The Art of Waiting

Once I resolved to become a hero, the very first thing I did was wait. And it was a wait that lasted a full three months.

"So heavy."

Carrying a massive load of firewood on my back, I finally arrived at my destination. It was a building with a sign that read Basilia Inn. This was the place where Alan, an orphan, had grown up.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Creak.

The old wooden door of the inn opened with a harsh, grating sound. At the noise, a man who had been dozing behind the counter raised his head and opened his eyes. He watched me walk in for a moment before speaking.

"Isn't that heavy?"

"It's manageable," I replied, unloading the firewood from the carrier on my back and stacking it in front of the fireplace.

Autumn had already settled in, and without a fire, the nights and early mornings were bitingly cold.

"Don't overexert yourself. The wound on your leg hasn't fully..."

"It's completely fine now."

And it really was. In fact, lately, I had even been working out to build some muscle. Alan's original body was so frail that, far from being a hero, he would have likely dropped dead the moment he stepped outside the village.

Thanks to my efforts, I had at least built up a baseline level of physical fitness.

Well, I did push myself to the limit using Absolute Obedience, so it had better be fine.

Absolute Obedience was surprisingly versatile. Even during workouts, I could easily bypass my physical limitations simply by issuing a command to my own body.

Of course, I still had to feel every ounce of the agonizing pain that came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with it.

"Aren't you tired, Uncle?" I asked the man behind the counter.

He was the owner of the inn, the one who had taken in and raised the abandoned orphan, Alan. He was also the very person whose shouting had jolted me awake on my first day in this world.

Even now, just thinking about that morning sent a shiver down my spine.

"Not really. I'm not that tired."

"What do you mean? I saw you dozing off the moment I walked in."

"...I did no such thing."

"Don't be stubborn and go get some sleep. We're supposed to switch shifts in thirty minutes anyway."

At that, he finally gave in, rising from his seat as if reluctantly conceding. Given his age, staying up late into the night was bound to take a toll on him.

"Thank you. I'll leave the rest to you, then."

Once he retreated to his room, I took his place behind the counter.

The inn fell into a deep, sudden silence.

This is so boring.

If I had to compare it to anything, it was like working the night shift at a convenience store. Except there was even less to do here, and with no smartphones or TVs to pass the time, the boredom was mind-numbing.

The only way to shake off this lethargy was to exercise, but...

Let's save my energy for tonight.

I remembered it clearly. Today was the day a specific event was scheduled to trigger.

Over the past few months, I had stayed in this village, systematically clearing various minor events. Most of them were trivial, but it was still better than doing absolutely nothing.

After all, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had a very specific reason for lingering in this place.

The ruins outside the barrier.

It was a location I would have to visit eventually, even looking far into the future. When raising other characters, it was a place I almost always stopped by, even if it meant a slight detour in my route.

Since the village was so remote, it was best to clear it now.

Moreover, as someone who had been repeatedly rejected whenever I tried to send Alan Flake to those ruins in the game, I felt a personal, stubborn urge to visit them myself.

However, entering the ruins required meeting several conditions.

Every single one of them was incredibly tedious. Trying to prepare for them on my own might take years, if it was even possible at all.

Fortunately, all of those conditions could be met by a single person.

Now, the real question is when that person will arrive.

In truth, their arrival wasn't even guaranteed. After all, they were a playable character.

Hundred Braves was fundamentally a single-player mobile game. However, the other characters didn't just wander around purely controlled by basic AI.

The Crossover Encounter system was the exception.

If another player had fully raised a playable character, you could encounter them through a Crossover Encounter. It was a limited but viable way to cross paths with characters built by other players.

Of course, there was a catch.

These Crossover Encounters were far from guaranteed. The probability of meeting a specific character from a specific player was roughly one in ten million.

However, there was a way to tilt the odds in my favor.

By removing the constraint of a specific player and instead targeting the exact time and place that character would visit if raised according to the optimal strategy guide... the probability of an encounter skyrocketed.

If my calculations are correct, it should be soon.

At the latest, they would arrive by the end of autumn.

Which meant they were due any day now.

If winter came and they still hadn't shown up... I would have to abandon my plans for the ruins and leave this place.

Still, there was no need to panic.

I had made this decision after carefully calculating all the probabilities and variables. Even if they didn't show, it wouldn't completely ruin me, and the potential payoff if they did arrive was simply too massive to ignore.

I really hope they show up, though...

Just then, a sound broke the silence.

Creak.

The inn door was opening.

Whoever it was seemed to be trying to open it quietly, but the ancient, weathered door was far too loud for that.

I stared intently at the slowly opening door.

There were only three kinds of people who would visit at this ungodly hour.

First, and most likely, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a late-arriving adventurer or hero.

Given that this remote village had nothing nearby except the ruins, almost all outsiders who came here fell into that category.

Merchants visited occasionally, but they would never travel this late.

The second possibility was the very person I was waiting for.

Technically, they would fall under the first category as well.

However, I wasn't holding my breath just yet.

Under normal circumstances, the first scenario was the most probable, but today was different.

Today was the day of the 'event.'

Therefore, it was highly likely to be the third and final scenario.

The door swung open, and a man stepped inside.

His face looked familiar; I recalled him staying at the inn once before.

Spotting me behind the counter, he began to slowly make his way forward.

His expression was taut with tension.

