Epilogue: Hero’s Elegy

"Please… you've got to kill it."

As I stand there frozen, a human adventurer I don't recognize speaks to me in a quivering

voice. In his wounded arms, he holds a female animal person.

I can tell at a glance she's been fatally hurt; she's soaked in blood. Her eyes will never

open again.

"That monster, please, kill it…"

We're on the twentieth floor of the Dungeon; the air is cold in the gloom.

Along with the rest of his badly injured party, the adventurer stares transfixed into the

darkness—and glowing in that darkness are menacing eyes staring right back at us as

they steadily come closer.

What happened here is obvious. It's an all-too-common story in the Dungeon.

A giant monster attacked a group of upper-class adventurers during their expedition.

A single Irregular native to a deeper floor overwhelmed them, and they were given no

option but to flee.

That's where we'd come across them, and even as we tried to help them escape, there

was no time to heal them.

The grievously injured female animal person breathes her last in front of her comrades'

eyes, without so much as a single final word.

"I know I have no right to say this. I know that. This is the life we chose. But… but

please…!"

All adventurers accept the danger of this life as a given. There are plenty of other, safer

ways to make a living. But these people—including the woman who just died—chose

the adventuring life, seeking fame or fortune, the fulfillment of their ambitions, or

simply the inescapable draw of the unknown.

Whatever their reasons, every adventurer has chosen this path with full awareness of

the risks that come with it.

Naturally, it's a mistake to resent the monsters. Though they might grievously injure

you, though they might slaughter your friends, hating the creatures in the Dungeon is

more than misguided; it's downright laughable.

The adventurer speaking to me knows this, even as tears fall from his eyes onto the

already cooling body of his comrade. And yet, even though he knows it's a disgraceful

thing to ask, he can't help but beg me through his sobs. "Please, Bell Cranell… avenge

her…!"

My left arm fully healed, all of Hestia Familia has returned to regular action in the

Dungeon—and this is what immediately greets us.

The completely unremarkable death of an adventurer. There is no scandal here—no

drama at all. It's just another day in the Dungeon. This cruel reality has always been

here, lying in wait. The only question is whether you notice it.

I'd fallen into a stupor the moment my fellow adventurer died, and when I see her

comrade's weighty tears, I can feel my head and body flash white.

All distractions and worries disappear, and my body is filled with a single transparent

purpose.

To kill the creature whose savage howls even now draw closer.

I hear Welf's and Lilly's voices from beside me.

"Bell…"

"Mr. Bell…"

"Sir Bell…"

"Master Bell…"

From behind me, I can hear the sadness in Mikoto's and Haruhime's voices.

I grip the Hestia Knife and charge the monster with a scream.

From the distant past right up to the present day, Orario has been a city overflowing

with death.

There were times blessed by peace and there were times of unthinkable slaughter.

People called "heroes" often met their tragic ends in moments of karmic justice that

left no room for sympathy. Only one thing was certain—the majority of these events

took place during the unending battle against monsters.

This land was piled high with death; the people who have died number as many as

there are stars in the sky. Such is the place called Orario.

Ironically, this has earned it such a reputation for glory that it has come to be called

"the center of the world." Even as its form changes with the age, its people and its

monsters will continue to slaughter one another.

It is a place that generates death.

It is the last stronghold of the mortal world, and its true nature has never changed. It

is the ancient fortress that stands between the labyrinth and the outer world. A

symbol of the desires of every being to ever take up a sword.

Orario is the place of beginnings.

However.

Coming at it from another angle, the monsters could well be considered the victims.

Regardless of the era, monsters are still constantly butchered in service of the greed

of the surface dwellers who take magic stones or parts of the monsters' bodies

themselves and exchange them for money. Their slaughter is the price of glory. It is

undeniable.

The inhabitants of the mortal world would reject the notion, but the deusdea are quite

capable of entertaining this perspective.

But the perspective itself is undoubtedly a pointless one.

The question was decided eons before, when the monsters overflowed from the great

pit and rampaged across the surface. There were those who took the right to exist, and

those from whom that right was taken—followed by those who reclaimed that right,

and those from whom it was reclaimed. The hostility between surface dwellers and

monsters made the current state an inevitable one. They were destined to hate and

kill one another.

