urge to chase them immediately—but someone stood in her way.
The elven monk, no longer concealing it, directed clear hostility at Linie and raised his fists.
"I said I wouldn't pursue you if you did nothing. Somehow, you seemed different from other demons. I thought perhaps… but—"
In an instant, the elf vanished from Linie's sight.
"—!!"
Her reaction came not from seeing it, but from pure instinct.
A violent gust passed just beside her as she arched her upper body backward.
It was the aftershock of the monk's palm strike.
Without hesitation, Linie transformed the arrow in her hand into a treasured sword. From her arched position, she twisted her body, unleashing a slash with the blade and a spinning kick toward the man's legs.
It was a seamless transition from evasion to counterattack.
But the man lightly jumped, avoiding it. At the same time, he brought his foot down like a hammer, aiming to crush Linie's head.
Instantly, Linie transformed her sword into a great axe and released it, leaping away.
Not to use it as a shield—but to deflect his attack through the weapon's changing form while escaping. And she had already let go of it before the impact.
Her instincts told her that even taking that blow through a weapon would not leave her unharmed.
The elf could not help but admire her skill.
"…You're accustomed to battle. At your age, how many battlefields have you walked through?"
Watching Linie create distance, he relaxed his stance slightly and spoke more gently.
Though young by demon standards, her appearance and age did not correspond like a human's. Even so, to an elf who had lived far longer than any demon, Linie was little more than a newborn child.
And yet, in that brief exchange, she had moved with such precision.
It was not just the number of battles she had survived—but their density and quality.
Movements born of fighting opponents stronger than herself—and winning.
"I worship the Goddess," the elf said.
"…?"
Caught off guard by his sudden confession, Linie frowned.
"I entered this path so that when my long life ends, the Goddess waiting at its end might praise me. That is why—even if my opponent is a demon—I do not strike those who turn their backs."
…
Even as she listened, Linie never took her eyes off his movements.
"What about you? In my long life, I have never seen a demon who kills both humans and demons. That alone would not surprise me… but you seem to prioritize hunting your fellow demons over humans."
He had seen through her.
A cold sweat ran down Linie's back.
"I intervened in this battle not only to save the lives before me. There is another reason."
He looked directly at her.
"…What is it that drives you?"
This man was dangerous.
Not only had he discovered her hunting ground—he had realized she prioritized killing demons over humans.
She had to kill him here.
Otherwise, her hunt would collapse.
Without answering, Linie leapt into the air.
A sphere of black magic formed in her hand, reshaping into a white bow. In her other hand, she nocked a slender sword as an arrow.
Not just one—but eight.
Two between each finger.
Each blade carried far more magical power than the ones she had fired earlier.
From the sideways-held bow, eight deadly blades launched at once.
Each aimed precisely at the elf's limbs, his forehead, his heart—his vital points.
The elf discarded what he had been holding and smoothly deflected them all.
His calm response to her sudden attack showed he had never expected an honest answer from her in the first place.
The deflected blades tore through trees, gouged the earth, and shattered rocks behind him.
Through the rising dust, Linie emerged—spinning through the air, her bow reshaped into the Cyclone-Strike Great Axe Belwind.
She spun it with far greater rotation than when she had slain its original owner, combining it with Eisen's imitated technique.
A supreme strike of spiraling wind.
A blow that could instantly kill even the Seven Collapse Sages or the greatest demons.
The elf felt the wind—
And caught it.
With one hand.
Though he appeared to catch it effortlessly, the ground beneath him caved in with a thunderous roar, proving the immense force of the strike.
And yet, he did not move an inch.
Under the moonlight, Linie stared in shock.
For the first time, human emotion showed on her previously expressionless face.
The elf ignored it.
"Now, it's my turn."
Cracks formed along the blade he held.
Linie felt a chill and instantly transformed the axe back into a treasured sword.
She formed another sword in her free hand and blocked his incoming palm strike with both blades.
The legendary demon blades remained unscathed.
But the shock still surged through her body.
"—!"
"A familiar sword. One wielded by a demon I once knew… It seems more than its appearance has been copied."
Before she could recover, a spinning kick struck her from the side.
Her slender body was sent flying into a rock.
"—Ah—"
The air was forced from her lungs.
The rock cracked and cratered on impact.
A normal warrior would have been obliterated.
Only her demon body allowed her to endure.
