Reincarnated User Manual-Chapter 339: The Reincarnated (1)

Hesitation was evident amidst the battle.

It was something that should not, and could not, exist.

A life-and-death struggle. Orion, who was unbound by notions of honor and pride, could do anything to achieve victory.

But Shiron was different. There was always hesitation in his swordsmanship.

There was no killing intent. He did not counter the shadows that lunged at him but merely parried them.

Even when he could have aimed for the heart, he deliberately targeted arms, legs, and vital points. He drove forward as if trying to peer into the depths, yet stopped at a certain point.

Orion knew why such hesitation arose. It was because he had led Shiron into it.

When that dazzlingly radiant sword was about to slice Orion’s throat,

Shiron would become the master of the tower. He could never leave the tower again.

From the beginning, the outcome of the fight had been decided. Orion had prepared for his death and even planned for what came after.

Thus, he had already resolved to lose an arm.

Even if his chest burst open and the ground was drenched in blood as repulsive as sewage. Even as his intestines remained intact but spilled forth with heavy, oppressive thoughts. It was fine.

…Though in truth, it wasn’t fine. To become a scarecrow waiting for death, without purpose or reason to live, was unbearable.

He had done his best. Prepared for death, but Orion wanted to live.

The reason was simple. Wasn’t surviving better than dying?

Each apostle had their reasons for becoming one, but at the root of it all, it was the same.

They wanted to live. To live long enough to witness the end of the world and accomplish everything they wished for.

That’s why he put even more effort into it. Every spell carried his resentment, and he poured out intense emotions with every moment.

‘I loathe him.’

A sentiment that persisted throughout the struggle.

Orion resented Shiron for not giving his all. He compared his tattered self to Shiron standing before him.

Not a scratch could be found. A closer inspection might reveal one or two small marks, but they were insignificant.

White flames surged from his core.

Another god’s blessing cradled his body.

His wounds regenerated. Even if his arm was severed, it would reattach at an incomprehensible speed. Unlike Orion, who suited the title of apostate, Shiron’s body grew more vigorous over time.

“…Ha.”

In the midst of the fierce battle, Orion let out a faint sneer. He didn’t scream. He didn’t feel like it.

It was the deep sense of defeat and inferiority rising from the depths of his core. Standing before an insurmountable mountain, he felt himself shrink pitifully.

Whether Orion lived or died, his goal would be achieved. There was no need to dwell on victory or defeat.

And yet, he couldn’t help but harbor regrets.

If he had to die, he wanted it to be meaningful.

He created the Thorn of Annihilation with all his might. Hundreds, thousands of attacks surged toward Shiron.

Crrkk! Shiron firmly grasped his sword with unwavering eyes. His movements were poised. Yet, from the holy sword he held, an undeniable aura emanated.

It drew an arc in midair. The black thorns shattered entirely. Fragments, indistinguishable in the starlit darkness, scattered, burning brightly, engulfing the scenery.

No matter how often Orion saw it, it was a transcendent realm. The reason he was still alive was that the flames hadn’t yet reached his throat.

The Hero—Shiron Prient—didn’t wish for his death. He had deliberately kept him alive, leaving him for someone else to kill.

Orion felt humiliated. Even as he stumbled through the threshold of death, his movements were not his own.

The Demon God and the Hero.

Caught between the two, he was tossed around like a pawn.

It wasn’t pity he received but mere treatment as a toy. It was the most humiliating experience of his life.

‘Am I really to meet my end like this?’

Orion gripped his authority with despair. Even if accepting death peacefully would fulfill his arrangements, his petty pride wouldn’t allow it.

Rather than waiting for a meaningless death, if only he could reach that arrogant hero even once…

[Sorry.]

Thunk—

…?

The sound of flesh being pierced echoed through the space. There was no pain. After all, the source of that terrible sound wasn’t Orion’s.

“…”

Orion stared blankly ahead. His gaze, like that of someone observing a worthless insect, was cast downward. The hand that had been mechanically swinging his sword now hovered over his pierced abdomen.

“Ha… Haha.”

A faint curve formed on his parched lips. It reached. His desire finally reached. The flames of Orion had touched the insurmountable wall of the winter mountains, melting the ice, if only a little.

Though the melted snow refroze into sharp icicles in the bitter cold, Orion found satisfaction in just that. A wave of immense joy swept over him like a tidal wave.

‘My struggle wasn’t meaningless.’

