The Heroes Who Executed Me Are Obsessed With Me

The Holy Sword and the Demon Sword.

The weapons of the Hero and the Demon King, respectively.

Because they had to amplify the overwhelming power of those two beings, they were not something that could be crafted through ordinary means.

“The Holy Sword?”

Currently, unlike the Demon Sword, which had gained self-awareness and willingly submitted to Clay, the Holy Sword created by the dwarves remained inside the sanctum.

“W-Well…”

It was supposed to be.

“It’s gone.”

“What?”

“The Holy Sword… It’s missing.”

The Holy Sword had to be stored in the sanctum to recharge its divine power and had to be located on the altar where the Path of Light could be summoned, always ready to respond to the Hero’s call.

One of the knights, who had just scoured the sanctum, reported its absence, causing the Second Commander of Krata’s Knights to go pale.

“That’s nonsense! The Hero is gone—how could the Holy Sword be missing?!”

Only the Hero could summon the Holy Sword. The dwarves had acknowledged that only the Hero was fit to wield it.

To set the coordinates for the Path of Light and access the ancient sanctum, both dwarves and priests had to collaborate.

With no prospect of cooperation between them anymore, there was no way anyone could have secretly stolen the sword.

‘What the hell is going on…?’

The commander bit his lip.

‘No one should even be able to take it.’

The Holy Sword, embedded in the sanctum in standby mode, couldn’t be removed unless summoned by the Hero.

Following Emperor Lutan’s orders, the Second Knights had come to retrieve the Holy Sword and were planning to remove the entire altar.

Of course, since the altar was also part of the ancient ruins, it was protected by sacred wards and couldn’t be moved at will.

However, thanks to the high priests temporarily disabling those wards in advance, it was now possible to remove the altar.

‘This is bad.’

And yet, with the Holy Sword itself gone, taking the altar would be meaningless. The commander clutched his helmet, restless with worry.

‘If His Majesty hears about this…’

There were already rumors that Beatrice had stolen the Hero’s corpse to conduct some unholy scheme.

Lutan believed the demons were attempting to revive their race by any means necessary. That was why he had even unleashed an ancient god and sent it to the Demon Realm, but the attempt had failed, as the commander had only recently learned.

And not even through official channels, but from a subordinate stationed with the Guardian Knights.

“Commander, we should at least send a report…”

“Silence!”

The commander waved his arm furiously.

“You want me to go back and tell His Majesty that the Holy Sword is gone?! Are you mad?!”

Ever since the execution, Emperor Lutan had been particularly sensitive about anything related to the Hero. Even in death, he seemed unable to find peace.

“If he finds out the Holy Sword disappeared despite there being no Hero, he’ll be furious. He might even think the dwarves are behind it.”

“What?”

“If we report this recklessly, he might label the dwarves as the culprits and strike them down!”

Even as a loyal subject of Lutan, the commander was still human. The Hero’s death had left a lingering discomfort in his heart.

Provoking Lutan further and igniting a needless conflict with the dwarves was something he desperately wanted to avoid.

“Search the area. It could have been misplaced during the recall process.”

“But sir, that’s extremely unlikely…”

“Just do it!”

Barked at, the subordinate bowed and ran off. Soon, other knights, having received the commander's orders, scattered to search for the missing sword.

‘Damn it.’

The commander pressed his fingers to his forehead.

‘What the hell happened here?’

Unless the sword had grown legs and walked off on its own…

“Commander!”

A shout cut through the air. The commander rushed to the source.

“T-This…”

Near the grassy area around the sanctum.

There were clearly visible traces—like something had cut through the grass and moved forward in a straight line.

♧

“She comes when I mention her.”

Hearing Syltanaro knock, Beatrice let out a sharp scoff.

“Just bared her teeth at me the other day, and now she’s already trying to cozy up to you. Be careful.”

“She didn’t come to me. I let her stay.”

“I’m saying be careful how you treat her.”

Beatrice frowned slightly.

“She may be a sword, but she’s still a sentient being. You don’t know what kind of influence she could have on someone who just became the Demon King. So take proper precautions.”

“You seem sharper than usual.”

Clay looked mildly troubled and asked,

“Is it because Syltanaro said she wanted to stay in my room?”

“That might be part of it.”

“Sounds a little vague.”

“No, you’re the vague one, Clay.” Beatrice warned him, “For demons, hierarchy matters. If she decides to live in your room, it might break that order.”

“…”

“If you find it hard to bring up, I can…”

“Beatrice.” Clay sighed, “Except when recharging divine power, I never once returned the Holy Sword to the sanctum.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, keeping my weapon close is only natural for someone like me.”

You never knew when or how an enemy might strike. It was only logical to keep one’s weapon nearby at all times.

“Besides, Syltanaro has already sworn herself to me. She wouldn’t harm me, even unintentionally. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“No, what I meant was…”

Beatrice trailed off, then gave an awkward wave of her hand.

“Fine. Do as you wish. I’ll be heading off as your emissary now.”

“Take care. And I’ll make sure to consider your advice carefully.”

Watching her walk out the door, Clay offered one final word. Beatrice gave a dry chuckle as she glanced back at him.

“Right. Thanks.”

She walked past him and said, “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Clack.