She collapsed from the rock—but still breathed.
Using her sword as a cane, she forced herself to stand.
Though she understood the difference in their strength, the hostility in her eyes had not faded.
A normal demon would have begged for mercy.
Linie did not.
Her dark violet eyes remained fixed on him—thinking only of how to kill him.
The elf narrowed his eyes at the painful sight.
"…Give up. Those you were targeting are already far away. You cannot catch them now."
Linie spat blood onto the ground.
She wiped her mouth and raised her sword toward him.
"Did you not hear me? Leave—"
"I'll tell you one thing."
Her voice cut him off.
It was the first time he had heard her speak.
He froze in surprise.
Her voice was calm—yet carried the softness of a young girl.
"You should always prepare your next move."
Her cold eyes reflected no light.
She snapped her fingers.
And then—
A massive explosion echoed in the distance behind him.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Screams followed.
The elf's eyes widened.
He turned instinctively toward the sound.
It came from the direction the human soldiers had fled.
The cliffside path there had collapsed.
There was no way they had survived.
They were surely crushed beneath the rubble.
Realizing Linie's true intent, the elf turned back to her.
"…Don't tell me… it was the opposite from the beginning?"
As if squeezing the words out, the elven monk questioned Linie.
"…Are you saying… it wasn't that I stopped you to let them escape—
but that you stopped me to make absolutely sure I couldn't go after them?"
"… "
Linie closed her eyes and remained silent.
What he said was both correct—and incorrect.
She could not allow them to escape. But once they had already fled beyond immediate pursuit, she shifted to her next move: delaying the man before her.
It had not been her plan from the very beginning.
It was simply one of the contingencies she had prepared.
Before the battle even began, she had planted imitation swords along the route they were likely to flee. If they escaped, she would trigger the magical power stored within those blades one after another, causing explosions and collapsing the cliff path—burying them all at once.
She had not expected to make the mistake of letting them escape.
But she was glad she had prepared for it.
Having taken a painful blow, Linie's mind had grown calmer.
Until now, she had tried to eliminate this man out of fear that her methods would be exposed.
But thinking it over carefully, she realized something else.
The risk of fighting this man was far greater.
Even if she failed to kill him, the disadvantage would be comparatively small.
And so—
"With this, there is no longer any need for me to continue fighting. And no longer any reason for you to stop me."
"…!"
The man gritted his teeth, then closed his eyes as if accepting it.
This was the right conclusion.
Letting this man live was dangerous. There was a risk he could expose her identity to either the demons or humanity.
But she could not envision defeating him.
And the disadvantages of letting him go were smaller than the risks of continuing.
If a warrior of this caliber were active in the world, his name would already be widely known among both humans and demons.
Yet Linie had never once heard of him.
That meant he had severed his ties with the world for a very long time.
The likelihood of him spreading information about her anytime soon was low.
So long as she accomplished her objective and removed his reason to fight, that would be enough.
This should—
"Indeed. I no longer have a reason to fight you. However—"
"…?"
"Now I can no longer allow you to leave."
The elf was suddenly in front of her.
His fist came flying forward.
He had moved without any visible change in posture.
Linie bent backward and deflected the strike with her sword rather than attempting to block it.
She immediately threw both imitation blades and treasured swords in succession, forcing distance between them.
Her eyes demanded an answer.
Why?
"…Your thoroughness. You possess none of the arrogance common to other demons. And yet, you have clearly never neglected honing your magic and martial skill. A demon like you will only grow stronger. And you will kill many."
His gaze hardened.
"I have already left the world behind. But even so… I cannot overlook someone like you."
"—!"
He closed the distance again.
Fists. Palm strikes. Kicks.
Each attack looked effortless—but any one of them could have crushed her body.
And still—
He was not serious.
Was that fortunate?
Or was it her failure for forcing him this far?
She had no time to think.
All she could do was endure.
She created a sword—transformed it into a spear—then into a dagger—then into a great axe.
Her weapon changed endlessly.
So did her movements.
(He changes weapons, and his movements change accordingly. The form itself remains stable, yet constantly evolving—never allowing a proper response.)
The elf felt admiration—and respect.
And pity.
He did not know what drove this girl.
But surely, she had always fought alone.
Her overwhelming number of techniques spoke of necessity, not luxury.
This was not a style meant to overpower.
It was a style meant to kill with certainty.
She had always fought at a disadvantage.
