Halo wondered if what he felt was the moment of death.
He could only smile at the hot pain burning through his chest. He had lived a long time for someone who still gripped a sword. He'd toppled the Malevolent Emperor, risen to be the continent's strongest, and endured for quite some time. It had been long, but not boring. Only a little regret remained at the end.
Halo coughed.
If he had held on a bit longer, it could have helped Caron. That was the single, faint regret—the rest was gone. Surpassing human limits alone didn't seem as if it would aid Caron any further.
Crrrack.
The core, torn by the blade, burned with its last flame. A deep, vivid blue ignited and lent Halo a final breath of vitality.
"If one is perceptive, this is how it goes. Could've let yourself be fooled a bit, you know? I never planned to kill you here, Grandfather," the false Caron mocked.
The Demon King before Halo sneered and taunted him. Even wearing Caron's face, that figure wasn't Caron. The resemblance only stoked Halo's anger.
"Nothing will be left for you," Halo declared.
"Is that a curse?" the false Caron rasped. "Not like Grandfather at all. The Halo Leston I remember... was so great I wouldn't have expected you to spill a drop of blood. That fake softened you up, didn't it? You grew weak because of the impostor. Tsk tsk."
Even calling that thing Caron felt disgusting. It was a Demon King—no, the Final Demon King. He continued to mock Halo.
"Those with something to protect grow weak. Only when you have nothing to lose can you embrace madness and transcend limits," the Final Demon King added.
Squelch!
He tore the sword from Halo's chest and thrust it in again—this time into his lower abdomen. The mana Halo had scraped together in his gut scattered in an instant. He couldn't even retaliate. The Demon King's power, riding the blade, had already begun to devour his body.
Halo felt a helplessness he had never known before. Still, with the last of his strength, he swung his sword.
Whoosh.
The blade, bereft of mana, merely cut the air. The Final Demon King clicked his tongue and struck with a fist; Halo, hit hard, couldn't hold his sword.
Clang!
Gram, the sword that had been his companion for so long, fell to the ground. The Final Demon King kicked it away.
"You know," he sneered as he grasped Halo by the collar, "this was a sword I once used. Among those who inherited my blood, your talent shone the brightest. If you hadn't interfered with my plans, I might have kept you alive."
The reincarnation of Rael Leston, the Final Demon King, smirked as he hauled Halo upright.
"Who would've guessed that the bastard Demon King of Havoc had the power to reincarnate? But what annoys me more is that he chose that fake," the Final Demon King continued. Madness glimmered in his eyes.
"So I will kill you, and I will kill the friend you cherish. No—perhaps I don't need to kill your friend. I'll spare that fake and I'll make him watch his companions die one by one. He forgot that vengeance was our life's purpose. He's nothing but a traitor," he explained.
All the world's malice flowed through him. The hatred he held was so deep and terrible even Halo could barely fathom it.
"Just imagine the look on that deluded fool's face. Doesn't that thrill you?" the Final Demon King purred.
Gray dust began to trickle from Halo's body.
"It's my life force turning into dust. Quite the spectacle, isn't it? The Halo Leston in my world died like this too," the Final Demon King said.
Halo's voice failed him, but he still smiled faintly. His core lay broken; he had no strength even to move a finger.
I am certain you will reach a different end, Caron, he thought.
He was convinced that this fake could never become the real Caron. Even if he, Halo, vanished from the world, Caron wouldn't make the wrong choice. That was who he was. Even if he didn't show it, he always bore responsibility. For that reason, Halo trusted Caron.
Ssshhhh!
Dust began to pour from Halo's body like a waterfall, and his vision slowly sank into black. He had lived a life without regrets, so he met its end without any either.
Win, Caron, he thought.
That he couldn't be there to cheer Caron on—that alone was the one regret that lingered faintly in his heart.
Just as Halo's consciousness was being pulled into a deep, endless abyss...
Fwoooosh!
Through the darkened void of his vision, a streak of dark blue light tore across the sky like a falling star.
Booooom!
The explosion was so deafening it seemed to shatter the world itself. Halo realized that the power binding his body had vanished.