However—if we decide to trace all that back to the monsters' invasion of the surface,

then surely the surface dwellers' hatred should be directed as much at the great pit of

the Dungeon as it was the monsters that emerged from it.

Aiz Wallenstein, for one, felt this way.

—Avenge me.

—Protect the child.

—Fulfill the hopes of the surface.

In the gloom of the Dungeon, it was Aiz alone who heard the echoes of these bitter

voices, the many desires gnawing at her ear in voices she both did and did not

recognize. Countless arms reaching out from the darkness, begging pitifully—please,

please.

They were the voices of those who had passed. They, too, were entreaties of those yet

to be.

The young Aiz looked down into the palm of her small hand and nodded slowly. Then,

as so many had done before her, she reached out to the hilt of the sword before her

and pulled, accepting the weapon. In doing so, she signaled her readiness.

The dream ended there.

"…Nnh."

She slowly opened her eyes. Her still-blurry vision took in the sight of a familiar

ceiling, the Spartan interior greeting her. She knew that she was in her own room.

She must have fallen asleep in her bed after completing the afternoon maintenance of

her weapons. She sat up, confirming that her blade and its cleaning cloth were still at

her side. Then she mused over her foggy memory.

It was dim in the room.

She checked the time and saw that it was evening.

The window had been left open, and the sun was gone, allowing darkness to descend

over the eastern sky.

"…"

The dream from which she had just awoken lingered in Aiz's mind.

In her dream, a version of her had accepted things as they were.

It was as though she had known nothing else—she had not been coerced, nor pressured,

nor driven by any sense of purpose.

Aiz wordlessly fit her sword back into its scabbard, then stood and went to close the

window, since the curtain was fluttering in the breeze.

"…?"

As she approached the windowsill, she noticed something different about the view of

the city. Although it was night, the usual expanse of light from the city's countless

magic-stone lamps was not there.

The entire city was dim.

And more than that, its normal raucous clamor had fallen silent.

Aiz took in the scene from her window for a few moments, then murmured, "Oh. Today

is Elegia."

Perhaps that was why she'd had that dream, she thought as she gazed at the weakly

flickering candlelight that dotted the city streets.

An ear-splitting noise thunders through the land, sounding as though it originated

from the bowels of the earth.

As wind blows across the great pit, sometimes the sound will resonate deep into the

labyrinth, rattling the ears of the adventurers within. At times it resembled the howl

of some impossibly huge beast.

An impossibly huge beast known as the Dungeon.

I look down into the gaping maw of the labyrinth, the breeze rustling my hair as I

ascend the long, magic-stone-lamp-lit ramp. The great staircase spirals up out of the

Dungeon, continuing into the alabaster tower of Babel.

We have returned to the surface, burying the vicious monsters with their howls and

claws beneath us.

It does not feel as though we have gotten vengeance. There is no sense that there

would have been worse consequences if the monster had gotten loose in the world, or

that there would have been more victims. I feel no purpose in what we've done.

I saw the tears of a man who'd lost his friend… and I wanted to stop any more sadness,

any more suffering. That's all.

"Bell Cranell… thank you," the adventurer had said after we'd killed the monster, his

face still streaked by the passage of tears.

I didn't answer.

"It's nighttime already…"

With the basement that connects directly to the Dungeon behind me, I emerge onto

the ground floor of Babel and look out the great gates, flung open as they always are.

Evening has descended onto Central Park, which surrounds the tower.

Lilly, Welf, Mikoto, Haruhime, and I have been moving with the injured party we

encountered, escorting the cold body of their dead comrade out of the Dungeon to the

surface and protecting her from any monsters that attacked along the way.

The party is from Dellingr Familia. The adventurer who thanked me for avenging her

is named Edgar. The dead animal-person adventurer's name was Celia.

After Edgar and his party lay Celia on the floor, we don't move for a while.

The hall is nearly deserted, and the few fellow adventurers who are there watch from

a careful distance, as though used to the sight. Their gazes are mixed—some derisive,

others pitying, and still others merely cold.

As I stand silently beside Edgar, Lilly and Welf nudge me from behind, as though to tell

me there's nothing more we can do. Haruhime, looking rather unwell, and Mikoto,

supporting her, both quietly nod their agreement.

