The Hero Festival Is Where Inspiration Strikes
The day of the Hero Festival preliminaries had finally dawned. The festival itself was held in a colosseum-like arena outside the royal capital. There had been talk of allowing foreigners to participate this time, but perhaps due to preparation time, it ended up being limited to citizens of the kingdom only. Rumors about me had also begun to spread.
“They say the Sword Saint’s disciple is entering this time?”
The Sword Saint’s disciple, huh. The people of Glacia didn’t know that the Sword Saint was Decaron. Since even the Empire kept the Sword Saint’s existence relatively obscure, it was no surprise a kingdom wouldn’t know either. This was all just media play. Portmus Publishing had decided to boost my fame under the pretext of helping with my “reality writing,” so they’d spread the story that the Sword Saint’s mysterious disciple was participating. Foolish commoners were bound to believe it. Especially in a monarchy like this, where legends of the Hero and the Demon King existed—and where those legends seemed on the verge of becoming reality. The masses could turn into gullible pigs that would swallow anything.
I hadn’t gone around bragging about it or anything, yet somehow people were already calling me the Sword Saint’s disciple. What the hell kind of rumor-spreading was this? Damn it, I wanted to go back in time and kill the version of me who had begged for a swordsmanship master. This was way too much.
“But is it really okay for foreigners to participate?”
“I heard the disciple is actually from Glacia?”
“Oh! Isn’t that the disciple over there?”
“Is it a woman? The armor and build look feminine.”
“The helmet covers the face, so I can’t tell.”
I had actually shown up. Maybe I should have just come completely naked. The thought crossed my mind for a second. There were plenty of ways to hide my appearance—hoods, wigs, all sorts of options. But I worried about getting injured during the fights, so I’d gone with full armor instead. From the outside, it looked pitch black. My navy-blue hair flowed out from beneath the back of the helmet. At least that was something. I’d been afraid the long hair would make the inside of the helmet unbearably hot, but this let me tie it back. No one would recognize me as Milene just from seeing the hair, right?
“So that person really is the Sword Saint’s disciple?”
“It appears so, Brother Heintz.”
As I walked along, drawing everyone’s attention, two figures who practically screamed nobility caught my eye. Oh wow. I never expected to run into those two here. This was genuinely shocking. The novel hadn’t given detailed physical descriptions, so I hadn’t known, but the way the one was addressed and the aura they gave off made it obvious. The man called “Brother Heintz” was Second Prince Heintz. The one addressing him was Third Prince Leon. That had to be it.
Second Prince Heintz and Third Prince Leon. Heintz was the kind of man who thoroughly crushed barbarian tribes on the battlefield and never yielded an inch in disputes with the Empire. In short, unlike Schwald, he was a true warrior. Prince Leon looked like a simple handsome young man on the surface, but there was something faintly sinister about him. He was a master of magic—so much so that even the Magic Tower regarded him with caution. An unfathomable person. Maybe it was because that hack writer Pakuri hadn’t properly fleshed out his character, but I had no idea what he’d be like in reality.
Still, those two were ridiculously good-looking. Damn it. No matter how fictional they were, this felt like cheating. Heintz had black hair and a rugged, wild handsomeness, while Leon gave off the vibe of a beautiful blond youth.
“Fuck.”
For a Pakuri novel, the character designs were actually top-tier. So why the hell did I have to be a woman? Why did I possess Milene’s body? If I’d been possessed by someone like Heintz or Leon, I could’ve beaten the crap out of Schwald perfectly. The starting point at the border—picking up the exiled Milene outside the capital—would’ve been great too. But what’s the point of saying that? It’s not like I got to choose.
Anyway, those two had competed with Schwald over the Holy Sword, but ultimately lost to him. In other words, they were characters who suffered because of an absolutely garbage plot development. Kind of a shame, really. They weren’t the type who should lose to someone like Schwald. I genuinely wondered what that author was thinking, making characters with the potential to carry major weight get crushed by that idiot.
