The Saintess and the Hero, Part II
"It's the Hero." Someone's voice made everyone there turn around.
The eyes on me multiplied. From one to two, from two to five, from five to twenty.
The sounds of destruction died down. Even the shouting ceased. Those whose faces had been contorted with rage, looking ready to hunt down and slaughter any Puritans they could find, went completely blank.
I had thrown off my hood intending to draw attention, but the effect was almost too good.
"It's the real Hero."
"Why is he here?"
I looked at the crowd without saying a word. They seemed to view me as if I were some kind of statue.
Amidst the murmurs of the onlookers, the residents slowly began to encircle me.
The commotion from the people chasing Marianne and Georg down the alleyways subsided as well. Whether they were Doomsday Cultists or ordinary residents, everyone who belonged to Vaktins was gathering here.
[Elroy.] The Holy Sword called out to me. I didn't answer her. At least for now, this was not the time to rely on her.
Beyond the light cast by the halo floating above my head, people swarmed like shadows. Faces that had been hidden in the darkness were now coming into view one by one.
Madmen with bloodshot eyes. Sobbing children on the verge of tears, young men with wary glares, women clutching stained aprons tightly.
"...Why have you come back here?" an elderly man asked me.
I couldn't bring myself to answer that I had come to save them. Because even though Elroy and the Hero Party had succeeded in saving the world, they had failed to save Vaktins.
To these people, whose entire world was Vaktins, it was no different from failing to save the world itself.
"Hero, have you also come with those Puritans to take us—to take the Teacher away?"
I shook my head.
"I didn't come here to take you away. Though the same cannot be said for your 'Teacher.'"
"The Teacher is not a bad man! He embraced us, and he told us why we had to suffer like this. He showed us the path we must walk from now on." The old man's voice was entirely hoarse.
"A child treated by that 'Teacher' is currently dying. The people here are losing their will to live. Even now, there are those who are trembling in terror because of your actions."
I told the residents clearly that they were wrong. I didn't know if my words would reach them, but I had to say it.
"They are people who look forward to the deaths of others. You must never trust them."
"...Are you trying to strip away the last place we have to lean on?"
"The Teacher and his teachings are wrong. A doctrine that tells you to harm others is no teaching at all." I spoke slowly and clearly, ensuring every resident could hear me.
"Even if that is the only place you have left to lean on, I will still tell you that it is wrong. And I will drag you out of there."
"...To us, reality—this world..." The old man spoke, his voice trembling violently.
"...already vanished on that day. Our resentment and anger have only piled up. Yet the world celebrated. And when the Calamities struck this world again, no other people ended up like us."
The old man let out a hollow, dry laugh. It was a rough, parched sound, like sandpaper scraping the depths of his lungs.
"Only we became the madmen! You protected the North so magnificently, Hero. While the entire world rejoiced and celebrated the defeat of the Calamities, Vaktins and its people were forgotten, trapped in the past, turned into lunatics who resent the world in our agony...!"
The old man spoke with a voice that sounded as if it might snap at any moment. As he stumbled while spitting out his words, someone nearby caught him.
"Call us cunning if you wish. Condemn us as narrow-minded and petty. We don't care at all. But you must know this: rather than irresponsible words telling us to look toward some vague, clumsy hope, we found far more comfort in being told that the end we had to accept was a fate that would eventually befall everyone."
The old man panted heavily. I lowered my head, matching my gaze with his as he collapsed to the ground.
"...It doesn't matter anymore. Whether you slaughter everyone here or leave us be, Hero."
It was something I didn't know. A pain I hadn't experienced. But just because I didn't know didn't mean I could cover my ears and walk away.
It wasn't Elroy's fault, nor was it Aryen's or Isis's. But innocence did not equate to a lack of responsibility.
I stared back at the residents of Vaktins for a long time, as if in a silent contest of wills. And then, I uttered the words they probably least wanted to hear.
"I am sorry."
The people's eyes wavered. Some openly grimaced.
"I was not strong enough to protect this place properly."
Then, a burst of laughter erupted from beneath my feet. It was the cultist of the Evil God, who had remained silent until now. He stared up at me, blood dripping from his mouth.
"What a spectacle! Truly a spectacle! You drive this place to such ruin, only to return and offer nothing but a hollow apology? It's absolutely hilarious!"
I ignored him. The cultist continued to cackle, coughing up bloody froth.
"What a pathetic sight, Hero!"
But the cultist's words didn't seem to reach the ears of the residents. They were too emotionally shaken. What I felt from them was mostly anger, resentment, and futility.
