The Battle of Three
Suddenly, Solon and the others found their path blocked by a horde of monsters, cutting them off from Ares. They halted, trying to regroup—not a single one of them willing to leave Ares behind.
But the monsters were too numerous, surrounding them completely, leaving them no room to maneuver.
“Elliot is attacking Ares!”
As magical flames incinerated the monsters, Solon gritted his teeth. Ares was far from weak, but against Elliot—the second strongest after Carlos—the odds were grim.
“So Elliot was the traitor after all.”
Leon kept swinging his sword without pause. Normally, he focused solely on offense, but with Ares absent, he had to protect his allies. That restraint chafed at him.
“We must hurry and help Ares.”
Though Maria chanted healing spells to restore Solon and Leon’s stamina, her gaze remained fixed on Ares. Occasionally, when a monster slipped through, she struck it down with a single, brilliant blow from her staff.
“……You might as well take the front lines yourself.”
Watching her, Solon’s expression twisted into something complicated. As the man of the group, he had positioned himself slightly ahead—but by any measure, Maria seemed far more capable in close combat.
“How rude of you, Solon, to call a delicate maiden like me to the front?”
“Go look up the meaning of ‘delicate’ again.”
Even as they traded jabs, Solon continued casting spells.
An ordinary mage would have been overwhelmed after one or two spells, but Solon kept enemies at bay by rapidly and precisely weaving basic incantations.
This was partly due to Ares’ guidance, but also the result of years of research—minimizing mana consumption and stripping spells down to their bare essentials allowed Solon to fire off magic in rapid succession.
Moreover, Solon and Ares had debated the very nature of magic itself.
Traditional offensive magic was crude—landing a hit was all that mattered. The goal was to defeat as many enemies as possible with overwhelming power. Precision was discouraged; instead, mages were urged to amplify their spells’ potency or learn higher-tier magic.
But Ares lacked the talent for powerful spells, forcing him to master the basics. While magical capacity was innate, precision could be honed through effort. Ares found his path in refining his magic’s accuracy, and Solon had taken notice.
“Greater precision means greater efficiency and lower mana cost. Isn’t that more useful for a journey to slay the Demon King?”
Even Solon, however, had struggled to break free from tradition. Powerful spells were the mark of a skilled mage—until Ares outright rejected that notion, finally giving Solon the push he needed.
(Guess I was just afraid of failure. I needed someone to tell me it was okay.)
With a wry smile, Solon wielded basic magic with such speed and finesse that he held his own in close combat—a feat once deemed impossible for mages.
Leon swung his sword.
His movements were minimal, unflashy, almost plain. Yet there was no wasted motion—every action, down to his fingertips, remained flawless even amidst the encircling horde.
Leon’s swordsmanship hadn’t always been like this. He used to favor flamboyant, eye-catching techniques, eager to prove his strength.
As the youngest Sword Saint, he had been desperate to showcase his skill, mastering new techniques just to flaunt them.
Ares’ swordsmanship was the opposite. Leon had thought he understood the importance of fundamentals, but Ares embodied them. At first, Leon dismissed it—”He’s just compensating for lack of talent.”—but after sparring with him, the results were undeniable.
Day by day, Ares’ movements grew more efficient, his form sharper.
Seeing Ares like that,
(Have I been rushing ahead too fast?)
Watching him, Leon wondered
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to emulate Ares. Pride as the Sword Saint held him back. Even if he yielded the title of Hero, he still believed his sword surpassed Ares’. His techniques were his pride.
But Ares’ criticism finally made him realize his own stubbornness.
(I’m more of a fool than I thought.)
Now, Leon fought with restraint, his swordplay as unassuming as Ares’.
There were no openings—only the monsters’ growing dread.
Maria was in a foul mood.
(Why must I be stuck with Solon and Leon? I vowed to stay by Ares’ side—why must the world be so cruel? I’m the Saintess, yet I failed to foresee such a wretched fate.)
Even in this crisis, Maria lamented her misfortune in another sense.
She chanted healing spells—or rather, minor miracles to ease fatigue and restore a sliver of mana, which required no real effort.
She had learned these for Ares’ sake back at Pharme Academy.
