As everything bubbled up into a wordless grunt, he took off after them.
“Did you forget about me, you overgrown mutt?!”
“Hngh?!”
But his pursuit was cut short when Valletta jumped down from the roof to land neatly in front of him.
“I’m the only girl you need to be concerned about here! I’ve got more to offer than that brat anyway!”
“I’LL KILL YOUUUUUUU!!” Bete practically exploded as the alluring Evils chieftain gave him a twisted, lascivious grin. He shot forward in a maddened rush at the woman standing in his way as she pulled a new cursed weapon from her fur-lined overcoat.
“A bit desperate, aren’t we, Vanargand?”
“Shut the hell up!”
“Is that little vixen soooo important to you?”
“I said shut up!!”
Valletta flourished her jet-black dagger as she deftly blocked Bete’s every attempt to move past her, enjoying herself thoroughly. It didn’t help that the layer upon layer of anti-Status spells were turning into chains around Bete’s arms and legs.
He was strong enough that even in his weakened state, Valletta couldn’t land a hit.
But she didn’t need to. She only had to stop him.
With every second that ticked by, his face twisted into an even more distorted grimace, which had his sadistic opponent giggling in glee. There was nothing that gave her greater pleasure than snuffing out the twinkle of life in her opponents’ eyes.
“Have you found my little present yet, hmm?”
“?!”
“Those precious friends of yours! Gift-wrapped for ya in their own blood down in Knossos!”
Bete’s hackles snapped to attention.
Her words were like the knife grinding further into the wolf’s already tumultuous heart.
“It was me! All of it! I slaughtered those sniveling shit-for-brains where they stood!”
“…You…”
“I did! Woulda liked to take more time with ’em, though. Make it really grisly. But you little ass-biters were hot on my heels, so I had to be quick and dirty!”
“…I don’t wanna hear it…”
“Killing that little healer was the best, though. So weak! Yet she kept trying to protect the others until the very end!”
“Shut your mouth!!”
Bete met Valletta’s rapturous cry with an enraged howl of his own.
She’d killed Leene and the others. And that thought alone was enough to make Bete’s entire world erupt into flames.
“How did Finn take it, huh? —Probably looked as pathetic as you do right now, huh? Like your precious little kitty just died or somethin’?!”
And then Bete’s anger imploded.
Right into that smiling face.
“RRUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHH!!”
His foot moved so fast it seemed to melt into the falling rain, shattering Valletta’s dagger right in her hand.
“Shit!…Well, guess that ends things here,” Valletta cursed as she jumped up and away from the werewolf, throwing a quick glance down at her shattered blade before tossing it behind her. “Though if you keep it up, you’re gonna get yourself killed!” she added with a stiff laugh at the werewolf’s now bloodshot eyes. Despite the cautionary nature of her words, her voice itself was full of amusement. “Go on, then, Vanargand! Though it might already be too late! Ha-ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!”
And with that, the woman disappeared into the rain.
Bete didn’t even wait until she was fully gone—he was off in an instant.
The rain flooding his vision only further propelled his fury. Outta my way! Beat it! Get lost! he screamed to himself as his legs thundered against the ground below so sluggishly it nearly drove him mad. And the rain seemed to respond, losing ever so little of its fervor as though scared into silence by the wolf’s advance.
He caught sight of an all-too-familiar scimitar lying abandoned on the cobbles.
All of a sudden, the curses that had been binding his body came loose, and he felt infinitely lighter even as his heart squeezed in his chest.
Faster, faster, faster.
Following the strewn bodies of the assassins Lena must have fended off earlier, he propelled himself even faster through the rain-swept ruins.
Down, down that ruined city street, he ran.
And then.
“…”
The road opened up in front of him, and there she was.
The rain was pelting her body, sprawled across the crumbling stone.
She must have fought it out until the very end. Her copper skin was painted red with blood, and her arms and legs were a tangled meshwork of cuts and gashes. Protruding from her stomach, almost like a gravestone, was a black dagger.
Blood dribbled from the wound slowly, steadily, and silently into the puddles below.
Bete stood there frozen for a moment, then dashed to the girl’s side, kneeling next to her. The splash of water he sent up painted her cheek, causing her eyelids to flutter open, ever so slowly.
“Is that…you…Bete Loga…?” she murmured through red-stained lips, one hand rising unsteadily into the air. “I can’t…see very well…Everything is a…blur…”
Without even realizing it, Bete reached his own hand out to meet hers, gingerly, carefully. Lena’s hand responded with a soft squeeze, almost as though her slender fingers themselves were smiling.
“…Hey.”
Bete urged.
“…Hey.”
Bete began to tremble.
“…Hey!”
He couldn’t seem to say anything else, almost as if his lips were broken.
Lena’s blurred dark eyes began to droop as the softest, slightest smile crossed her face.
“Bete Loga…I’m sorry for being so…weak…”
“”
“I couldn’t keep my…promise…”
As the words faded, so, too, did the last bit of warmth from her body.
Time stopped there.
With the last ounce of her strength, Lena gave him one more silent smile.
