“You fool, what good will it do to beat your body to such an extent?”
“Hahaha, I am ashamed.”
The battle against the Ōni, Kizan, ultimately ended in victory.
However, the price paid was considerable.
“Torn muscles in my right arm and left leg. It’s harder to find an uncracked or unbroken spot on my bones. The bruises and cuts are too numerous to count. Even my internal organs have sustained damage. How could you possibly manage to win against that Oni in this state?”
The supervisor, making no effort to hide his exasperated expression, looked at me lying on the bed, swathed in casts and bandages, while reviewing the medical chart handed to him by the doctor who had treated me.
I looked like a textbook case of a severe injury.
Fighting without a magic body had inflicted far more damage on my physical body than I had imagined.
“The doctor’s diagnosis is that there will be no post-treatment complications and full recovery is possible. However, you won’t be ready for the next match. Do you have any excuses, Jiro?”
“I wish I could say I did, but unfortunately, I have none to offer.”
Having recklessly challenged with the desire to win even when I knew I would lose, no excuses came to mind.
These were honorable battle scars, the price of victory.
Even with magic, wounds such as these, especially severe ones, could not be healed instantly.
It wasn’t like a game where I could simply restore my HP with magic or potions and then proceed to the next battle.
My right hand, which had directly hit, was complexly fractured. My left leg, which had braced the opponent’s momentum, had torn muscles, and the bone in my shin was split lengthwise.
My body, battered like a drum, was covered in bruises, and the impact had affected my internal organs and bones.
The least damaged areas were my head and face.
Of all the injuries, the most severe was the result of my final, self-imposed action, which was hardly laughable.
If I hadn’t pushed myself to that extreme, at least the injuries to my right arm and left leg would not have occurred.
In conclusion, a full recovery would require nothing short of a miracle.
“I never imagined Valse-san’s power couldn’t heal this.”
“Of course not. Your ability to manipulate time only affects your own body. Speeding up your self-healing would result in a distorted recovery, rendering it pointless. If you could perform fine temporal manipulation, it would be different, but you can’t, can you?”
“I am resentful of my own immaturity, only being able to control time in such a crude manner.”
My body was so battered that it required staged treatment, and full recovery would take approximately three days. Normally, injuries that would render someone unable to fight would be considered abnormal if healed in just three days, but given the nature of such extraordinary abilities, it was understandable.
I had asked Valse, the Spirit of Time and Space, whom I had hoped would be my last resort, to accelerate time for my treatment.
“Hmm, I *could* do it, but your bones might heal in strange positions, you know? Also, even if I can speed up the healing, I can’t alleviate the pain, so it’ll be incredibly painful!”
Valse’s hesitant, concerned question made me hesitate. Upon confirming the details, I learned that without magic potions or healing magic to supplement, it would essentially be left to natural healing. In the case of my complexly fractured right hand, there was a risk of losing the function of my fingers.
Even with supplementary treatments, due to the severity of the injuries, simply gushing magic potions wouldn’t suffice. It would require medical knowledge to determine which part needed which potion in what quantity, something a layman like myself couldn’t handle.
Furthermore, the pain from the accelerated healing would all hit me at once.
Receiving damage while trying to heal was counterproductive, so I had to abandon the idea of time acceleration for treatment.
Naturally, with such injuries, I was unable to participate in the next match and would have to forfeit.
However, this demon would not easily accept such a development. The supervisor, while explaining the situation, came to lecture me after my treatment had concluded.
The supervisor explained that despite my victory, Kizan, the defeated opponent, had already recovered and was in perfect condition. He also mentioned that there were voices within the Demon Lord’s Army suggesting that I be eliminated and Kizan be allowed to advance.
“I commend you for your victory, but you should have left yourself more room for error. Thanks to you, I’ve been forced to deal with unnecessary complications.”
“Uh, what kind of unnecessary complications are you referring to?”
“Despite witnessing your ability, these old-fashioned traditionalists are crying out that your victory should be invalidated.”
“Uh? So my victory, achieved with self-sacrificing resolve, isn’t considered a win?”
