New Clothes Are Good, Old Friends Are Better

Rohan Edwork.

Anyone who had learned the language of this world had heard the name at least once. There were not many on the continent who did not know of his fame.

He was the man who had reformed more than eight-tenths of the criminals locked away in Langerte Underground Prison — home to the world's worst offenders — and turned them into clergy. The man who had donated, without a second's hesitation, every last coin earned from a lifetime of fishing, and resolved to live for others.

There was no need to rattle off every last branch of his legend. A single tale attached to his name was enough to explain who Rohan Edwork was.

Right of Blood.

A miracle that could make the blind see and the lame walk. Had it been an ordinary miracle that cost him nothing, Rohan would have remained nothing more than a kindly hero. But each time he used this miracle, his lifespan was shaved away, little by little. His trademark pure white hair was living proof.

That a man like him should rest in such humble circumstances was something his disciples could not accept. Sensing the shadow of death slowly settling over their master, they poured every ounce of devotion into preparing his funeral.

"Forgive our impertinence, Master, but we could never rest easy if the place you sleep is nothing but bare earth."

"That's right, Master. Several churches have already decided to make the day of your rest a holy day!"

"What would you say to the golden coffin at the center of Serhan Cathedral, the largest on the continent?"

From among the gathered crowd, he waved a hand and spoke. With his usual gentle, kind smile.

"When I die, bury me beneath the village guardian tree. A year's worth of fertilizer should be plenty."

"Th-that's...!"

Elisabeth, the renowned Bishop of Serhan Cathedral, praised him thus:

"If Rohan is an ordinary man, then I am Baal, the great devil of hell. Or perhaps the Demon King said to live on the 100th floor of the Tower."

Rohan Edwork.

In a world where blood washed blood, he was a man people relied on more than the hollow gods who left innocent folk to live in suffering. Not a few came to serve God through him, and some even worshipped Rohan himself.

His final journey was to join a Hero Party and support those who would vanquish evil.

"Master! You should spend your remaining years in comfort! Please, don't take on any more burdens after this!"

Despite his disciples' protests, he would not be swayed. He had decided to spend the twilight that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had come too early as a porter for the Hero Party. And that man, right now—

Crash! Smash!

"You fucking—! You ultimate pieces of trash!!! I can't do this anymore! Fuck this shit!"

He was roaring, veins standing out red all the way around his Adam's apple.

"What's the matter?"

At the elegant voice from behind him, Rohan's bloodshot eyes — looking ready to burst from their sockets — snapped around. Unlike Rohan, who was seething like boiling magma, every movement of the woman was graceful. Dorothy sat with her legs crossed, sipping the 698th parfait Rohan had made for her.

This fucking bitch!

The kingdom's last great talent. A genius Archmage who had mastered magic of every element. That was what he'd been told. Born of high nobility, dignity flowed from her every word and gesture. For the first three hours after he joined the party, anyway.

Nightmares from a not-so-distant past flickered through Rohan's mind like a panorama.

"Lady Dorothy. I've brought the grapes you asked for."

"Who are you?"

"Ah, I'm Rohan Ed... the porter dispatched this time."

"These are fairy grapes, yes?"

"...They're domestic."

"How many grapes are on that bunch?"

Rohan, rarely flustered, wore a bewildered expression at the unfathomable question.

"Pardon...? ...I didn't count them, so I'm not sure..."

Dorothy snatched the grapes Rohan had just bought. Then she jammed her fingers between the fruit and tore them apart. Every grape tumbled off the stem.

".... Is there some kind of problem..."

Dorothy hurled every last grape. The plump, fresh fruit scattered across the floor.

"....?"

"Pick them up, count them all, and you can eat them."

"...Did I make some kind of mistake?"

"Fruit must always be fairy-grown from Meadow Hill, pesticide-free, Grade A. Understood?"

"..... Yes, ma'am."

"Ugh, honestly. Our old worker, Mr. Dongha, used to spread out fruit of every color, gleaming with luster, every morning and let me choose. And you can't even buy a single bunch of grapes properly when I give you instructions?"

"..... I'm sorry."

"Do it again and I'll make fruit grow out of your skull."

...Alright. When you spend your days surrendering yourself to the flow of mana, pouring everything into magical research for the sake of humanity, a person can grow a bit eccentric. May God's blessing be with you.

"Do a talent show."

The party's unyielding shield, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the vanguard. Rebecca spoke to him.

"...A talent show, you say?"

"Yeah, you know. Singing or dancing."

An ordinary person might have felt humiliated by the order, but Rohan was a different breed of human from the rabble. He accepted the request with a gentle smile.

"Very well. My favorite hymn..."

"O Lord God~ In Your embrace~ I shall enjoy radiant eternal li—"

Rohan never made it to the chorus. Rebecca had smacked his lips with her palm.

"Mmph!... Wh-why would you do that!?"

Confusion spread across Rohan's face — it had been a very long time since anyone had struck him.

"Wow, this asshole really knows how to murder a vibe... In Dongha-speak, that's a fucking legend."

"P-pardon?"

"By tomorrow, pick ten Night Bullet Boy Scouts songs. I'm going to check every single dance move."

"Bamtan? What's that?"

"Forget it. Get lost, you Jesus freak. Dongha could just clap twice and bang out tracks one through twelve in one go... Ugh."

"Lady Yuria."