Even knowing she was a demon, he could not help but feel respect—and sorrow.
(Then I must increase my pace as well.)
Linie's eyes widened.
The man's attacks grew sharper.
Faster.
Stronger.
More precise.
"—!"
The impacts accumulated within her body.
Even through her weapons, even while he held back, the force was immense.
And yet—
Nothing around them was damaged.
Just how much time and training had it taken him to reach this level?
Still, she watched him closely.
Watch.
Observe.
Study the flow of his magic.
Memorize it.
She did not need to fully imitate him.
If she could predict his movements—
There would still be a path forward.
And then—
His fist shattered the sword in her hand.
…
The elf felt something was wrong.
Breaking her weapon was meaningless. She could simply create another.
He knew she was capable of that.
But that movement—
It was as if she had allowed him to break it on purpose.
In that instant—
She slipped past his fist and leapt forward.
Unarmed.
Closing into his range.
"—!?"
His eyes widened.
In the next instant—
Linie struck.
Using the exact same motion he had used.
The power was inferior.
But the speed—
Was nearly identical.
He deflected her strike and counterattacked—
But she dodged as if she had predicted it.
And countered again.
"—Kh!?"
His movement had been imitated.
And read.
The double shock allowed her to close the distance completely.
Forced into defense, he was driven backward by the impact.
For the first time—
She had pushed him back.
(You deliberately let your weapon break just to slip inside my range… reckless…! And that movement just now—so that's it.)
If she had truly copied his technique in that instant, then everything made sense.
Her vast array of skills.
Her constantly evolving style.
She had copied the techniques of countless warriors.
But it was not mere imitation.
Her slender body differed from the warriors she had faced.
She had adapted every technique to suit herself.
That was why she could fight like this.
Ever-changing—
Yet grounded in a stable foundation.
(Not that it changes the conclusion. This cannot be allowed to drag on.)
Deflecting her attacks, he observed her movements.
Her spinning motions resembled a dance.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Complete.
And still evolving.
(I have never seen a demon like this.)
It had been a long time since he had felt something new.
Even so—
He could not allow her to live.
He raised his power another level.
Before his movements even changed, Linie saw the shift in his magic.
She frowned.
She had nearly mastered copying his movements.
But her speed, strength, and physique were inferior.
Her imitation was still a degraded version.
At best, it allowed better prediction.
She had to act before he became serious.
Even now, her full strength could not overcome his restraint.
Then there was only one option.
Keep unsettling him.
Deny him the chance to unleash his full power.
It was reckless.
But necessary.
She would surpass his expectations.
Again and again.
Linie formed a treasured sword in her right hand.
And stepped forward—
Without changing her movement at all.
"—!?"
The elf's expression twisted in shock.
Her step.
Her motion.
Her magical flow—
All unchanged.
Except now—
She held a sword.
(This girl… did she realize it!?)
His true weapon was not his fists.
It was the sword.
Through imitation and experience, Linie had realized it.
His martial arts were derived from swordsmanship.
His steps.
His strikes.
His entire movement—
Could be applied to wielding a blade.
Once again—
Linie had surpassed his expectations.
Then, here and now, Linie had to once again surpass his expectations—without giving him even a moment of respite.
(This man is a monk. Like a priest, he 'believes' in the so-called Goddess. In that case… I'll use that.)
The word Goddess brought to mind a weapon stored within her.
That weapon was not physically present here. But with Linie's sword creation, it was theoretically possible to reproduce it on the spot.
(The problem is… I've never attempted to replicate that before.)
To begin with, it was less a weapon and more a magical attack.
Even so, what was released clearly possessed the concept of a weapon.
After all, it bore the name—
Spear.
Then, if she had seen it once, she should be able to do it.
"I am the bone of my sword. My body is made of swords."
She recited the phrase.
What surfaced in her mind was the scene from that day.
The day she saw the warrior Eisen's technique and imitated it.
And beside Eisen had stood a single priest.
One of the Goddess's miracles that priest had invoked.
This was a blind attempt.
But she had no choice except to imitate it here and now.
The black sphere of magical power gathered in her hand gradually transformed into a radiant, sacred light.
"Wha—!?"
The elf man's eyes were drawn to that familiar, warm light.
Was a demon truly about to unleash that?
Something he himself could never use, no matter how much faith he held—
Was that demon girl before him really about to wield it?