As she opened the door and stepped outside, Syltanaro was standing right there.

“U-Um. Hello.”

Syltanaro gave Beatrice an awkward greeting, as if unsure how to respond.

“Not particularly well, but… hello.”

Beatrice responded softly to the awkward Syltanaro.

“Go on in.”

“H-Huh?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

At her words, Syltanaro quickly snapped back to her senses and moved.

“R-Right. I’ll go.”

Watching her step into the room and close the door, Beatrice gave a slight nod.

“Well, like Clay said, she’s just a weapon.”

And with that, she turned her gaze away and headed down her own path.

♧

Ezer.

Under Tia’s orders, the empire was preparing for war.

‘Is Her Majesty truly planning to confront Krata head-on?’

Royal Guard Captain Rexton swallowed dryly as he watched the bustling soldiers.

‘Even just Yaphenon alone is more than we can handle.’

Yaphinon was a nation seasoned by war. Having often been dispatched to battlefields on Krata’s behalf, a large portion of their forces consisted of elite troops.

‘Of course, we do have two heroes on our side, but…’

Nael and Yelena—both former members of the Hero’s party.

While not quite on par with the Hero himself, Nael and Yelena were still among the strongest individuals on the continent. If they fought with all their strength, they might be able to resist Yaphenon and the rest of the Holy Alliance.

If only they were in their right minds.

“……”

“Sorry… I’m sorry…”

A short distance away from where soldiers were marching back and forth, Nael sat blankly on the ground while Yelena stood alone, whispering apologies to the air.

“Haa…”

Rexton let out a deep sigh.

‘They’re completely broken.’

He still couldn’t understand how the Hero had been accused of treason, let alone executed. And now, the state of his former companions made it even harder to grasp what was going on.

‘No matter what, we have to hold out…’

As Rexton stared vacantly into space, Empress Tia of Ezer was not in her office—but in her bedroom.

“……”

She sat in silence, staring blankly at the cross she held in her hands.

She couldn’t say for sure whether she could truly oppose the Holy Alliance with Nael and Yelena in their current state.

Yaphenon and Marfane weren’t what concerned her most.

Holy Krata.

The ruling nation at the center of the Holy Alliance—that was what weighed most heavily on her mind.

“In the end… I suppose there’s no other choice.”

To win the war, she would have to shoulder an equal measure of risk. Clutching the cross in her hands, she closed her eyes.

“I now vow to bear all burdens… Let this mark be granted unto me. This is to maintain the balance and preserve my faith in You.”

Crack!

As she began to chant the prayer, a crack appeared in the cross.

“So that those who use falsehoods can no longer blind Your eyes or disturb Your order… I will uphold the power of the promise passed down through generations and fulfill my duty.”

Smash!

At last, the cross shattered into pieces in her hand.

“Urgh!”

At that moment, she clenched her teeth as searing pain erupted across her back.

Whoosh!

For a brief instant, flames erupted.

They left behind a glowing mark on her back before quickly vanishing.

“Huff… Huff…”

The cross.

In its place, a glowing symbol now etched itself onto her body, burning like a tattoo.

“Haa…”

Tia dropped to her knees, trembling, and reached with shaking hands to the part of her back where the mark had burned through her clothes.

Stigmata.

Though it couldn’t be seen, she could feel it clearly—this divine mark engraved on her flesh.

Lowering her gaze, she let out a hollow chuckle.

“So I’ve gone and done it.”

Etching a stigmata meant sacrificing her lifespan. It allowed her to draw upon power that no mere human could wield—at the cost of her own life.

“I wish I’d… used it before the Hero was executed.”

Back then, she couldn’t touch the cross at all.

In order to use it, she had to hold it with her bare hands and recite the prayer. But at the time, the cross burned so fiercely in her grasp that it nearly melted flesh and bone.

Strangely, it only behaved that way in her hands. When placed on a pedestal or stored away, it caused no such reaction.

It was as though some curse had prevented her from using it.

But whatever the cause had been—it no longer mattered.

The Hero was dead. The Hero’s party was in shambles. There was no longer any honor left to protect.

All she had left now… was to survive alongside her nation.

“Yuru…”

As the pain from the stigmata faded, she clenched her delicate hand into a tight fist.

“Where are you now?”

The enemy of her enemy was her friend. Their relationship may have fractured, but she still needed every bit of power she could get.

“I wouldn’t mind wallowing in the mud together again…”

Shuffle.

She slowly stood up and took a step forward.

Thus, a saintess bearing malice was born.

♧

Whooooosh…

Above the canyon surrounding Barungenia.

“Brother.”

Atop the cliff stood Yuru—the Grand Mage of the Blue Tower and one who had reached Origin.

“Amazing.”

She had witnessed everything. The fight between Clay and the ancient god Athanasia—his victory included.

Staring down at the remnants of that battle, she murmured to herself,

“As I thought… it’s a trial.”

A trial that the world had offered to help Clay ascend to a more fitting role.

Having followed Athanasia and gathered all she needed to know, Yuru smiled.

Scrape… scrape…

Just then, she heard something dragging along the ground behind her. She turned around.

“Hm?”

What she saw was the Holy Sword, moving across the ground all on its own, carving a trail through the dirt.

(End of Chapter)