I've Been Forgotten by the Hero Who Was My Childhood Friend
The day after I died, I still couldn't bring myself to kick the bucket.
Even if my reasons for living had vanished, that didn't mean I'd just up and die right then and there.
Instead, oddly enough, I'd kept breathing after that day. The only change was that I'd stopped swinging wildly just to cling to the next sunrise. Before, no matter how reckless the plan looked, I'd still hunt down any way to make it back alive.
If enemies swarmed, I'd scout a detour. If retreat seemed cut off, I'd send scouts ahead to clear the path. Even when a perfect opening dangled in front of me, I'd rush in only to drop my subordinates without hesitation if it meant I'd die with them.
Because death meant I could never see Arien again.
I had to survive at all costs, and as long as I led them, I had to drag every man who trusted me back home somehow.
But now, none of that mattered anymore.
When enemies stood in front of me, I'd hack them down without a second thought. I'd step a foot deeper into danger knowing I'd be surrounded, and I'd walk right into it. Even roles that sane men should never touch, I'd claim without blinking.
Some might call fighting just to die a little mad, but I wasn't swinging a sword at my own throat or lunging deliberately into enemy blades.
I'd simply stopped bothering to live at all.
And that alone had changed everything.
"Captain."
After one battle ended, a mercenary who'd fought under me for years called out from the side.
"What is it?"
"I'll leave after this fight. I can't take it anymore."
I looked at him without changing my expression. He hadn't joined from the very beginning, but he'd swung a blade under my command for years. He knew my fighting style better than anyone, and he knew how I dragged people back alive.
"Fine."
"…Aren't you going to stop me?"
"Why would I? You said you wanted to go."
"That's true."
He fell silent, then sighed while staring at my blood-and-dirt-covered body.
"Back then, following the captain felt like survival. Even if the others called me crazy for it, I knew if I followed you into the enemy's heart, you'd somehow drag us all home alive."
"…"
"But not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Following you now feels like certain death."
I didn't answer. He was right.
He didn't wait for a reply either. After a quick bow, he turned his back and walked away.
"Thanks for everything these years."
"You too."
That was it.
And it didn't end there.
One man left. Not long after, another vanished. One by one, the people around me who had stayed through the changes slipped away.
At first, dozens followed me. Then, suddenly, only I remained.
It didn't bother me. In fact, I thought it was for the best.
There was no need to drag others down with me just so I could die.
Months passed like that.
Then, one day, a new recruitment notice appeared on the front lines.
I walked past it without thinking, read the words, and stopped dead.
Vanguard Unit — Clearing the Hero Party's Path
That was all it said.
Anyone could guess what the job was without a long explanation: smash the enemy's defenses, shatter the fortresses, slaughter as many Demon King Army soldiers as possible so the Hero Party could push deep into the Demon King's territory.
Regular troops or mercenaries were welcome. The pay beat anything I'd seen before. The only question was whether anyone would actually live long enough to collect it.
A mercenary beside me clicked his tongue.
"Vanguard, huh? Suicide squad, more like. Who'd sign up for that? If you don't plan to live to spend the gold, what's the point?"
He was right. I didn't even need to calculate the odds. The vanguard existed to bleed the Demon King Army dry before the Hero Party even arrived.
I stared at the notice for a long time, then lowered my eyes to the recruitment address below.
Surprisingly, I felt no hesitation. Instead, I found myself thinking this might be a decent place after all.
After all, I no longer had any reason to live. But that didn't mean I wanted to die meaninglessly somewhere random.
I figured Arien had already forgotten me. The love we'd whispered about, the promises we'd made, even the necklace we'd shared — they all seemed like fleeting childhood memories to her now.
Still, I couldn't forget her.
She hadn't suddenly started hating me just because she didn't remember. My feelings hadn't disappeared either.
I still wanted her to live, to defeat the Demon King, and return safely. And after the war ended, I hoped she'd live the life she wanted.
So wouldn't this last one be okay?
After all, if my life was going to end somewhere, I might as well be the one to enter the enemy ranks first and kill one more. If that cleared the path for Arien to take even a single step closer to the Demon King, then it would be enough.
Even if you had forgotten me, I wanted my death to mean something to you.
I turned away from the notice.
"You're seriously thinking about signing up?"
A mercenary beside me asked half-jokingly, and I kept walking without stopping.
"Yeah."
"…Really?"
I ignored the voice behind me and kept heading toward the recruitment site.
*
*
*
I don't remember how many battles I fought after that.
As the name suggested, the places we were sent were the kind any sane man would run from.
From mountain ranges layered with Demon King defenses, to monster-infested forests, to isolated fortresses where you were supposed to hold for days. Behind each one waited another, then another battlefield.
And strangely, I kept surviving.
Even though I didn't want to, I died less than I should have. In fact, I killed more enemies than ever.
Since I stopped caring about returning, I had nothing to hold back for. I charged into opportunities I would've abandoned before as too dangerous.
Soon, even on the front lines, soldiers didn't know my name anymore.
At first, they just called me "captain."
Then, every time the vanguard passed, soldiers started saying the Hero Party could move safely through because a path had been cleared. Someone started nicknaming me "Pathfinder."
"Pathfinder made it through again."