"Pseudo — Goddess's Three Spears."
The light took the shape of a spear.
Then split into three.
Three spears of light shot forward at high speed, converging on him from three directions.
The elf's reaction lagged behind.
It was only natural.
Because those spears were identical to the ones once unleashed by his companion—the one with whom he had saved the world.
And she had done it without even using the sacred scripture granted by the Goddess.
It was unbelievable.
"…Even so—!"
The elf regained his composure.
Yes, he was surprised.
Seeing a demon use this—for the first time in his long life.
But that was all.
In the end—
It was only imitation.
"Haaah!!"
With a shout, he swung his body and easily deflected all three spears.
The deflected spears struck the surrounding terrain and exploded, sending shockwaves and smoke into the air.
(Even this… isn't enough…!)
Linie clenched her teeth inwardly.
Even replicating Priest Heiter's Goddess's Three Spears was insufficient.
Perhaps because it was originally a spell that fired spears—not the spears themselves.
No matter how perfectly she replicated the projectile, it was not true magic.
Its precision and power inevitably fell short.
(Then what do I do…?)
She needed another move.
One that surpassed him again.
But she had no more ideas.
(Then think. Right now.)
If she could not do it—
Then she would make it possible.
She had always lived like that.
Drawing from the countless techniques she had accumulated through imitation, she would create something new.
She only needed to do it now—
In this instant.
She organized her thoughts.
The man before her was not originally a martial artist—
He was a swordsman.
She had already converted his movements into sword techniques. That alone proved it.
Fortunately—
He did not have a sword.
If he did, she would stand no chance—
(Wait… then what if I made him take one?)
Her thoughts advanced.
(To force him to take a sword… I need an attack he cannot ignore otherwise…)
But how?
Approaching recklessly was suicide.
And her strongest ranged attack was still the imitation Goddess's Three Spears.
But it was degraded.
(Then what—)
"…Ah."
She realized something.
Why were they called Three Spears?
Splitting one mass of magic into three seemed inefficient.
Goddess magic was not created by humans.
It was granted.
It could not be understood. Nor improved.
Even if the Goddess's Three Spears existed—
There was no method to combine them.
Normally.
"…This is it."
Because Linie did not replicate the spell itself—
But the spears as weapons—
She could do what should have been impossible.
If they were spears made of magic—
Then she could control them.
She gathered black magic again.
It transformed into sacred light.
Three spears appeared once more.
"…The same trick again? I won't be surprised twice."
Ignoring him—
Linie jumped into the air.
The spears did not launch.
They hovered in her hand.
(She's not firing them…?)
Then—
He saw something impossible.
"I am the bone of my sword. My bones overlap and shatter."
The three spears—
Merged into one.
"…Impossible!?"
For someone devoted to the Goddess—
This was blasphemy.
She forced three divine powers into one.
Her palm trembled under the strain.
Pain surged through her.
But she showed no expression.
Finally—
The three became one.
A single divine spear.
But it would not fly on its own.
It was no longer a spell.
It was a bomb.
But that was enough.
If it would not fly—
She would throw it.
"Divine Spear of Threefold Convergence."
She hurled it with all her strength.
Like a meteor—
It flew toward him.
(This is bad!!!)
He could not deflect it barehanded.
Instinctively—
He grabbed a sword nearby.
A replica of the Hero Himmel's sword.
The moment he did—
"—You took it."
Her voice mocked him.
He realized too late.
That sword—
Was created by her.
"Magic that turns mana into explosions — Exphanzma."
The sword exploded.
"—GH—!?"
Pain tore through his arm.
He lost his weapon.
And the true attack arrived.
The spear struck.
Explosion.
"GRAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"
But it did not end there.
Linie descended from above—
Holding a giant axe.
Her body spun.
Magic filled the blade.
She stopped the rotation.
Raised it overhead.
And struck.
Heaven-Severing Strike.
Light.
Shockwave.
Impact.
Immediately after—
She released the axe and fled.
Her mana was nearly gone.
Her body was broken.
Had she won?
She did not know.
She only knew—
She could not stay.
She ran.
Then—
She heard his voice behind her.
"…I don't understand what drives you so far."
It was calm now.
"…But if you continue like this… who will remember what you achieved?"
His lonely words pierced her back.
Still—
She did not stop.
Driven by something she did not understand—
Linie continued forward.
As she always had.
And always would.