The Hero
You can't choose your parents.
That was true back when I lived in Korea, and it stayed true when I was reborn into a fantasy world.
Which is exactly why there was no way I'd have ended up on the orphan-plus-single-mother route.
Ah, don't get me wrong—I'm not complaining about my family situation here.
Mom gave me more than enough love that I never once felt my father's absence.
No, "enough" undersold it. She loved me to overflowing.
The fact that she'd come from a brothel, or that she leaned a little too heavily on the bottle, were trivial details by comparison.
Though if it were up to me, I'd have wanted her to cut back on the drinking for her health's sake.
That day was one of those days.
Mom was drinking after dinner, just like every other evening. I sat across from her, watching her cup tip and refill, and on a whim I asked,
"Mom, what kind of person do you want me to become?"
"My little Leon?"
"Yeah."
It was a fairly serious question. In a second life, most people get to choose their own career. And depending on her answer, I fully intended to throw myself into it with everything I had.
What if she said she wanted me to become a noble?
Hmm... that'd be a stretch, but I'd have found a way somehow.
At my question, Mom set down her cup. She rested her chin in her hand and pondered for a long moment, then broke into a smile.
"A good person."
"A... good person?"
"Mm-hm."
What a deflating answer.
Was it because I was still so little that she'd just brushed me off?
When I pouted, her finger came up and gently pushed against my forehead.
Tap.
A faint scent of apples clung to her fingertip.
"If someone's having a hard time, you help them."
Tap.
"If someone's crying alone, you're the first to reach out a hand."
Tap.
"Become someone like that, and your mom will have no regrets in this world."
I answered a little sulkily.
"But good people aren't popular, though."
Mom blinked. And then—
"Pffft!"
She flat-out burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"My son's already worrying about not being popular with the ladies."
"It's an important issue..."
"That important, huh?"
"Yep."
I nodded with complete solemnity.
Mom suddenly rose from her seat. A sense of dread shot through me and I tried to bolt, but I was a split second too slow.
"Who did my son take after, to be this adorable?"
She scooped me into her arms just like that. My cheeks squished against hers, and my nose disappeared into her soft flesh. Utterly indifferent to my struggling, she rubbed her cheek all over my forehead.
"Who cares if you're not popular! Mom will take responsibility—just live with Mom forever!"
"Ngh... Mom, I can't breathe..."
"Will you marry Mom? Promise, and I'll let you go!"
What did I answer back then?
Did I say I couldn't marry her?
Did I say marriage was a serious decision and she should put me down first?
Or did I beg for my life, promising to do anything?
Every time, that final memory grew hazy.
Well, it doesn't mean anything anymore.
I chuckled and tipped the bottle.
Glug, glug.
Clear liquor poured over the gravestone.
"It's expensive stuff. Not sure it'll suit your taste, though."
It cost dozens of times more than the cheap swill Mom used to love. If she were alive, she'd have started scolding me on the spot—what's a boy with no money doing spending this much on booze? And then, after one sip, her eyes would've gone wide and bright.
I crouched down in front of the gravestone.
"Mom. I won't be able to come here for a while."
Something happened at my baptism when I turned twenty. A crest I'd never seen before appeared on my back.
The trainee priest who'd been half-asleep rubbed his eyes, then sprinted out to fetch a full priest. That priest ran to fetch a higher priest. That one fetched an even higher one...
Only after this had repeated several times did the hunched-over High Priest finally emerge and tell me:
You have been chosen.
"So, uh... apparently I'm the Hero."
Saying it out loud, it still didn't feel real.
I looked at the gravestone and snorted a laugh. What would it have been like if Mom were still alive? She'd have gone wide-eyed for a beat, then doubled over cackling with her cup still in hand.
—My son, a Hero!
And then she'd have added, without fail:
—Isn't that a terrible fit, though?
"You're right. I think so too."
I answered my imaginary mother. It wasn't a matter of birth—it was a matter of aptitude. A guy whose entire sword experience was the kitchen knife? A Hero? Even the neighborhood kids would laugh that one out of the room.
But I couldn't refuse.
"Mom. Do you remember Rohan, by any chance?"
I tapped the gravestone with a finger.
"The kid who used to pack rocks into snowballs every winter and throw them at me."
Thanks to him, my head had split open once. Mom marched over to his house and turned it upside down, and after that, no more pranks.
"He came down with a sickness a while back."
Magic Stone Disease.
Just like the name said, it was a disease that slowly turned the human body into magic stone. It didn't kill you right away. The doctor said Rohan had at least a few years left.
The problem was that there was no cure.
And that wasn't a problem confined to this village.
"They say there's a whole lot of people like that these days."
The sickness had begun at the border, and before anyone noticed, it was spreading across every corner of the empire. And of all the days, three days ago, I had been chosen as the Hero.
According to the Church, only the Hero could deal with the source of Magic Stone Disease.
"So they say I have to go."
Honestly? I was terrified.
Living twice didn't make death any less frightening. And there was no way a Hero's job would be easy.
I wanted to live long, and if possible, without pain.
I stared at the gravestone for a long while, then asked quietly,
"...I still have to go, right?"
There was no answer.
Not that I needed to ask. What Mom would have said was obvious.