A moment later, a familiar voice—playful and teasing as ever—echoed beside his ear, "If I'd been a little later, I might've missed your last moments. Are you trying to make me the bad grandson here, Halo?"
Whoosh.
A cool surge of mana seeped into Halo's body, weaving itself into the fragments of his shattered core. In mere moments, the broken pieces began to settle, their chaos soothed by the mana.
Halo's eyes fluttered open. He looked up at his old friend and managed a faint, tired smile. He muttered, "Don't you dare lose."
"And what if I do?" Caron asked.
"Then I'll follow you to hell and give you an earful," Halo answered.
"...After we've gone through one lifetime together, isn't that enough? You really mean to chase me into the afterlife just to nag me? You're one stubborn bastard," Caron said with a laugh, easing Halo down onto the ground.
His tone softened and he added, "Get some rest, Halo. By the time you wake, it'll all be over."
"...Don't die," Halo murmured.
"I won't," Caron replied simply.
With that, Halo closed his eyes.
Caron stood, dusted off his pants, and turned toward the figure smiling at him in the distance—the Final Demon King wearing his own face.
He gave a casual wave, then said, "Now it feels fair, doesn't it?"
The "fake" let out a snicker. "How strange. You absorbed the power of Void, but it seems you haven't fully embraced it yet."
"I made a deal with him," Caron replied coolly.
"A deal? With the one you swore vengeance upon? That's absurd," the Final Demon King said.
"It's funny hearing that from a counterfeit bastard who pretends to care. Don't meddle—just die quietly. I'll take care of the rest," Caron snapped.
He smiled as he summoned his mana.
Whoosh.
Across the dark blue sea beneath their feet, waves of violet light began to roll and tremble. The power of Void—won through absorbing the Demon King of Void—kept trying to corrupt his mind, whispering endlessly in his head.
"Become the Final Demon King."
"For your goal, you can become anything."
"Accept the malice."
Countless voices clawed through his thoughts, but Caron paid them no mind. Voices could be ignored.
He tightened his grip around Guillotine and smiled faintly before asking, "Shall we begin?"
Boooooom!
With a roar like the heavens splitting apart, the battle began.
***
Craaaaash!
Each time their swords clashed, the world itself seemed to thunder. Caron caught the force of the blow with his blade, eyes flashing with fierce clarity.
This is the ultimate form of the Oceanwolf Sword Arts, he remarked.
The false Caron before him had already reached the pinnacle of the Oceanwolf Sword Arts—a nrinh standing at the very end of that path. In terms of swordsmanship alone, this false Caron had long since surpassed him.
To fight him using the Oceanwolf Sword Arts would be nothing but foolishness.
The man before him had fully restored the memories of Rael Leston—practically the very founder of the Oceanwolf Sword Arts. Winning with the same blade art was impossible.
So Caron shifted from the Oceanwolf Sword Arts that valued brute strength to the Imperial Sword that prized adaptability. His movements softened, his strikes turning subtle and clever, slipping around the enemy's power rather than clashing against it.
Clang!
As the power imbued in his sword was stripped away almost effortlessly, the fake let out a laugh, as if amused.
"So, you resort to cheap tricks now?" the false Caron asked.
"If it's something you don't know, does that make it a cheap trick?" Caron shot back.
"From the form, I'd say it's the Imperial Sword. Do you think I wouldn't know it? I've slain more Imperial Guards than I can count," the false Caron said.
It was a duel of pure swordsmanship—nothing more, nothing less. There were no special powers, no tricks. It was just blade against blade. Like the very first time Caron had ever held a sword.
Booooom!
The fake stomped the ground, conjuring a violent vortex beneath their feet. It was one of the Oceanwolf Sword Arts' techniques, Maelstrom.
But Caron's body shimmered with moonlight.
Whoosh.
Dark blue light rippled around him, slicing through the swirling maelstrom. In the brief opening that followed, he lunged.
Shhhkkk!
His shoulder guard was torn away by the vortex, but Caron didn't so much as flinch. His sword swung again.