“That’s right. Fortunately, Kizan himself has conceded defeat and refused to advance. I and the Oni King have silenced those who tried to nullify your victory. The next match will proceed with Jiro’s forfeiture, but even so, if things continue like this, your next opponent will be defeated soon.”
I managed to brush it off with a wry smile while listening to the supervisor’s near-complaint of a lecture, grateful for his efforts to protect my hard-earned achievement.
It was tough to have my victory, which was technically within the rules, declared a loss due to tradition.
“What does it mean to lose?”
“It means that while those who should have won are losing, there is someone who is winning as expected. Kizan and the Beastkin, Gairo, who were considered championship contenders, were eliminated by dark horses. The remaining championship contender is facing someone who advanced by forfeit. Or rather, it would have been you, if you were able to fight.”
With only one of the three former championship contenders remaining, this tournament seemed to be quite chaotic.
Carter had defeated the Beastkin, and I, one of the reasons for this chaos, had defeated the Oni.
It was concerning that only one person was progressing through the ranks as expected.
And when the supervisor wore that kind of sinister smile, it usually meant trouble.
“Who is it?”
“You’ve read the documents prepared by Suella, haven’t you? Rand Basarunte, one of the top five combat enthusiasts in the Demon Lord’s Army.”
My bad premonition was spot on.
The name of the Dragonkin, whom I had hoped not to meet, was mentioned.
A Dragonkin with black scales and numerous scars, rumored to be of General Class solely in terms of combat ability.
“The reason he hasn’t become a General is that he’s too specialized in fighting. In other words, he lacks brains. A General is someone who can bring others together. Even in our meritocracy, we wouldn’t appoint someone whose only skill is rampaging. However, the converse is also true: if one lacks administrative skills, then he is a prime candidate for General. His status as a championship contender is not for show. Kizan was closest to becoming a General because he possessed both literary and martial skills. In terms of sheer ability, Rand is superior.”
The supevisor’s assessment, though harsh in words, seemed to acknowledge his combat prowess.
And the fact that he would go out of his way to say this implied something.
“…Are the discharge procedures complete?”
“Ah, they are. Just as they intended, you’ve made a name for yourself not only within our ranks but also among the Demon Race. So, don’t let that name be sullied, and make sure to gather information diligently.”
It was probably to witness that fight that they did this.
The “they” the supervisor referred to were likely the instructors.
It was unrealistic for me, a newcomer to the Demon Lord’s Army, to become a General.
Whether it was status, reputation, or strength, I lacked in all aspects.
However, this stage, prepared by the instructors this time, allowed me to gain the reputation of having defeated one of the General Candidates.
The instructors’ words during training, “Acquire the strength to fight to the death,” and this opportunity to “climb your way up” were finally understood. As I understood the meaning of this recommendation, I naturally…
“You’re relentless. What if I had died?”
“They would likely laugh and say that’s all there is to it,”
“Ah, I hate that I can easily imagine that.”
I could only laugh at the instructors’ discipline, a word far too gentle for the harsh methods they employed.
Laughing at the reason for participating in this tournament, which the instructors would likely explain as “because they could do it, they made us do it,” I sat in the wheelchair prepared by the supervisor, and a demon who had appeared at some point took the controls.
“Well then, I won’t waste this precious opportunity. I’m heading out.”
“Right.”
Instead of the supervisor, who usually left first, I was bid farewell as I left the infirmary.
I moved forward slowly.
Forward, but my progress soon stopped.
“You…”
“I’ve been waiting.”
Kizan, the Ōni, clad in a kimono instead of his training attire, leaned against the wall, standing there.
The demon pushing the wheelchair was about to say something, but I stopped him with a hand gesture.
“Is it out of line to ask if you need something? As you can see, I’m covered in injuries and unarmed. If possible, I’d prefer a rematch after I’ve recovered.”
“I wouldn’t do something as shameless as challenging you in your current state. I have only one reason for being here, and that is to ask you something.”
“Ask me something?”
