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Translator: Vine
Chapter Title: What Responsibility Is
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"My disciple, to return everything, you see,"

My master's voice.

"Is the same as declaring you'll take responsibility for everything."

She, who had unfurled Hwe (回) and returned something to nothingness, looked into my eyes and said,

"So remember this well. The day you decide to return something, that day must also be the day you decide to take responsibility for something."

To her, I asked, my eyes shining,

"Master."
"You just made an entire mountain and river disappear. What on earth are you taking responsibility for?"

Back then, I was just a pitiful boy, the head of his household, who had just lost a source of food right before my eyes, without understanding why.

"My disciple. This master did not make the mountain and river disappear. I merely came to remember them."

A light tap on my forehead, brushing my bangs aside, tickled my skin.

"Don't make that face. Even if you are a slow-witted disciple, a day will come when my disciple will, like me, return something."

"When that auspicious day comes, you too will learn what a heavy responsibility it is to return something."

She chuckled softly, then stroked my head. Not immediately understanding her words, I tilted my head.

Even after that, I didn't understand her words for quite a long time.

Back then, I was.
Until now, I was.

Divine Sword Style, Seventh Form. Hwe (回).
The sword that returns everything.

I was simply too lacking to wield that sword.

****

Divine Sword Style.

Though it's the sword art I learned, I always had questions about it.

The more I learned,
the more I comprehended and understood,
the more I wielded it,

The more I delved into a sword art that seemed to defy the laws of the world, the more I questioned whether such a sword art should even exist in this world.

It severs souls.
It paints the world with fire and ice.
It tears through space-time and distorts everything.

If it wasn't magic, what kind of sword art could possibly cause such miracles?

And that wasn't all.

The Seventh Form, Hwe (回), was said to be a sword that returns everything.

When I first heard it, I was dumbfounded.

Just one swing, and everything returns? Was that even possible?

But after witnessing that single swing myself, I had no choice but to accept it immediately.

A mountain disappeared.
A river vanished.
Everything within them returned to nothingness.

That single swing was more concise and powerful than any technique.

Honestly, it was even beautiful. So I tried to learn it.

For years, I swung my sword hundreds of thousands of times, and tried to trick the very scales of existence countless times.

In the end, I failed.

The more I tried,
the more I strived,
the more I realized.

Unlike other secret arts that I could vaguely mimic with great effort, Hwe (回) was an inhuman sword that I couldn't even imitate.

So I always wondered.

That single swing, which couldn't be achieved even with mana as vast as the ocean, nor performed with a body that surpassed human limits,

What kind of miracle did it create, that it wouldn't even allow me to approach it?
How grand was this 'responsibility' that my master spoke of, that it remained hidden from me?

I always wondered.

****

That faint question that had coiled in my chest.

It naturally unraveled when I performed a miracle, leading to an even greater miracle.

I pushed off the ground and swung my sword.
The blade split black and white, and my body traversed the gap.

Amidst the unfamiliar sensation, unfamiliar memories began to seep into my mind.
The events that transpired here,
the stories seen and heard by everything in this place,
the memories of this place.
As countless memories were injected into my mind in a fleeting moment.
The blade soon began to cut through Mort's past.
Unfamiliar and unsettling memories began to accumulate in my mind.

The Hero, Mort, was a trusted comrade to someone.
The flawed hero plunged his sword into someone's heart.
The conflicted hero betrayed someone to hide something.
The corrupted hero lost someone's trust.
Memories I didn't want to know,
emotions I never wanted to feel.
Thud.
My foot touched the ground.
The fallen one's back hit the floor.
My thoughts, having glimpsed his memories, reached the meaning of responsibility my master had spoken of.
'It was literal…'
Return. Remember. Therefore, take responsibility.
Taking responsibility here didn't mean bearing it for the person whose memories they were.
Responsibility meant.

"Mort. I trust you."
"Even like this... if it helps you, that would be a relief."
"How could you do this to me...?"
"I'm disappointed."

Not turning away.
Remembering.

It was simpler than I thought,
yet hard to put into practice,
a heavy burden.

****

I put strength into my trembling hand.
I raised my sword to my face.
To the pathetic wretch, whose chest was still branded with a pure white sword scar, gasping for breath and shedding tears, I spoke.

"…What right do you have to be crying?"

His breath, mixed with blood, was acrid and trembling,
his voice, quivering.
I felt like I could collapse at any moment. Like I'd cross to the other side the moment I closed my eyes.

"…Glad to see you."

Amidst all that, Mort murmured.

"This cold and lonely, terrible world… feels strangely welcome today."

Closing his eyes tightly, as if he had given up on everything.

"…"

Perhaps it was because I had been momentarily immersed in unwanted memories and emotions.
Normally, profanity would have come out reflexively, but not this time.
It was hard to say anything. More than that, my condition wasn't good enough to continue speaking.
I silently fumbled in my pocket. To take out the artifact that could bind this incomplete sin before I lost consciousness.

"…It's an item from within this body's memories," Mort mumbled as I pulled out the pure white binding artifact from my pocket.
As I looked at his eyes with a questioning gaze, Mort gasped and replied.

"…Verheim wouldn't have known. That the artifact he created to seal the evil god would end up binding his own body. Heh, heh heh…"

Cough, he coughed up a gush of blood, yet smiled and extended his hand, and I, feeling like I would collapse at any moment, silently activated the binding artifact.

Whoosh.
Then, the binding artifact I had stolen from my master's sub-space burst with a pure white light, which soon seeped into Mort's heart.
That's done. Now he won't be able to reappear in another body somewhere.
I have many questions I want to ask, but I wasn't in a state to ask anything right now.
I just wanted to rest. I could address the mountain of questions with this confined wretch later.

"…Just one question," a voice reached my ear as I thought this.

"Did you…"
"I saw it."

To the hesitant voice, to the question of whether I had seen his past, my answer reflexively escaped.

"…From beginning to end."

I saw everything.

"Us."

Let's talk about that later.

With those words, my vision flickered.

****

A dark underground dungeon, where not a single faint ray of light could enter.
"Heh, heh heh…"

Mort, bound there, was still laughing.

Because he was delighted.

This terrible loneliness he had hated so much,
the terribly cold air of this world.

Those things he despised, Mort now found strangely delightful.

"Come, come quickly. Heh, heh heh…"

Mort, who had lost everything, waited endlessly.

—"Us, let's talk about that later."

Only for the time when he could talk with the child who had taken everything from him and left him in this state.

Mort was curious. What reaction would the child who had seen all of him show?

Would they curse him, or offer words of comfort?

Would they empathize, or strike him?

In truth, it didn't matter what it was.

He was simply delighted.

Someone knew the loneliness only he had known.
Someone remembered the story only he had known.
Someone had stepped into the terrible world where only he had existed.

So, how could he not be delighted?

"…My Lord!"
"…I greet you!"

Into Mort's ears, faint sounds began to drift down from above.
Clank.
The sound of the iron door opening.
Click, clack.
Footsteps drawing closer from above.

"…"
Mort raised his head.

"I didn't expect you to be the first one to come."

Mort's expression twisted fiercely as he saw the man walking towards him, torch in hand.

"What's your business?"
"…"
"Are you here for your damned role-play? Or…"

To Mort's question, the man with the torch merely showed a faint smile, offering no reply.

"Are you here as the Sin of Sloth?"
"For now, the former," he said.

Click.

The softly smiling man unlocked the iron bars and stepped inside, gazing at the bound Mort with satisfaction. Mort, his voice sinking, spoke the name of the man looking at him.

"Eville."

The epithet of the one who only realized he was a Sin after he had become one.

Chapter 149