"To foresee the future… is to walk toward a death whose ending is already known."
"As expected, those who peer into fate cannot escape this pitiful destiny."
After casting his Future Prediction Magic, Schlacht first checked whether there was any change in his foretold death.
But the outcome of the prophecy remained unchanged.
Schlacht shook his head bitterly. Even he, it seemed, could not resist wavering in the face of death.
"But still..."
"A lack of change isn't necessarily a bad thing."
His destined death remaining fixed proved that even the Hero of the South hadn't found a better path.
If all he wanted was to survive, Schlacht had countless methods—he could simply not show up at the prophesied place.
Even the strongest human, the Hero of the South, wouldn't be able to storm the Demon King's castle and kill him.
But just as Schlacht was certain that the Hero of the South would arrive for their duel, he himself would also show up—fully expecting to die.
Because this duel was not for personal reasons, but for the fate of their races.
"Success may not come from me, but it must pass through me."
This belief wasn't exclusive to humanity.
In the shared future that Schlacht and the Hero had foreseen, their confrontation marked the turning point leading to a future that benefited both races.
Humans would eventually defeat the Demon King, while the demons would secure a vital key to win their war for survival.
But to reach that future, two essential sacrifices were required:
Schlacht's life—and the Hero's.
The two greatest variables affecting the future had to be removed before dawn.
Cloaked in a vast robe, Schlacht's eyes gleamed with resolve like never before in the shadows.
This battle… was for the survival of the demon race.
Clenching his fists tightly, Schlacht sensed the edge of his magical range flare—his opponent, the strongest human Hero, had arrived.
As the figure approached rapidly, Schlacht turned to the companion beside him—codenamed Miracle, and said:
"Do you remember the tasks I asked you to carry out after my death?"
"Of course."
Grausam nodded solemnly. "After this battle, I will erase all memories of this fight from Macht of the Golden Land."
"And seven years from now, I will ambush Frieren at the Goddess Monument near the empire's border and kill her."
"Good."
Schlacht nodded and then unleashed his full magical power, stepping forward into the decisive duel against the strongest human.
"If I had a choice… I really wouldn't want to die."
Schlacht sighed one last time, then activated his Future Prediction at full capacity, seeking the Hero's next strike.
When facing an opponent who also possessed predictive abilities, no foresight made before the battle was trustworthy.
After all, what you could see, your opponent could as well.
Only in the split-second of close-quarters combat—when an action is already taken and irreversible—did prediction become useful.
But this time, in the midst of real-time forecasting, Schlacht suddenly caught something horrifying:
A variable!
Without even bothering to dodge the Hero's current strike, Schlacht turned and shouted at Grausam:
"There are two variables in the future!"
"I can no longer see the future of Serie, the great mage from the mythic era who still lives!"
"And her disciple, Gut—his fate is a singularity, a rootless anomaly! All I can see is his name!"
Before he could finish—
A blade of light slashed across Schlacht's throat.
Though he barely managed to step back thanks to his predictions and powerful body, a line of blood still burst from his neck.
"Schlacht, it seems the world we leave behind will remain quite entertaining,"
The Hero of the South laughed.
As someone who also wielded prophecy, he too sensed the variables at the moment of his strike.
Unfortunately, he had missed his chance to kill Schlacht while he was distracted.
Clutching his wounded neck, Schlacht didn't reply. Instead, he staggered backward, rasping out final orders to Grausam:
"Don't go after Serie. Use everything… to kill Gut."
"The demon race can't afford to antagonize another powerful being. That man Gut… he is the source of these anomalies..."
BANG! BANG!
Before he could finish, the Hero broke through several of the Seven Calamity Sages, twin blades slashing with terrifying power—
One strike aimed at Schlacht's head, the other cleaving toward Grausam.
"Retreat!"
Eyes wide, Schlacht bent back nearly ninety degrees to barely dodge the fatal blow.