Urged on by the four of them, I pick my feet up, and walk out of Babel.

As soon as we pass through the gates, we notice that the park looks very different

tonight.

"Central Park, it's…" I murmur.

The entire giant central district of the city is festooned with decorations. Wooden

posts dot the area, draped with flowers. But the mostly white and blue posts seem,

strangely, anything but festive.

Most noticeable of all is that the magic-stone lamps that light the streets are dark. In

their place is the warm glow of candlelight.

Looking past Central Park, I can see that the magic-stone lamps throughout the city

are all extinguished. I can't hide my confusion.

"Oh, that's right, today's Elegia," says Welf, beside me.

"We were staying in Rivira in the middle levels, so I completely forgot," adds Lilly.

"Elegia…?" I parrot, blankly. I remember hearing Welf use the word back at The

Benevolent Mistress.

Lilly looks over to me. "Do you not know about it?… Oh, of course. You might be a topclass adventurer, but you still haven't lived in Orario for a full year." She gives me a

smile, but there's something lonely about it.

Welf quietly explains. "Elegia is… well, basically it's a festival to mourn dead heroes."

"To mourn… heroes?"

"Correct, Sir Bell. To show our respect for the ancient heroes of Orario who sacrificed

themselves to stem the tide of monsters that swarmed out of the pit," says Mikoto.

"It's also a thanksgiving festival to show appreciation for their great deeds," adds

Haruhime.

Just as they've explained, after a while, ordinary citizens of Orario begin to gather in

the park.

It's a huge crowd, but there is nothing overwhelming about it.

To a one, the crowd is soundless; they wear their silence like a cloak of shadow.

Haruhime sees boys and girls carrying flowers, and a forlorn look dwells in their eyes.

Young and old, male and female, human and demi-human alike, most of the assembled

people wear robes of white and carry candleholders.

"You probably know this, but… there are monuments to the heroes all over the city,

starting with the courtyard in front of the Guild and the First Graveyard. At the

appointed time, people will start from Central Park and visit each one in turn," says

Lilly.

"Then they come back here and sing. To offer their respect and thanks," Welf tells me.

They go on to explain that Elegia, the festival of heroes, will last until the sun comes

up. Until then, not a single magic-stone lamp will shine in Orario and candles will be

the only source of light. As though to relive the nights those ancient heroes themselves

lived, the shopping district, Pleasure Quarter, the crafters district, as well as every

tavern and every home, will pass the night with only candlelight.

The Guild is responsible for organizing the festival, and sure enough, I see their

uniformed employees here and there. Among them I spot Miss Eina and Miss Misha.

Under the expanse of the night sky, the city is filled with tiny, flickering flames. The

atmosphere in the streets is so solemn and quiet that it makes their usual liveliness

seem like a distant memory. Even the ever-foolish, ever-teasing voices of the gods

have, just today, gone quiet.

The people of Orario today have only awe toward the ancient heroes.

"It's also a festival for adventurers in the present day… to mourn those lost to the

Dungeon," murmurs Lilly, and I feel a faint stirring in my chest.

The adventurers of the present.

The heroes of the ancient past.

A festival held in Orario once each year to honor both—to mourn the fallen adventurers,

and to honor the ancient heroes.

As we walk across the square, I stop and look back. I think of Edgar and the rest of his

party, still in the tower with Celia's body.

Are the candles that fill the city tonight an offering for her? Will their mournful light

lay their grief to rest?

Right now, it's the only thing I can think about.

Aiz went outside.

Looking out over the candlelit night scene, she found herself too restless to stay in her

room—perhaps owing to the unusual dream she'd just had.

Instead of her normal adventuring outfit, she put on a simple white dress and tied her

long, golden hair back.

Drawn by the mournful lights, Aiz ventured into the city alone, telling no one.

There are so many people again, this year…

Elegia had begun.

Setting out from Central Park to visit the city's various monuments, the people formed

lines as they walked along the wide avenues. Some made for the Guild courtyard,

others for the First Graveyard, and others for the city's outskirts, each paying their

respects either to a hero they had never met or to an adventurer lost to the Dungeon.