“Hmm. So that’s the Sword Saint’s disciple.”
“Brother?”
The two princes were whispering about me.
“To think the one called the Sword Saint actually has a disciple.”
“Do you know about the Sword Saint, Brother?”
“Sword Saint Decaron. The Empire has hidden him for certain reasons, but decades ago he had already mastered the sword. He traveled the continent, defeating countless strong opponents.”
“Why would such a person come to our kingdom?”
“He must have finished his business with the Empire. After raising the 4 Swords of the Empire, perhaps he decided to cultivate talent in the kingdom as well.”
Heintz seemed surprisingly well-informed about my insane master. Best to ignore that for now. Getting entangled with those two princes would be bad. I needed to finish this in the preliminaries at least. Otherwise my identity might get exposed. Hit and run—that was my mission for this Hero Festival. I’d just crush a few people in the preliminaries, prove my skill, and bounce.
“I’d like to participate.”
“Ah, yes! May I have your name?”
Ah, my name. What should I use? I couldn’t give them Milene. Calling myself K felt weird, and making up some random third name was out of the question. Wait—how about my mother’s family name? Milene’s mother came from the Loen family. Since I’d been exiled, maybe using that surname was fine? Nothing about the Loen family had appeared in the novel, so I had no idea. I didn’t need to give my full name—just the surname should work.
“It’s Loen.”
“Loen. Understood. The preliminaries will begin shortly. Matches will be randomly assigned in participant order.”
“Got it.”
I’d successfully registered. I just hoped my first opponent would be an easy one. Thanks to Portmus’s hard work stirring up public opinion, the rumor that I was the Sword Saint’s disciple had spread far and wide. Looking around, I saw quite a variety of people. A muscle-bound man who looked like he could be best friends with a giant orc. A woman wielding a whip. So this world really had those kinds of characters too. Most were probably adventurers. In fact, some were already trying to rank each other by adventurer grade.
It seemed they were treating the Hero Festival like some kind of adventurer networking event.
“Hey, a D-Rank adventurer like you thinks you belong here? Give me a break.”
“Ha. You’re just a slightly better C-Rank than me, aren’t you?”
“Will you two shut up? You’re both just small fry.”
“It’s the A-Rank adventurer party Black Hawk! Them too?”
“Whoa, it’s the Red Claw party! An A-Rank adventurer team!”
Looked like that brat was participating too. Good. Those guys would be perfect. At my current level, I could probably take not only that kid but even their leader. As the Sword Saint’s disciple, I wouldn’t lose in the first round at least. I hoped they’d be my sacrificial lambs.
From what I could see, the fact that ‘Red Claw’ was being treated with such caution meant that most A-Ranks were around their level. Nice. The opponents I could comfortably beat were probably A-Rank adventurer parties. The only problems would be those inhuman-looking types—the muscle guy from earlier, the whip woman, and an elf-like archer. So my plan was simple. In the first round of preliminaries, I’d beat the Red Claw and the other pathetic adventurers like dogs on a lucky day. Then I’d naturally withdraw from the Hero Festival.
“Hey. You’re the one they call the Sword Saint’s disciple?”
Ah, some sharp-looking punk was picking a fight. How should I handle this? Since the rumor that I was the Sword Saint’s disciple had already spread, I couldn’t bow my head and act humble. Especially not while wearing this intimidating suit of armor. I needed to carry some weight. Yeah. I should channel Hero Lars.
Hero Lars, from the time of the first Hero, lived with the single-minded purpose of killing only the Demon King. He was merciless and without compassion toward his enemies. Lars was practically a berserker, far removed from the typical growth-type protagonist of shonen manga. After being stabbed in the back countless times by humans driven by greed and selfishness, he maintained only the bare minimum of relationships needed to defeat the Demon King and carry out justice. In short, he was a character forged into iron by endless beatings.