"...If you apologize like that," a woman's voice called out.
"What are we supposed to do? Our destroyed homes, our land, our dead families... they don't return with an apology. And an apology? Bowing your head so shamelessly, are you mocking us? Are you trying to make yourself the only good person here, while turning us into a hideous mob that hurls curses at someone apologizing? Fine. Let me show you just how hideous we can get."
Whoosh. The woman threw the bucket she was holding at me. Thrown by her slender arms, the bucket didn't fly far; it struck my arm, bounced off weakly, and clattered across the ground.
Deep down, they probably knew it too. They knew that this hadn't happened solely because of one person's fault.
"Apologizing... You think apologizing... I..." The woman collapsed to her knees as if her legs had given out, and began to sob.
Following her, the silent crowd began to glare at me with a myriad of expressions. Dozens, hundreds—resentment from nearly a thousand people pierced me like arrows and spears.
I took a shallow breath, taking in each and every one of their emotions.
"...Why do we have to live like this?" voices murmured. A small stone clattered to the ground at my feet.
"Why must we be the only ones to suffer like this?!"
The objects flying toward me began to multiply. Stones, wooden planks, buckets, pipes.
I didn't defend myself against the incoming projectiles, taking them head-on. I didn't reinforce my body with mana. I didn't even extinguish the glowing halo floating above my head.
Thud. Thud. The objects striking my body grew in number. My clothes tore. My arms bruised. The skin on my shoulders ripped, and a bucket struck my forehead. A stone grazed my head.
"How did you protect them over there? Why couldn't you protect us?"
Thud. Thud. Their words hurt just as much as the flying debris.
To take responsibility for something that wasn't my doing was a form of deception, and perhaps it was even a way of imposing another kind of guilt upon them.
But if I didn't even offer an apology like this, the words of those who denied the world would be justified. The claims that this place had been abandoned would become the absolute truth.
I couldn't let that happen. Because I would not abandon them, not until the very end.
"My family! My home...!"
Thud. Thud. As the wounds on my body multiplied, so did the people's rage. The objects thrown at me were physical manifestations of their resentment and anger. It hurt. The wounds they carried were this painful.
"Who is going to give them back to me...?"
My forehead split open, and bruises accumulated. Getting hit in the same spot repeatedly only intensified the pain.
"Why... Why?! Why did we have to end up like this?!"
A fist-sized stone flew toward my head. It struck the exact spot where my forehead had already split. The wound burst open, and blood trickled down my face. It hurt. I stumbled back a step.
"Why? Why?"
Empty questions of "why" echoed in the air. One by one, their anger was turning into tears.
Elroy was being showered by a relentless barrage of debris.
For some reason, he didn't even seem to be trying to protect his body.
Isis stood frozen in the crowd, staring at Elroy.
With the glowing halo still hovering above his head, his eyes quietly watched the people as he took the blows from wooden blocks, iron pipes, and stones.
"Elroy..." Daphne's face contorted. Having completely exhausted her mana, she didn't even have the strength to walk, forced to watch him helplessly.
Daphne clenched her fists in anger. Her fingernails dug into her palms, drawing blood.
Isis tried to breathe, but the air caught in her throat. It felt as if every pore in her body had been sealed, preventing her from releasing anything. Emotions and thoughts swirled, trapped inside her mind.
"Why did this place have to be destroyed?!"
Elroy was not the one who deserved that resentment. If it had been his choice, he might have actually saved this place. The only one who deserved to stand there and be pelted with stones was herself.
Isis bit her lip. It hurt. It hurt to know that those words were directed at Elroy. If she were to take those words directly, her heart would ache even more. Because he had wanted to protect this city until the very end.
Thud. Elroy was already a battered mess. His clothes were half-reduced to rags, and blood streamed down from his split head.
Isis pushed her way through the crowd. Shoving people aside, she stepped forward.
Elroy's head turned toward Isis. His expression was one of sheer shock.
Isis ran to shield him, but then, a discordant shout erupted from the crowd.
"Die!"
It was a cry completely detached from the resentment and anger of the common folk.
And then, Isis saw something glinting fly straight toward her. The object was aimed directly between her eyes with unerring precision.
So, this is how it ends. This is my punishment.
Isis closed her eyes.
Thud. There was no pain. Bewildered, Isis opened her eyes.
Blood was dripping right in front of her. It wasn't hers.
Isis blinked in a daze and looked up. She felt someone's hand supporting her back once again.
"It seems there are still some rats hiding in the shadows."
A dagger had pierced straight through Elroy's hand. Isis gasped softly as she spotted the Reverse Pentagram engraved on the hilt of the dagger.