—Of course. That's my son, isn't it?
"Yeah..."
I pushed myself up off my knees.
"I'll be off, Mom."
Somehow, my heart felt a little lighter.
Seeing that I still did this, I was a mama's boy through and through, no way around it.
I poured out every last drop of the remaining liquor for the gravestone, then turned away. At the cemetery entrance, a carriage sent by the Church was waiting. The man standing in front of it was a young stranger—black vestments, a blunt, unreadable face.
As I approached, he opened the carriage door without a word. I gave the gravestone one last look, then climbed aboard, and the man took the seat across from me.
"...Let's go."
Jolt.
The carriage bound for the capital began to roll.
Once the carriage set off, neither of us spoke for a long time.
Frankly, I'd assumed he'd explain things on his own, but the man across from me showed no intention of starting a conversation. In the end, I opened my mouth first.
"Um."
"Yes."
"So what exactly am I supposed to do now?"
"You are to undertake the Pilgrimage."
"The Pilgrimage?"
That was a new one, even for this world.
"You will receive a full briefing in the capital."
"Can't you tell me now?"
The man's eyebrows moved a fraction.
"You are to travel along a predetermined route. Resolving the source of Magic Stone Disease at its end—that is the Hero's role."
Simpler than I'd expected. Follow the road, solve the problem. It felt closer to a JRPG than an open world, didn't it?
For me, that was definitely the better deal. At the very least, I wouldn't have to worry about getting lost.
Which left... just one remaining problem.
"I, um. I don't know how to fight."
"I'm aware."
"And, well... probably to the point where I'd lose to most anyone."
"Yes. I'm aware."
The reply came back like a blade.
...That stung. Just a little.
"Did the Heroes of the past start out like this too?"
"No."
"That makes me even more anxious."
The man let out a short sigh.
"Every Hero's nature is different. Some excelled with the sword; others excelled at magic."
"Were there any who just suddenly got insanely strong?"
"Many."
I subtly flexed my arm.
Boing.
...Same as ever. The only thing different from the me of three days ago was the mysterious crest now on my back.
"I haven't got anything yet, though."
"That will be confirmed in the capital."
"I won't just... die at the very start of the pilgrimage, right?"
The man stared at me, dead level.
...That was a joke.
Why isn't he answering?
I was just starting to get genuinely nervous when he finally spoke.
"The Pilgrimage is not undertaken alone."
"Ah."
Only then did I relax a little.
"So I have escorts?"
"Two are already waiting in the capital."
"They can actually fight, right?"
"One is a priest of the Earth Mother Goddess. The other is a magician of the Magic Tower."
A priest and a magician. That was certainly reassuring. At least I wouldn't end up flailing around with a sword by myself.
The taciturn man sealed his lips once more, and the carriage wheels turned without pause.
We reached the capital four days later.
After the long journey, the first thing that met my eyes as I stepped down from the carriage was the colossal temple. It was on a different scale entirely from the city churches we'd visited on feast days—soaring spires, broad stone steps, and crowds so thick they brought rush-hour transit in Korea to mind.
Thank the heavens there was a staff-only entrance.
"This way, please."
I followed the man who'd brought me inside. After corridor after corridor and one last flight of stairs, we arrived at a small reception room. Two women were waiting within.
"Oh? Could those two be...?"
"Yes. They are."
The first thing to catch my eye was the priest's habit—a white vestment bearing the crest of the Earth Mother Goddess. Buttoned up primly to the throat, yet the figure beneath it made the whole ensemble downright destructive.
...Incredible.
I'd never seen anyone more incredible than Mom. For an instant I nearly went slack-jawed and stared at one spot, but sheer superhuman willpower wrenched my gaze away.
The priestess sat with her back ramrod straight. Not a hint of disorder in her expression or her posture. One look told you everything: prim, proper, and stiff as a rulebook.
And across from her sat...
a woman who was small in every conceivable way. So short that both her feet hung off the chair without touching the floor. Her body was half-swallowed by a loose wizard's robe, and her crossed arms gave her an almost imperious air, but—
...Is she not a kid?
As if she'd sensed my gaze, the little magician's eyes narrowed to slits.
"What are you looking at?"
The irritation started with her voice.
"Nothing."
"You just thought I was a kid, didn't you?"
"I didn't."
"Liar."
...Sharp, isn't she?
The man escorting me gave a small cough.
"Both of you—greet the Hero."
The priestess rose from her seat first.
"I am Celia, your Attendant Priest. I have been charged with the safety and well-being of the Hero until the Pilgrimage's end."
Then the little magician hopped down from her chair.
"I'm Tanya, First-Class Magician. Let me say this up front—treat me like a kid and you'll regret it."
"I have no intention of doing so."
"...Really? Tch."
'?'
Why does she sound disappointed?
Did she have some strange tastes or something?
I looked back and forth between the two of them. Everything about them was the polar opposite, yet both came across as genuine professionals in their own right.
Well, at this level...
They didn't seem like bad companions. At the very least, with no men in the party, it looked like the genre wouldn't suddenly shift mid-journey.
That was the exact moment it happened.
Above the two women's heads, blue numbers floated into view.
[81]
[79]
"...?"
Now what on earth was that?