The False Hero, Volume 12, Chapter 16

----- Rolf -----

A pleasant sound calls for Rolf, asking him to join in on the fun. He finds it difficult to ignore those whispers. No, not difficult. Impossible.

He had managed to hold himself back so long already. Not by his own will, of course. Like it or not, he now takes orders from another. No longer is he free to live as he wishes, using fear to control even the kings that claim to rule over him.

At the very least, his new master is a god. If he had to bow to anyone, it would only be the divine.

As long as I get to kill anyone who crosses me, then I’ll obey any god.

An Abyss Knight stands in Rolf’s way, the large creature’s back taking up the entirety of his vision.

Move.

The fiend obeys his mental command, stepping aside to allow him through. More fiends crowd the way forward, as one would expect of a battlefield. Rolf merely walks through them, each one moving out of his way just as he reaches them.

With his mana hidden, Rolf strolled through the army seemingly without a care in the world. Though those who know him understand that beneath his stoic expression is a ruthless hatred.

That damn brat. I should kill him for what he did to me in that arena.

If it weren’t for the rules of the duel, Rolf was sure they would have defeated that hero. He had underestimated the brat, as did the other two heroes. If they could do it again, the outcome would be far different.

Can’t even hide because of that ridiculous skill he has.

Even suppressing his mana, Rolf won’t fade from Lutz’s [Minimap]. And the battlefield has been purposefully selected to make ambushes impossible, with the only real terrain being the hills behind the four races’ armies.

I should wait for the chance to surprise him. Teleport in, stick a dagger in him.

The thought alone was satisfying, but that only made him want to go through with it even more. Unfortunately, he had other orders.

When the battle turns in our favor, I’ll make sure to pay him a visit.

With the thought still circulating in his mind, Rolf drew the twin daggers on his waist and activated his favorite spell, [Shadow Step].

The army of fiends disappears as the teleportation magic carries him across the battlefield. When his vision returns, Rolf is within one of the many arenas where Archfiends are battling the strongest warriors from the four races.

The anti-Archfiend squads are far stronger than they were before, carrying new equipment and having access to more spells. Some even received a boost directly to their level.

However, even with that, the sheer number of Archfiends in the battle has stretched their squads thin. Most are only hoping to survive their encounter as they wait for help from one of the heroes or champions.

The squad surrounding Rolf, however, is about to have those hopes sliced to pieces.

Warmth. For most, the word brings to mind a raging fireplace on a cold, winter night. But not for Rolf. As long as he can hold his daggers, it doesn’t matter what the temperature is.

Yet like a soaked peasant sitting by the fireplace to warm his bones, Rolf also desires warmth. The warmth of life, seeping onto his hand and filling him with an excitement most will never feel.

Unable to hold back his desires any longer, Rolf hones in on the precise spot on the woman’s back where he’s certain he can deliver a deathblow. With the right technique, he can pierce her right through the heart, even from behind. He’s done it so many times now that it has become routine.

The vulnerable woman’s back calls to him, inviting him to share in the warmth of her freshly flowing blood. Archfiends, S-Class adventurers, heroes, and even the gods themselves vanish from his mind, all focus directed at that singular spot where her heart lurks.

The rush of air briefly brushes across Rolf’s knuckles as his hand lashes out, dagger aimed at her back. A blur crosses his vision, the metal sheen glimmering in the morning light.

Then, warmth. The warmth of fire, given life in liquid form. It flows between his fingers and down his hand before dripping from his palm and spilling onto the ground.

The woman gasps, her body stiff with shock. For a brief second, not a single warrior on this battlefield knows how much it has changed. Except for the woman with Rolf’s dagger through her heart.

Finally, she coughs, spitting blood. Her allies turn to see her reaching for her chest, despite there being no visible wound. But when they see Rolf standing behind her, the seasoned adventurers understand everything.

“Arya!” one of the other nearby warriors calls her name.

“Too late.” Rolf slides his dagger out.

The woman drops, a pool of blood forming beneath her corpse.

“Bastard!” Another of them turns his sword on Rolf.

It’s not quite the same without the stillness, the anticipation that comes before a silent kill. But Rolf has no qualms enjoying his share of chaotic bloodshed in between the delicacies.

“Guh…” The adventurer’s quick thinking and reflexes betray him, only resulting in him being the first to rush to his death.

“He won’t be the last.” Rolf wipes the blood off the dagger with his bare hand, savoring its warmth.

“It’s the hero of Chaos!” Someone finally recognizes their new opponent.

“What the hell!” another shouts. “Nobody is supposed to show up when we’re fighting the Archfiend!”

“We’re retreating! Garron, rear guard against the Archfiend. The rest, we’re breaking through the traitor!”

Rolf stands between the adventurers and their army, precisely where he wants to be. With his twin daggers, he stands ready to cut down the first one foolish enough to try and reach the safety of the men behind him.

“Follow me!” It seems the most foolish one among them is the leader himself.

Rolf watches patiently as the man rushes carelessly into his own death, examining all the weak points that he can exploit to deliver a deadly blow. Unlike the other two, the leader is wearing every assassin’s toughest adversary. Armor.

It won’t save you today.

His dagger flashes, seeking the warmth that he craves.

“Y–you’re…” The leader stands shocked, just as Rolf desires. Yet despite that, he gains no satisfaction from the man’s expression.

“It seems I was too slow with my arrival.” That purple-haired vampire, Tylith, flicks her eyes to the two bodies lying on the ground. “But your killing spree ends here, Rolf.”

“So he sent his little vampire pet, did he?” Rolf eyes his dagger, which has been blocked by Tylith’s nails. “Not as satisfying as I’d like, but it will do.”

“No matter which of us you face, the outcome won’t change.”

“Of that, we agree.” Rolf slowly pulls back his dagger. “All of you are the same. Just soft flesh, waiting to be sliced open. I will feel that warmth running over my hand, no matter who I face.”

“I cannot fault you for your bloodlust, as my people are known for the same. However, neither can I condone how you seek to sate your violence. And today, you will meet your match from someone with an even greater affinity for the darkness than you.”

“My old master thought the same. When he eventually came to take my life, it was he who fled for his life. This will be no different.”

Tylith motions to the squad leader. “Continue your battle against the Archfiend.”

He looks at his two dead allies. “Winning might be … difficult.”

“Worry not.” Tylith pauses at the sound of boots hitting dirt. “I’ve requested reinforcements.”

“I’ll be helping you beat him.” Malene stands with her back to Tylith, facing the Archfiend alongside the squad that had been fighting him.

Within the arena-like pocket, two intense battles between champions from each side has become inevitable.