Those words started circulating across the battlefield.
Of course, not everyone used the polite title.
Those who ignored retreat orders and fought like beasts tearing apart demons were called the Mad Dog.
Soldiers who saw me emerge blood-soaked from the enemy's center began calling me the Evil Fiend.
Pathfinder.
Mad Dog.
Evil Fiend.
None of them meant anything to me anymore.
I just went where I was ordered, swung my sword without looking back, and survived only to move on to the next battlefield.
Then, one day, I crossed blades with the Demon King's army commander.
I don't remember exactly what happened. I just knew I dodged what I could, blocked what I couldn't, and when neither was possible, I fought with my body until our swords met.
How long did we fight like that?
When I came to, the commander's head rolled across the ground and my sword was buried in my gut as I lay collapsed.
"…Ha."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
I should have pulled the blade out, but my mind was too gone. I felt life draining away, voices shouting from around me fading into numbness.
My vision slowly darkened.
Oh.
This time, I was really dying.
Surprisingly, it didn't scare me.
Instead, peace settled over me. I had finally ended it.
After all, I'd killed one commander. I wasn't dying meaninglessly. If his army shook, it would make things easier for Arien and the Hero Party. That's what I wanted — to die.
Before closing my eyes for the last time, Arien's face came to mind.
The smile when she saw a little boy like me.
The face that said she loved me.
The face that cried while clutching my necklace on the last day, promising to recognize me again someday.
Live well.
With that thought, I closed my eyes.
*
*
*
"…!"
But my eyes opened.
The first thing I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling.
I blinked for what felt like forever.
It was strange.
I'd been sure this time I was dead, yet I was looking at a tent ceiling. I must have survived again.
When I tried to move, a wave of agony crashed through my body. I couldn't help groaning, and right beside me I heard something shift.
"Don't move!"
I turned my head and saw a woman in white cleric robes with pure white hair and deep azure eyes jolt upright from her chair.
A familiar face.
The Saintess — one of the Hero Party members who had passed through here with Arien months ago.
"…Saintess?"
"If you move like this, the wounds will reopen."
The Saintess gently pushed me back down and began checking the bandaged areas one by one.
I stared blankly until I found my voice.
"Why am I still alive?"
Her hands paused.
She slowly lifted her head and looked at me.
"…Is that the first thing you want to say after waking up?"
"I thought I was dead."
"You almost died. If I'd been even a second later, even I couldn't have saved you."
"Is that so?"
"That's not the point."
Her voice sharpened a little.
"What in the world were you thinking, fighting like that?"
"No particular thoughts."
"No thoughts?"
"Well, I took out the commander, so the outcome was good, wasn't it?"
She fell silent and stared at me with disbelief.
"…Don't you value your own life?"
I couldn't answer right away.
Don't value life?
Before, I would've said it was obvious — death meant I could never see Arien again, so nothing was worth more than my life.
But now I didn't know how to reply.
I stared at the tent ceiling for a moment, then spoke.
"I don't know anymore."
The Saintess said nothing. She just kept looking at me with an odd expression, and that was the first real conversation we'd ever had.
*
*
*
After that, strangely, I kept running into the Saintess.
More accurately, every time I got injured and was taken to the healing tent, she was there.
"Here we go again?"
As soon as I stepped inside, the Saintess said with a look.
"What?"
"You got hurt again!"
"It's normal to get hurt while fighting on the front lines."
"Did I say something last time?"
"I don't remember."
"I told you not to go to big battles for a week!"
"Three days have passed."
"Only three days!"
I sat down on the chair beside me instead of answering.
The Saintess glared at me for a while, then sighed and started treating the wound on my shoulder.
At first she was quiet, but soon she couldn't hold back.
"And the wounds aren't even fully healed yet, yet you took the bandages off yourself?"
"It itched."
"If it itched, the wound would have healed on its own."
"Not exactly…"
"If you feel pain during battle, pull back immediately."
"I was watching the situation."
"Forget the situation — pull back!"
"Is it that easy?"
"It is for your level. You can always do it."
I glanced at my bandaged arm and then at the Saintess.
It was odd when I thought about it.
At first I thought she was just scolding her patient.
But now every time I showed up she nagged me nonstop.
One day she somehow knew I hadn't eaten and brought bread, forcing me to eat it.
Another time she came to my side, checked that my wounds hadn't healed, and lectured me for hours about why I still went to battle.
At first I thought the Saintess normally took care of every wounded soldier like this, but for some reason she was especially harsh with me.
Finally, I couldn't hold back.
"Saintess."
"What is it?"
"Why do you take care of a guy like me so much?"
Her hands stopped.
"…A guy like me?"
"Are you saying a mercenary like me, who gets hurt on the front lines, is that many?"
One death wouldn't change the war's flow.
Every day, hundreds died on the front lines, and soldiers were surprised the next day when they came back to find a body where they left.
Yet the Saintess worried about my condition to an almost absurd degree.
When I heard her words, she looked at me for a moment, then gave a helpless laugh.
"If there were that many people like you, the war would have ended long ago."
"…"
This time I had nothing to say.
The Saintess continued treating my wound without changing her expression. I watched her for a while.
She was clearly younger than me, yet she never held back a single word.
What a strange woman.