The specter understood the meaning of those words.
Molon was right. The specter didn't know Molon. He knew the name and the appearance. Molon existed in his memory, but the memories did not belong to the specter.
The person named Molon Ruhr, whom the specter knew, was based on Hamel's memories. Molon Ruhr existed only in Hamel's memories.
On the other hand, Molon standing before him now existed in reality, not just in his memory. This man before him did not act foolishly like Molon from the memories. He didn't burst into hearty laughter, nor did he show unconditional trust and friendship.
Instead of laughter, this man had anger. Hatred, not trust. Murderous intent, not friendship. To the specter, Molon was not Molon as he had thought of based on the memories, just as the specter wasn’t Hamel to Molon.
But that was also precisely why Molon was Molon. Molon was exactly as the specter had imagined he would be. He had not doubted for a single moment that Molon would act this way after knowing the truth and facing him.
Even Hamel would have reacted the same way if he had faced Molon’s Death Knight after hundreds of years. Therefore, Molon would never accept the specter, nor would he consider listening to the specter's circumstances. There was no reason for Molon to do so.
'Even so,' the specter thought with a bitter smile, 'if I begged, you would stop to listen, even just for a moment.'
Despite Molon’s intense anger, if the specter fell to his knees and begged, he knew Molon would pause his attack momentarily. If the specter spoke of his situation, acknowledged he was a fake, and explained that he was allowed to exist by Vermouth, Molon would hesitate and ponder.
That was the kind of man Molon was.
'Should I do that?' the specter wondered momentarily.
But the specter wasn’t Hamel. He could not become Hamel. Obsessing over this verification now seemed ridiculous. What the specter sought was what he could do, what he should do.
The specter couldn't fight the Demon King of Incarceration or the Demon King of Destruction. So, should he fight against Noir Giabella? Was the purpose of his existence to aid Hamel in battle against Giabella and other demons? Was that what Vermouth had intended him to do?
Was that all? Did he exist just to fight trivial demons? What could he do for the world? What should he do?
"Specter,” Molon called out.
With just the grasp of an axe, everything about Molon changed. The specter felt a powerful aura emanating from Molon as he stared at the specter.
"You are not Hamel,” he said.
It was an obvious, undeniable statement.
"I don't know if you came here to deceive or mock me,” continued Molon.
There was immense power focused on the axe. Dark power stirred around the specter in response. He knew he couldn’t simply allow himself to be struck by the axe.
"But specter, if you come to me with Hamel's face, speaking with Hamel's voice, claiming to know me, then as Hamel's friend, I have no choice but to be enraged,” said Molon.
The specter just chuckled at those words. It was typical of Molon. This laughter made Molon hesitate for a moment.
Hamel had told him of the Death Knight.
The specter was a Death Knight made from Hamel’s buried corpse from the desert tomb. He was created with all of the memories extracted from Hamel’s body and formed into a conscious being. Some of his memories had been manipulated for easier control.
‘He thinks he died betrayed by everyone rather than dying after throwing himself for Vermouth,' Molon recalled.
Therefore, the Death Knight despised the world and everything that was associated with his past comrades. If so, Molon could understand why this ghastly specter came here alone.
'He should have come to kill me,' Molon realized.
He was betrayed by his comrades and killed?
Although it was a lie not worth believing, a being born from lies would naturally be swayed by such a lie. In fact, Hamel had heard from the specter of its hatred and contempt for his old comrades, as well as its murderous intent towards the entire Lionheart lineage.
If this specter, resembling Hamel, came to know that Molon Ruhr was alive, he would naturally come for revenge… especially if his ego actually resembled Hamel’s. It was almost expected that the specter would show up.
But to show up without displaying any killing intent was also like Hamel.
While Hamel could be angry with the descendants of Vermouth, even if he was filled with hatred and the desire to kill, Hamel would hesitate when he actually faced his comrades. Hamel would first ask for reasons for the betrayal before drawing his sword and attacking.
There was a sense of dissonance.
Molon grappled with how to interpret this dissonance. It was like Hamel not to attack immediately, but the silence was unusual.
...Molon didn't want to confront it. So he revealed the truth straight away.
—You are not Hamel.
Even after hearing those words, the specter didn't react defensively. Instead, it wore a wistful smile.
"...Could it be?" Molon said, realizing the truth.
The power filling the axe dissipated slightly. The oppressive presence around Molon lightened somewhat, and surprise flickered in his eyes, which were previously filled only with rage, hatred, and murderous intent.
"Realized it..." the specter said, sounding displeased.
The specter disliked it.
Molon’s action wasn't deliberate. It was honest and instinctual. It was as if he had acted without thinking.