Most residents of Orario gave flowers to any adventurers they knew for Elegia. Family,

lovers, former colleagues—adventurers drawn to the Dungeon often came to know

many people. In one spot, a human girl held a bouquet as tears gathered at the corners

of her eyes. Elsewhere, a certain elven woman overcame her sadness to join the line.

As Guild employees oversaw the procession carefully to prevent disorder, Aiz kept her

gaze low as she walked against traffic to one side of the street.

As she looked at the flickering candlelight, the faces of the many people she'd said

good-bye to came and went in her mind. People close to her, people who'd shown her

kindness, precious people.

Among them were faces from Loki Familia. Aiz had lost mentors and juniors alike to

the Dungeon's cruelty.

The moments of their deaths came to her mind, along with their final words, echoing.

The sadness of their loss became a pain blooming in the depths of her heart.

If one must lose someone, best not to lose them to the Dungeon, she thought.

Why not simply stop being a prisoner to the unknown and stop playing at adventuring?

So an ignorant person might say with their finger pointed at an adventurer.

But Aiz—and every other top-class adventurer—had a reason they couldn't stop

fighting. Of course they each individually had their various ambitions and hopes, but

Aiz and the others in her familia also had a duty set before them on behalf of the entire

world.

Then, as she was deep in thought, her face illuminated by the candles—

"Hey! It's the Sword Princess!" cried a voice from the crowd she was passing. "She's

not carrying her sword, but it's really her!"

"Wow, she really is prettier than an elf! She's like a goddess!"

"What's the Sword Princess doing here?!"

From outside of the procession came a group of children frolicking around Aiz, as was

expected.

Aiz's eyes glittered with all the sharpness one would expect from a top-class

adventurer as she tried to keep her distance from the children.

"No, you have to call her Miss Sword Princess! A top-class adventurer is very important,

you guys!" lectured a half-elf girl from within the clump of children. With a bouquet in

her arms, she turned back to address Aiz. "Um, Miss Sword Princess, I heard from my

mom that at the edge of the world there's, um, a really strong, really scary dragon!"

Aiz's hand twitched.

She watched as the half-elf girl stumbled over her words, pressing on despite seeming

somehow frightened. "She said that today's festival is for praying to the great heroes

to protect us from that dragon! And also for the adventurers to beat that dragon, since

everybody's so scared of it!"

"…"

"Um, Miss Sword Princess, please beat that scary dragon!" the girl finished as the other

children looked on breathlessly.

"…I will." Aiz nodded to the girl. "I swear I'll beat it." She then flashed a fleeting smile

filled with resolve.

The children's faces bloomed into smiles at Aiz's answer. They looked at one another

delightedly, then shouted, "Good luck!" before rejoining the procession as it continued

down the avenue.

After she waved and watched them go, Aiz resumed her own walk. People were

starting to notice her, so she decided to go somewhere less populated.

The place she chose was a deserted overlook. As she ruminated over her conversation

with the children, she gazed up into a star-filled night sky.

—A really strong, really scary dragon at the edge of the world.

It was the last remaining trial of the Three Great Quests.

All the mortals cried out for it—for the defeat of the Black Dragon.

The ancient dragon had flown from Orario. It was said to be the apocalypse incarnate.

And it was Aiz and her familia's duty to defeat it, for that was the role given to the

strongest familia in the city.

Aiz and the rest of Loki Familia had to keep fighting. They had to become more

powerful. Even if it meant continuing to lay their comrades' bodies in the ground.

They were the ones with the responsibility to strike down the dragon king, who had

brought such ruin to the city of Orario—to the Labyrinth City, where the strongest

adventurers in the world gathered.

Aiz held her hair down as the wind stirred it and looked out at the candlelight in the

city. Time passed, and as the moon made its way across the sky, at length she heard

singing coming from Central Park.

The elegy that would bring the festival to a close had begun.

The people of the city gathered in its central district, almost overflowing from it, as

they joined their voices together in prayer and song. Transcending borders of species

and faction, their mingling emotions rose into Orario's night sky. Just as the girl had

said, the prayer offered up by Elegia carried grief and gratitude simultaneously.

And Aiz, an adventurer of the highest tier, knew perfectly well what the meaning of

that prayer was.

The world wanted a hero.