Ares possessed superhuman willpower and endurance, but even he had limits. Without Maria’s discreet healing, his mind and body would have shattered long ago.
Ares’ reckless efforts owed their success to Maria’s devotion—a fact known to no one, not even Ares himself.
She had never spoken of it.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT GADGETIZEDPANDA.COM
Maria held affection for Ares. However, that being said, her actions were simply because she judged him worthy of performing miracles. She had always thought it unseemly to conflate small acts of devotion with one’s personal feelings.
Secretly healing Ares as he strove like a man challenging the gods—this unnoticed care became Maria’s happiness during that time.
Before then, she had used healing magic as a mere duty, mending people’s wounds regardless of her own will. She felt nothing doing so, couldn’t find any value in divine miracles. She even thought herself fortunate not to hear the voice of gods.
She held no hope for anyone—herself included. Ares was the one who changed that.
She had never told Ares about her healings because she didn’t want to taint those happy memories. Perhaps no one would understand this sentiment.
That’s why she was reluctant to use the healing arts she learned for Ares’s sake on another man.
(Still… these people are trying so hard too…)
Maria sighed.
Leon and Solon were nothing like their former selves.
Once, their pride and talent made them demanding of others—Leon isolating himself emotionally, Solon both emotionally and physically.
They were far from Maria’s idea of “good people.”
They had the power to be Heroes, but not the heart.
Now, Leon might qualify. Solon, with a bit more growth, might too.
Yet both would insist, “We’re not Heroes.”
Because they could see Ares’ light. Because they understood—his mediocrity made his spirit all the more precious. Few realized that.
So Maria thought, “I suppose healing them isn’t out of the question.”
But it still irked her. Even if it was necessary.
So when a goblin crept too close, she whacked its head with her staff.
The small monster crumpled, motionless. Watching it, Maria’s mood lightened slightly. Unbecoming of a Saintess, but—”It was self-defense,” she told herself.
Then another monster approached—a burly hobgoblin, wounded by Leon’s sword but still pressing forward, intent on crushing the “helpless” cleric. A staff strike wouldn’t fell this one.
“Does that wound not pain you?”
Maria spoke to the hobgoblin, her voice gentle, brimming with kindness.
The creature froze, groaning (“Ggh…”), though it shouldn’t have understood human speech.
The pain it had endured until now suddenly flared—agonizing, unbearable.
“Oh dear, so much blood…”
Maria’s face twisted in pity.
As if obeying her words, blood gushed uncontrollably from the wound. The hobgoblin stared at its injury, then at Maria, over and over—its face contorted in terror.
“I’m afraid the wound is too deep. There’s no saving you now.”
As Maria shook her head regretfully, the hobgoblin collapsed, dead.
The Saintess exhaled softly.
“Why do humans and monsters alike assume God’s miracles only heal? The divine is not as pure as you believe.”
Her whisper vanished unheard by Leon and Solon.
Though the three rarely got along, they now fought in perfect sync—perhaps because their goal was the same: save Ares.
The enemy numbers were still overwhelming, the encirclement unbroken, but they could sense they were close.
Then, abruptly, the ring of monsters parted.
None of them saw this as an opportunity. Solon’s frown deepened.
“Here they come. First time since the Rozolof Great Forest.”
“Yeah. This one’s stronger than last time.”
Leon tightened his grip on his sword.
From the gap in the horde emerged a towering, blue demon.
TLNOTE:
Because of that volume 1 and 2 fan translation in this site will be removed in the near future
otherwise check the internet archive
As usual, please consider reading other novels written by Daken sensei listed below :
- Monster Meat Led Me to the Throne
- The Castle of Canaan ~ The Lost Kingdom’s Princess, the World’s Hidden Treasure, and the Grand Adventure of the Mightiest Band of Thieves Versus an Empire ~
- The Wicked Princess and 12 Eyes – The Strongest Squires and the Legendary Evil Woman, the Second Time in Her Life
- The Suspects of Necromancy
- The Exiled Merchant Saves the World with the Power of Gold (translated by my friend meerkat)
- The Last Magic (translated by my friend narwhal)
Also check out my friend Localizermeerkat for more LN translations!
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