All bloodshed was for the sake of abandoning the defiled land.
All slaughter was for the sake of abandoning the defiled land.
The Heroic Spirit Swordmasters existed for this purpose.
They yearned for slaughter, yearned for sorrow, yearned for death. Regardless of what the Heroic Spirits had originally been like, once sorcery was cast upon them, they would become this way—become Heroic Spirit Swordmasters.
They would endlessly wield bloody violence across this land, before ultimately becoming a blood sacrifice for abandoning the defiled land.
So—how could a mere seven Heroic Spirits possibly be enough?
There should have been more.
There should have been—more.
There should have—
"I say, even darkness ought to have at least a little bottom line, shouldn't it?"
Such a voice suddenly rang out in the shadow-filled hall.
There was contempt in that voice, but also a sharpness that could not possibly be ignored.
"Well, this is that kind of place, after all." Berserker Crushing Hell chuckled, seemingly unsurprised to see the swordsman carrying a long blade here.
"So many beings with such potent demonic energy have gathered here, and our master is that powerful sorcerer. Isn't this only natural?"
In other words, bottomless darkness.
Every gaze and every shred of attention in the hall focused on the swordsman carrying the long blade.
"Oh?"
Limbo let out a somewhat surprised sound.
This man—
did not possess the aura of a Servant.
This man was a living, breathing human.
"That kind of sword..."
Saber narrowed his eyes, as though he recognized that excessively long blade.
"I am merely a vegetarian hermit living in seclusion deep within the mountains. I appeared here because I thought there might be some high-ranking nobles or the like..."
"But now, it seems I truly do not belong in this scene before me. How