“I really wanted to…stand alongside you…”
Those were her final words.
As the last of her strength ebbed away, her thin fingers slipped from Bete’s grasp. Almost as if on cue, another gurgle of blood trickled from her body, the last spark of life inside her fizzling into nothing.
“…”
The rain sounded so loud around him. Was Heaven weeping?
Bete didn’t make a sound.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t cry.
He simply stared down at the girl on the ground, her wet hair clinging to her face. Time seemed stuck in an endless loop.
“Lena!”
When the girl’s name was finally called, it didn’t come from him.
It was Aisha, out of breath as she dashed over and followed by a startled Aiz and Riveria.
Bete acknowledged the girls’ arrival by turning his head to the side and slowly rising to his feet. The three rushed forward in an instant. Aisha took the lead and pushed past him without a word, but she stopped before she could kneel beside the girl on the ground.
She’d directed a trembling hand only halfway toward the girl’s body before her fingers curled into a fist.
Aiz and Riveria both took a knee beside her, their faces grim as they removed the dagger and began preparing vials of medicine and healing spells, as useless as they both knew they would be.
And Bete watched all of it, eyes dark.
“It’s cursed…!” Riveria murmured as she observed the jet-black dagger.
Aisha’s gaze snapped up at this, her voice terse as she directed her anger at Bete. “What did I tell you, Vanargand?! If you let anything, anything at all, happen to her, I’d…!!” she hissed, her eyes boring into him.
But Bete didn’t have a response.
He simply stood there, the rain soaking his skin as he returned Aisha’s incen
sed gaze.
Then, finally, his lips moved—forming a smirk.
“Heh. And just what was I supposed to do, huh? Damn brat ran away on her own.”
Aisha’s eyes tightened.
“She was just gettin’ in the way anyway. Annoying as hell.”
“Bete…”
“It’s like I’ve always said. Can’t do nothin’ for a piece of fish bait.”
“Bete…”
But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop, the words coming back to him like a rushing waterfall. Ignoring the looks from Aiz and Riveria, he simply kept talking, kept sneering.
He continued laughing.
“They’ll all end up like this. Dead on the sidewalk and helpless to do a thing about it…And don’t say I didn’t warn ’em!”
Aisha erupted, sparks alight in her eyes.
“NGH!!”
Overcome with rage, she grabbed Bete by the collar, fury building up like an inferno as she launched her fist straight toward his stupidly smirking face.
Only, in that split second before her fist connected…
“”
It came screeching to a halt.
The only thing that ended up hitting Bete’s face was the pouring rain, forming rivulets that cascaded down his cheeks.
Aisha simply stood there, frozen, her eyes wide.
And for the life of him, Bete couldn’t figure out why.
Why?
Why did her fist stop?
What was that look she was giving him?
What was that shock coloring her eyes?
The hell you lookin’ at?
I’m smilin’, ain’t I?
Just like I always am!
“You…”
Hey! Just whaddaya think yer lookin’ at, huh? I got somethin’ on my face?
Can’t ya see I’m laughin’ at ’er?
So why stare at me like that?
Why aren’t ya layin’ in to me?
“…”
Aisha wordlessly lowered her fist, releasing her grip on Bete’s collar.
With one final pitying glance, she turned away.
Meanwhile, Riveria took the motionless girl on the ground into her arms and carried her away.
Leaving Bete behind.
“……Bete.”
Only Aiz remained, looking unsure how to approach the werewolf or of the right thing to say.
So she simply watched him, standing there with his back to her.
The rain never stopped.
“…What the hell was that?”
Why hadn’t she hit him?
Why?
Why had she looked at him like that?
You think you can just look at me however you want, huh—?
It was humiliating, was what it was.
Letting what should have been his scornful grin slide from his face, he ground his teeth together so hard they were liable to break.
Rage—and other emotions—were churning through his veins like fire.
And yet, he was powerless to do a single thing.
Unable to so much as scream, he turned his gaze toward the sky above.
And toward the unfeeling rain, beating against his skin.
It had been raining that day, too.
The Master of the Plains vanquished, Bete started his triumphant return to the Labyrinth City.
However, all that awaited him upon his arrival were the weeping faces of his familia—and the corpse of his beloved.
“”
Bete suddenly found himself overwhelmed, the dry rattle of the ground trampled beneath his feet crashing down around him.
It wasn’t supposed to have been anything special. They were just going into the Dungeon, same as normal. Just the typical Dungeon raid, same as normal. Then suddenly she’d wound up dead.
It had happened so fast. The Dungeon had bared its fangs and taken her before she’d even had a chance to resist.
The woman who’d been trying to get strong for Bete’s sake; who’d done everything she could to shed the skin of her former, weaker self; who’d disregarded her own strength and paid the ultimate price. And Bete hadn’t been there to protect her.
“B-Bete…”
The rest of his familia was an equally sorry sight, whimpering and wounded. Some had lost limbs, some whose bodies hadn’t even recovered from the excursion into the Dungeon, and others with tears running down their faces as they apologized to Bete over and over again. No one blamed him. No, they blamed no one but themselves and their own lack of strength, cursing the world in hopeless melancholy.
