Failing to finish off Solitaire was, needless to say, a fatal blow for Reinie, who had maintained anonymity all this time. The same likely held true for the other side as well, but when it came to the extent of the damage, Reinie's loss was far greater than Solitaire's.
Put simply, even if a greater demon like Solitaire were to lose their anonymity, they still possessed such overwhelming reserves of magic power and combat ability that most threats could be brushed aside with one hand. In the end, what truly speaks is "power."
Reinie, by contrast, does not possess the vast magical reserves that Solitaire does.
Even when releasing her restricted magic at full throttle, it still falls short of the renowned demon generals and greater demons. Even so, among demons of Reinie's age, her magic power is more than enough to be considered abnormal—but in a straightforward, head-on battle, she would still be overpowered by the sheer difference in raw strength.
She is adept at maneuvering so that a fight does not become a direct confrontation, but even then, the chances of snatching victory are low. As for close-quarters combat skill alone, she is confident she could bring down an average general-class opponent; any lack of physical strength can be compensated for with forged blades.
And yet, no matter how far she goes, Reinie's power does not reach that of a greater demon. She is, in truth, nothing more than a "nameless" existence.
This time, by exploiting the shared trait between herself and Solitaire—Solitaire's magic of "creating and manipulating swords"—and the fact that she herself could create imitations of them, Reinie managed to open a gap and land a telling blow.
No, considering the depth of the wound she inflicted, it would not be an exaggeration to say she paid back twice over rather than merely returning a single strike.
Even so, she could not finish Solitaire off.
And more painful than anything else was that she had exposed her current "trump card."
"Imitation Trace, start—on."
The moment she murmured the words, a single sword appeared in Reinie's hand.
That sword was on an entirely different level from the swords, spears, axes, and other weapons Reinie had forged until now.
It was a remnant that had once lain in the treasure vault of a dungeon already conquered by humanity. The humans who visited it must have mistaken it for worthless junk commonly found in failed dungeon vaults, and left it behind.
In truth, that sword, having fulfilled its role, had already been reduced to a mere fragment.
But Reinie, who happened to visit the site afterward, read the structure of that remnant.
Its fundamental framework, the philosophy behind its creation, its materials, its construction—and the accumulated years that encompassed the records of all those processes.
Even though its mystery had faded and it had become nothing more than a fragment, from those accumulated years she reconstructed the form it must have had when it was still alive, and that image was stored unmistakably within Reinie's world.
"The Shattered Sword of the Divine Age, Schwer Volk"—a blade said to have shattered mountains in the age of myth. As its legend suggests, this sword is a weapon capable of destroying even the terrain itself.
The demon "general" Revolte of Divine Techniques, who creates and wields swords through magic, apparently named his "Divine Technique: Shattering Sword" after this very blade.
Indeed, it stands on an entirely different plane from the demonic swords forged by demons through magic or the masterworks hammered out by humans.
Thus, the "False—Shattered Sword of the Divine Age, Schwer Volke II" that Reinie replicates and wields is the only weapon among her stored arsenal that can truly be called a weapon of the godly era.
And yet, even after playing that card and going all in to finish the fight, Reinie could not kill Solitaire. She even employed it as a disposable weapon in combination with the magic that converts mana into explosions, Ex Phantasma, and further amplified its power by firing it as an arrow—yet still, she could not finish him.
The attack easily pierced through even the mana barrier into which Solitaire, likely possessing immense magical reserves even among greater demons, had poured all his power, and closed in on him—yet it only barely grazed his body.
There were likely many factors: the aim being just slightly off, or Solitaire's evasion being exceptionally skillful after judging it impossible to block.
But the greatest factor of all was simple: this divine-era weapon was difficult to handle.
If she had been able to let the original wielder's experience possess her, as with the knight in the red cloak, she might have handled it far better. Even if she had used it in an unconventional way—firing it as an arrow—she might not have missed her mark against Solitaire.
"──Possessed Experience"
Gripping the hilt of the "False—Shattered Sword of the Divine Age" with both hands, Reinie murmured the words with her eyes closed.
She poured magic into it for analysis, reading it out.
"…No good, huh."
Opening her eyes, she muttered dully.
It wasn't that she truly expected anything. Still, she had thought maybe, and tried—but as usual, the result was futile.
There was certainly a sensation of something flowing into her mind.
But her brain could not digest or empathize with it, and it simply slipped through her, passing from right to left and disappearing with ease.
How the hero who once wielded this sword had met others, what trials he had overcome, what feats he had achieved, and how he had ultimately met his end.
