Heroes Need Parties
After waking up in an unfamiliar bed, the first thing Aya-me sought was her own sword. Once she spotted the divine blade safely stored in her inventory, she let out a sigh of relief. A woman who looked like a priestess approached her and said,
"You're awake."
"...How long was I out?"
"Not even a full day. Must be the hero thing—your recovery is insanely fast. A simple healing spell was all it took. Still, you need to take it easy for a while."
"..."
"Aya-me Hero?"
Aya-me fell silent for a moment. She lay back down and stayed quiet.
She had no choice but to stay silent. After all, she'd lost.
She could make excuses. She was just a newbie adventurer, and her opponent was one of the Four Heavenly Kings with centuries under her belt. But that didn't change the fact that the path of the sword she'd walked for the past ten years had crumbled. It was only a glimpse of its true power, but it was still the sword she'd devoted half her life to. Her once-in-a-millennium talent had shattered—that was the reality.
So she stayed silent. No excuses.
It broke.
The Honoi-ichi-ryu she'd honed with every ounce of her strength, its Fifth Form's perfect defense—it had been shattered.
Was it too peaceful?
Was it because she'd stepped away from her daily training and life-or-death struggles? Just one or two months without brushing death's door—had that dulled her edge?
"Training. I need to train."
"Huh? You can't move yet!"
"No! I'm fine!"
Aya-me pulled her sword from her inventory, brushed off the priestess's protests, and headed out to the open lot outside the hospital. It must've belonged to the nearby knight order—less an open lot and more a proper training ground. Midway, a guard tried to stop her, but once he saw her face, he apologized and stepped aside. Probably because she'd fought in the battle against Rahatrik, she figured.
A battle? More like a one-sided beatdown...
Her only real hit had been that initial ambush. And even that wasn't perfect—she'd taken damage for it.
Back to basics.
She gripped her sword and assumed her stance. Breathe slow and steady. Unshakable calm was key.
"Honoi-ichi-ryu Issen."
She drew her blade so quietly no one could notice, readjusted her grip, and stepped forward.
"Arang (Fanged Wolf) · Daishinsei (Great Divine Star)."
A thrust that tore through the air.
"Second Form."
A downward slash followed immediately. Then an upward slash, and another downward for a triple combo.
"Sanren En Rigan (Triple Chain Flame Separation)."
Scorching claw marks etched into the empty air, brutal like a beast's rake or flames searing the earth. They faded quickly.
"Fourth Form."
Skipping past the inhuman Third Form, she launched straight into the Fourth. Rapid advances with dozens of thrusts. Razor-sharp wounds lingered in the air like saw teeth ripping through it.
"Rotating Slash."
The prototype of the "Gehap · Rotating Slash" she'd used on Rahatrik before. A technique unleashing dozens of thrusts in an instant. Compared to her master or seniors firing off hundreds or thousands in a single breath, she still had a long way to go.
"Seriously not a sword style meant for humans."
Her master had said the Honoi-ichi-ryu Issen was ancient. Over a thousand years in written records alone, and oral tradition stretched back even further—maybe to the mythic age. Countless geniuses had refined it over that span. That's why even she, whom her master, seniors, and every swordsman she'd crossed blades with called a once-in-a-millennium talent, could barely mimic fragments of it. She didn't grasp its essence at all. And yet, that alone had earned her the label of monster.
Kwaaaang!
She poured mana into her feet and stomped the ground hard. A shockwave shot forward, cracking the earth and hurling rock shards skyward.
"Fifth Form. Aieon (Loving Flame) Trap."
Blade strikes flew at the flying rocks. The technique Rahatrik's space-filling sword barrage had shredded mercilessly. Bypassing the silence-inducing Third Form, it was her strongest defense. A brutish counter that turned enemy attacks against them.
She readjusted her grip to swing into the final Sixth Form—but
"I'm beat."
A massive wave of fatigue crashed over her. She hadn't even completed one full cycle of techniques, yet her fingertips were already numb. Her strength ebbed, arms and legs going limp like they were paralyzed. The priestess was right—she really needed rest.
Groaning, Aya-me flopped onto the dirt. Clear blue sky reflected in her dark eyes.
"Man, my life's a mess."
Staring at the pristine, cloudless sky after so long, memories flooded back.
"Gate explodes when I'm ten... The sword I grab to survive turns out to be no human's weapon... I plan to hand the dojo to my senior and slack off after retiring... What the hell."
Gazing up, Aya-me let out a huge sigh.
"A party... Guess I need one too."
As she spaced out, a voice came from nearby.
"What're you doing out here?"
"...Who?"
"Samuel Hanna. Heresy Inquisitor of the Holy Kingdom. You?"
"Ichinose Aya-me. Hero..."
"The hero who landed a hit on Rahatrik? What're you doing in a place like this?"
The woman who introduced herself as Samuel Hanna extended a pitch-black hand. Aya-me took it, stood, and replied,
"Just... training."
"Hm. Need a hand?"
"Huh? You'd help? That'd be great, but..."
How exactly? Aya-me wondered. Every priestess she'd met lacked any offensive skills. Or were they called holy arts? Spells? The terms varied, but the meaning was clear enough. Anyway, the priestesses she'd known were great at healing and exorcism but weak on physical attacks—some didn't even deal damage.
Reading her thoughts, Samuel smirked faintly.
"Holy Kingdom priestesses often lack offensive spells."
"Ah, uh..."
"It's fine. That's why the gods granted us these new weapons."
With that, Samuel pulled the "new weapon" from her inventory and showed it off.
"M3 Light Machine Gun. Fires over a thousand blessed silver rounds per minute. A real monster."
"Mach... machine gun...?"
"It was just blueprints left by a previous hero, but with the war heating up and direct intervention decided, we refined and mass-produced it."
"A priestess... with a gun..."
At Aya-me's reaction, Samuel tilted her head with a question mark practically floating above it. She hefted the gun lightly, finger on the trigger.
"Watch this."
Cold metal chilled her fingertip. She took a light breath and pulled the trigger.
■■■■■—!!
A deafening roar split the air, vibrations rattling eardrums. Dust billowed as silver casings stamped with crosses scattered across the ground. Barely ten seconds, yet the pile of casings was endless.
The tree...
Aya-me smacked her ringing ears and looked at the tree the barrel had pointed at. The trunk-sized tree now had a massive hole blasted through its center. It toppled with a creak.
Staring blankly, Aya-me shifted her gaze to the machine gun in Samuel's hands.
Connected to inventory?
The casings fed into the gun, but the belt seemed to end midair, linked to her inventory. It held a ridiculous amount.
"I was just looking for party members myself."
"Huh...?"
"Got a mage already, but need a solid frontliner. Wanna join?"
"...Me?"
At Aya-me's dazed reply, Samuel nodded with a subtle smile.
A new hero party was born in that instant.
"C'mon, let's go chat properly—party members gotta stick together."
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
A week passed.
"So that's why she's like that?"
"Yeah, she formed a party."
Kairan sat at the adventurer guild's reception desk table, watching Aya-me and her new crew.
A balanced lineup: warrior, priestess, mage. Recalling her performance against Rahatrik, Kairan nodded lightly.
"Eh, looks good."
"Right?"