Swords and Magic, and the Flame Burning in the Heart ~The Fateful Path of the Hero and the Mage~ - The Hero of the Radiant Plains, the Bloodstained Oath

The sword cleaved through the sky. 　Traces of light arced across the air, and the goblin horde scattered like mist. One by one. With each white flash of the blade tearing through the atmosphere, the shadows of monsters vanished from the barren ground. 　This was the entrance to the Miasma Valley—a place no one wished to visit, located near the center of the Luminaria Continent. An ancient battlefield where seven heroes once defeated the Great Archmage. Long ago, this land had been filled with blood and war cries. Now, not a single blade of grass grew here. From the cracks in the earth, blackened fog seeped out slowly, and the air itself felt heavy. Birds that flew near this place would fall from the sky. That kind of place. 　Five hundred years ago. The seven heroes had sealed the Great Archmage into the "Tower of Sealing." 　It should have ended there. 　But seals, they say, gradually weaken with time. Recently, that weakening had become visible to the naked eye, and the Demon King's Army—those seeking the Great Archmage's revival—had begun moving across the land. Even here at the entrance to the Miasma Valley, the front lines had been drawn. 　Aruto readjusted his sword stance and quickly surveyed his surroundings. 　Height: 175 centimeters. Lean but toned. His light armor of white and blue bore a cape emblazoned with the Holy Light Order's crest. His bright golden hair clung slightly with sweat, and his clear blue eyes reflected the battlefield with sharp focus. A small scar marked his left cheek—an old one. Not from today. 　And from his entire body, a faint white light seeped out. 　Light-attribute magic power. 　(On this continent, magic power leans toward either light or darkness. Everyone says so.) 　Aruto had possessed strong light attributes since childhood, and that's why he was now called the "Hero of Light." But honestly, more than any title, he simply wanted the power to protect someone. He'd always felt that way. 　A monster lunged at him from the side. 　Aruto spun his body and swung his blade. White brilliance engulfed the goblin, and in the next instant, nothing remained. Somewhere in the distance, one of his companions seemed to mutter, "There he goes again, doing it all by himself." 　That voice made a different scene flash through his mind. 　—The blue sky of the Radiant Plains. 　The smell of wheat. The sound of wind. The warmth of the sun. 　Aruto had been born and raised in a small village on the Radiant Plains that stretched across the eastern part of the Luminaria Continent. A peaceful place where wheat fields extended to the horizon. It was far removed from the royal capital of Luminaris, a remote countryside with nothing, but he had loved it nonetheless. 　He still remembered that night vividly. 　The night the sky turned red. The Demon King's Army's vanguard set the village ablaze for no reason. 　Young Aruto had been buried under a collapsing wall. Smoke filled everything, it was hot, suffocating, and he thought he couldn't move anymore. He didn't even have the strength to cry out. 　Yet he heard the sound of rubble being moved. 　His father's hand dragged him out. 　A large hand, covered in wounds. 　His father carried Aruto outside the village, barely breathing, and set him on the ground. Before he stopped moving, he spoke only one word. "Become a hero who can save others…" 　The memory faded. 　Aruto gripped his sword again. So hard his bones ached. 　He knew it was reckless. Every time, he threw himself into the most dangerous position—tactically, it was the worst approach. His companions had scolded him countless times. Still, he couldn't stop. If asked why, he could only say it was how he'd been raised. He had no regrets. 　For now, at least. --- 　On the front lines, monster hordes were closing in from three directions. Two Shadow Stalkers, a dozen or so goblins. The party's formation was falling apart. "I'll be the bait! You all break through from the left!" 　He was already running as he spoke. 　A long sigh came from behind. "…There he goes again. That guy, it's always the same." 　Another companion replied curtly. "But…because that guy's up front, we can move." 　Words mixed with laughter, but sincere. In the middle of the battlefield, a strange atmosphere flowed for just a moment. 　Aruto didn't hear it. He was already diving into the center of the monster horde. 　He unleashed light-attribute sword techniques one after another. With each white slash that tore through the air, Shadow Stalkers dissipated. Goblins scattered, trying to flee, but couldn't match the speed of light. 　By the way, the title "Hero of Light" could only be held by one in tens of thousands, apparently. It was granted by the Holy Light Order to warriors with light-attribute aptitude. Aruto had never once taken pride in that title. As long as he could protect someone with this power, that was enough. 　