Even when she tried to read the process that led to that growth, her demonic brain—lacking the capacity for empathy—failed to process it, letting it flow straight out.
If, by some means, Reinie could have crossed time to the age of myth and actually witnessed that hero wielding the sword, then copied it directly, things might have been different. But of course, there was no way something so convenient could ever happen.
Her "Imitative Magic: Airphasen" could not fully compensate for the lack of possessed experience. That fact cast dark clouds over Reinie's heart. No matter how hard one struggles, what one has not seen cannot be imitated.
In other words, the only way to truly master this sword was for Reinie herself to train with it.
But who knew how long that would take?
If she wished for any further trump cards, there was only that left.
"I am the bone of my sword."
Once more, Reinie closed her eyes and murmured the words.
"Steel is my body and, fire is my blood."
They were verses that traced the life of a certain man.
Rather than an incantation, it was closer to a soliloquy.
"I have created over a thousand blades."
Suddenly, a vivid image spread through Reinie's mind.
A land pierced by infinite swords—and overlooking that land was—countless gears floating in a red-bronze sky…
"Unknown to—!"
She stopped there, the chant cut short.
Up to the land filled with countless swords, she could imagine it. But the moment she tried to go further—"from here on, this is not 'me'"—the image was blocked. Reinie, who knew nothing of his despair, could not possess a sky filled with innumerable gears.
Reinie was not him. Even if she could imitate his nature, her inner vision was fundamentally different.
Even the land of countless swords she had barely managed to imagine now felt vague, as if covered by a thin mosaic.
In this state, there was no way she could use that.
"…The image won't align. What am I missing?"
She slumped wearily into a chair in her hideout and bit into an apple.
This house, which had been used by humans until quite recently, still bore strong traces of daily life. Thanks to that, even the apples she had bought in bulk would likely keep for a long time.
Demonic folk hiding in the southern nations often attack and take over such secluded homes, preying on humans who live far from settlements, in order to evade the eyes of people on constant alert from war.
Reinie, too, had slain such a demon and was now living off the spoils.
"If only I could have perfectly imitated it back then—"
She stopped herself mid-sentence and shook her head sharply.
Certainly, if she had been able to perfectly reproduce his world at that time, she would have been able to wield not only his nature, but also his inner landscape—and even the Noble Phantasms of the heroic spirits he had stored—with ease.
But had the imitation progressed that far, it was obvious that Reinie would no longer have been Reinie.
From her memories to her very way of thinking, she would have become completely him.
That she had managed to skillfully imitate only his nature could only be called a convenient miracle.
Even so, she couldn't help but think—if only she could have pushed the imitation just a little closer to the limit.
"…But I can still properly imitate weapons."
—To begin with, as a basic premise, this world does not possess anything called "Projection Magecraft."
He was able to draw out the weapons he had stored within his inner world through Projection Magecraft.
If something like a Reality Marble were a form of magecraft unique only to the world he once inhabited, then the very fact that Reinie—who is a native of this world—can draw weapons from it at all would be strange by any normal line of reasoning.
In fact, throughout her life so far, Reinie has not used Projection Magecraft even once.
What Reinie uses is simply magic that creates weapons out of mana. It resembles Projection Magecraft, yet is fundamentally different.
She converges black mana and transforms it into weapons—put roughly, that is what Reinie's magic does.
And yet, the fact that she can pull them out using this world's magic rather than Projection Magecraft means only one thing—
it is proof that even within this world's magic system, there exists a method that leads to something akin to a Reality Marble.
If that is the case, then all that remains is a simple problem of Reinie's own imagery.
"..."
Letting her arms hang limply, she dismissed the imitated "False—Shattered Sword of the Divine Age" and let out a sigh.
Her original reason for hiding in the southern nations had been to somehow resolve the fluctuations in her mana restriction—but now she had gained yet another obstacle to overcome.
Even back in her days as an executioner, it wasn't as though she hadn't been conscious of her inability to use a Reality Marble.
Still, for Reinie—who preferred hunts that avoided drawing attention—the use of such a conspicuous spell as a Reality Marble had instead felt undesirable. That was why she hadn't worried much about it until now.
But from here on out, the number of situations where she would have to fight head-on would steadily increase.
No longer would she always be in a position to launch ambushes at will; instead, opponents would come actively seeking her as their prey.
In that case, she would have to consider using trump cards such as the "False—Shattered Sword of the Divine Age" and a Reality Marble.
"But… what do I do?"
The former could still be overcome with enough time. Taking time to do so was questionable in itself, but at least she had the certainty that it could be overcome.
