I want to become a Kamen Rider

The Gobi Desert, which should have stretched out peacefully under the night sky, was now dyed a hellish orange-red.

Dozens of heavily armed armored vehicles, like hungry steel hyenas, roared their engines, kicking up clouds of dust, and frantically chased after a tiny target on the rugged terrain.

Above, the massive, fortress-like aircraft cast huge shadows, its belly cannons flashing with dangerous light, weaving a dense barrage of bullets and scorching beams that poured down on the ground like a torrential downpour.

"What's wrong?"

"I got a phone call."

Amidst the blazing battlefield, the man hung up the phone, turned around, and looked at the golden knight who had asked him the question.

He stood there, atop the speeding motorcycle, his cloak fluttering wildly in the turbulent air currents and shockwaves of the explosion. Then, with a slight twist of his wrist, the longsword in his hand whistled through the air, stirring up waves of wind.

Whether it was whistling bullets, scorching beams of light, or heavy artillery fire, all that struck the dancing sword curtain was like raindrops hitting an invisible barrier, being deflected and annihilated, exploding into a dazzling yet deadly rain of sparks around him.

The man standing at the center of the destruction issued commands with a deft touch.

"Jin Dou, go and steal an armored vehicle."

"it is good."

The golden knight transformed into a streak of light, like a comet tearing through the night sky, instantly detaching from the motorcycle and charging towards an armored vehicle pursuing from the side at a speed beyond the reach of the naked eye.

The sonic boom created by the streak of light briefly drowned out the sound of an explosion.

The motorcycle began to go out of control. The man standing on the motorcycle didn't even look up. He simply stretched out his left arm and casually pulled open the giant bow that had appeared out of nowhere.

The bow is drawn to its fullest extent, and then released from the string.

"Boom——!"

A piercing shriek tore through the air, piercing the engine and announcing the fall of the colossal object in the sky.

Rumble, rumble—! ! !

The sky seemed to be set on fire.

The enormous aircraft, like a bird struck by a heavy hammer, unleashed a series of earth-shattering explosions. Its massive body trembled and tilted violently in the air, trailing thick smoke and spewing flames, before crashing irrevocably onto the desolate ground.

The knight, named after the sword, lightly touched the ground with his toes, tracing a long arc in the air before landing precisely on the roof of an armored vehicle that had just approached. A deep roar came from beneath the heavy hood of the armored vehicle, and the golden knight sat in the driver's seat, his visor facing the man on the roof, quietly awaiting instructions.

Behind him was a massive sea of ​​fire—the crashed aircraft triggered a secondary explosion, and the shockwave, carrying flames and debris, swept everything away, completely engulfing the pursuing convoy and turning it into a burning steel tomb. The towering flames illuminated half the sky as if it were daytime, and the billowing smoke resembled a monstrous pillar of demons.

He raised his hand and looked at the simple, jet-black watch on his wrist. The dial reflected a cold, hard light in the glow of the towering flames.

The man glanced at the time, his tone flat, as if confirming a train was on time:

"Seventeen minutes, not bad."

Outside the vehicle lay countless burning, tumbling, and crashing wrecks of vehicles, towering flames, and demonic pillars reaching the sky. Standing in this hell of light and fire that he had personally ignited and traversed, he calmly issued his next command to the golden knight in the driver's seat, his voice clearly carried through the roar of the armored vehicle:

"Let's go to Denmark."

Chapter Sixty-Three: The Past

The further north you go, the less noticeable the seasonal influences become.

As we approached Denmark, perhaps because summer was coming to an end, or perhaps for some other reason, it started snowing in Denmark, a country that rarely sees snow.

The man leaned wearily against the carriage, a snowflake landing on the tip of his nose before melting.

He was dreaming again.

That day, it was also snowing heavily.

Having just become a fake, or what would later be called an artificial knight, he went to meet his second companion, a man who was said to have embarked on this path because of hatred caused by the loss of his loved ones.

The man had dead fish eyes and wasn't good at communicating with others. He had a very unpleasant time in the team, but that didn't matter.

The artificial knights are the final roars and cries of humanity, a species that has dominated the Earth for 250,000 years, in the face of annihilation and the threat of extinction.

It was a counterattack of an era, a weapon, an armament, a sharp blade, and nothing else.

As long as it's sharp enough, that's enough; as long as it can cut through something before it breaks, that's enough. He was told that, and that dead-eyed guy probably thought so too.