But the specter didn't want Molon to recognize the truth. He didn’t want to give Molon the time to deliberate on the truth he grasped. He didn't want to be judged or understood in pity. The idea of Molon’s hatred and murderous intent morphing into sympathy was intolerable.
Yes. He didn't want pity or understanding. The specter instinctively leaped into action and rapidly closed the distance between him and Molon.
Molon felt the specter's unleashed dark power, which shocked him.
'Why did I only realize it now?' Molon thought in shock.
Until this moment, he hadn't sensed any dark power from the specter. He had been solely engrossed in the specter’s appearance, which resembled Hamel. But now, the specter was unleashing enormous amounts of dark power. It left Molon horrified. Moreover, the nature of the ominous dark power was….
"You!" Molon's confusion and hesitation vanished.
The specter was emitting the ominous dark power of Destruction. He was more powerful than any Nur Molon had slain over hundreds of years. It threatened to unhinge and destroy his sanity.
Despite being called a fake, the specter didn't react. Perhaps that was when it understood its true identity. That realization had made Molon hesitate briefly.
But now, Molon no longer hesitated as the specter unleashed its dark power and attacked.
This entity should not exist. That was how Molon chose to define the specter. The specter’s mere existence threatened to ruin the world, especially here in Lehainjar, which was close to the End Vermouth had warned about.
Boom!
Molon's axe clashed with the specter's sword. Despite only exchanging a single blow, Molon was immediately struck with a fundamental emotion. It was something he had long forgotten, an emotion that humans instinctively possessed.
Disgust. What he felt was the same emotion a human might have when faced with many-legged insects, squirming rats, or rotting corpses…. He felt a similar emotion of disgust. But more than the impact of the clash, he felt disgust at the overwhelming power that the specter possessed. It made his skin crawl.
Then, another emotion also started to creep into his heart. It was fear. Molon gritted his teeth.
That dark power... was qualitatively different from the Nur's. Even after only a single exchange, it reminded him of the Demon King of Destruction from three hundred years ago.
"Ugh...!" A groan slipped through Molon’s clenched teeth.
The specter's black sword matched Molon's axe in the direct power struggle, and the endless outpour of dark power repelled Molon's mana.
‘He dares….’
Crack!
The axe finally shattered the black sword. Just as it seemed like Molon was about to cleave the specter, the specter leaped back.
Instead of continuing his assault, Molon stamped his foot.
Boom!
An explosion erupted around him.
Molon gripped his axe with both hands, concentrating the dispersed power into it. The specter also raised his hands while standing high in the sky. He wielded a pair of swords too large for one hand.
The specter was the first to launch his attacks as he fell — a dizzying barrage of strikes. Even for Molon, it was impossible to read and counter every blow.
However, Molon never intended to counter each strike. Amid the chaotic flurry, his axe split through the center.
Boom!
Dark power and mana mixed together, and Molon swallowed hard as he thought, 'Even if it's a fake….'
Just one split didn't end the flurry. Continuous sword strikes pressed him from all sides. This sword dance was more advanced than what Molon remembered of Hamel. It also resembled Eugene’s current attacks. That fact made Molon uncomfortable.
Molon had trained against Eugene several times each day for the last six months. As such, he realized he was rather well-versed in the specter’s attacks.
It was familiar. That very fact sent chills down Molon's spine. The specter's sword was no different from Eugene's. If anything, it represented a different endpoint that had begun from Hamel.
So, which was superior? The answer was clear: Eugene's swordsmanship.
It had to be. The swordsmanship Eugene displayed before his departure was a culmination of various elements. It wasn’t something that was purely Hamel's, but rather a form of swordsmanship enriched by the experiences of War God Agaroth, experiences of Eugene Lionheart after his reincarnation, as well as countless life-and-death battles with Molon.
The specter's sword couldn't match Eugene's.
But it was tenacious. His techniques were forged in hatred and murderous intent to kill the opponent at any cost, even if it meant self-destruction.
Molon didn't want to think this way, but the specter's swordsmanship was reminiscent of Hamel. If Hamel had dedicated himself wholly and intensely to the sword, it might have taken a form like this.
If Molon hadn't met Eugene, hadn't known he was the reincarnation of Hamel, and even if he knew that this specter was fake….
‘I might have wavered,’ Molon admitted.
The sword forged in murderous intent was relentless and persistent. In a brief span, Molon smashed apart thousands of strikes. But he couldn't deal a fatal blow. It seemed there was no such thing as a fatal blow against this entity.
Molon didn't feel inferior when it came to power, but simply clashing and exchanging attacks with the specter seemed to chip away at him. No, it was truly causing his being to erode away.