The latter, however, was far more difficult.
Since there existed a principle by which this world's magic could reach it, activation was theoretically possible without question.
But the crucial image would not come together.
Normally, demons do not require the fine-grained imagery humans need when using magic. Just as "magic that lets one fly" is practically not magic at all to demons, it should ordinarily be something as natural as breathing.
However, what Reinie was trying to reach was a grand taboo spell—overwriting the real world with one's inner landscape. Even for demons, it was not something that could be handled as easily as breathing.
Because it rewrites the world itself, the element of imagery inevitably becomes a critical factor.
And that image did not exist within the current Reinie.
She was unable to align her inner landscape with a concrete image.
"…I'm going in circles."
For decades, Reinie had continued hunting demons in small measure, stewing in frustration.
She could not overcome the fluctuations, nor could she reach her own true essence.
The tragic opportunity that would make her realize this was already drawing near—but at this moment, Reinie had no way of knowing.
◇
Several more decades passed.
The flames of war in the southern nations did not subside—if anything, they intensified.
What had begun as minor skirmishes between small states gradually spread, until chains of hatred wrapped themselves around nation after nation.
It was like a formless curse.
If it were an ordinary curse, perhaps the goddess's magic could dispel it—but this curse without form could not be undone by such means.
In one secluded corner of those southern nations stood a lone monastery.
That monastery was now—under attack not by humans, but by demons.
This was a monastery, a place where many monks should have been devoting themselves to training and translating sacred texts.
And so, naturally, those meant to repel the attacking demons should have been monks wielding the goddess's magic.
But what stood against the assault on the monastery was—
a single girl, clad in monastic robes.
"Hah… hah…!!"
Panting for breath, she deployed a defensive barrier formed of the goddess's magic, desperately holding the line.
The violence of sheer numbers was overwhelming and one-sided.
She excelled at defensive and healing magic granted by the goddess, but on the other hand, she was poor at offensive magic.
Of course, even if she had been proficient at it, she likely would not have had the chance to counterattack in a situation like this anyway.
"Damn, stubborn little thing."
"Thought we'd hit a monastery, and there's only one female priest here. And the rest—"
One of the demons assaulting the monastery glanced behind the young priestess.
"B-big sis…"
"Shh! Don't make a sound…!!"
"B-but…"
There, peeking out from the shadows of the trees, were orphans trembling as they watched the one-sided defensive battle.
"Don't come out!!"
Following the demon's gaze, the priestess turned around and shouted.
Aside from this girl, there was no one else protecting the monastery.
If anyone was there, it was only the war orphans she was meant to protect—children taken in by the monastery after losing their parents, with nowhere else to go. With state support cut off, this monastery had been left to the girl alone, sheltering them.
"So it's just useless brats left, huh. Humans really are incomprehensible. If you'd just abandoned them, the situation would be a lot better for you."
"What would you know—!"
The girl glared fiercely at the vile attackers.
They didn't understand her reason. They couldn't.
Why protect burdens that couldn't fight back? It wasn't contempt or mockery—just a genuinely simple question spoken aloud.
"Well, whatever. We'll trample you all, so struggle as much as you like."
"I was hoping to have a magic contest with real priests, but this is all that's left? What a bore."
"Tch—!"
Magic came flying.
She deployed a defensive barrier of the goddess's magic and blocked it.
But her mana was already nearing exhaustion.
Her attackers were all demons—each with more mana than she had, each casting magic they had honed themselves, unlike the borrowed magic of the goddess.
Before long, the barrier reached its limit. It began to crumble, and spells broke through one after another, striking the girl's body.
"Ah!!"
With her barrier shattered, the battered girl was blown backward.
"You held out well. But this is the end."
One by one, the demons approached the fallen girl.
There was only one thing demons did to humans who could no longer fight.
The priestess knew that well enough. Even so, she struggled to her feet, her legs unsteady, and fixed her gaze on the demons.
"…Is this… as far as I go…?"
She murmured weakly.
From behind her came the children's anguished cries.
"Big sister! Big sister! Big sister!"
You're silly, she complained silently. I just told you not to shout…
(I'm sorry, everyone… I couldn't protect you. And to all the priests still fighting on the battlefield—I'm sorry. I couldn't protect the place you were meant to return to.)
She closed her eyes and waited for her end.
Just standing was already a struggle.
Soon, her body would be killed—and then gruesomely devoured.
The thought made her tremble, but she no longer had the mana to use the goddess's magic, nor the strength left to run.
