Shadows of the Vanished Hero

"...The church sent the documents first?"

What did that mean?

Faint morning light filtered into the Commander's Office. The sky outside the window wasn't fully bright yet, and from the Sword Clan HQ's training ground came the intermittent footsteps of swordsmen beginning their dawn training. The hour when the body woke before the mind. Before picking up the sword, the time when feet, waist, and breath accepted the day ahead.

...Of course, I wasn't training.

A thin stack of new documents sat atop the desk. Copies of preservation records related to the Holy Sword from the cathedral side. I gazed down at the cover. It bore the cathedral's seal.

Normally, they would have dragged their feet. Quibbling over authority, invoking seals, citing the Holy King's approval and the cardinals' joint permission as excuses to stretch out formal replies. Ending with "we will respond after review" to run out the clock.

But they sent it first. Unsolicited documents, no less. Not even permission to view the originals—just a preemptive share of select records.

Courteous. Suspiciously so.

"It seems they've been watching Captain Arthur's mood until now," Roën replied evenly.

Well.

Humiliating as Commander-in-Chief.

I leaned back slightly against the chair. The wood creaked lowly.

Since the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠last meeting, the air in Sword Clan HQ had shifted a little. Not all the captains were convinced. Priscilla was drafting baseline standards for the 4th Unit, and I'd heard Erigallum had gone silent after reviewing the solo breakthrough report format. Yu stubbornly insisted on submitting the 8th Unit's standards only to Roën. Arthur said nothing.

The 2nd Unit would be the first to implement the new guidelines in actual combat deployment. Whether he wanted it or not.

No. He didn't want it.

But he accepted. He wouldn't fully buy in, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd follow orders. That was enough.

The Sword Clan's captains wouldn't all nod in understanding at once. If it were that kind of organization, it wouldn't be called the Sword Clan to begin with.

But I hadn't expected such a swift external reaction after the meeting.

The cathedral. The church. Those who clutched the Holy Sword's records tight.

They sent documents first. It meant they sensed the change from outside. That the Sword Clan—stilled beneath the silent Commander-in-Chief's name—was moving again.

And that movement wouldn't be stopped by Arthur's opposition.

"They stayed silent until the reorganization stirred, so they gauged the mood of Arthur, the real power behind you, Commander."

Roën continued. I slowly raised my head.

"Roën."

"Yes, Commander."

"Was that meant as comfort?"

"A statement of fact."

"Worse, then."

Roën didn't blink. A truly excellent aide. Sometimes too excellent, poking little holes in one's heart.

I lightly tapped the cathedral document's cover with a finger. Tap. A small sound settled over the seal.

"So the church, while I sat quietly silent in this office..."

"Yes."

"...held back the Holy Sword documents out of fear Arthur might be displeased."

"More precisely, they likely judged Captain Arthur as representing the Sword Clan's hardline internal stance."

Roën explained briefly.

"From the cathedral's view, you showed no clear political intent, and at public meetings, you mostly stayed silent. So they focused on practical reactions from the Sword Clan, centered on the 2nd Unit."

"And me?"

"They saw you as a symbol."

Symbol. A convenient word. It elevates a person, then freezes them in place.

I stayed like that for a time. Seated as Commander-in-Chief, sparing words, observing the situation, gauging how far I could move in this world.

While I did, the outside world looked not at me, but at Arthur.

Fair enough. Arthur was clear-cut. Cold, strong, straightforward. No one matched him as the Sword Clan's sharp edge to the world.

To the cathedral, he must have been far easier to read than me.

That grated a little.

No. Quite a bit.

"Commander."

Roën called to me.

"Your expression..."

"What about it?"

"Less the dignity of a Commander-in-Chief, more a child robbed of morning snacks."

...That bastard.

I fell silent. Roën always said what was needed. And sometimes more precisely than necessary.

"Was my face that pathetic?"

"It was brief."

"If brief, couldn't you pretend not to notice?"

"As your aide, no."

"That role allows quite a lot."

"It's been operated that way for centuries."

I exhaled lowly. Holding this conversation amid the document pile made me feel faintly pathetic.

But only faintly. Mostly the cathedral's fault.

And a touch Roën's.

I looked back at the document cover.

"The scope of what they sent."

"Not the full Holy Sword original texts."

"Figured."

If the cathedral suddenly handed over everything, I'd suspect a trap.

No. I still did.

"Copies of select preservation records," Roën said.