Before he knew it, genuine emotion filled Shiron Prient’s eyes. Orion smiled as he watched the approaching flames.

He didn’t feel the sensation of something lodging into his neck. All he could sense was the dizziness caused by the spinning world.

The Hero could have killed him easily but had deliberately taken his time.

Still, it didn’t matter. In the end… in the very end, he had seen the Hero’s genuine expression.

Though he failed to reach the pinnacle of sorcery, he felt relieved that his life hadn’t ended without meaning.

“Ha. Hahaha.”

Orion quietly laughed as he looked at his crumbling body. The glimpse he caught of Shiron’s face revealed the same impassive expression. The fiery determination from moments ago was gone, replaced by a chillingly cold gaze looking down at him.

“I could never match up to you.”

Defeated, Orion laughed with genuine satisfaction.

“You were right. It was always my fate to die at your hands.”

It wasn’t a taunt but words spoken from the heart. Though they had met as enemies, Orion judged the battle to be a good one.

He felt fortunate. The fight had ended with honor.

Though it began with filth and displeasure, the sense of accomplishment he found in burning everything away and reaching the end made him feel content.

His life hadn’t existed solely to bind the Hero. Even as a pawn of the Demon God, he had concluded it in the way he had desired.

Perhaps because of that, Orion even felt sympathy for Shiron.

The Hero.

Knowing that other apostles of gods shared the same fate, he pitied Shiron’s position despite being his enemy.

“I wish you good fortune.”

“Ha.”

Shiron let out a weary sigh and slumped to the ground. He scratched his head irritably, as if trying to shake off the frustration.

“You bastard! Damn it! Damn bastard!”

Shiron slammed the holy sword into the pile of ash accumulating before him. Luck? What nonsense. If only Orion had surrendered quietly instead of resisting until the end, Shiron wouldn’t have this throbbing vein bulging on his forehead.

“Shiron!”

As he was venting his anger, Lucia and Seira approached. However, they offered neither comfort nor direct words of concern.

They simply exchanged glances and looked back at Shiron, unable to decide what to say or do.

They could imagine how Shiron felt.

He had killed the final apostle.

And endured the grueling climb up the Tower of Infinity to do it.

Yet, he felt no sense of accomplishment.

Shiron didn’t look happy at all.

Because, instead of following the original plan, he had killed Oblivion Orion, the master of the tower, with his own hands. As a result, Shiron was now trapped in the tower for eternity.

“Shiron…”

Lucia lowered her head slightly to peer into Shiron’s face.

It was a face filled with indescribable rage. Shiron wanted to reassure the others, to pretend he was fine, but the world seemed to scream at him to feel resentful, leaving him with no choice.

The reason Shiron had to kill Orion.

It was because an uninvited guest had interfered in their fight.

Neither Lucia nor Seira were the culprit.

In a moment where time seemed to freeze, Shiron’s abdomen had been pierced without regard for the “process” of the battle. While the flames from the holy sword had since healed the wound, at that moment, Shiron had felt the distinct threat of death.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

It wasn’t Orion’s doing. So, who could it have been?

‘…It wasn’t the Demon God.’

If it had been the Demon God, they would have ensured Shiron’s death. A mere pierced abdomen wouldn’t qualify as a fatal wound for someone like him. At the very least, his heart or forehead would have been obliterated, providing Orion a sliver of hope in their lopsided battle.

‘In that case…’

There was only one possibility.

In the midst of such an intense battlefield, someone capable of influencing the fight enough to deliver Shiron a critical wound…

Squelch—

“What are you doing?”

Suddenly, the sensation on the back of his head snapped Shiron out of his thoughts. The soft, warm touch made him slowly turn around.

“…”

His face was buried in Seira’s chest. She had stripped out of her [combat uniform: a clinging leotard fit for a shameless pervert] and embraced Shiron fully.

“What are you doing!”

Lucia, her face flushed, pointed at Seira in indignation at her shameless behavior. Clearly embarrassed herself, Seira, her face as red as a tomato, held Shiron tightly and stroked the back of his head.

“Ahem! You’re so gloomy even though we won! Can’t I at least cheer up a precious comrade like this?”

“What kind of—absolute—nonsense…”

Lucia was left speechless at the sheer audacity of Seira’s logic.

Shiron was also silent, his face buried in Seira’s chest, making it impossible for him to speak.