As a senior colleague, he dragged Deadfish Eyes to a place during his vacation.

It is a stone statue standing on the bay, which has existed for many years. It was erected here after the most powerful secondary species, Godzilla, attacked, watching over the world.

The biting sea wind, carrying a salty and chilly scent, blew fiercely.

He took something out of his pocket and tossed it to him.

"I heard you like this. It was discontinued shortly after the war. I went to great lengths to get my hands on it."

"We are merely sharp blades."

“We are not weapons, we are living, breathing people. We are people who can complain, cry, and feel sad. We are people who choose to stand up and protect others for all sorts of reasons.”

In the wind and snow, Hachiman gazed up at the enormous stone statue. For once, his dead fish eyes seemed to flicker with a barely perceptible emotion, and his voice, dry and broken by the wind, rang out:

"Is this what the strongest contracted knight left behind?"

"Yes, his body has been completely destroyed, so people erected a stone statue in his honor."

"Why not make it gold or silver? With his achievements, he deserves it, doesn't he?"

Gold and silver seem to be the only things that fit the world's imagination of the glory that heroes should have.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead stretched out his hand and pointed to the feet of the statue.

"Look, what's around the stone statue?"

"Grass? There aren't any flowers."

He smiled and nodded.

"These are the words he left behind: 'Let us remember him with grass, for life is everlasting and everywhere.'"

He reached for his waist and casually mentioned:

"It is said that the 'fakes' we use now are all based on his shattered knight seeds. Even though he died, what he left behind was meant to protect everyone. There is also a saying that if all of his shattered knight seeds are collected, the most powerful contract knight in human history will be resurrected."

Its dead-fish eyes and mouth opened and closed, making it look just like a real dead fish at that moment.

"Then, if we find all the shattered Knight Seeds, will humanity be saved?"

"The dead cannot be brought back to life, and beautiful legends are ultimately just legends."

He shook his head.

Dead fish eyes, accustomed to a pessimistic outlook, posed a question.

"Then what's the point of bringing me here? And what's the purpose of collecting the Knight Seeds?"

"Hachiman, that's a good question. It's precisely because the strongest Kamen Riders are all dead and cannot be brought back to life that someone needs to carry on their legacy. Even if we are counterfeits, even if we are just imposters, we must find the root of the anomalies, defeat all the giant beasts, and stop letting lives slip away before our eyes. This is the heavy responsibility on our shoulders."

"But we're too ordinary."

"Then let us forge extraordinary will and strength."

.........

……

The wheels rolled over a thin layer of fresh snow and came to a stop beside the deserted street. The wind, carrying the chill of the North Sea, swirled up the snowflakes on the ground, emitting a low, mournful murmur. The world was a pale gray, so silent that one could hear the soft rustling of snowflakes falling to the ground.

The car still retained the warmth of the long journey, blurring the line between the interior and the biting cold outside the window.

She turned off the engine and turned her head to look at the man in the passenger seat. He was leaning back in his seat, his head slightly turned towards the window, his eyes closed, his breathing even and deep.

It turns out that even monsters have moments of rest. She subconsciously reached out her hand, her slender fingers hesitant, as if she wanted to gently wake him, or perhaps do something else.

Just as her fingertips were about to touch them, those eyes opened without warning.

"Let's go, get off the bus."

"Oh."

Like a crack suddenly appearing on a frozen lake, deep and sharp, as if it had never been asleep, she withdrew her hand, her fingertips slightly curled, responded, and pushed open the door to get out of the car.

Come to the street.

There were few pedestrians on the street, and the doors and windows of the houses on both sides were tightly closed. A thin layer of snow covered the rooftops, window sills, and pavement, leaving only a monotonous white and gray world. The scattered streetlights cast a dim, hazy yellow glow in the falling snow, adding to the desolation.

The two walked one after the other on the path covered with a thin layer of snow, their feet crunching softly underfoot.

Then, a soft sob broke the silence.

Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw a little girl not far away, wrapped up like a small snowball, her face upturned, tears mingling with snowflakes as they rolled down her cheeks. A red balloon had broken free from her frozen little hand and was drifting slowly and irrevocably toward the sky above her.

The man did not stop walking, nor did he speed up.

He simply veered off course naturally, heading towards the little girl. Just as the balloon was about to pass over the low eaves, he pushed off with his feet, his body leaping up as lightly as if weightless. Snowflakes splashed at his feet, and his outstretched arm, precise and steady, hooked his fingers and easily caught the thin string swaying in the wind.

