The Hero's Distorted Memory
Rahatrik wondered when it had happened—a strange experience she'd once had.
"Hello, Hero."
"...Hero? Me?"
"Yes, ■■■. I am the goddess Lumiel, the chief deity of this continent."
Isekai summoning. A tale she'd heard plenty of times before, straight out of Japanese manga and anime. She'd been a bit flustered at first, but somehow managed to wrap her head around it.
"I shall bestow upon you my blessing."
The blessings she received—what she casually called skills—were quite numerous. Perfect Memory, knowledge from her previous world, Cleanliness, Sword's Edge, and... well, a whole bunch more. And so, her adventure began.
"Welcome, Hero."
"Well, let's get along!"
"Of course."
The first person she met was a noble from some remote borderland. A kind-looking man with a friendly smile, always chuckling softly. His hands were huge, and every time he petted her, it felt oddly good. He was well-liked, especially by married women. A good person.
"N-nooo! Stop iiiit!!"
"Stay still, you bitch!"
"Oh, ooooh♥ K-kwooooh♥♥"
She was raped. Day and night, relentlessly. If she resisted, she got beaten, then raped again. When she begged for help, they just laughed and joined in. Raped by knights and that noble, then by other nobles who followed him. By his relatives, by the servants—treated like a living fleshlight.
The price for trusting people so carelessly came back to her in the most horrific way.
"Hero... are you okay?"
"Y-yeah. I'm fine."
After barely escaping, she made her way to the Holy Kingdom. A nation of priests who worshipped the goddess. Since they didn't use magic, she gifted them firearms instead. They were limited to muskets due to technological constraints, but she left behind the blueprints. Should be fine, probably.
The high priest was overjoyed and invited her to his private chambers. A good person. Devout, too. Maybe that's why she let her guard down—underestimating the cliché of the corrupt priest.
"O-ohhh♥"
"Heh, your ass is pretty usable, huh?"
Raped again. His freakish strength lifted her entire body with his arms; she couldn't even think of running. Terrifying.
"S-stop, ahh♥"
"Stop? Your pussy's clenching like crazy, though? Shut up and get pregnant. It's the bishop's kid—you won't be mistreated anywhere."
"Th-the gods will be angry, get ooooout♥"
"Heh, can't wait. I'll fuck that goddess slut too. Every time I prayed, I fantasized about raping her!"
The next day, when she heard the priest had died, she foolishly felt gratitude toward the goddess.
"Sorry, Hero."
"N-no, it's fine."
"Hero..."
After that, it was all the same. She trusted people, got betrayed. Raped by her swordmaster teacher, ambushed and gang-raped by bandits on the road. It felt good—too good—but each time, her heart chipped away. Her soul screamed.
Raped, raped, and raped again. Nobles, priests, adventurers, knights... On unlucky days, dragged off as a slave, bound by artifacts and magic to work in casinos. Gang-raped at banquets for royalty and high nobles. Her spirit broke. And then... she arrived at Maou Castle, and she...
Woke from the dream.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
"This wasn't the memory I remembered."
Rahatrik let out a small laugh as she opened her eyes from what could be called a dream—or perhaps the remnants of a memory. A grotesque sound, but fitting, since her head, including her vocal cords, was completely gone.
She clenched her fist tightly, shoving down the remnants that still burned vividly in her mind. The contents of that recalled memory differed from what she remembered. It wasn't just someone tampering with her memories—the history itself had been rewritten. A ridiculous sense of absurdity welled up first.
"The ones who raped me were filthy, ugly, fat slobs of nobles and priests. They weren't that muscular or beautiful. They're trash either way... but it's unpleasant. Like that memory's being romanticized."
Revulsion surged. Emotions dulled by long, semi-forced exposure reignited fiercely. Not that she could call it anything good, even politely.
"Is this your doing too? Some arrangement for this reincarnator?"
Revulsion. She felt utter disgust. Truth be told, she harbored no strong personal grudge against the goddess. She, of all people, knew best that the goddess cared for her more than anyone. Besides, she couldn't truly hate anyone.
The awkward distance between them stemmed purely from her own foolishness and naivety. She'd just had poor judgment, getting close to rotten scum. The Maou had simply saved her dying self. That was all.
But precisely because of that, the disgust grew stronger. Even if their relationship had soured, the goddess still loved her. It was just that she'd been pushed down the priority list. Because the goddess loved her that much... not cursing her, but prioritizing someone she loved even more, and that rebounding back onto her—that made the disgust swell even further.
"No. There's one more. Someone who came here not through reincarnation, but another way. Isn't there?"
Rahatrik gazed up at the pitch-black sky as she spoke. No head, no eyes, but the skill 'Mind's Eye' granted by the goddess long ago remained. Through that inner eye, Rahatrik looked to the heavens.
"Enough to alter history itself. Ah, your blunder, huh? Summoned here for some absurd reason. Right, Goddess?"
No answer came, but the truth was easy to infer. Everyone in the world becoming beautiful, men vanishing and replaced by unheard-of futanari, clothing as a concept disappearing, no shame around sex—all of it. The power of alteration wielded by the goddess.
That goddess, unable to contain her rage, had probably summoned or possessed that person. This change must stem from that disaster. She knew well how explosively temperamental the goddess could be—she'd teased her plenty back then.
'...Why is the armor fine?'
A sudden question arose, and Rahatrik glanced at her own form. A bit pervy-looking armor, but still armor.
'Treated as part of my body, huh.'
If so, it'd be a little sad.
"Lady Rahatrik!!"
Lost in thought, she heard her adjutant's shout from the side. Loud enough to make nonexistent ears ring. Irritation flared for a moment. She considered slicing the fool who dared raise his voice at her like an equal—but let it go. He was too valuable a resource to kill over hurt feelings.
'Talking monsters are rare.'
The Maou Army's forces fell into two broad categories. One: speechless beasts. The other: half-human, half-monster dimwits. The former were strong but few in number, incapable of communication—just crushed under raw power and forced to obey. The latter made up the bulk, could communicate, but were ridiculously weak.
That's why adjutants like him were precious. A monster that could hold a conversation. Communicative monsters were at least twice as strong as non-communicative ones.
So she endured. With a heavy sigh, Rahatrik drew her sword.
"But I need to vent some frustration."
Rahatrik eyed her blade. Forged from mythical ores, the heart and bones of dragons—called heirs of the gods—and her holy sword melted down together. Once, it had driven the Maou to death's door; now, it pledged loyalty to that same Maou.
"Try blocking this."
She raised the sword high and brought it down.
■■■■■—!
Air tore asunder, a massive slash ripping from ground to sky. It hurtled toward the enemy castle. Soon, the 'real' troops hidden among the soldiers revealed themselves.
Kagagagagak—!
A half-dozen Sword Experts blocked the slash. Watching them struggle against a casual greeting strike filled her with secondhand embarrassment.
"Heh heh, hm?"
From among those idiots emerged a woman, striding forth with dignified steps. A woman—no, precisely, a futanari. Long, snow-white hair cascading down, small ears poking from her head. Her body was honed muscle, tall and statuesque, beauty blending masculine and feminine ideals. And in her hand, an unforgettable sword.
"Crystal Sword."
Rahatrik laughed loudly. If she had a mouth, it'd have split ear to ear. How could she forget that sword? Or its wielders.
"Valkrod. The Sword Saint's clan, eh."
For some reason, her nonexistent neck prickled.
"This time, will you finally kill me?! Sword Saint of this generation!!"
Even though her head had been severed back then.