But before he could feel relief, a blood-stained blade pierced through his back and exited through his chest.
"…When…?"
More than pain, Schlacht felt confusion.
Every demon had absolute trust in the magic they had devoted their entire life to.
Unlike humans, demons typically spent their entire existence mastering a single form of magic to its peak.
His Future Prediction Magic was the pinnacle of such dedication—his pride as a demon.
And yet it had just been shattered by this one strike.
Schlacht had never imagined a human could strike faster than even his foresight could perceive.
"Schlacht! Snap out of it! Run!"
Grausam, his comrade, shouted from the side. He had already cast his Paradise Transfer Magic with his uninjured arm, and the Hero had ceased attacking—meaning the magic likely succeeded.
Schlacht silently stepped forward, slowly pulling the blade from his own body.
Seeing his grim expression, Grausam tried to console him, mistaking his silence as heartbreak over his broken pride.
"He is the strongest of humanity. It's not shameful to be overwhelmed."
"…That's not it, Grausam."
Schlacht frowned. "If the Hero was truly under your control, he wouldn't have slain so many of our kind in countless prophecies."
"I was just thinking—why was the Hero so easily restrained just now?"
"Damn!"
Even without prophecy, Schlacht now sensed overwhelming danger. He tried to leap away from the Hero again—
But it was too late.
Two massive slashes burst forth with unstoppable force. Even before they hit, Schlacht knew—he was done for.
With hatred on his cloaked face, he poured all his magic backward and, in near self-sacrifice, overloaded his prophecy power to fracture all vision paths—
Blocking the Hero's future-seeing temporarily.
Then, at peace, Schlacht accepted his death.
The moment the slashes landed, his body exploded into fragments and then dust.
Just before fading completely, he left Grausam one last order:
"Kill Gut."
Grausam smiled bitterly as the remnants of the Hero's blade—though weakened—barreled toward him.
Even knowing from prophecy he would not die here, he couldn't be sure he'd survive.
Fortunately, help arrived.
Macht of the Golden Land appeared in front of Grausam, using All Things to Gold Magic to transform his cloak into a massive golden shield.
Even then, the aftershock from the Hero's blade tore gaps into the magical cloak.
Had that landed on him directly, Grausam would have perished.
But…
Just as Schlacht had foretold—the Hero's final stand would bring about the fall of three, reducing the Seven Calamity Sages to four, including the loss of Schlacht.
A truly glorious finale worthy of the strongest Hero.
After clearing the battlefield, the surviving demons returned to their respective lands.
Demons, unlike humans, were emotionally distant by nature.
But on the road home, even Grausam couldn't help but wonder—
What did Schlacht and the Hero see in the end?
What future was worth wagering their lives on?
In the end, Grausam shook his head. Without the ability to foresee the future, he would never understand.
Better to carry out the final orders.
As a long-lived demon, Grausam was confident he would live to witness the ending himself.
"Tomorrow, I'll erase all memory of this battle from Macht of the Golden Land."
"Seven years later—kill Frieren at the Goddess Monument."
"And as for Gut…"
"Find him—and do whatever it takes to kill him."
Shinshi Era – Year -21
[Northern Nations · Äußerst]
Afternoon.
The sun was setting, golden dusk streaming through the stained-glass windows of the grand hall.
Serie sat in her chair, bored, rejecting a mage examinee in just one second.
The reason was simple.
He was too old—no cultivation potential.
Despite years of training, his magical power didn't even surpass that of her disciple Gut.
With such poor talent and age, Serie had no interest in taking him in.
As the old mage walked out disappointed, Serie glanced at Gut, who was behind her, absently twirling his hair.
She sighed.
"I thought mages of this era had improved."
"But after a whole day of interviews, the only talented one is this… very hard-to-evaluate disciple, Gut..."
Then—
"Uh… excuse me, may I come in for my interview?"
A timid male voice called from outside the hall.