Thirty Grendels. Even as mass-produced clones, their defensive power was legendary. Against someone like Rias, who could use the Power of Destruction to bypass their armor, they were manageable. But for Diarmuid—a finesse fighter who relied on precision and speed—it was the worst possible matchup.
"N-No!" Gorou shouted. "Forget about us! You have to save yourself! Run!"
To the Hyoudous, Diarmuid was a young girl—hardly older than Miwa. Seeing her put her life on the line for them was more than they could bear as parents.
But Diarmuid didn't flinch.
"If anything were to happen to you, Master would be heartbroken," she said softly, her back to them. "I cannot allow that smile to be clouded."
With those final words, she lunged forward, a whirlwind of steel and violet hair, charging straight into the heart of the dragon hoard.
The girl had been born in the rural countryside of England. A family of four: a father, a mother, and an older sister.
They had lived deep in the mountains, far from the prying eyes of society, but within their home, they were as normal as any other family. A kind father, a gentle mother, and a loving sister. Though the girl rarely smiled now, back then, she was a child of constant laughter.
She had adored her older sister, who was three years her senior. Her sister was her rock—the one who helped her when she was lost and comforted her when she was down. The girl followed her everywhere like a shadow.
They were peaceful days.
Until the day that peace was shattered by a Rogue Devil.
The target was the family's secret treasure: the magical spears and swords of the Celtic hero, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
The Rogue Devil stormed their home, slaughtering her mother and father in an instant. Her sister had managed to hide the girl in a back room, shielding her behind a barrier created by the magic sword Begallta.
Then, to act as a decoy, her sister stepped out to face the monster alone.
By right, the four legendary weapons should have passed to her sister. But at the time, she hadn't yet mastered them. Begallta was the only one she could use—and she had used it to protect her little sister. Unarmed and desperate, her sister fought with everything she had.
Resistance was futile. She was murdered, just as their parents had been.
When the Rogue Devil failed to find the treasures, he finally left.
The girl emerged from the room to find the mutilated remains of her family. Her parents were already cold. Her sister was clinging to life by a thread, but it was clear she wouldn't last. With her final breath, she passed the legacy to the girl.
"This will protect you now. Live… you must live. Live for me, too. If you do… I know you'll find…"
Those were her last words.
The girl had no time to mourn. The Rogue Devil, realizing the weapons were still in the house, returned.
She ran. She ran and ran until her lungs burned. Her only companions were the spears and swords her sister had left her. She obsessed over one question: How do I keep my sister's promise?
The answer she found was simple: Become strong.
She discarded her emotions. She cut down anyone who stood in her way. Perhaps there had been another path, but she had seen too much darkness. Between the Rogue Devils and the humans who tried to exploit her power, she grew cold to survive.
That was when the Hero Faction found her. A group of humans who bared their fangs at the supernatural. She joined them simply because she had nowhere else to go. But she refused to help them with their terrorism—partly because she hated their methods, but mostly because she knew that humans could be just as monstrous as the things they hunted.
Years passed, the Hero Faction collapsed, and she was a wanderer once more.
And then, she met a man called the strongest Red Dragon Emperor in history… and his sister.
"Stay… away from me!"
Diarmuid swung her spear in a wide arc, her mind flickering back to the present.
Why was she here? Why was she fighting so desperately for people who weren't even related to her?
The odds were overwhelming. If she were alone, she could have escaped or fought more effectively. But she was fighting a defensive war. Even with the barrier protecting the couple, the strain of maintaining it while fighting thirty Grendels was immense.
And yet… why?
As she parried a Grendel's claw, she caught a glimpse of the parents watching her with tear-filled eyes.
"If you like, would you like to stay at our house?"
"Wow, so you're younger than me!"
"Can I call you Dil-san?"
"Dil-san, Dil-san! What should we have for dinner tonight?"
The image of a black-haired girl—Miwa—flashed through her mind. Miwa was always smiling, always talking to her. Being around her brought a strange peace to Diarmuid's heart.
She hadn't understood why at first. But as the days turned into weeks, she finally realized the truth.
Miwa reminded her of her sister.
Their faces weren't the same, and their voices were different. Miwa even seemed younger than her. But that kind, selfless smile… it was the exact same. It was a smile without hidden agendas—a smile from the soul.
"Ugh…!"
Diarmuid took down one Grendel and leaped back.
Ten minutes had passed. Her clothes were shredded, and blood trailed down her pale arms and legs. Her attacks barely scratched the Grendels' hides, and she was forced to take hits to keep the enemies away from the barrier. Even a warrior of her caliber couldn't remain unscathed.
To make matters worse, every time she killed one, a new magic circle appeared to replace it. The enemy was intentionally staggering the summons to avoid alerting the Three Great Powers with a massive mana signature.
"Stop it…! That's enough!"
Behind her, inside the barrier, Gorou was weeping.
"You don't have to throw your life away for us! Please! I'm begging you, just run!"
"He's right!" his mother cried. "You can get away if it's just you! Please, leave us and go!"
They couldn't stand to see her being torn apart. To them, Diarmuid had become like another daughter. She was a bit stoic, sure, but she was also a girl who loved to eat, who got flustered by Issei's accidental perversions, and who secretly craved affection.
Seeing that "daughter" bleed for them was agony.
But Diarmuid simply shook her head. Then, she turned back and gave them a smile they had never seen before—a gentle, warm expression that belonged to the girl she used to be.
"Don't worry," she said. "No matter what happens, I will protect you. I will not let them through. Everything will be okay."
Diarmuid turned back to the hoard, leveling her spear and pointing her sword directly at Nidhogg. Her body was covered in wounds, but her feet were planted firmly in the earth.
A silent, dense aura began to wrap around her like a shroud. The Hero stood tall.
"My name is Diarmuid. I am the one who carries the soul of the Celtic Hero, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. Evil Dragon of the North, and you, mindless puppets—you shall not touch them. Not a single finger. Come then. Even if I must die, I shall remain your wall."
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