Despite this, he didn’t feel inclined to push away Seira’s kindness. His plans had been disrupted by an unknown interloper, and his head ached. He decided to let things be and clear his mind.

Shiron wrapped his arms around Seira’s waist in response. His holy sword lay discarded somewhere nearby. He took a deep breath, as if about to drift into sleep. The tension in his body began to ease.

[Look. It works well, doesn’t it?]

‘…I can’t believe this even worked.’

[I read it in some old paper once. When men are stressed, touching breasts or being hugged by a partner helps. So, it’s a fairly reasonable solution.]

‘Truly reasonable.’

[Besides, you wanted your disciple to regain his energy, didn’t you? Isn’t this a win-win?]

‘…I suppose.’

Seira sighed deeply and patted Shiron’s back.

She made up her mind. Since Shiron could no longer leave the tower, she decided to stay with him.

Elves lived long lives, and Seira, in particular, was exceptionally patient. She could likely remain by Shiron’s side as a conversation partner—or even a casual lover—until the day he wished to die…

“I-I’ll do it too!”

Lucia, forgetting her sweat-drenched state, began undressing. Her large chest, incongruous with her petite frame, bounced as she pressed the soft sensation against the back of Shiron’s head.

‘…I just want to rest.’

Shiron murmured blankly to himself. Resigned to his fate, he toyed with the desperate thought of indulging in one last moment of passion atop the tower.

The top of the Tower of Despair, no longer steeped in darkness after the apostle’s death, resembled an observatory enclosed in transparent glass. The view of the magical landscape outside was unobstructed.

A random thought crossed his mind—it might be romantic here. Figuring out how to leave this place could wait until after he cooled down, both figuratively and literally.

However, there were still things he had to do.

Carefully pushing the two women aside, Shiron rubbed his slightly stiff eyes.

It was then that Lucia grabbed his face suddenly.

“Sh-Shiron!”

“Hm?”

“I-I’ll live with you in this tower forever! Let’s settle down here! I’ll even have lots of children with you…!”

“…Thank you.”

Shiron chuckled faintly at the sight of Lucia, her face as red as an apple. Though she seemed to realize how embarrassing her words were and stammered, her feelings were conveyed clearly.

“Guys.”

So,

“Wait here for a moment.”

He decided to go alone from this point.

Picking up a piece of black glass from the floor, Shiron stood. It was a shard of the Demon God. When combined with the pieces he pulled from his pocket, there were now seven in total.

The moment he held them, he understood. If he willed it, he could go to where the Demon God resided. In the game, a black gate-like thing would appear; he wondered if it would be the same in reality.

He worried that Lucia and Seira might follow him.

That they might discover the truth and things would become awkward.

That his overflowing emotions might spill out uncontrollably.

“Hm? What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

“…I suddenly need to use the restroom.”

Shiron casually lied as he reached for the holy sword lying on the floor.

Though he wanted to toss it out of the tower, he wasn’t the type to discard a gift, so he decided to take it with him.

“Oh, um… okay.”

“…Have a good trip.”

“Sure.”

Lucia trailed off uncertainly, while Seira waved her hand knowingly.

Clutching the holy sword, Shiron closed his fingers tightly around the shards.

‘This really is… the end.’

The moment he murmured to himself, Shiron’s figure was engulfed in black light.

A heavy dizziness clouded his head, but he could still make out where he was.

An entirely gray space.

Unlike the pure white world that had been the Hero’s home, this space was different. Yet, Shiron knew where he was.

“Let’s go.”

“…”

Shiron—or Cha Hyeon-jun—grabbed the hand of the girl standing blankly beside him and moved forward.

Since the apostle’s defeat, Latera had remained silent.

Rough yet gentle, he took care not to harm her slender wrist.

In the distance, a crude stone door came into view.

In this entirely gray space, it stood solitary. Looking behind it revealed nothing of what lay beyond. Still, Shiron decided to open the door.

He felt a strong intuition that only by opening it could he achieve the result he desired.

Clang—

Shiron grasped the handle and opened the door without hesitation.

Beyond the door,

“Ha…”

Black.

Wearing the familiar school uniform,

Yura, from his final memory, was kneeling, bound by chains.

“Why do you remain silent?”

Half-teasing, half-serious.

“Surely not.”

Shiron’s voice, however, was not directed at her—the sinner wearing the familiar face of someone he missed.

“Are you… Yura?”

Instead, it was directed at the angel, who still held his hand tightly and hadn’t let go.