Matching that character, I lowered my voice to sound as heavy and imposing as possible.
“What if I am?”
“Hmph. How ridiculous. Did you seduce the Sword Saint with that body to earn the title?”
Even though my armor looked like this, there was no way he could know what was underneath. It was just cheap provocation. There was always a character like this. Pakuri probably hadn’t written one, but these punk types were kind of essential for the vibe.
“Think whatever you want.”
If they’d at least given me thick armor, I wouldn’t be getting looked down on like this. This was all that damned old man’s fault. If he’d given me proper heavy equipment, would I be getting disrespected? And what the hell was that about seducing the Sword Saint with my body? At least if I looked like a man in massive armor—like that musclehead over there—it would’ve been better.
I tossed out the words and turned my head away.
“You bitch!”
A punch came flying from behind. Hmm, he was wearing knuckle dusters. What an ill-mannered bastard, attacking even before the spar. I was used to this kind of attack from our master. I calmly caught the fist.
As expected, it didn’t hurt at all. The grip area was made of leather, after all.
“You caught my punch?”
“It’s still before the match. How barbaric.”
“Ugh… Let go!”
When I released him after he struggled desperately, he tumbled backward. I ignored him lightly. He was just a disposable punk character I’d never see again after today.
“W-wait… Could it be… from back then?”
“Thank you so much for helping us that time!”
This time it was Red Claw. The weaklings of Red Claw were staring at me. Well, their leader Adel or whatever—the bald guy—was fairly strong, but that kid Rita was the problem. The one called Rita was looking at me strangely. I didn’t like it. He was annoyingly perceptive. If I slipped up and he recognized me… Ugh. So I had to do this properly. I needed to drive them away more coldly. Show a different side.
“It was merely out of necessity.”
Wow, fuck. Even though I said it myself, that gave me serious goosebumps. How could I spit out such cringey lines without dying inside? Even the protagonist Lars from Defeat of the Content Loser wouldn’t go that far. Still, it seemed I’d properly imprinted my image on them.
“Whoa! Sister, you’re so cool!”
“Yeah, Sister’s amazing!”
I was pretty sure their names were Ella and Yuri. This was the first time hearing the word “sister” directed at this body, wasn’t it? Cool or not, just go away. You’re bothering me. It’d be nice if I didn’t run into them at Portmus later.
After some time passed, the moment for the matches finally arrived. There seemed to be a little over forty participants. Apparently they weren’t letting just anyone join. Maybe my case was an exception because of the Sword Saint’s disciple rumor?
“Alright, we will no longer be accepting additional participants! Those who have gathered, please draw lots at the front!”
The preliminaries were supposed to finish within today. That was one thing I liked—no unnecessary hassle. Unexpectedly, I was the third match. And the fourth was the woman who wielded a whip covered in spikes.
Before that, I decided to watch the princes fight first. In the massive circular colosseum, I took a seat in the stands. The first match was about to begin.
The first fight was between Second Prince Heintz and that nameless muscle mountain.
Heintz Glacia vs Gorgon
A prince’s match. Shouldn’t I be allowed to look forward to this? Living inside the novel and watching the original characters fight—it was one of the small joys. Of course, it would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t this garbage Pakuri novel.
“I won’t hold back just because you’re a prince.”
“Doesn’t matter. This is a place to select the greatest warrior. Show your skill without reservation. If you defeat me, I’ll even make you an officer.”
“You’d better keep that promise!”
That guy Gorgon carried a massive black greatsword. Could Heintz really defeat him? Honestly… Heintz’s reputation only existed in the original story. I had no idea how this would turn out. Still, he had said some pretty cool things to Schwald.
Holy Sword? Does a womanizer like you even have the right to wield it?
It was a shame that the collapse of plausibility had led to him being defeated by Schwald. In the setting, he was supposed to be incredibly strong. I wondered if that would hold true here.