“Tell me, creature, why didn’t you protect them?”

  “What…?”

  The queen found herself perplexed by the black knight’s question. It was not that she couldn’t understand its relevance, the very essence of the inquiry was nonsensical from her point of view.

  “Those creatures, the lesser Ne’fari, why didn’t you protect them? If you truly claim the mantle of queen, then it is your responsibility to understand that.”

  The black knight loathed the Ne’fari will all of his being, partially due to their alignment as Shura, but such an observation could not possibly contain the whole truth of the situation. His hatred was far deeper than anything along the lines of race, nationality, or even alignment.

  “They were blood-thirsty monsters, creatures without rhyme or reason. In a way, you could almost consider them innocent. However, you were blessed with the gift of intellect — the distinction between black and white. Thus, I will ask you once more, why didn’t you save them? Was your heart not moved by their torment? Did their cries fall on deaf ears? If you truly are a queen, no, a mother, then answer truthfully.”

  Without hesitation, the queen replied, “I felt nothing, nothing at all.”

  “...”

  “I do not understand why you care so much for such a thing. They are merely beasts, incapable of understanding. Though we may share the same blood, to call them my children would be quite vulgar, no?”

  “I see…”

  The black knight sighed with disappointment, as though the words of the Ne’fari queen had granted him confirmation of an itching suspicion.

  “I have nothing more to say. Conversation with filth is truly a meaningless endeavor. It makes me nauseous. If you are too ignorant to understand such a basic concept, then let me clue you in on why a name wouldn’t suit a being such as yourself.”

  “...?”

  “It’s because you lack the responsibility to carry a name.”

  He continued to slash away at the creature’s flesh, his blade coming ever closer to its target. Even the Ne’fari queen herself could not restrain her shock.

  How was this man growing exponentially stronger in such a short amount of time? She thought. Movements that were once sluggish increased in speed, and the edge of his blade sharpens with every swing.

  This could not be the result of any natural talent. No — it must have been a certain power he was exploiting, a cheat skill that would allow him to surpass those stronger than himself. Capitulation was not in his nature.

  In a desperate act of self-preservation, the Ne’fari queen swept up a gust of sand with its beating wings. The strong winds were enough to stall the black knight's movements, acting as sandpaper that scraped away at the man’s flesh.

  “Go away,” said the queen. “Go away. You sicken me. You disgust me. Just disappear. Once you’re dead, I will finally find it; my name. Oh, my name. I must find you, for only then will I become me.”

  “In that case, how about we have a chat?”

  “...!”

  A golden flash of light cut through the sand storm. Had the queen been a bit slower, the mysterious sword would have decapitated her in a swift and fatal moment.

  “You…”

  The voice rang with a familiar tune. It was a bit boyish, though brimming with confidence and a self-assured attitude. It was none other than the dark-skinned boy with the golden blade, Ereth of the Promised Victory.

  They engaged in close-quarters combat, and the difference in skill couldn’t be more obvious. Despite the queen’s superior physiology and inherent strength as a Ne’fari, none of her attacks could reach the boy. The roles were now reversed. Ereth was the aggressor and the queen was the defender.

  “Perhaps you will enlighten me, what is my name?” The queen asked with both genuine sincerity and deathly fear.

  Ereth laughed a boyish laugh, “Don’t you understand? That’s not something any of us can tell you.”

  “...?”

  “I thought for a while on the question you gave me, and that’s the only conclusion I could come to. Names aren’t as flimsy as you think. The true worth of a name is derived from one’s connections with others. A mother grants her child a name, a child grants their favorite toy a name. Things like that.”

  “I…I do not understand.”

  Why did the Ne’fari queen even desire a name? What purpose did it serve her, alone in that insufferable den? The thought had never occurred to her. Her obsession had robbed her of a once-curious mind. She knew not the embrace of others, nor did she particularly care to discover such warmth. In that case, what use was a name? Why did her manner of identification matter?

  There was a fundamental contradiction at the core of her being, and Ereth would cleave that error in two.

  “You’re lying to yourself. Or rather, you do not even realize your own deception. In truth, you wish to be understood.”

  “No…!”

  No. It couldn’t be true. Such a reality was not acceptable. She had discarded the beings who had shared her blood, her “children.” They were merely lessers, creatures undeserving of her grace. So why? Why was she wrong?

  “It’s a shame, really. You’ve been granted the gift of intelligence, yet you lack understanding. It’s something so unmistakably human that I can’t help but pity you.”

  “You…!”

  Her anger had reached new heights.

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  “Do not presume you know anything about me, human!”