Adventurers scattered throughout the city heard the song.

A prum warrior in a room of the manor. A high elf queen. An old dwarf soldier. A

middle-aged werewolf sitting on the roof. A pair of Amazon sisters. A boaz warrior in

the top floor of an alabaster tower.

Each of them heard the song calling for a new generation's hero.

"…"

The casualties would continue to increase. Heroes were built on a foundation made of

many lives.

Until the world's cry was answered—

Until whatever divine intention the gods were surely hiding finally came to fruition—

Until the last corner of the Dungeon was conquered—

—The lights of mourning that filled her vision would never go out.

"It was hard to look those children in the eye," Aiz murmured. It was hard to listen to

the song that drifted in the air.

Aiz had a fervent wish. It was different from the wish of her people.

There was something she had to regain.

When the time for that promised battle came, for Aiz the grudge would be personal.

Just like an adventurer whose compatriot was killed by a monster in the Dungeon—

not out of any high-minded heroism but simply as an absurd little puppet, ruled by

her passions.

The beautiful song was oppressive.

"I…" All alone, Aiz's voice quivered, as though trying to escape the singing.

She had not taken up a sword by choice. It had simply been the natural conclusion

when taking up a sword was all that she had. The continuation of the dream she'd seen

and the timbre of the song both churned inside her.

When the words came, she spit them out like something foul.

"…I can't be anyone's hero."

"…"

"Sir Bell?"

Bell had stopped and was looking up into the night sky as the song drifted in its air.

"…The gods are singing, too."

He heard a lament for the dead, a hymn of thanks to the heroes, and even a song of

prayer for the new heroes. And among those voices, Bell had realized, were the voices

of the gods.

The voice of a wine-loving goddess enjoying a nightcap in the moonlight. The voice of

a capricious silver-haired goddess. An elephant-faced man crying hot, stuffy tears. A

goddess of the forge standing by a window. A sensitive-looking god standing atop the

city wall. And a young goddess waiting for a boy to return home.

These gods and more all sang the elegy of their children.

Suddenly, Bell remembered words his grandfather had spoken to him when he was

young.

"Orario has everything. If you play your cards right, wealth and fame can be yours. But

all who set foot there will be swept up into the currents of history. That's the nature of

the place. Which is why… you can be a hero there, too."

The lives and deaths of heroes and adventurers.

The unfolding tales of adventure. And the newly spun heroic epics.

—The Labyrinth City Orario. A place of beginnings, dotted with heroes. And the

promised place, where so many lives would be exchanged for just a handful of heroes.

The tale would continue to be passed on—regardless of whether it was what people

hoped for.

In that moment, Bell had the feeling that he was finally beginning to understand what

his grandfather meant.

"I… want to be a hero…" Bell whispered his secret childhood wish into the night air.

Then he spoke the feelings that the ceaseless elegy had stirred up in his heart. "So…

why is it all so sad?"

The boy's quiet whisper: I'll leave a flower, so that I don't forget what happened here.

The girl's quiet whisper: I'll leave a flower again this year, so I don't lose myself.

The boy and the girl heard the same song, looked up into the same sky, and sank into

very different thoughts.

The eastern sky is suffused with light.

The songs ring out until the dawn, then fade. Elegia is over.

It is early morning, by the clock.

Bathed in sunlight, I make for the First Graveyard, in the southeastern quarter of the

city. I'm going to leave flowers for the fallen adventurer Celia.

Before coming here, I inquired at Dellingr Familia , and they told me that Edgar had

already buried her. Exhaustion lingered on their faces as they thanked me again.

In a corner of the graveyard stands a stone with nothing yet carved on it; Dellingr

Familia has bought this small space to use for Celia's grave.

The First Graveyard—also known as the Adventurers Graveyard—is a massive cemetery

filled with countless rows of gravestones just like this one. Typical gravestones,

including the markers here and even the paving stones at my feet, are made from

white stone, which the people of the mortal world have arbitrarily come to associate

with the heavens.

"…"

The air is very clear. It's almost chilly.

I've bought flowers from a nice elderly couple's shop that Lilly recommended to me,

and I lay them in front of the stone, then close my eyes.

I don't know how to pray for someone's soul to find peace, but I mourn for the death

of a fellow adventurer.

