Decision. Decide for yourself.

No one will force her, no one will beg her. With or without her, the world turns like a grinding millstone. Even with her, it won’t sprout extra suns.

As foe or as friend, Justice and Theory don’t bend. Only time can move them, like frost eating through rope. But time has never been mankind’s friend, a cold river against bare skin. If anyone lives well with time, it’s gods and demons, beings beyond thought.

Her stomach gurgled, a drum in an empty hall, warning her waiting won’t make Justice or Theory shift on their own. She was only a Hero, the kind who can “save the world” and for all else has empty hands.

Reason behind her, Righteousness before her; both waited in silence for the girl’s choice. Whatever that choice would be, they waited like mountains in fog.

“What is this, and why must I choose!” Stini’s voice rasped, like a blade on stone.

Unease spiked; she stepped back two paces, hugged her Holy Lance Thousand Gallop, and kept it far from the gold‑armored gatekeeper’s reaching hand.

“We won’t push you. Take your time…”

“But something else… something else is pushing me!”

Li—Theory wearing a human shape—folded both arms, frowned, and thought a bit. “I’d say it’s ‘destiny’.”

“Destiny?”

Stini had never heard the word. To her it was only stressed syllables, a shell with no meaning.

“Destiny, fate, 運命, 운명, Destin, El destino, Das Schicksal. Same thing. In the common tongue, read it as ‘history’—but my ‘destiny’ covers past, present, and future. It leans on the idea that everything’s already written.”

He rattled the words off in one breath. He was only parroting Andor, putting on a show, not expecting Stini to get it.

“Isn’t the future something you carve out yourself?” Stini asked, eyes clouded like rain.

“Hm. Genesis and the gods’ catechisms do write it that way. For past and present, sure. But in the future’s future, the next age shifts. Take it like that.”

It wasn’t quite right from a divine viewpoint, but Li was tired of her endless asks. He only wanted to leave her with a whole impression, not a clean lecture. Principles don’t always arrive polished for you. And this “self” of Li seemed built with that idea. A casual line would do: let Stini grasp why a quick choice mattered.

Looks like the world really is moving forward. Light and dark, good and evil, blend like ink in water, and it’s taking.

“What I can explain, you’ve already dissected. I shouldn’t have said even this much about the future and fate. If you want the root under this place, I’m out of tools.”

Li shrugged, copying Andor’s habit.

“I choose… choose the future?”

“Yeah. You can take it that way. Besides you, no one gets to decide—at least in this age.”

“What can I even choose?”

“Everything. Starve here. Die beneath the sword of Righteousness. Or cross that gate by any method you can imagine. Choose to try again and again, too. Everything you do is a trial from the Divine Being, and a destiny you chose.”

“Anything works?” Stini frowned, not buying an open‑ended clear pass.

“The Deity gifts teachings that face the light, and also leaves room to face evil. Catechism of the God of Wisdom, Thinking, chapter two, verse six. This world punishes evil, yet you still hold the right to choose it.”

“But I’m not evil, and I don’t want to be!”

“That… isn’t up to you to name.”

At that, Li edged back. Stini no longer needed his nudges. Even if she asked again, he had no answer to spare. The help of Theory ends here. What comes next is what every generation of Heroes must decide alone. It has nothing to do with Theory.

Stini studied the Holy Lance Thousand Gallop in her hands, feeling the “thought” inside like a slow pulse. A holy lance stained with the blood of Demon Kings, the heirloom armament of the Heroic house. But its thought is only “save the world.” It can’t beat Righteousness. Turn it against Righteousness, and it turns brittle like glass in frost.

Now the future waits on her. What should she do? In times like this, a Hero moves by instinct, a lantern held up by her wish. Chase it down to the root—what is that wish?

“I must be a nasty, willful mess. No one likes someone that willful. So I’d better latch on to Andor. No one else will marry me!”

Hahaha. Muttering to herself, she ended up laughing like a bell.

“Decided!”

The girl hurled her lance at the gold‑armored gatekeeper like a streak of rain. The gatekeeper caught the flying lance. He didn’t budge; with just his right hand, he crushed it to grit. He nodded, drew a greatsword from his back, and set his stance like a rooted pine.