…And just as that future seemed sealed—
『Pseudo–Goddess's Three Spears』
Three lances of light struck down upon the advancing demons.
Each beam pierced the head of a demon, exploding and killing them instantly.
"…Huh?"
At the sudden flash and explosion, the priestess lifted her face.
The demons before her were just as bewildered.
"W-what was that!? Goddess's magic!?"
"Are there other priests—?!"
Shaken by the loss of three comrades at once, the demons all turned toward the direction the lances had come from.
The moment they did, swords wrapped in black mana came rushing in at tremendous speed, piercing their foreheads with pinpoint accuracy—their velocity rivaling Zoltraak.
Following the three lances of light, more comrades were skewered one after another by the speeding blades, panic spreading among the demons.
And the descending shadow did not miss that opening.
Wielding a sword, it cut through the demons.
At times the weapon changed into an axe, at times into a spear—its very form and fighting style shifting incessantly. Dancing through the battlefield, it mercilessly slaughtered the demons.
"Who the hell—!?"
The shadow's true identity was a girl.
A demon girl with flowing pink hair.
Ignoring the humans who should have been her prey, she attacked those who should have been her kin instead. The demons could not comprehend what they were seeing.
"A demon… killing demons? And that just now—that was the 'Goddess's Three Spears'? Don't tell me she activated it without a holy scripture?!"
Watching in stunned silence, the priestess was even more confused than they were.
A demon killing demons—one thing.
But ignoring humans, their supposed prey, and actively hunting her own kind.
And above all… if that "Goddess's Three Spears" had truly been cast by that girl, then she was a demon who had used the goddess's magic without a scripture.
…Was that even possible? No—should it be possible?
Unaware of the priestess's turmoil, the slaughter continued.
The girl's movements were like a dance.
In steps punctuated by spins, she changed weapons and forms fluidly, cutting down enemies with elegance. Sometimes graceful, sometimes dazzling, sometimes powerful and brutal—mixing disparate movements seamlessly, never allowing herself to be read, overwhelming her foes head-on.
Her motion was so smooth it felt as if she alone could see the future.
And without thinking, the priestess murmured—
"…Beautiful."
At some point, she had even forgotten that her opponent was a demon, utterly captivated.
It was a sight she should never have been entranced by.
Certainly not one to show the children behind her.
And yet, her eyes were stolen by the killing art—already near perfection, and still evolving.
Before she realized it, the demon horde had vanished, reduced to drifting motes of mana.
The priestess stared blankly at the demon girl standing amid the falling dust.
...
When at last the demon girl turned her emotionless gaze toward her, the priestess snapped back to reality.
"…!"
Seeing the demon girl approach with a treasured sword in hand, the priestess retreated.
Ignoring her, the demon advanced. From the way she gripped the hilt, the priestess realized—this demon intended to kill her too.
She had survived, somehow.
She didn't know why this demon had killed her own kind, but it couldn't possibly have been to save them.
And yet, her legs no longer had the strength to move.
In the instant it took her to step back once, the demon girl closed the distance.
"No—!?"
The priestess's face went pale with despair.
Unperturbed, the demon girl raised her sword toward her neck—
"Big sister!!"
At the children's voices from behind her, the blade stopped just before taking her head.
"…?"
Puzzled that no pain came, the priestess opened her eyes.
The demon girl's gaze was fixed in the direction of the children's voices.
What's more, her eyes were slightly widened—she looked surprised.
It wasn't that a demon had flinched at the cry of mere human children.
Then why had she stopped, eyes wide?
"…That's… an apple orchard?"
The demon girl murmured in confusion.
What had caught her eye was not the children hiding—but the apple trees of the orchard where they had taken cover.
She stared at it for a while.
The priestess, not understanding what was happening, could only watch while trembling before the blade still pointed at her.
…Eventually, it was the demon girl who broke the silence.
"Are those… something you're growing?"
"…? Y-yes. Not on a large scale, but… together with the children, somehow."
"…I see."
Caught off guard by the question, the priestess answered haltingly.
After a brief pause, the demon girl nodded, still holding her sword in place.
She had no idea what the demon was thinking—but she sensed that the killing intent had thinned, if only slightly.
(This demon… could it be—?)
A demon reacting to an apple orchard.
That detail tugged at the priestess's memory—an old story she had once heard.
And then—
"Um—!"
"…?"
Without shrinking back from the blade, the priestess leaned forward and spoke.
"My name is Ange, a priestess! The children behind me are those sheltered by this monastery!"
And then she asked—
—Could you tell me your name?
That was how the demon girl Reinie and the priestess Ange met.