  She bore her claws, unleashing a downward blow capable of crushing even a mid-ranked adventurer with ease. She no longer cared for inquiries or rational discussion. Her heart longed to see this boy’s corpses, mangled and disfigured beyond recognition.

  Ereth made no attempt to dodge the strike. Despite his usually quick-footed swordsmanship, he felt it would be quite boring, perhaps even discourteous to dodge such a powerful blow. Instead, he took a queue from his father, gently redirecting the ominous claw over his shoulder.

  He met the downward blow with an upward slash. His movements flowed perfectly with the chain of the body, dramatically enhancing the effectiveness of his techniques. This was the difference between a warrior and a beast.

  With lightning’s speed and obsidian’s edge, the Sword of Promised Victory effortlessly cleaved through the chitinous appendages.

  “K-KYAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

  A bloodcurdling roar emanated from the vulgar beast, her dismembered extremities flailing about as blood gushed from her wounds.

  Why…? Why am I losing? She thought. Why wasn’t this going my way?!

  “Well, you wanna do the honors, big guy?”

  “...?”

  Ereth’s gaze had long since left the Ne’fari queen. His attention had shifted to another person, a familiar opponent that the queen had once discarded as trash.Sensing this imminent danger, she turned around, preparing for the worst-case scenario.

  “...!”

  Her eyes widened with horror upon meeting that person’s gaze.

  It was the black knight, descending from the sky with a crimson sword in hand.

  “With pleasure,” he replied, his rugged voice teeming with delight. The crimson blade crashed down like a guillotine, the lunette of certain death fastened around the the incest’s neck. A swift motion. A vicious motion. In an instant, the Ne’fari queen was cut down with a diagonal slash.

  Her body collapsed onto the arid sands below, her eyes open wide with horror. There was no final moment of self-reflection, nor was she given the opportunity for a meaningful denouement. The play was cut to an end, abruptly and violently, bereft of its proper dues.

  ———

  “Ha…Ha…”

  The black knight’s intermittent breaths were painful and shallow, his body driven past its limits. Ereth, on the other hand, had hardly broken a sweat.

  “Man, that was a really cool finishing move!” Ereth said with the excitement of a child finding a limited-edition toy. “Tell me, how do you do that cool aura stuff? Do you use magecraft to manipulate your own blood? Or is it something else? I really wanna know! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

  “...Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite talkative?”

  “A-Ah, sorry…” He apologized with a remorseful tone, his bad habit getting the better of him.

  “It’s not like I could teach you anyways. It’s something beyond my own understanding.”

  The black knight stabbed his blade into the dense sand below, lifting his body off the ground with his will alone. “If the scum is dead, then I have no reason to stay here. Do what you want.”

  He turned around, limping towards the unreachable horizon with blade in hand. Despite his clearly unsocialable personality, Ereth felt compelled to reach out to that man.

  “Wait.”

  “...?”

  “I want to know your name.”

  “You wish…to know my name? For what reason?” The black knight was a bit miffed by the request. They merely shared a similar objective, after all. They were by no means colleagues, nor did he intend to become so intertwined in the lives of others.

  Kill, slaughter, and move forward — that was the path he was destined to follow. ‘Others’ were an unnecessary component.

  Ereth flashed his signature cocky grin, pointing his index finger to the sky in a triumphant manner. “Because one day, I’m going to become the Immortal Sword Saint, the greatest hero of the era!”

  “...”

  “But I can’t do that alone, so I’m assembling my own party of heroes. My friend Adra, you already met her at the clinic, is our titular mage. The warrior slot is already taken by me, so I guess you can be…the rogue? No, berserker! Berserker totally suits you!”

  “...Ridiculous.”

  The black knight couldn’t bring himself to take the boy seriously. He sighed with a lingering hint of annoyance, as though listening to the ramblings of a delusional child.

  “You view the world through the realm of fantasy. You possess great strength, yet you lack the experience necessary to become the hero. I’m not interested in working with a child.”

  “...Perhaps you are right. I am a child.”

  The black knight met the boy with silence.

  “Ever since I’ve arrived in this world, I quickly realized that trust isn’t something freely given, it’s earned with time and experience. If my words aren’t enough to inspire hope in others, then I need to solidify the worth of my name with action.”

  “Hahaha!” The black knight let out a mocking laugh. “Action, you say? A mere child speaks of action? Very well, I’ll take your offer, but only at a certain price.”

  With an explosive maneuver, the blade of the black knight makes a sweeping arc, halting a mere fraction of an inch from the boy’s neck.

  “Show it to me, your worth.”