His hearing buzzed with a sharp, piercing noise as the explosion left his ears bleeding.
His vision blurred as he raised his head, eyes locking on the opponent standing before him while he knelt in defeat.
His mind, clouded and spinning as blood dripped from his head, slowly grasped the grim truth: he was about to meet his end at the blade of his enemy.
Death was finally ready to claim him.
At that moment, a flicker of his past—memories he held dearly—flashed before Arezu's eyes.
...I'm the fool who cursed the world...
It was the confession of the sin she committed.
...With my body drenched in their blood, I stands alone where all are buried...
It was the realization of the consequences of what she did.
...With my hands weighed down by their deaths, I wielded a thousand blades...
And it was the atonement of the punishment she deserved.
He was someone whose hands had failed to protect anyone. Someone who had accepted his fate, choosing to live out the remains of his fading life in pursuit of a single wish.
...I just want to see the world I once dreamed of...
But he didn't mind dying . Fighting with everything he had, and losing at the limits of his own strength.
"I hope that's enough to fulfill your wish."
With those final words, Arezu lowered his gaze to the ground—to the cursed sword lying before him.
A faint, wistful smile crossed his lips as he remembered those he had lost—those who fought by his side, the one he had failed to protect, how she had died in his arms. And so, he accepted his destined end.
But as he waited for the opponent's blade to strike, for death to take him, another memory sparked—one he'd unconsciously grown fond of over the few days they'd adventured together.
...I leave the task of bringing us home to you...
And at that moment, her voice rang in his ears, loud and clear.
Before the swordsman's blade could reach his neck, Arezu seized the cursed sword lying at his knees and countered the strike, deflecting the buster-sword even as he remained kneeling.
With trembling legs, he stood.
With bloodstained, shaking hands, he raised the cursed sword.
With wavering resolve, Arezu chose to fight once more.
Not for his own survival—but to fulfill another wish.
"You're really asking for too much... Lynn!"
The swift and skillful movements he used to evade the swordsman's blinding attacks—sidesteps that looked deceptively simple—were not his own.
The precise, masterful swordplay he used to counter the powerful buster-sword—targeting a single point with lightning-quick strikes in hopes of breaking it—was just an imitation.
An imitation pulled from memory. From instinct carved into his body. From the one person he had always admired.
It was a technique he would rather never use—because it only deepened the pain of those memories, to the point where he wished he had been the one to die instead of her.
Without relying on any combat skills, Arezu parried every strike from the swordsman. He deflected slashes imbued with Cleave, parried swings laced with Shatter, blocked Shockwave before it could fully manifest, and intercepted the cleaving Gale—all with a single sword.
Strike by strike, Arezu slowly cornered the swordsman—not through brute force or speed, but by sheer mastery of the sword. He pushed his foe back, up the barren hill, where the enemy mage waited near the Dungeon Core, ready to interfere.
With no concern for his companion's safety, the mage cast Flamestorm, engulfing both Arezu and the swordsman in a towering cyclone of fire.
Lynn tried to support Arezu, preparing to counter the spell with her own: Glacier. But before she could cast it, a single cursed spear burst from the flames.
The spear, thrown by Arezu after he pulled it from the ground, pierced through the firestorm and struck its target—shattering the cursed staff the mage held.
Though it also pierced the mage and pinned him to the rocky canopy surrounding the barren hill, Arezu had aimed carefully, avoiding any vital areas—seeking only to knock him out or render him unable to fight.
With the mage unconscious, the flamestorm faded—revealing Arezu and the swordsman still burning, but standing.
Though the protective veil of Aegis shielded him from fatal burns, his clothes were still ablaze—just like the swordsman's—as they stood facing each other, ready for one final clash.
The swordsman, still wreathed in flames, raised his buster-sword to unleash Gale one last time.
Arezu had no time to close the distance. So instead, he reached for a cursed shield embedded in the ground—and met the devastating strike head-on.
Once again, the earth-splitting slash collided with the immovable shield.
When the dust cleared from the shockwave that tore through the battlefield, both combatants stood—readying their final charge.
With the last of their strength, they dashed toward one another—cursed weapons in hand, driven by the swordsmanship they took pride in.
Their blades clashed.
With a thunderous crack that echoed across the battlefield, both cursed weapons shattered.
The swordsman collapsed, unconscious, his broken buster-sword clattering beside him.
Arezu walked past his fallen foe.
With unsteady steps, he climbed the barren hill.
With a trembling hand, he drew yet another cursed sword embedded in the ground.
Upon reaching the summit where the Dungeon Core awaited, he raised his weapon with both hands and swung, aiming to destroy the Core and finally bring an end to their supposedly simple—yet strange—orc-hunting quest.
But just before his strike could break through the Core's magic barrier, something hard and cold struck the back of his head. It shattered on impact, and Arezu collapsed, unconscious, atop the hill.