“You’ve chosen?” From Li’s face, more words pressed like unshed rain. But he was only Theory. He wore a human shape and tone; he shouldn’t carry human bias. Bias for Justice. Bias for evil. Good or bad, bias is bias. Li let the last words die. Let Stini act. Whatever fruit her choice grows—bitter or sweet—she should swallow it herself.

“Settled.”

“Right or wrong, good or evil—leave the theories in the dust for now. I’ll ask one thing. Where’s your weapon? Planning to fight bare‑handed? Righteousness won’t show mercy.”

“Andor told me. Only the deepest Evil can defeat the holiest Justice. Or a Justice even stronger.”

Stini closed her hand on air, clenched, and felt something forming slow as moonrise. A good gamble. She had crossed blades with that sword a thousand times, and touched it once. That sword ruined her right hand and snapped her blessing. After she claimed it, she planted it in Freedom Plaza at SkywardCity. A witness, a record, a scar of an old era’s thought.

That sword is a relic of a Divine Being, gripped tight before death, soaked in longing. It holds no power. It seems only a sturdy two‑handed greatsword. In this realm of thought, Stini called it, read its meaning, and it answered.

Now the girl knew. This sword needed a name, a new name, to be named anew for a new age. Otherwise it would hold hollow power with nowhere to live.

“A name, then… How about… ‘Evil‑Justice’.”

With her shallow taste for letters, Stini tried to say what lived in the blade, and groped for a place to set it. The sword, the thought, the power—each liked the name.

The world shifted again; parts of the gold‑armored gatekeeper and Li began to fade like dust on wind.

“That sword… no! This is your power. The primal covenant. God and demon in one body…”

Li tumbled back, scrambling away from Stini as far as he could. The gold‑armored gatekeeper stepped back as well, raised his shield, and watched her like a hawk.

And Stini…

“Aaahhhhhhhhhhh—”

A scream torn by pain. Wounds bloomed—inside, outside. Those she could take. What dragged a battle‑hardened fighter into a howl was burning, a forge‑fire under the ribs. Her body burned. Her heart burned. Even her soul seemed to ash, then the ash to nothing, flames geysering from her heart.

The orcish war‑chant spell, Rageflame, burns the body to buy one last span of fight. The hilt in her right hand vanished—no, the whole right arm was gone. In the blaze, Stini forced her mind up and checked her body. Yes—still the same familiar scars and cuts.

Facing a killing wound, she laughed like breaking ice. “Haha, just as I thought. The blessing hasn’t returned, and the body hasn’t healed. So the ‘intact me’ is only thought, or soul, right…”

She panted hard, then shouted with the last breath left in a bellows. “So what? This is my resolve. This is the Righteousness I cling to. This is my choice. In the end, will you accept me?”

Stini’s hand vanished again. The greatsword fell, bit the ground, and flashed like a struck star. Gold climbed from the hilt, shaping a right hand, then a forearm, then an upper arm. The golden limb latched to her empty shoulder and moved like flesh.

The flowing gold kept pouring. It flooded her hollow right eye and became a burning, empty golden eye. Gold seeped into her broken left leg, reforged it, and sleeved it in a layer of golden armor. Last, gold speared her flaming heart. In truth, only a bonfire was left there, no flesh. The gold cast a heart anew and beat the blood into motion.

By all rights, Rageflame leaves no survivors. Yet the spreading gold smothered it, like wet sand poured over coals.

Stini flexed her right hand and rolled her left leg. Nothing felt wrong. She raised the greatsword. It looked plain: straight double edges and a simple, honest hilt. But back in SkywardCity, the Deity of Justice held it in one hand and beat her helpless.

Memory is a warm thing. We lived through those joys, and the hurts have gone by like rain. So we keep living, and keep making more memories. Of course—

“Only if we don’t do what we’ll regret. Otherwise that remorse grows through memory like ivy, and the recall turns sour.”

As the gold’s scorch cooled, pitch‑black sheeted over Stini’s left leg and right arm, and over the sword. Like black‑gold from legend: ugly darkness outside, dazzling gold beneath.

“Knight of Evil‑Justice, Stini Saya, comes to challenge you again!”

High‑spirited, the girl cried to the gold‑armored gatekeeper like a horn at dawn.