"Title: Preservation Records Related to the Previous Hero's Disappearance."

My fingertip paused.

Previous Hero. The nameless word dropped quietly onto the desk.

Hero. One of this world's most vital—and uncomfortable—words.

Hasn't the Holy Sword's master appeared yet?

The answer was always the same. Not yet.

Then where did the previous one go?

And why had the cathedral clutched these records so tightly, as if the Holy Sword weren't still in the sealed chamber?

I looked at Roën.

"Did you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠read it?"

"Only the summary."

"Content?"

Roën paused briefly. That silence boded ill. An aide's silence could be more ominous than red lines in a report.

"Records state the previous Hero vanished while wielding the Holy Sword."

The air in the Commander's Office grew heavy.

Footsteps still echoed from the training ground outside the window. Thud. Thud-thud. Oblivious sounds.

I stared at the documents for a long moment.

"Fugitive... 31 holy knights killed, 67 injured..."

...Unpleasant words. Bad enough alone, worse packed together.

I flipped the cover.

The first page was neat. The cathedral scribes' distinctive script. Emotionless, as if recording bare facts. Such script usually concealed emotions.

Adelaine Lucrecia. The previous Hero's name.

I paused my gaze there. Adelaine. Softer than expected.

But the line beneath was anything but soft.

In possession of the Holy Sword. Failed to return. Missing.

I narrowed my eyes.

"The Sword Clan was there too."

"Records indicate as much."

Roën replied.

"Does this record remain on our side?"

"I'll check."

"'I'll check' means..."

"Not found in current archived documents."

I exhaled slowly. Not good.

Sword Clan escort swordsmen, three. Sword recovery failed.

No such record here.

I set the documents down slowly.

"And they send this now."

My voice was low.

"Why now?"

Roën asked. Not quite a question—he'd already considered answers. Aides were like that. Convenient, sometimes unnerving.

"First." I said, eyes on the documents. "They know we've already built grounds to demand the Holy Sword."

"Yes."

"Second, they think the Sword Clan is fracturing internally."

"Due to Captain Arthur's opposition?"

"Likely."

I raised my head.

"Third."

Roën's gaze met mine.

"The cathedral doesn't know the Holy Sword's location either."

The air in the office thickened again. Roën didn't reply immediately. I took his silence as confirmation.

The Holy Sword should be in the sealed chamber. The cathedral always said so. The royals wanted to believe it. The magic tower suspected but lacked proof. The Sword Clan, pressed on the frontlines, spoke of the Holy Sword only in copies and hearsay.

But now, on my desk: records of the previous Hero vanishing with it.

The question was simple.

I tapped the desk with a fingertip. Tap. The small sound echoed in the office. The training ground footsteps faded.

No. Just from my ears.

"Why did the cathedral hide this?"

I said.

"To protect the Holy Sword's authority," Roën answered.

"Not enough."

I glanced at the first page's name again. Adelaine Lucrecia. Previous Hero. Missing in possession of the Holy Sword.

"If just the Hero vanished, they could frame it as martyrdom."

"Because the Holy Sword vanished too?"

"Yes."

I said lowly.

"A dead Hero makes a story."

"Yes."

"But a missing Holy Sword..."

The cathedral claimed to safeguard it. Sealed away, awaiting its master. Those words became faith, politics, balance with the royals.

If it vanished long ago...

What had I asked every morning?

Hasn't the Holy Sword's master appeared yet?

Ridiculous. Utterly so.

"Commander."

Roën called softly.

"Your expression has hardened."

"Morning-snack level this time?"

"No."

"Then?"

"Like when you survey the battlefield."

I fell silent. That meant serious.

If Roën said so.

I picked up the documents again. The third page held recovery team records. Cathedral knights. Royal inspectors. Magic tower observer. Sword Clan escorts.

Most names redacted. But fragments remained.

The first syllable of one Sword Clan escort's name. Re.

I stared at it.

Raymont.

The name flashed through my mind.

No. Timelines might not match. Could be coincidence. Or deliberate bait left by the cathedral.

But in this world, "coincidence" from documents was rarely trustworthy.

Especially not now.

"Roën."

"Yes."

"Find the Sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Clan dispatch list from the previous Hero's expedition."

"Yes."

"Start with 2nd Unit records."

Roën's eyes flickered faintly. He'd thought of it too.

Arthur. Raymont. Eastern snowfields. Breakthrough success, then death.