Once it's all over, I slowly open my eyes.

I look over my surroundings.

"This is the second time I've come here…" I murmur.

My feet carry me of their own accord to the center of the graveyard, and a huge

monument comes into view.

The first time I saw it was my first day in Orario. The second time is now, half a year

later.

I stop in front of the heroes' grave, which stands just as I remember it.

…Have I changed at all since then?

There in front of the pitch-black monument, I compare past with present.

I've gained so many experiences. I've gotten strong enough to face monsters. I've had

many brushes with death. And yet, no clear answers to my question present themselves.

The monument with the names of its many heroes carved in it offers me no answers.

But now I have the sense that the wistful feeling in my chest is everything.

There are so many flowers left here it could almost be mistaken for a field, as though

to stand as proof of the many people who visited here last night during Elegia.

I stand in front of the monument and continue to reflect on how little I knew back

then, when—

"—?"

I get the sense that someone else is visiting this otherwise deserted cemetery.

Is it…?

I look behind me.

To my surprise, there's a girl with golden hair and golden eyes walking past the rows

of adventurers' graves toward me. "Aiz…"

Noticing me, her eyes betray similar surprise.

White sunlight showers the space between us.

I don't know why, but in that moment, somehow, seeing her illuminated by the

morning sun, I get the feeling that she's been crying.

"Bell…" Aiz murmurs with her usual muted expression. She approaches me, as though

to banish my hallucination. "Are you visiting someone's grave, too?"

"Y-yes…"

"Hmm."

Aiz comes right up to me, then lays her flowers in front of one of the gravestones. Her

gaze doesn't return to me.

The two of us abandon ourselves to the wordless moment until she finally looks up.

"Well, then…" she says tersely as she walks right past me.

I've wanted to see her so much, but I can't bring myself to call out to her.

There's something between us now that can't be named or described.

"…"

As though my consciousness is being pulled, I fully turn around as I watch her leave.

I decide to go to the gravestone where Aiz left her flowers.

It's the grave of the ancient heroes whose exploits filled the Dungeon Oratoria , my

childhood bible.

This is the resting place of the great men and women who risked their lives to defend

Orario from the monsters that emerged from the great pit, saving countless lives in

the process.

Was this also for Elegia…? Did Aiz want to leave flowers for the heroes, too…?

There are many, many flowers left in front of this monument—and the stumps of many

burned-out candles, too.

Aiz left her flowers in front of the single biggest stone in the monument.

I read the name of the hero carved on the stone. "The Hero, Albert…?"

He was a legendary hero, appearing in not just the Dungeon Oratoria , but in many

other tales as well.

A breeze stirs the petals of the flowers Aiz left in offering at the base of the black

marker, and then, in that moment—

It's not an omen.

Nothing falls from the sky.

But a tremendous, blinding bolt runs through my mind as I consider the name on the

marker.

My grandfather's voice and a single line from a certain poem come to me like lightning.

The great hero Albert… in the book he was Albehrt Eusebius, Champion of the Sword…

he was called by a bunch of names, actually… wait, no, that's not right, it's—

My brain is trying to remember something. There's something in my memory trying

to come out.

That's right.

A line from a book of tales I read.

A noble title recorded in the Dungeon Oratoria my grandfather gave me.

Another name for that great hero—

"'Valdstejn, the Mercenary King.'"

My heart skips a beat when I speak the name aloud.

He's the strongest hero in the Dungeon Oratoria , appearing in the final chapter.

In ancient times, the expeditionary forces he led were called mercenaries—but they're

synonymous with what we now call adventurers.

In other words, his name means "the Adventurer King."

Valdstejn… Valdstejn… Wallenstein?

I can feel my eyes trembling.

Even now, it's not uncommon for people to borrow the names of heroes for their

children. Examples are far from rare. But could this really be just a coincidence?

One of the strongest adventurers in modern times, being given the name of the strongest

hero in history? Aiz Wallenstein, the Sword Princess, leaving flowers at the grave of

the Mercenary King?

"…"

I slowly turn around.

As she recedes at the edge of my vision, I can still see her long golden hair.

I am stunned speechless as the object of all my yearning fades away into the morning

sunlight and vanishes completely