The moment the last monster vanished into the light, Aruto took a brief breath. 　Good. I can rest for a moment— 　The instant that thought crossed his mind. 　Doon. The air trembled. --- 　Something walked toward them from across the battlefield. 　Leisurely. Slowly. As if there was no need to hurry. 　Black iron armor. A muscular, powerful frame. Over two meters tall. From the gaps in the armor, a dark, murky fog constantly leaked, and the closer it came, the thicker the miasma became. The air grew heavier. Breathing became difficult. 　A greatsword in its right hand. Its name was "Grand Crack"—the weapon of Zarg, a general of the Demon King's Army. 　One of the companions gasped. 　Zarg said nothing. He simply raised the greatsword casually and brought it down to the ground. 　Zudon. A shockwave spread in a fan shape. The entire party formation was blown away. The ground cracked, dust rose into the air, and there was a moment of complete chaos. 　Aruto had instinctively stepped in front of his companions. He took the full impact. He was sent flying several meters and slammed into the ground. 　It hurt. It hurt badly. 　A sensation ran through his body. The taste of iron filled his mouth. 　Still, he stood. His knees trembled, but he stood. He raised his sword. "…I can do this." 　He told himself. 　Zarg looked at Aruto. His large eyes narrowed. "The Hero of Light." 　His voice was quiet. Not angry. Just cold. "How fragile." 　Aruto unleashed a full-power light-attribute slash. White light burst from his blade, flying toward Zarg's chest— 　It was deflected off the black iron armor's surface. 　Like light hitting glass, it scattered and vanished. Zarg didn't move a shoulder. 　Aruto raised his sword again. This time from the side. It was deflected again. The same happened when he struck from above. No matter what angle he attacked from, his light slashes meant nothing against that armor. 　(It won't reach…!) 　One of the companions shouted. "Light slashes won't work on armor imbued with darkness attribute…! We need someone who can cut through darkness!" 　Another companion whispered quietly. "…But can we really trust someone who can properly wield darkness attribute?" 　Aruto glanced back for just a moment. "Whether it's light or darkness, it all comes down to how you use it." 　The words came instinctively. But before that, Zarg moved. 　One step, shaking the ground. Then another. "Do not speak of order when you lack power." 　Zarg's voice remained quiet, but something like conviction seeped through. "Power is order. Those with strength rule, and the weak obey. That is the form of a perfect world." 　He didn't want destruction. This was someone with an "ideal," Aruto sensed instinctively. That made him more afraid. Far more than someone who simply wanted to rampage. 　Aruto gripped his sword again and prepared to charge once more. 　In that instant, Zarg raised his greatsword. Aimed at Aruto's head. 　He couldn't dodge. His body wouldn't obey. His legs still trembled from the earlier shockwave. 　(Is this the end?) 　That's what he thought. 　Yet the impact never came. --- 　It was cold. 　A freezing chill, utterly out of place in the summer ancient battlefield, swept through like a gust of wind. 　Zarg's greatsword was knocked flying by something invisible. The massive blade rolled across the ground. Zarg himself took a step back for the first time. 　The next moment. 　A towering wall of ice appeared silently between Aruto and Zarg. Transparent, tinged with white mist. Over five meters high. Zarg came to a halt before it. 　A companion shouted. "Rushian's here!" 　Still on his knees, Aruto turned toward the voice. 　A figure walked slowly from behind the battlefield. 　A hood pulled deep over their head. Their face was hidden. Only their eyes, gleaming in the moonlight from within the hood's shadow, were visible for a moment. Eyes that were empty of emotion, cold and transparent. Just that, for an instant, entered Aruto's vision. 　The next moment, that figure was hidden behind the ice wall. The sounds of combat continued. No voices. 　Aruto, his bloody hand pressed to the ground, stared blankly in that direction. 　Something fell onto his hand. 　Ice crystals. The remnants of magic drifted down slowly. 　It was cold. 　Yet somehow, that coldness loosened something deep in his chest. As the sounds of war cries and clashing blades faded into the distance, Aruto continued to gaze at those crystals. He had no idea why he felt this way. His body simply lost some of its tension. Something like relief. 　(Who is that mage…?) 　Could they defeat Zarg? Was that hooded figure an ally? What did those cold eyes see? 　Aruto understood nothing. 　He simply watched quietly as the ice crystals in his hand slowly melted away.

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Episode 1

Name: Swords and Magic, and the Flame Burning in the Heart ~The Fateful Path of the Hero and the Mage~
Author: Novelia

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