I kept my eyes on the documents.

"Don't tell Arthur yet."

"Yes."

"No good tossing unconfirmed names at him."

"Understood."

Arthur had only just begun shifting his anger into standards at the last meeting. He wasn't convinced yet. Couldn't drop a name like Raymont from old church records on him.

"Any separate letter from the cathedral?"

I asked.

Roën immediately drew a thin missive from his breast pocket.

"Here."

"Not with the rest from the start."

"Knew you'd want to absorb the records' impact first."

"Accurate."

"Yes."

I broke the seal. The cathedral's crest was overly pristine. The text brief.

Brief cathedral phrases boded ill. When hiding much, they grew terse.

I stopped reading.

"'Military necessity'."

"Yes."

"They send records of the previous Hero vanishing with the Holy Sword, then demand why it's militarily necessary?"

"Precisely."

"Impressive."

Truly. The cathedral's audacity was, fittingly, holy. Required faith to be that brazen. Faith they weren't wrong. Or that denying it sufficed.

I set the missive down.

"They want our cards first, in the end."

"Yes."

"The church has no intention of revealing the Holy Sword's full status yet."

"Yes."

"But they tossed the previous Hero disappearance as bait."

Roën paused briefly.

"I'll record it as 'cooperation,' not bait."

"Of course."

"Good."

They were scared. Or testing us. Probably both.

The Sword Clan's Commander-in-Chief broke silence with reforms. Captains rebelled, but it held. Arthur raged, but pledged obedience. Signs of official Holy Sword questions rising internally.

So the cathedral threw documents first. Not all. Not the core. The wound. To gauge our reaction.

"Roën."

"Yes."

"Send to Arsel."

"5th Unit?"

"Yes."

I traced the redacted lines with a fingertip.

"Have him check remaining mana traces where the cathedral erased."

"Even on copies?"

"Limits if not originals."

I raised my head.

"But Arsel can tell us those limits."

"Yes."

"And to Serka too."

"Up to the 9th?"

"Trace the path this record took from the church."

Roën's eyes shifted slightly.

"To probe church internals' intent?"

"Yes."

I folded the missive.

"Cooperation, check, or probing our cracks."

"Captain Serka will sink teeth into church networks."

"That's why."

"Understood."

I returned to the first page. Adelaine Lucrecia. The name lingered.

Missing Hero. Missing Holy Sword. Missing Sword Clan dispatches.

And the cathedral's silence.

A singularly ugly combination.

"No copy to the royals."

Roën looked at me.

"Not sending?"

"Not yet."

I organized the documents as I spoke.

"First blood to us from the cathedral."

"Yes."

"Royals will bristle knowing we got what they deserve first."

"Thought you'd leverage that displeasure."

"Later."

I said lowly.

"Too soon now."

Moving the royals was easy. Bruise their pride. But too early, and the cathedral clams up while royals just shout. Documents multiply. Politics tiresome.

And above all, the Holy Sword slips farther.

"Magic tower?"

"After Arsel's initial analysis."

Roën replied. Already synced with my thinking.

"Yes."

I nodded.

"Not the full set to them."

"Just erased sections' mana traces?"

"As cooperation request."

"Yes."

"They'll pounce."

"High chance."

"Good."

The magic tower can't resist hidden mana traces. Cathedral redactions. Holy Sword residual waves. Previous Hero's stigmata logs.

Dangle those, and they'll lunge, feigning decorum. How their long, tortuous replies will ache my head already—but usable tools get used.

"Commander."

Roën called quietly.

"One more thing."

"Still more?"

"Yes."

"Bad news, then."

"Appears so."

I closed then opened my eyes.

"Speak."

Roën opened the document stack's final page. A short appendix clung there. Not from the cathedral—likely a scribe's note on the preservation records.

I read it again.

Proxy holy relic.

The air in the Commander's Office stilled.

I slowly raised my head.

"Roën."

"Yes."

"Did I misread?"

"No."

"It says proxy holy relic."

"Yes."

I didn't laugh. No laughing matter.

Holy Sword sealed chamber. The place the cathedral claimed held it.

Its responses preserved via proxy relic.

That meant...

"The church doesn't have the Holy Sword."

I said.

Roën didn't reply. No need.

Whoosh!

I rose, slinging my greatcoat over my shoulders.

"Prepare, Roën."

"Prepare... what, Commander?"

"The Holy Sword."

We'll retrieve it first.