A Clean Sweep
The clash between the Hero's party and the pursuit squad had begun.
In truth, "clash" was hardly the right word. It was far closer to a one-sided round-up, seasoned hunters bagging prey that had long since scattered into blind panic. Not a single shred of hesitation stayed the hunters' hands as they closed in on the Hero's comrades.
The first to be captured was Yuni the mage.
"No, I'm...!"
She stammered out some half-formed excuse before clumsily launching into a chant. Perhaps she possessed a faint shred of conscience—or merely an instinct for self-preservation—for it wasn't an offensive spell, but a defensive ward. A rudimentary magical barrier meant only to shield herself.
Unfortunately for her, her casting speed was maddeningly, agonizingly slow.
"Earth's Binding!"
The incantation rang out from Professor Weber as he sprinted forward. Thick coils of churned dirt and grass erupted from the turf, instantly ensnaring Yuni's slender frame. All she could manage was a bewildered squeak—"Euh?"—before being thoroughly plastered against the ground.
It was so anticlimactically easy that her captors looked more drained of excitement than triumphant.
"This is... a mage?"
Professor Weber and an imperial court mage—who had aborted his own spell midway through—stood staring blankly down at the writhing girl. Yuni's sluggishness was legendary throughout the academic magical community. While her raw firepower was unquestioned, capable of unleashing wide-area bombardments that could wipe out hundreds at a stroke, her speed remained a fatal bottleneck. Unlike ordinary battle mages who could whip up a fireball the moment a frontline bought them a split-second breath, she needed an eternity.
"I knew she was slow, but... was she really this hopeless back at the Academy?"
"Yes... I'm afraid so," Weber murmured bitterly, looking down at his former pupil.
Yuni squirmed, timidly gauging his expression. True to her profession, she still clutched her wand, but even that small comfort proved fleeting. Professor Weber snatched the wand from her grip and snapped it over his knee without an ounce of remorse.
Next came Claire the Saintess.
Having turned tail to waddle frantically toward the nearby hamlet, she was tackled by a paladin in short order.
"Ow! Ouch, that hurts...!"
As she lay face-down in the dirt, Elder Priest Edin and the Holy Kingdom's youngest bishop walked over. In martial terms, their divine power rivaled a Sword Master more than an Expert, and their sociopolitical stature stood head and shoulders above anyone else in the pursuit squad. Yet dignitaries of their caliber had meekly obeyed a young baron's orders all the way here for a single purpose.
"It has been some time, Saintess."
Bringing down the Hero was paramount, but taking Claire into custody with their own hands was just as vital.
"Ouch, it hurts!"
Her arm twisted behind her back by the paladin, Claire whimpered in pain, but the elderly priest merely clasped his hands behind him and looked down with glacial detachment. Though his head was shaved into a jagged, moth-eaten buzz and he wore a tattered monk's habit, the stern authority he radiated was far more terrifying than when he had worn cardinal's robes.
"Your Eminence... His Holiness the Pope won't let this—"
"Saintess. I am well aware of your extensive discussions with the former Pope regarding 'donations.' But the cloistered man cannot help you."
"That was... wait. Cloistered?"
"Indeed. Arrangements have been made for him to live out his days in minimal dignity and comfort, but never again shall he hold sway over the Holy Kingdom."
"B-but Your Eminence! I have things to explain—"
"I am no longer a cardinal. Merely the oldest parish priest in the Holy Kingdom."
"...?!"
The youthful, cute contours of her face went pale with utter shock. The Pope forced to abdicate into confinement, and the Archbishop of the Capital—the de facto second most powerful man in the church—resigning his title to wander like an ascetic beggar. She had heard the Hero mention "over-the-counter transactions" a few days ago, but she had never dreamed the fallout would reach such catastrophic proportions. It wasn't that she thought the crime minor; rather, it had simply never crossed her mind that people at the very pinnacle of power would actually be held accountable.
"Why... why go that far?"
"You will understand once we return. Your judgment shall be rendered by the Holy Kingdom itself."
"I..."
"Are you preparing to blame the Hero again? Very well. No doubt he told you to keep silent. You may offer that same excuse to the faithful."
We have plenty of time. Whatever defense you conjure, we shall hear every word. The elder priest's voice was utterly devoid of inflection. Yet his seeming indulgence offered no comfort; it merely cast a grim shadow over the fate awaiting her.
Realizing there was no escape, she opened her mouth to scream and thrash—
Thwack!
A sharp strike to the back of the head from the paladin promptly restored silence. Petrified, the Saintess ceased even her squirming. Instinct told her that staying perfectly still was the only way to avoid another beating.
The only one among them to put up any real resistance was the elf, Silvina.
In terms of sheer martial ability, she had been the undisputed number two of the Hero's party. Though her elemental affinity was mediocre for an elf, she compensated with physical agility far outstripping the average Expert and world-class archery. When armed with her signature bow carved from a branch of the World Tree, she rivaled the legendary archers of previous Hero parties. Even now, armed with nothing more than a lone mithril dagger, she was fending off two peak Expert veterans. Granted, the knights held back their aura to take her alive, but there was no denying her skill in darting at blinding speeds to stall for time.
Yet her valiant effort was short-lived.
Smack!
A heavy blow landed from the flat of the Forest Knights' vice-commander's blade. Struck squarely on the back of the skull, Silvina collapsed, her eyes wide even as consciousness fled her—as if resolved to shield the Hero even in oblivion. Naturally, the grizzled knights couldn't have cared less about an elf's fighting spirit; they bound her limbs in practiced, callous motions.