It was similar to how the century-long battles with the Nur had worn on his spirit. Every moment he faced the specter had a similar effect.
"Fake," Molon spat with seething anger.
To think that just confronting it caused corruption and madness. Even so, Molon wouldn't retreat. He knew he wasn't alone.
If he were to go mad from the specter, to wander in a barrier alone, tear at Nur's corpses, and bash his head into the ground, unable to die, Eugene, Sienna, and Anise would surely do something about it.
But even without that belief, Molon wouldn't step back. He would have long abandoned Vermouth’s request if he feared going mad.
‘Fake,’ the specter thought.
How many times had he heard that? He never became accustomed to it. Each time, it felt like his heart was being carved out. The specter didn't respond and instead just moved his sword.
Molon was indeed Molon. His strength and axe were incomparably stronger than the specter remembered. If they had met right after the specter became an undead, the fight wouldn't even have been viable.
‘How ironic,' the specter chuckled inwardly.
He had once raged about meeting Molon for revenge despite the disparity that would have existed between them in the past. The specter swallowed a bitter smile and twisted his body to dodge a blow.
Although the axe had narrowly missed him, it still tore away at his existence.
'Would dying by your hand bring peace?' he contemplated.
Suddenly, Molon's axe stopped. The specter's sword simultaneously ceased. They hadn't completely lowered their weapons, but both the specter and Molon stopped their attacks and stared at each other.
"...You are a fake. You are not Hamel,” said Molon.
"....." The specter didn’t say anything.
"But." Molon decided to acknowledge what he felt at the moment. "Your sword is like Hamel's."
"...What?" the specter responded, surprised.
"I don't care how you take this. You've insulted me and... my friend by coming before me.” Molon sighed while shaking his head. “But, I, Molon Ruhr, am a warrior. Your sword is honed in desperation, and I can feel it. Although it was brief, I felt it when I battled against you.”
What was he saying? The specter's eyes quivered in turmoil. Unperturbed by the disturbance, Molon continued, “I do not know what you came here for. I do not want to hear it, either. However, I am… I am a warrior, so I want to acknowledge this.”
Molon lowered his axe for a brief moment.
"I, Molon Ruhr, recognize you as a warrior," he declared.
Whether the opponent was Hamel, a fake, human, or monster, it didn't matter. If one held a weapon, trained, pursued, and stood in battle, they were a warrior in Molon's eyes.
The specter was a warrior in Molon’s eyes.
“Haha….” The specter couldn't help but laugh. Such a statement was so typical of Molon. No one else in his place would have said the same thing at this moment.
"...Do you want to… kill me?" the specter asked. He thought the answer was obvious.
"Yes," Molon's response was straightforward and simple.
He had the right to kill the specter. As he said earlier, the specter had insulted Molon just by being here. As Hamel's friend, he had every right to end the specter.
The specter might have thought dying by Molon's hand wouldn't be so bad just moments ago.
But now, things were different. He had found a glimpse of the answer to the questions he had sought, the questions about who he was, what he could do, and what he should do.
Molon, the Brave Molon, had recognized the specter as a warrior.
"No,” said the specter.
Molon set aside his personal anger and other emotions. He acknowledged and faced the specter.
The specter knew he was a fake, yet he had wanted to avoid the truth. He had been tied to his mistaken obsessions. He had thought it was okay to die by Molon’s hand. The specter had ignored that his obstinacy not only led to his own death but also sickened Molon.
Look around.
Though the battle was short, much had changed since the beginning. All the snow in the area had evaporated. No more snow fell from the sky. Rather, the once hazy sky filled with snow clouds had now turned gray with something else.
Blood.
The specter also noticed the blood he had spilled. Naturally, he hadn't been conscious of it, but the area around them was drenched in blood.
He had spilled blood each time he was grazed or torn apart by Molon's axe. He had not paid attention to it in his battle against the Demon King of Incarceration. It had not been necessary. However, it was different here.
His blood didn't disappear. Even if he could recollect the blood, the sinister essence that had seeped into the ground remained.
The specter looked at Molon. His robust body could be seen sporting wounds. Not just simple wounds either, but cuts and contamination from the blade of dark power. In just a short time, Molon's breathing had become rough, and shadows flickered in his eyes.
"I can't die by your hand,” said the specter.
He couldn’t die, especially not here. The specter turned his head and looked at the distant mountain peaks.
Beyond them lay Raguyaran.
"...It was good meeting you," the specter said in parting.
Before Molon could respond, the specter dropped his sword and closed his eyes.
When he reopened them, he looked up at the sky.
Floating stations in the high sky caught his gaze.