His men at arms lay where they’d fallen, scattered in his wake, their bodies intermingled with the legions of demons and lesser dark minions who’d contested their advance through the fortress’ first sixty-seven floors. They had fought bravely and beyond any expectation, but for all their skills, for all their abilities, they’d been only mortal men.
The last of them had spent his life’s blood midway up the passage to floor sixty-eight. No single one of them had given up the struggle. Not one of them had fled.
The priest had perished on floor sixty-two, wading unafraid into the horde of undead who’d blanketed it. He’d given over every last vestige of his will, his spirit, and finally his life in the grand banishment that followed. Those few stunned dregs to survive had been easily cut down by the last of the men at arms.
An arcane trap had taken the master thief on floor sixty-nine, but not before he’d managed the final lock barring their way to the stairway.
The artificer had followed the last of his toys into oblivion in order to fell the great guardian dragon Noringa on the seventieth floor. The steam cannon’s explosive projectiles hadn’t managed to finish the task, but its subsequent self-detonation had, tearing both its creator and the dragon to bits and scattering their remains across the hall.
All to place him here on floor seventy-one with his enchantress, in the Great Chamber. But here was as far as he would go. He knew that now.
The two of them were all that was left of the expedition to breach the Obsidian Fortress and slay the Demon Lord Mohrtgauth. Their plan was a shambles, as were the backup plans as far down the list as they’d calculated. It was unlikely they would survive. His only hope was that he would take the demon lord with him when he went to join his ancestors that they not look down on him.
“I am Ishihara Kenjiro!” he shouted up at the towering creature, easily three times his own size. Its bat wings were half unfurled, its four arms askew, one of them culminating in a dripping stump rather than a hand.
“I am Samurai!” he announced hard upon his introduction. “And I will take your life now as you have taken so many before!”
On the floor behind him, just within the chamber entry, lay the enchantress Rosaluna Galbradia, her body half covered by the severed hand of the demon lord, her mouth pouring blood. Mohrtgauth had surprised them badly.
All evidence had pointed to its never venturing below floor seventy-five. It had been one of the few things about which they’d been confident. They should only be facing lesser spawn on this floor. But the moment they’d entered the Great Chamber of floor seventy-one with Kenjiro well in the lead and Rosaluna hanging back to support, Mohrtgauth had sprung upon her from above.
It had snatched up the girl and sliced out her tongue with its razor talons before either she or Kenjiro could react. As though it had already known who each of them were, and where their powers lay, and who would be more immediately dangerous.
It had been taking flight again, raising her feebly struggling body to its gaping maw when Kenjiro had made his leap, shouting his focusing cry. The gleaming blade of his nodachi had sliced through the wrist of the arm holding Rosaluna in a spray of ichor, severing it cleanly.
For all his training, then, he would have dropped the nodachi and dived to cushion her fall, but the demon, roaring its rage, was already slashing down with its three remaining hands, and it took all of his concentration to fend them off. He was mostly successful.
There followed a series of blow and counterstrike that carried the combatants across the floor and away from the injured girl.
And now, here he stood. Wounded, weary, heartsick, but unbowed. Mohrtgauth was in little better condition, for Kenjiro’s nodachi was no ordinary weapon. Its true name was Kami no Seigi no Katana. The most holy of holy swords, won at great cost from its guardian for this specific purpose. Alone among the blades of Mund, Kami no Seigi no Katana was able to pierce the hide of the demon lord, and Kenjiro had been making extensive use of that property. Along with removing one of its hands, the holy sword had carved out scores of deep wounds in the beast’s flesh and had shredded its wings.
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For all his strength, however, all his speed.... For all that he was a hero endowed with extraordinary powers by the god of Mund, he was yet a man, and the fight through the fortress had been long. He was at the end of his strength. The plan, if such it could be called, should only the two of them survive this far, had been for Rosaluna to fortify him with her magic for the last push. But without a tongue, even did she yet live, her ability to cast magic was severely limited.
Even as the thought passed through his mind, he felt a touch, gentle as a breeze. “NO!” he shouted without turning from Mohrtgauth, forcing his voice to the guttural of command. “Heal yourself first! You are of no use to me dead!”
LIAR! Even as the words were true, the implication was utterly false. She must heal herself first because she must live. Above all else, Rosaluna must live. This was the single driving force of Kenjiro’s existence at this moment. She must live! All else was secondary. Saving the world, avenging his comrades, killing the demon lord. All was as nothing compared to her life. Even his own.
He felt the touch fade and smiled grimly to himself. That was it, then. He would not survive. But she might. If he could strike down the Demon.
Mohrtgauth, perhaps sensing the spell, weak as it was, turned toward the fallen enchantress. Kenjiro moved to block its way. He had the strength for one last strike. He would make it count. He closed his eyes to slits and adjusted his stance, focusing, concentrating. All of his chi. All of his spirit. All of his mana. Everything into the blade of his nodachi. All of his will, his history. The honor of his family, his ancestors.
Kami no Seigi no Katana’s blade began to glow the fierce yellow-white of a rising sun. He was humming now, deep in the back of his throat, bringing everything that was in him to the fore. This strike would be the sum total of his entire existence. Everything he’d been striving to from the moment of his birth until this single instant. And it would destroy the Demon Lord Mohrtgauth for once and for all. And she would live.
Mohrtgauth saw the glow and crouched more deeply, bringing its fangs into the contest, long as daggers in their own right. It would have taken flight then, but the sword in the hands of the impossibly quick human had rendered its wings incapable of supporting it.
The hum was growing louder. A prayer now, as well as a spell. The glare of the blade altered slightly, shifting more directly to white as its holy powers manifested.
Without warning, and with the last of its strength, Mohrtgauth pounced, attacking before the sword could be fully activated. Kenjiro stepped into it, sweeping the blade up and around in a wide diagonal slash as he called out the blade’s binding command with the greatest volume he could muster.
The hundred-twenty centimeter blade of Kami no Seigi no Katana bit deeply into the chest of the demon, sinking half its length into the otherworldly flesh. One of the demon lord’s foul hearts was cleaved in two and one of its lungs clipped before the blade encountered a thick rib and snapped off short.
An explosion rocked the Great Chamber, centered at the point where the two halves of the blade had parted, sending dust and chips of stone down from the ceiling and up from the floor. A flash of brilliant light momentarily rendered the entirety of the chamber invisible. When it abated, the combatants had been pushed several meters apart.
Mohrtgauth was on its knees, all three hands pressed against the gaping hole in its chest, struggling ineffectually to pluck the stub of the blade from its flesh. Ichor ran from its mouth and nostrils, pouring onto the flagstone floor to join with that gushing forth from its chest wound. It rocked back onto its heels, breath thundering in harsh, bubbling gasps. It glared down at the human warrior for a moment before collapsing onto its side. It began to drag itself away. Slowly, painfully, centimeter by centimeter, coughing ichor and curses.
During the entire span of the demon lord’s snail-like escape, Ishihara Kenjiro stood immobile, hands down, still gripping the stub of the holy sword. At last, with only the fading echoes of the creature’s retreat remaining, he dropped to his knees. A moment later, he toppled forward onto his face and was still.
The hall was quiet save for the strangled sobbing of the girl, clinging to a life that had now lost all meaning.
The surviving commanders of the army —those who had remained outside the fortress to guard against such of the demon lord’s lieutenants as hadn’t been present— broached the walls early the next morning and retrieved the enchantress and the bodies of their brethren, along with the corpse of the dragon Noringa. Even with the ichor trail laying thick as a small river, none dared follow to determine whether the demon lord yet lived.