Her corpse had been so pale, as though free of regret or pain, as though nothing had happened at all.
Why?
Why?
Why couldn’t she have been stronger?
Why did she have to be so weak?
Too weak to fight off the world, to fight off fate, to fight off truth.
These weaklings.
They can’t do anything without me.
Without one of the strong there to protect them.
Didn’t I grow stronger to escape all this?
So why is it still happening? Why are the things I love being taken away from me?
A ridiculous number of questions tumbled around in his heart before fading into nothing. A whirlpool of thoughts he couldn’t turn into words, despair cutting deep into his very being.
Glancing at his comrades, still weeping helplessly on the ground, he absentmindedly rose to his feet.
“Bete…I’m sorry.”
The voice came from Víðarr this time, the god turning his gaze toward Bete.
Something inside Bete snapped.
Before he even knew it, his hands were gripping Víðarr’s collar and holding him aloft.
“Don’t you say that to me! A god ain’t supposed to apologize!”
“Bete, stop!!”
“A god—a god ain’t supposed to admit it!!”
Bete continued to scream, tears running down his face even as his fellow familia members raced forward to pull him away. He wouldn’t let Víðarr apologize, not when those words were an acceptance of the sacrifices made by the weak.
It felt like the entire world was affirming Bete’s despair. The tears—the anguish—refused to let him go.
What was Víðarr even apologizing for?
Why was he apologizing to Bete?
Bete didn’t understand. All he could do was howl, the raw emotion coursing through him like a raging river.
It was decided that Víðarr and his broken familia would leave Orario.
Bete didn’t go with them.
He’d washed his hands of them. As though hoping to make them hate him, his daggerlike words practically drove them out of the city, like he wanted to keep them far from the Dungeon. And the Guild had no choice but to allow their departure if they wanted Bete, now a second-tier adventurer, to stay in Orario. Bete didn’t even see his former friends off on the day they left.
With Víðarr’s half-withdrawn blessing still on his back, making it possible for him to convert, Bete kept on fighting, throwing himself into battle after battle. He dove solo into the Dungeon, injuring himself, losing blood by the bucketful but still cutting down monsters left and right. He’d become a wolf starved for even more power, even greater strength.
But still, the phantom pain radiating from the tattoo on his cheek, his fang, refused to let up.
In fact, if anything, it got worse. He’d destroyed his enemy, so why did the pain continue to follow him wherever he went?
The slow burn that plagued his entire body could not be cooled.
It was around this time that Bete began to lash out, his tongue as sharp as a knife.
—Beat it, fish bait!
—Know your place!
—I’d say yer all bark and no bite, but you don’t even got the bark!
He berated everyone and everything, and those around him grew to despise the lone wolf without a familia. And they’d attack him, again and again, trying to ta
ke him down, only to ultimately be bested. His despair simply couldn’t be stopped.
Not a day went by that he didn’t pick a fight. Like clockwork, almost, he was wreaking havoc at the pub beneath the red-wasp sign. Not even the disgruntled dwarf who ran the place could be mad at him, almost as though taking pity on Bete’s plight.
Bete wasn’t going to be taken down by the strong.
No matter how much they hurt him, how much they stole from him, how much the despair hounded him, he would keep fighting, keep moving forward. Because he’d promised himself that he would feast on their flesh and grow strong himself.
Yes.
What had finally dethroned Bete was not the strong—but the weak.
The powerless beings unable to fight back against a world where only the strongest survived.
And no matter how strong he became, his strength could do nothing to change that.
No matter how strong he became, he couldn’t save those fragile beings.
Before he’d even realized it, he’d come to despise the weak, powerless to change their fate, with every fiber of his being.
Hating them, loathing them, berating them with words of ridicule and scorn.
Thus, the lone werewolf, broken and friendless, continued his ravenous quest for strength, spurning all those around him. Alone, he fought his way forward along his own path.
Until, despite not having a familia, he took on a new name—Vanargand. Yes, that’s what they called him.
CHAPTER 4
LONESOME NIGHT
Night’s curtain had descended over the city.
Pitch-black shadow enveloped the empty streets, the broken magic-stone lanterns flickering softly and the stains of blood still peppering the back-alley cobblestones. The rain had yet to let up, still pounding the city streets as though attempting to bore into the stone itself.
It was this never-ending rain that Bete listened to now, sitting in silence atop a rather plain sofa.
“Bete…”
Aiz murmured from where she stood next to him. She’d yet to find the right words to say, simply gazing down at the werewolf. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe the rain off himself or tend to his own wounds, still bleeding from the curse.
Darkness yet reigned outside the window of their room in the Dian Cecht Familia hospital. Aiz had led Bete there after the attack. The werewolf hadn’t said a word as the rain continued to pelt his skin. Even now, she could tell his weather-beaten and bleeding back needed to be looked at as soon as possible.
Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? On the Side: Sword Oratoria, Vol. 8 Page 12