Elroy slowly stood up, his sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd.
"Georg! Marianne!"
At Elroy's shout, two shadows leaped out from the alleyway. Someone was trying to flee through the crowd, but they were quickly apprehended by the rushing Georg and Marianne, letting out an unsightly shriek.
Elroy glared in that direction with eyes full of fury, then turned his head back to the crowd.
"No... We never meant to harm the Saintess..."
The people were terrified. They knew that if the Hero willed it, he could slaughter them all with his eyes closed.
But Elroy did not do that. He soon relaxed his expression, pulled the dagger from his hand, and tucked it into his belt. Blood dripped steadily from his left hand.
"I know."
An awkward silence ensued. Isis stood up, supported by Elroy.
She had to clear up the misunderstanding. They didn't know what had truly happened on the day of the battle with the Kraken.
"Everyone. I have something to tell you," Isis spoke, and the people turned their heads toward her.
But Elroy quickly covered her mouth and shook his head.
Isis tried to push his hand away, but Elroy was unyielding.
Why? Why won't you let me clear up the misunderstanding? This isn't a pain you should bear. This isn't the resentment and anger you deserve to receive.
"Please." Hearing Elroy's brief plea, Isis grabbed his arm and sank to her knees.
No matter how much strength Isis exerted, Elroy would not let her speak.
Just then, a door swung open in a corner of the alley, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Saintess!"
It was the absolute worst timing. A man was approaching the crowd, leading his young son. The child was rubbing his sleepy eyes, but his eyes went wide with surprise upon seeing the massive gathering.
"I wondered where you had gone so suddenly, only to find you here..."
The crowd murmured, staring at the man's perfectly healthy child.
"...Wait, wasn't your son just...?"
The man shook his head and gestured toward Isis.
"The Saintess just cured him. She broke the cultish spell of that damn 'Teacher' you all keep talking about, and healed him completely."
The man pleaded with the crowd.
"Please, open your eyes and look! They are only trying to use us. Do not be deceived by words that bewitch your minds, and look at who is truly trying to help us!"
A commotion broke out. Isis watched the people argue with a blank, despondent expression. It seemed they had already forgotten about her own story.
The crowd split into two factions, arguing fiercely. Those who insisted to the end that the 'Teacher' was right, and those whom the man was beginning to persuade one by one.
While their faith in the heresy was gradually crumbling, the truth Isis had wanted to speak was buried even deeper because of it.
"Don't say it," Elroy's voice whispered.
Isis's hand, clutching Elroy's arm, trembled violently. Given the situation, she understood that she could no longer speak the truth.
Only when Isis let her hand go limp did Elroy finally release her. The strength was draining from her body. Exhausted, Isis collapsed onto the cold ground.
"Excuse me for a moment." Elroy scooped Isis up into his arms.
Isis looked at the crowd helplessly from Elroy's arms. The sight seemed to claw at her heart once more.
"Hero," the man's voice called out. He seemed quite shaken by the realization that the person who had been helping him all this time was the Hero.
The man looked at Elroy with a complicated gaze, then let out a sigh.
"Please, take the Saintess and go."
Elroy nodded. Carrying Isis, he began to walk through the crowd.
The sea of people parted to make way for him, but their glares were far from kind. The same resentment and anger lingered, mixed with a shred of sympathy for Isis.
Unable to bear their gazes, Isis turned her head and buried her forehead against Elroy's chest.
"Don't ever show your face here again."
"We will never forget this. Live the rest of your life in guilt for failing to protect this place." The people hurled their words at him.
Elroy took every single word they threw, letting them strike him.
Trembling, Isis clutched Elroy's collar, then weakly raised her hands to cover his ears.
"Those are words meant for me. You don't have to listen to them."
Elroy shook his head. He gestured with his eyes for her to lower her arms.
"No, they are meant for me," Elroy said, continuing to walk in silence.
The people's condemnation kept flying at them. Isis buried her face once more, clutching his collar.
The blood-soaked Hero walked on, his composure so absolute it was heartbreaking.
Isis squeezed her hands tight. The tears she had tried so hard to hold back finally spilled over.
Guilt, remorse, regret. In that swirling vortex of emotions, Isis clung desperately to Elroy.
"I was wrong..." The words slipped from her lips amidst her sobs.
Like a young child confessing their sins to a parent, she wept, pouring out her faults and begging for forgiveness.
"I'm sorry..."
A faint glimmer of dawn began to break across the dark sky.
The Hero simply walked on without a word, while the Saintess wept in his arms, repeating her apologies over and over again.