Since I felt no aura of hostility, malice, or fighting spirit, I relaxed my guard, but the Oni before me said he had something to ask a human like me.
“You said I lacked the qualities of a General. And that I lacked as a species.”
“Ah, I did say that.”
Fueled by the excitement of battle, I spoke the first thing that came to mind.
This Oni had waited specifically to ask about the true meaning of my words.
He was diligent for an Oni, or rather, I thought he was a man who cared about details.
Other Oni would have forgotten my words and probably be drinking and lamenting their loss by now.
But the man before me did no such thing, earnestly seeking an answer.
“Answer me. What am I lacking?”
Whether it was the bitter regret of defeat, or the regret of not becoming a General, his voice, though raised, reached me without its usual vigor.
“Let me see…”
I didn’t have many words to offer a lost Oni like him.
“The ability to enjoy things.”
“Enjoy?”
“Yes, the Oni I know seemed to enjoy life. Drinking sake, fighting – in those two regards, they seemed to enjoy themselves the most.”
“On the other hand, their serious work seemed to be done reluctantly,” I added.
At my words, Kizan frowned, his expression conveying his lack of understanding.
While they may have their pride and ideals, they were beings who could relax their shoulders appropriately, exert their full strength when needed, much like children’s actions in adult form.
That’s how I perceived Oni.
“You seem to hold a much higher position, but why not try to relax a little? I can’t say you should be as natural as the instructors, but constantly being tense will tire you out.”
I saw no such tension in him.
He embodied the word “sturdy and strong,” and I admired it, but to me, he seemed to be forcing himself into a mold and feeling constricted.
“…For an Oni, strength is everything.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Therefore, I have continued to train my body and reached my current position.”
“I don’t know about your efforts, but you’ve achieved results.”
“However, I was defeated by you.”
“Indeed.”
The Oni murmured his words as if re-examining himself, confirming his own being.
“Was my way of life mistaken?”
I could neither affirm nor deny his words.
Ways of life are as varied as individuals.
I believe there is no single “right” or “wrong” way to live.
It didn’t seem appropriate for him to ask someone who obstructed his path for answers, but remaining silent also felt wrong, so I…
“I don’t know.”
I answered honestly.
“I merely stated what I felt when you asked what you were lacking. I don’t believe that equates to being correct.”
I let go of the handle and used my right arm, which could move somewhat, to turn the wheelchair forward.
As I moved closer, I lightly patted his towering frame.
“Besides, isn’t life about living with mistakes? A life without any errors is impossible. Even the instructor, known as the Oni King, lost to the President. To assume your life is wrong simply because you lost to a human once is absurd.”
This time I happened to win, but I couldn’t guarantee I would win if we fought again.
“You have another chance. You can learn from it. I also hope to win the next fight without being this battered.”
“The next time? You wish to fight me again.”
“Not immediately. I want to grow stronger until I can thoroughly defeat you.”
“I see. Then I too shall endeavor. To defeat you next time.”
Satisfied with my words, which he took to mean something similar, Kizan, unless I was mistaken, gave a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and started to leave.
“I heard that for Oni, the basic flow after a fight is a banquet.”
To his retreating back, I tossed the anecdote I had heard from Instructor Kio just the other day.
At my words, Kizan stopped and turned his face towards me.
To his face, I said:
“If you’re in the mood, let’s have a drink.”
I made a gesture as if toasting with a cup. Then, he clearly smiled and…
“Yeah.”
He gave a firm reply and then, this time, truly departed.
A brief exchange, an encounter with an awkward Oni.
Feeling a slight weariness and a sense of satisfaction, I asked the demon to take me back to the room where everyone was waiting.
Today’s Thought
For some reason, I feel like I’ll be with him for a long time.
This concludes this installment.
If you enjoyed it, please leave comments, ratings, and bookmarks.
* – The first volume has been decided to be published by Hayakawa Bunko JA.
It will be released on October 18, 2018.
The e-book version is scheduled for release on October 31 of the same year.
The content includes revisions and additions to the material posted on Narou, with the inclusion of an unreleased interlude.
We appreciate your support.