As he drew closer, a glowing notification materialized before my eyes.

Of course.

The bandit raid event.

It was an event from the game, and its difficulty was notoriously high.

Because of this, many players had their newly created Alan Flakes die right here.

There were endless complaints about how a character could possibly get killed by a mere countryside bandit, but I understood it completely.

Even if he was just a bandit, the man standing before me was a Pathfinder.

Among adventurers, those who crossed the barriers to explore the Chaos Zone were called Pathfinders.

And such Pathfinders were, as a rule, far stronger than ordinary adventurers.

Don't panic.

The tension that had begun to creep into my body vanished in an instant.

"Looking for a room to stay the night?" I asked with a polite smile.

For a second, I wondered if I had become a bit too relaxed.

But the man didn't answer.

Instead, his hand drifted toward his waist.

Predictable.

I only knew that a bandit attack would occur, not the exact details of how it would play out.

I had worried for a moment that he might not initiate the attack directly, but it seemed my concerns were entirely unfounded.

Slide.

Before the man could even draw the sword from his hip, I reached beneath the counter and pulled out a wooden staff.

It was the very same stick I had used to kill the wolf.

I had kept it hidden there specifically to prepare for this event, occasionally practicing my swordsmanship with it under the cover of night.

Dying to this event was a fate reserved only for beginners who hadn't inherited any decent skills.

As long as you managed to inherit a reasonably useful skill, a lone bandit was hardly a threat.

And my Swordsmanship (B) was more than enough.

With a sharp whoosh, the wooden staff whipped through the air, aiming straight for the man's throat.

The sudden, preemptive strike caught him completely off guard, his face twisting in shock.

"W-What the hell?!"

"Hey, you're the one who drew your sword first."

Even if his blade wasn't pointed at me yet, it was already out of its scabbard.

There was no talking his way out of this.

"I don't really want to fight either, you know."

The quest's clear condition was to either subdue or drive him away.

I didn't actually have to fight to the death; simply chasing the bastard out would suffice.

"So if you're going to run, do it now."

I had no desire to start a noisy brawl and wake up the sleeping guests, either.

Unfortunately, a crude wooden stick didn't make for a very convincing threat.

"You little brat!"

The man lunged forward, attempting to grab my staff and wrench it away.

If that's how you want to play it, so be it.

I swiftly pulled the staff back, denying him his grip, and vaulted onto the counter.

Whack!

I brought the wooden staff down hard against his forehead.

"Argh!"

The man staggered back, but quickly shook off the daze and raised his sword once more.

Oh?

I had aimed to knock him out, but his skull was surprisingly thick.

What now?

To be honest, I didn't actually know how to properly knock someone unconscious.

I guess I'll just keep beating him until he surrenders or runs away.

Realizing I was no ordinary village kid, the bandit's expression turned deadly serious.

He lunged, swinging his sword at me.

I stepped back, easily dodging the blade.

Since the difficulty is C+, I should assume all my stats are inferior to his, except for my Swordsmanship (B).

Furthermore, if I tried to block his steel blade head-on with a wooden stick, it would likely snap.

I had chosen the staff because it didn't look like an obvious weapon, but it definitely had its limitations.

Still, Swordsmanship (B) gives me plenty of options.

Clack.

I guided my staff to meet his next strike.

The wood seemed to adhere to his blade with a soft, sliding friction—a perfect harmony of precise angling and force control.

Feeling the contact, I let my instincts guide me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as I deflected his sword to the side.

And then...

Thud.

This time, I aimed for his solar plexus.

The staff thrust forward like a spear, burying itself deep into his chest.

Yet, perhaps driven by an adventurer's survival instinct, the man refused to let go of his sword.

Must be nice.

This body of mine would drop the stick in a heartbeat if I didn't constantly command it.

I swung the staff again.

No room for hesitation, Alan.

Suppressing the sudden swell of sympathy rising from Alan's lingering consciousness, I kept raining blows down upon the man.

This was a fight for survival, and my opponent was a bandit.

There was absolutely no reason to harbor foolish pity.

Do you get it, you idiot Alan?

"Phew..."

Catching my breath, I slid the wooden staff back into its hiding spot beneath the counter.

In the end, the bandit had fled.

He had tried his best to fight back, but he simply couldn't overcome the sheer wall of Swordsmanship (B).

It was a decent haul.

I was still a long way off from inheriting Precocious (Small).

It was right as I was reviewing my status that it happened.

"Hey."

A voice suddenly drifted through the room.

I whipped my head toward the sound.

Over in a corner of the inn, where a sofa was placed, a figure was sitting.

When did they get in?

Even if I had been entirely focused on the fight, I hadn't heard the door open.

In fact, I hadn't sensed their presence at all.

"Looks like you're finished."

The figure rose from the sofa.

They weren't very tall.

In fact, they were quite small—shorter even than my current, still-growing self.

Despite her small stature and the hood of her cloak pulled low to hide her features, a few strands of crimson hair peeked through.

That, combined with her expressionless face, made her identity unmistakable.

There was no way I wouldn't recognize her.

She was the very person I had been waiting for so desperately, and the original owner of the Stigma I had inherited.

I had finally met her.

The Rose Hero, Gwen Lidval.

Honestly, I was thrilled.

I could feel the muscles in my face twitching, threatening to break into a grin.

Keep your face straight, idiot.