He landed steadily, without making a sound. He walked up to the crying little girl, his figure casting a shadow before her. He knelt down and gently placed the string tied to the balloon back into the little girl's cool hand.

"Here, your balloon." His voice sounded unusually calm and gentle amidst the wind and snow.

The little girl froze, her tear-filled eyes wide. She looked at her recovered balloon, then at the thinly dressed, stern-faced stranger who had unexpectedly helped her. Her little mouth trembled, and finally she managed to squeeze out a voice barely audible: "...Thank you."

The man nodded, said nothing more, stood up, and walked back to the center of the street.

A woman with silver hair and pale eyes, wearing a fur coat, looked at the man standing in the snow in a thin shirt.

"are not you cold?"

"I'm not cold."

Chapter Sixty-Four Now

Long ago, when the incubators bluntly told the survivors that in addition to using life as energy to fight, contract knights could also gain power from their own or others' emotional fluctuations, the fallen knights were born out of despair.

At that time, some people had already suspected that the suspicious white alien creature named Cupid could have chosen a more powerful and enlightened person as its contractor, such as a soldier, an assassin, or a martial artist, but instead it chose minors who were extremely prone to despair and collapse. Such a contradictory act must have something fishy about it.

What exactly are the qualifications to become a Contract Knight? Even after thirty years, there is still no accurate answer. However, the data from the past thirty years is not entirely useless. At least we can draw one conclusion: the Kyubeys definitely intentionally and deliberately instigated the Contract Knights to fight and then despair.

They will surely benefit from it.

Fan Kang understood perfectly well that since the Qubes could benefit from the desperate contract knights, his actions—saving countless contract knights from despair and even generously giving contract knights who rashly stepped onto the battlefield without sufficient awareness a chance to withdraw—would inevitably put him on the opposite side of the Qubes.

Before the behemoth came from beyond the heavens, there was no enemy on earth.

It wasn't just Tina Hiiragi, whose manga was stolen, who wanted to kill him but couldn't do anything about it. Unlike Tina Hiiragi, who could be appeased with just an apology and half an ice cream, countless dark organizations, innumerable scoundrels, and even the suspicious white alien creature whose benefits had been reduced were probably all eagerly anticipating his death and collapse.

His every move is beyond the reach of the dark organization; even the most cunning scoundrels wouldn't dare to do it. But the suspicious white alien beings are certainly keeping a close eye on him.

So he's gotten used to seeing Kyubey when he wakes up, when he eats, when he brushes his teeth, and at all sorts of other times, and being hopped on the shoulder by a suspicious white alien creature.

However, it must be said that the timing of this thing's release was indeed unfortunate.

"Aaaaaah, Kang-kun, where am I?!"

The deep, dark underground was illuminated by firelight. Perhaps through spatial traversal or beacon transmission, a suspicious white alien creature landed on his shoulder.

Then, she screamed.

As countless grenades, lasers, and particle weapons flowed from his body, the Cupid that appeared on his shoulder naturally became a target of the barrage.

"Underground in Denmark."

He said calmly, then looked in front of him.

Dark, deep, and without light.

This is the lifeblood of the Earth, the backside of civilization.

There were no magnificent buildings; any that existed had been completely demolished. All that remained were burning flames, exploding orbs of light, and energy streams from countless bizarre weapons, tearing open fleeting, gruesome wounds in this eternal darkness.

The air was scorching and viscous, filled with the acrid smell of rock dust, molten metal, and an indescribable, putrid stench from the depths of the earth. The only background noise was a deafening roar—the thunderous crashes of collapsing rocks, the shrill whistles of energy weapons firing, the shockwaves of explosions, and the chilling cacophony of countless inhuman roars.

'What are those things?!' Cupid gripped the edge of his shoulder armor tightly, his round red eyes fixed on the surging tide of monsters.

"The subterranean people. They're probably the... well, I'm too lazy to count how many dark forces have tried to invade Earth."

'Why are you so calm? And why do you talk like a seasoned veteran?!'

"Without him, only hands are familiar."

'These are people from underground! Can't you at least act a little more shocked?'

"We've wiped out countless groups of people from outer space, the Kracis from the demon realm, the dense fog that uses humans as its egg-laying ground... all sorts of miscellaneous things. Now, they're nothing more than underground people."

The knight, whose name is derived from the sword, does not wield a sword. He holds a bow in his left hand and an enormous black tubular object in his right, which is clearly inconsistent with his style.