That left only one party member: the female knight, Millia.
She hadn't lasted this long out of martial prowess. From the second the pursuit squad appeared, she had stood with hands slack, an expression of total resignation on her face. She stood loosely corralled by two knights, one of whom was Katie, her former training cohort.
"Millia... if you aren't going to fight, hand over your sword first."
"...All right."
Millia unfastened her scabbard and handed it over without protest. Katie didn't bother binding her, settling for merely disarming her friend. Reunited under these grim circumstances, both turned their gazes toward the center of the clearing.
Their eyes locked onto the duel unfolding between the Hero and Eric.
Originally, the squad had intended to subdue the rest of the party and immediately converge on the Hero alongside Eric. That had been the plan: Eric, possessing prior sparring experience with the Hero, would stall him while the others swept up the stragglers. Yet now, the knights stood frozen, unable to find an opening to intervene as they stared at the clash.
The reason was simple.
For reasons no one could fathom, the fight was dead even.
Setting aside the catastrophe he left in his wake, the Hero was strong. But his strength fell laughably short of the title he bore.
The weight behind his strikes? He had me beat there, certainly. Having lost his pinky finger—the anchor of a proper grip—his wrist wobbled precariously with every slash, yet his raw physical power was formidable. On top of that, despite never having practiced a day of mental imagery training in his life, the aura he radiated was vastly thicker and more ferocious than mine.
...And that was all he had.
"Ddu-haaat—!"
The Holy Sword came down in an awkward diagonal chop accompanied by a bizarre, guttural yell. If it connected, it would cleave me in two, but the wind-up was telegraphed to high heaven. It was as if he mistook me for a wooden training dummy that wouldn't move an inch.
I can guess how he’s been fighting all this time. The party members softened up the targets and he just stepped in for the final blow to take the glory. ...He’s deteriorated even compared to when he was first summoned.
I slipped cleanly past the blade, closed the distance, and drove my boot upward.
"Ghk!"
That was the second time my unorthodox kicks had struck his groin. His shins had been left completely undefended the entire time. Under normal circumstances, throwing loose kicks in a duel between aura users was a death sentence, but against the Hero, ordinary rules didn't apply. Every time my boot landed, he just bent over with a pathetic groan, glaring at me as if I were cheating.
"F-fuck... What kind of... knight fights like that...!"
What the hell did he think a knight was? When aura failed, knightly duels often devolved into brutal, mud-rolling dogfights decided by wrestling and gouging. Ignoring his glare, I pressed the offensive without letting up.
The Hero managed to parry and block by the skin of his teeth. It was almost infuriating that despite fighting like an amateur brawler, his sheer base stats kept me from overwhelming him in an instant. Yet however vexed I felt, it paled in comparison to the utter bewilderment of the audience watching us.
The captured party members, the pursuit squad knights—all of them stared at the Hero in stunned disbelief.
They pinned all their hopes on this man? They poured mountains of gold into a creature like this? The sheer absurdity was etched into their faces.
Time to wrap this up.
It wasn't that I didn't want to prolong the spar. Dreadfully lacking as his combat sense and battlefield instincts were, clashing against an opponent with objectively superior physical specs and aura was prime nourishment for my own martial growth.
"Fuck! Come on!"
Predicting his attacks and deflecting his heavy blows grew smoother by the second. At some point, even my aura circulation had accelerated to keep pace. That was likely why the watching knights held back from jumping in; they didn't want to rob me of the chance to temper myself against a stronger foe.
I appreciate the sentiment, but...
I had already extracted every drop of experience he had to offer. And conveniently, the perfect opening presented itself.
"...Curtain of Radiance!"
A high-tier blessing from the elder priest, targeted solely on me. My depleted stamina surged back in an instant. I unleashed a slash packed with everything I had—aimed straight at the Hero's instep.
"Gah!"
Startled, the Hero jumped back in sheer panic. Giving up his balance and center of gravity mid-clash against an equal opponent—a truly magnificent display of idiocy. To make matters worse, the aura cloaking his Holy Sword vanished as his focus shattered.
Moron.
I dropped my sword and lunged straight at him at full speed. One hand seized the wrist holding the Holy Sword; the other locked onto his face. And with all my momentum, I slammed his skull into the dirt.
"Guh!"
Straddling his chest immediately, I proceeded to beat his face bloody. Jaw, eye socket, nose, mouth. Especially that mouth.
"G-gah, wa—"
Crack!
An ordinary man's face would have caved in from a single punch, but the Hero's divine constitution gave every blow a dense, solid resistance. I struck him again, and again, and again, stopping only when I felt the cartilage and bone beneath my knuckles give way with a sickening crunch.
With a shattered nose and his front teeth gone, the Hero choked and wheezed up at me. He looked desperate to say something, but every attempt only brought up another mouthful of blood.
"It's over, Hero."
"N-not... yet...!"
The Hero blindly patted the grass with his four-fingered hand, fumbling for the Holy Sword. Unfortunately for him, he would never touch that blade again. The knights who had politely waited their turn were now stepping forward.
"Baron Wellesley."
"Go right ahead. If we drag him back in one piece, the people will riot anyway."
I gave a curt nod and stepped aside. Sensing what was coming, the Hero began writhing like an insect. But there wasn't a soul in this clearing who felt an ounce of pity for him.