Whoosh.
Moonlight shimmered through the dense fog.
Through the technique Sea Fog, the seventh form of the Oceanwolf Sword, the two vanished within the haze, and only flickers of light burst through where their blades met.
Slash.
Just before his sword could reach the enemy, Caron deliberately detonated mana in his right arm. As a result, the sword's trajectory twisted in an unnaturally distorted arc.
Fwoosh!
And within the mist, dark blue petals unfurled. They scattered through the fog, dazzling and disorienting his foe.
Thud!
"Ha! You got me?" the fake sneered.
Caron's blade had already pierced the false Caron's abdomen. The fake looked down at the wound, then reached for Caron's face, stretching out a hand wreathed in shadow.
Crack.
Thick darkness surged out, pulling at Caron's body like a riptide.
"Pluto," Caron called.
Meow!
In an instant, Pluto appeared behind him, absorbing Caron's body into its shadow.
Slash.
The false Caron's Guillotine barely grazed his neck. His skin burned where it passed. If he'd been even a breath slower, his head would have been severed.
Our abilities are too alike, Caron thought grimly.
Every skill that had once given him an edge, the enemy possessed as well. Creating any meaningful difference through ability alone was impossible.
Caron exhaled slowly, wiping his neck. Though barely three minutes had passed since their swords first crossed, they'd already exchanged dozens of blows.
"You've absorbed Void too, haven't you?" the false Caron asked. "Then you know. This fight can't end with a sword."
Before Caron's eyes, the hole in the fake's abdomen closed in an instant.
"Until one of us exhausts all the power of Void, this means nothing," the false Caron said.
"What's wrong? Are you afraid you can't beat me in swordsmanship?" Caron asked.
"Hardly. I'm just wondering how long we'll keep up this tedious thing," the false Caron replied. Madness flickered in his eyes.
"Drag it out if you want, but the ending won't change. Let's finish this quickly. You've got places to be, don't you?" he added.
He wasn't wrong. In the end, this battle would be decided by who burned through Void's power first.
In every measurable way, Caron was at a disadvantage. The monster in front of him had once destroyed a world. It was a monster worthy of the title of Demon King of Void . It wielded the power of Void freely, with hidden depths far beyond Caron's reach.
Perhaps putting everything into one final strike was the only way left to win.
"Hah..." Caron drew in a steady breath, weighing his odds. He wondered if he could really defeat that monster.
Even after absorbing the Demon King of Void itself, his chances were slim. But that only applied when there was a chance of victory.
I never needed to win in the first place, Caron thought.
That was the difference between them. The false Caron wanted victory, but the real Caron didn't. He didn't need it.
"You could live a thousand years and still never understand how I feel," Caron said quietly.
"Why do you say it like that? Once I absorb you, you'll become a part of me anyway. I'll gladly take all your memories with me. So go on—struggle as much as you can to win. The more you struggle, the more fun I'll have," the false Caron said.
This monster drunk on vengeance had become the Demon King of Void itself. Caron wondered if he would have ended up the same if not for his reincarnation.
...Maybe, he thought.
After endless hatred, what remained was always emptiness. The fake had filled that void with malice, and seated himself on a throne of void.
"You've got it all wrong," Caron began.
Whoosh.
The ocean flowing from his body grew still. Utterly calm, like the sea before a storm.
"I never meant to win," Caron concluded.
The false Caron laughed wildly, then closed the distance in a flash and drove his hand straight through Caron's chest. Unlike the fake, red blood still flowed from Caron's body.
"You fought this hard without intending to win? How dull. I thought you might be a worthy toy, but you're just trash after all," the false Caron said.
The Void's power began to drain violently from Caron's body.
Yet Caron smiled—bright, unshaken—and grabbed the fake's arm with both hands.
"But did you know this?" he asked softly. "I can't stand watching someone else win."
"What the hell are you—" the false Caron began, but was cut off.
Whoosh!
Caron's grin turned razor-sharp, then said, "Let's lose together. That's what we are, after all—losers."
That was the ending Caron had chosen.