Let This Grieving Soul Retire! Woe is the Weakling Who Leads the Strongest Party 1

Standing in the conflagration but not burning at all, Thousand Tricks said, “Fire affinity and range-boosting, eh? Simple, but it’s a good sword. Treat it well.” Fire wrapped around his arms like gauntlets, and his eyes shone red.

“No way... You can’t use that! The Purgatorial Sword is a Relic! A Relic!”

Relics were powerful items, but they demanded careful operation. The stronger the Relic, the more training it required to draw out even an ounce of its power. With a greater roar, the flames materialized as wings on Thousand Tricks’ back.

Tino’s cruel treatment, his suffering, his regrets, his stubbornness—Gilbert forgot all of that and screamed, “You’re not even holding it?! How is that even possible?!”

As the Purgatorial Sword’s owner, Gilbert had only recently started using it as more than a sharp, strong weapon. Even then, all he could do was set the sword on fire. It wasn’t that operating it was difficult; he just didn’t know what to do with it in the first place. After all, it wasn’t like Relics came with on-and-off switches or instruction manuals. This wasn’t a problem that talent could solve.

This was Gilbert’s own Relic, so he was painfully aware of just how unthinkable it was that Thousand Tricks could do this.

As the flames engulfed him, the man laughed. His black hair glimmered as it reflected the firelight.

It couldn’t be.

He was so different from Tino, who had trained hard to get to her level. Thousand Tricks was nowhere to be seen on Gilbert’s future path. He was simply an unknown. The unimaginable sight caused one word to trickle out of Gilbert’s mouth. His voice trembled so much that he couldn’t believe it was his own.

“Beast...”

Tino showed no signs of surprise as she looked down at him. The shadow of Thousand Tricks cast by the flames looked like a screaming, grieving spirit, much like the name of his party.