30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 220

BOOOOOM!

...Had they hit this thing thousands of times by now?

RUMBLE...

Anyone who’s ever hit a punching bag knows—hitting something repeatedly is far more exhausting than it seems.

At first, after about ten strikes, you start thinking, Huh? This isn’t so bad. Maybe I have a knack for this.

Then, after a few dozen more, reality hits. Shit, this actually hurts. My arms are killing me.

Hitting something, again and again, was exhausting.

And if that target was a massive, living, moving creature?

That made it infinitely worse.

That’s why, after their very first sparring session, most people end up drained, lying on the floor, muttering—

"I... I think I’ll quit boxing (or martial arts in general)."

And now, just like that—

"Huff... Huff..."

"......"

"This is exhausting..."

—They were pushed to their absolute limits, battling against an entirely new type of monster.

This fight had gone on for 98 minutes.

Just two more, and they’d reach the 100-minute mark.

It had been so long, so grueling, that it was making them reminisce about their first-ever sparring matches...

...And now, their lives were flashing before their eyes.

This wasn’t a battle anymore. It was war.

It felt less like a fight and more like trying to build a 90-story skyscraper while dangling off the steel frame, hammering away nonstop.

Had they been ordinary knights, they would have collapsed from exhaustion long ago.

But by sheer luck—or fate—these three knights had gathered.

And they were anything but normal.

They had long surpassed the limits of regular humans.

If some status window gamer had to describe them, they'd be labeled [Lv.8 Hero-Class Knights].

Their endurance rivaled the camels of the desert.

Which is why—

Despite being pushed to their limits—

Despite everything—

They endured.

And finally—

[...K......E.......]

—The monster fell.

The Abyssal Fiend’s body slowly melted away, disintegrating into dust like sand slipping through fingers.

Just as its name suggested, it was returning to the underworld.

Back to the realm of the dead.

Back to hell.

[Congratulations! You’ve just achieved a legendary feat worthy of history. Truly impressive.]

The owl didn’t hold back its praise.

Had this Abyssal Fiend escaped into the world outside, the casualties would have been catastrophic.

It would have taken an entire army to maybe bring it down.

And these three had done it alone.

This was, without a doubt, a heroic achievement.

The owl, who had spent centuries guarding the sacred relics of the Grand Temple, nodded firmly.

It had seen many things.

This?

This deserved respect.

[Which is why it’s kind of a shame, really. Feats like this should be known to the world. And yet... no one will ever hear about it.]

For knights, fame and glory were worth more than any treasure.

But these three...

They couldn’t reveal this achievement to anyone.

Because they had infiltrated the Grand Temple.

How could anyone announce, “A noble knight ventured into the Grand Temple... to steal a relic”?

This battle against a world-threatening entity would never be known.

It was a victory that could never be celebrated.

A triumph that would remain unspoken.

A wound with no reward.

...But—

"Haha. Honor is something you carry within yourself."

"How is honor real if it needs public recognition? If I'm proud of myself, that’s enough."

"Wow, owl. You’re surprisingly materialistic. Or are you just an attention-seeker?"

[...]

The owl was speechless for a moment.

[...You guys are... different.]

Most knights were obsessed with glory.

They lived for fame.

They fought to be remembered.

Yet these three...

They threw honor away like a pebble.

[...Haven’t seen knights like you since the First Knights...]

The First Knights.

Centuries ago, during the Era of Barbarism, there were no true knights.

Only nobles who used the title for status.

But there was a group—a small band of warriors—who called themselves knights not because of rank, but because of belief.

They dedicated themselves to protecting the weak.

They fought for the helpless not for glory, but for justice.

Those warriors became the original Knights of the Round Table—the first whom both the gatekeepers and fairies acknowledged as true knights.

And the others of that era?

...They were nothing more than bandits in armor.

Those first knights spread the very idea of chivalry, turning Pendragon into the Kingdom of Knights.

It was their belief that inspired the knights of today to take up their swords for the people.

And now—seeing these three—

The owl felt nostalgic.

But also...

[Is this an omen of catastrophe?]

It let out a bitter chuckle.

The mortal world was bound for chaos.

Three heroes had emerged.

And when heroes appear—

It means the world itself is in danger.

Abyssal Fiends.

Corrupting forces.

Unnatural disasters.

Just like in the era of the King of Knights, the world was on the brink of another great calamity.

[This is why the rise of heroes is never a good sign.]

Because whenever heroes appear...

—The world is about to face a trial no ordinary human can endure.

So the owl did what it could.

It fluttered up and—

Tap, tap.

"...What the hell? What was that for?"

[Nothing. Just... a little encouragement.]

"???"

A small, silent gesture.

A pat on the shoulder from a holy relic’s guardian—a silent show of respect.

***

End of the Abyssal Fiend Raid.

It was a victory.

A major accomplishment.

But at the same time—

Clack.

"...Really? We just finished fighting, and you pull this?"

"And you should stop fidgeting with your fingers. It’s annoying."

"Oh? Did you notice?"

"Very much so."

"......"

The temporary alliance was over.

They immediately went back into a standoff.

Raq leveled his spear.

Dyna broke into a cold sweat.

She had seen just how fast Raq’s spear was.

Even if he was exhausted, she knew—he could still kill her instantly.

"Mm."

"......"

With those two in a standoff, Maximus and Yan naturally followed suit.

Maximus frowned as he looked at the shaman.

"...Of all things, my opponent had to be a shaman. I don’t want to be cursed."

"You can kill me if you want. But be warned—the price will not be small."

"...Tch."

Maximus could snap Yan’s neck like a twig.

But a poisonous twig was still dangerous.

A twig that could melt through flesh—was deadly.

Shamans were the bane of knights.

Even a Northern Champion who feared no death had to hesitate against a shaman’s curse.

A standoff of four.

If Maximus and Raq wanted to—Dyna and Yan wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.

And just as the two were preparing to die fighting—

"—I’ve got a question. Why do you keep calling me a traitor?"

A casual question, utterly out of place in the tense standoff.

"...You seriously want to ask that now?"

Dyna sounded dumbfounded.

But Ihan just shrugged.

"If you guys die, there won’t be anyone left to ask, right? So I’d better do it now."