"The new porter, I see. Rohan Edwork. It must be hard to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠adjust... You've had it rough. Our party members can be a bit rough around the edges, no?"

The elf Divine Archer. Yuria offered encouragement for his hardships.

"Thank you. I'm quite alright. More importantly, Lady Yuria — do you know why the representative name of the Dark Elf Elder-Hunting Association, a terrorist group founded by White Elves, became Rohan Edwork?"

"With great power comes great responsibility. That's a saying the former porter, Dongha, used to quote."

"...Pardon?"

"There's no need for me to bear that responsibility. Thanks to your saintly image, the Dark Elf elders have been getting rounded up helplessly, I'm told. I'm most grateful."

"Th-then...! The human rights of innocent Dark Elves...!"

"Why the fuss? Dongha was implicated in over ten terrorist organizations and never got arrested once. You're a coward with a chicken heart. In Dongha-speak, a total wuss."

WHACK!

"Guhk! Wh-what...!"

Someone had smashed Rohan in the back of the head while he was doing Dorothy's laundry. Rubbing his ringing skull, Rohan turned around to find Nine standing there — the Sword Emperor whose fame for taking Leviathan's head was known far and wide.

"I hit you 'cause I was annoyed. Boring. Dongha's reactions were so much better."

Two weeks since Rohan had joined the party.

Even when communing with the continent's worst criminals, their mockery and abuse had never broken the smile of grace upon his face. But now, rage erupted from every pore of his body.

"Fuck! This! I'm too disgusted! I! Quit!"

Rohan ripped off the apron that reeked of sugar from Dorothy throwing parfaits at him every single day, and hurled it aside.

"Quitting, are you?"

Dorothy sucked on her straw. He'd been sent back to remake that one drink seven times today alone.

"You bitches are demons wearing human skin! I hope you all catch some wretched disease and drop dead together! Starting today I'll pray for it every day, you twisted plague-ridden pieces of trash!"

The Rohan who had spent a lifetime laying blessings full of love upon others was already gone. All that remained was a monster who begged the holy God for curses.

"Fine. Your parfaits tasted terrible anyway. Well then... everyone?"

At those words, Nine, Dorothy, and Yuria appeared and closed in on Rohan.

"You all know, right? We have to make sure he doesn't go around talking. He needs to leave as someone who had a wonderful time with the beautiful Hero Party."

The three nodded at that and approached him.

"Did this one last a week?"

"Already the eighth... Why do we only get these half-baked ones..."

"I know, right. Kids these days give up on everything so early. No grit. Zero grit."

Dorothy, writing up a porter recruitment notice, chimed in at Nine's complaint. The poorly handwritten paper contained the following:

"Ah, Dorothy. Add 'adept at evading military police dragnets' to the qualifications as well. Three porters have already been arrested, have they not?"

Yuria spoke while scratching her back with the backscratcher Baek Dongha had made for her long ago.

"Ehh... that's a bit much to put on a recruitment notice. A porter should have the sense to be flexible about that sort of thing. Haa... Mr. Dongha was so good at walking that tightrope."

At her lament, the other three all nodded.

"The fruit Dongha ordered was just exquisite..."

"Dongha's dancing had such life in it..."

"The back of Dongha's head was so satisfying..."

They sighed. Not with the sorrow of a precious comrade's death... but with the wistfulness of staring at a finished ice cream tub.

"But you know... the more I think about it, the stranger it seems."

"Hm? What does."

Dorothy rested her chin in her hand, sinking into thought. Her brow twitched as she groped through vanished memories.

"Why did Mr. Dongha leave our party?"

"...Now that you mention it. I don't remember either."

"It is pretty weird that all four of us can't remember."

Just then, Nine, rummaging through a pile of miscellaneous supplies, yanked a net out from inside.

"Found it. Let's go."

"Go where?"

Every gaze locked onto Nine at once. She grinned wickedly.

"To catch Dongha. We'll catch him and let him be our porter again."

"...We've been asking around for two weeks and there's been no news at all."

Where Rebecca was tapping with the tip of her fingernail, a whole stack of notices had been piled up.

"...Hmm. It's like our memories have been clumsily stitched together. We can't even remember what we were going to do with Mr. Dongha, can we?"

"Right. Especially when I try to recall where we parted ways, it even gives me a headache."

Dorothy snatched up the recruitment notice she'd been writing, crumpled it, and shot to her feet with a shout.

"The Akashic Master?"

Question marks seemed to float over the other three's heads.

"...The Akashic Master? The ones they say there are only two of on the continent? We've never even met them."

"There might not be only two. And maybe he manipulated our last memories of Mr. Dongha?"

"Come on, Dorothy, that's a bit much."

"To borrow Dongha's words, that's some serious reaching."

"You think those guys would have to be insane to mess with us?"

Dorothy's face twisted. If anyone else had said it, she'd have reduced them to ash already — but they were all experts in their own right. She'd let this much slide.

"Well, it's not like we have another option. Let's go find them one of these days. Rumor has it they can even restore some erased memories."

At that, everyone nodded. And they licked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their lips. At the thought of quickly putting their capable slave... no, porter Baek Dongha back in his proper place...

"Ugh..."

A sudden chill ran through him, and he shuddered. The Demon King, who had been lying on the floor making some kind of game, lifted her head.

"What's wrong?"

"...Nothing. Just got the creeps for some reason."