Leonhart serves as the captain of the First Unit within the Holy Knights, an order specializing in monster extermination and containment. That he holds this position at the young age of twenty is due to more than just his skill in fighting monsters.
“I used to envy that curse-nullifying constitution of yours, but I’m taking that back. …Watch yourself out there, Leonhart.”
Ritter, captain of the Second Unit, is a joker who usually takes a lighthearted tone about everything — so it’s unusual to see him with a genuinely serious face as he places a hand on Leonhart’s shoulder and grips it firmly. His worry comes through in the pressure of his fingers.
This mission, Leonhart is undertaking alone. The wasteland they visited on Nicolaus’s commission the other day apparently is changing at a tremendous rate. Undead-type monsters seem to be appearing, so Leonhart — with his curse-nullifying constitution — has been sent to assess the situation.
Among monster attacks, curse attacks are the most troublesome. There’s no physical defense against them, and even resistance-boosting medicines and magic may not be enough against a sufficiently powerful curse. Leonhart’s unusual constitution renders all of this completely ineffective against him, making him exceptionally strong against undead-type monsters. It’s precisely this ability that made him captain so young.
(… “Curse-nullifying” isn’t quite right, though… it’s more that other curses simply don’t take hold.)
Leonhart is cursed from birth. His curse appears to be incompatible with other curses, and as a result, other curses don’t affect him. That’s the reality of it. Very few people know this.
“Don’t worry about me, Ritter. In your place, I’ll go look for that interestingly-shaped Mandrake you claim to have seen.”
“…I’ll admit that nicely-built Mandrake is genuinely on my mind too, but — seriously, be careful, alright?”
He smiles and bids Ritter farewell, and is sent off with a voice that sounds exasperated but somewhere holds a note of genuine respect: “You really are the ideal knight through and through.”
(No one thinks I’m only playing the ideal knight. Though I myself have no wish to go to a wasteland with this level of danger.)
No one knows what might happen in a wasteland. The intense survival competition among the masses of newly-born monsters drives rapid evolution and change. When they visited before it was still relatively manageable — but that was a month ago. The danger level will have risen.
And in fact, the wasteland has become far more dangerous than it was on that last visit. Undead monsters — especially the corpse-type variety — are numerous, and physical strikes or slashing attacks are nearly useless against them. Fire-attribute or light-attribute magic attacks are effective. However, light-attribute magic burns through magical energy quickly, so in Leonhart’s case, fire-attribute magic becomes his primary tool.
(This number is abnormal…! How does a place end up like this in a single month…!?)
Even Leonhart, with his curse nullification and a well-matched magic type, cannot push deeper into the wasteland. Corpse-type monsters are what become of animals and monsters that died to curse attacks, their remains transformed. They surge up endlessly and come for him. Where did so many corpses come from in the first place.
(I need to fall back and report…!)
But he’s overwhelmed by sheer numbers. His magical energy runs dry, a poison-laced claw tears into his chest, and he manages to fight back with his sword just enough to flee with his life — only to collapse partway out.
Corpse-type monsters have the tendency not to stray far from where they were born — in other words, from where their former selves died. He seems to have made it out of the wasteland, because the corpse-type monsters are gone. But he’s lost too much blood to move. He won’t survive this. He can feel his body temperature dropping, bit by bit, and he begins to accept the death closing in on him — and then.
“My, what are you doing all the way out here?”
A clear woman’s voice. Gentle and unhurried in tone, with a lack of tension entirely out of place somewhere monsters roam. The nearest settlement should still be far off — why is there a person out here?
He forces a voice out and tries to say “leave me, get away” — but his voice is too hoarse to carry, and without seeming to understand, the woman crouches beside him and begins examining the wound in his chest that will kill him.
He thought she was going to help him, but he’d opened his eyes without thinking, and now she’s seen his left eye.
(… Ah. It’s over.)
Leonhart’s curse lives in his left eye. Anyone who sees it — close friend or complete stranger — will come to deeply despise and hate him. The “Devil’s Eye.” A curse of tremendous power, one that has never been lifted.
(… What a pointless life it was, truly.)
He was born with this curse. At first it apparently only made people vaguely uneasy — and so as an infant he was taken by his parents to a church, where the curse was identified.
As the years passed the curse grew stronger, stoking disgust and hatred in those around him. By the time he was ten, what had been mistreatment had escalated to his parents attempting to kill him, and he fled his home. Since then he has gotten by somehow, always hiding that eye.
He joined the Holy Knights because they take in anyone regardless of origin. And because — the knights are well-loved by the people.
(… I thought that if I hid my eye and conducted myself as a proper knight… everyone would like me… looking back, that was foolish.)
The left eye is always covered by an eyepatch. Those who don’t know the truth say things like “the left eye he lost fighting monsters — proof of his bravery as a knight.” He treats everyone with kindness and acts rightly. And so everyone calls him “a knight among knights.” …If he’s being truthful, none of that is really him. Always performing, earning people’s affection — there’s nothing but emptiness in it.
(… What is she doing… is she going to finish me off…?)
He feels his head being lifted. It can only be the woman from before. But no hands come to his throat — instead something soft beneath the back of his head. He opens his eyes again, and the woman is looking down at him.
She seems to try to say something and opens her mouth, but finds no words, and quickly presses her lips together again. …She’s seen his cursed eye. She must despise him too, like all the others. That she would still take pity on him and sit with him at the end — she is an absurd, extraordinary soft-hearted fool.
(… She’s beautiful… is this what a goddess looks like, I wonder…)
Beautiful, compassionate, carrying the fragrance of flowers — she looks just like the forest goddess who appears in stories.
This woman leans over to look at Leonhart’s face, and her pale green hair blocks out the light. It feels like the shade of a green curtain hung in a summer rest-stop, easing the heat of a blazing afternoon. The jet-black eyes framed by long lashes shine like black pearls — impossibly beautiful, as though they were made rather than born. In those eyes, tears gather, glowing faintly golden, and fall onto his face.
(… If a woman this beautiful weeps for me and sees me off… that might not be… so bad…)
Even the sight of her crying is fantastical, beautiful. He never imagined that anyone would look upon his cursed eye and still mourn his death.
Drop after drop falls, and one lands on his lips. Tears should taste of salt. But for some reason, it is terribly sweet.
(… Is my sense of things going strange as I die…? Somehow… I’m starting to feel… good…)
Gradually drowsier. Consciousness retreating. So this is death. …Not so bad, actually. He thinks this, lets go of his awareness — and then, suddenly, comes back.
He bolts upright and checks his body. …His clothes are soaked with blood, but not a single wound remains. Vitality and magical energy fully restored. In this condition, he can make it back safely.
“What… how… — right, that person — !?”
The beautiful one who had been looking down at him, crying. He remembers the sight and looks around — but there is no trace of anyone.
(A hallucination? …No. There’s a sweet scent. Monster-repellent. And quite a powerful one at that…)
Leonhart was undeniably saved by someone. The sweet scent left on his body is proof enough. But in his fading consciousness, what exactly was the one who saved him?
(She didn’t look human at all. …A goddess descending to earth to help a human… I don’t think that happens, but…)
And yet the miracle that happened to him doesn’t feel like something within human power. …That beautiful person — what were they, exactly? Human, or something else —
(… I should stop speculating. I need to get back and report. …I was saved by a miracle.)
Leonhart gets to his feet, scans the area one more time searching for any sign of her, then breaks into a run.
…If it wasn’t a hallucination, then surely they will meet again somewhere.