24. Welcome to Hell

The citizens fell hook, line, and sinker for the Holy Sword's agitation, and even the golden-haired youth who stepped forward as the representatives of the powers-that-be meekly acknowledged the Hero. In the end, everything the Hero had done got swept under the rug.

Wasn't that all my doing? Whatever. It's the Hero's fault for dragging me to that announcement ceremony. Plus, since the Holy Sword dumped the blame on the Solar Saint, the Hero dodged the arrows of outrage.

Of course, that didn't mean the Hero could just walk away scot-free. After all, the announcement ceremony—witnessed by all those top brass—had ended in utter fiasco.

"We can't hold the Hero accountable, so should we just let it slide?"

"If formal punishment is tricky, why not handle it as a commission?"

"And you are?"

"Kale, branch manager of the Adventurer's Guild in Hire."

In the end, though the method differed, the Hero ended up stuck cleaning up her own mess.

And behind that commission was a certain magic sword who'd tipped off the guild branch manager.

The Hero's job was to heal the injured from this riot. Thanks to her overwhelming holy power, she could single-handedly fill the roles of dozens of priests.

Sure, it'd be easy to round up the wounded and blast them with holy power, but healing isn't that convenient. Even for the Hero, it took serious time—sorting out those hurt by magic, those injured in clashes between victims, and those unscathed but trapped in mental panic, then applying tailored treatments.

While the Hero hustled around healing patients, I sent a mental wave just for the Holy Sword's ears.

To the Holy Sword, the Hero is special. Her one-and-only master in this era.

But among the Heroes she's served, there's no hierarchy. Before Cream, she'd have spouted ridiculous lies for others too. Not all those fibs could've landed.

The Holy Sword replied in a somewhat cynical tone.

I reflexively started to retort, then caught her true meaning and let out an exclamation.

Sure, even now, many nations—including the Empire—still bow to the Grand Temple and its orders, and religion's power remains strong.

But compared to centuries ago, when gods directly wielded power on earth and smote blasphemers with heavenly punishment, it's undeniably weakened. It just feels strong because it's still so damn potent.

They had enough pull to rewrite world history to suit their tastes. And the Holy Sword's been reaping those benefits as part of the entrenched powers all this time.

That's ultra-righteous? Total hypocrisy. Still, since I benefited this time, I held my tongue. Since when was I overflowing with justice anyway?

Soon, the Hero finished with the last patient and stood up. Despite unleashing holy power like crazy, her tiny face showed no sign of fatigue.

"Done."

With everything wrapped up, the Hero stretched lightly. Still in her ceremonial robes, the motion exposed glimpses of her pale skin—but my gaze was on her face.

She seemed oblivious herself, but that faint smile tugging at her lips? Looked damn good.

* [Wait, doesn't that count as a commission too?]*

On the way back to the inn, my offhand question halted the Hero's steps.

Her tending to the patients was just cleanup for her own mess, but for someone of her stature, even trivial actions get loaded with meaning.

That's why they framed it as a commission instead of charity or penance. It was a savvy political gesture: denying her own guilt while affirming the current system.

Frankly, I don't know the details—I'm just tapping into the collective smarts of the souls inside me. Probably spot-on, though.

Anyway, back to the point: the Hero completed the commission. So, what rank would it get?

"Then..."

A tiny fraction of believers receive stigmata from their gods, granting divine authority. But that power usually manifests as destructive forces like fire, ice, or lightning.

Pristine source holy power, in the form of healing light? Only the purest souls can wield it.

Faith's depth and mental discipline are separate virtues. Thus, even among top priests, few handle healing.

In a small city like Hire, are there even five proper healing priests? Yet the Hero pulled off miracles equivalent to dozens solo.

"The Hero again..."

The moment he spotted us, Kale let out a deep sigh.

Sure, there's a proper counter for adventurers, and barging into the branch manager's office is kinda rude. But the counter staff are so intimidated by us, real talk's impossible.

Plus, teasing this middle-aged guild dude gets the best reactions. Okay, that's the main reason.

"Feels like I'm about to hear some unforgivable insult. So, what brings you this time?"

"Pardon? How long since you registered with the Guild... hold on."

Kale started rifling through papers like I'd said something absurd, but his movements slowed. Soon, he looked up in shock.

That surprised even me. I came on a hunch, but it's actually true?

"Yes. Hard to believe, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but you've met the promotion requirements. Commission completions and activity points, both."

I mentally recapped the Hero's antics these past few days. While waiting for the announcement, she'd cleared a ton of commissions—mostly wiping out dangerous foes, none of whom stood a chance.

Those minor quests piled up, but destroying the Dark Cult base and mass-healing the injured sealed the rapid promotion.

"...But isn't it good for you too if the Hero ranks up high?"

The Holy Sword was ice-cold, but that's 'cause she's never been human. Sure, I'm a sword now, but I was human once—an adventurer, at that. Rank-wise? I'd outrank this guild manager easy.

I roamed everywhere. Early on, struggling to adapt to this world, it was pure grind.

I was raging blindly, then realized something and calmed down.

Filling requirements sucks, but it's grindable. What drives folks mad? The Guild's promotion commissions.

Under the guise of patching weaknesses, they hand out quests tailor-made to screw you—total mismatch, pure malice. Like sending a Sun Priest into an ice labyrinth.

...But does this Hero even have weaknesses?

"Ah. The higher-ups have been quite interested in you, Hero."

"No, not like that. Please don't misunderstand. We respect your uniqueness and will accommodate within the rules."

He'd loosened up from seeing us often, but shrank back when I shot killing intent—hilarious.

You're the one bullying him. Kale rapped out his defense like a freestyle, panting, then looked hurt at the Holy Sword's bluntness.

I ignored it—zero interest in others' feelings—and pressed on.

"No need to wait. Your promotion commission was prepared already."

Kale pulled out a fancy document, clearly a cut above the rest. Flipping through, he continued.

"As a former adventurer, you know: our Guild's iron rule is using promotions to shore up personal weaknesses."

"...Ahem. Anyway, we reviewed your commission reports."

Normally, big commissions require post-completion reports to the Guild. The Hero skipped 'em, of course. Back when I was adventuring, half-assed reports got rejected constantly.

Ah, the sweetness of power.

"Haha. We wouldn't dare critique your prowess. But from an adventurer's view?"

Kale tore off a sheet and handed it over. The Hero read it slowly.

That was her promotion commission.

"Synthesizing your reports, Hero, your skills are so exceptional, you tend to solo everything."

My real-world nightmare was resurrecting. Kale's face overlapped with my old professor's.

Wrinkled lips moved as the professor spoke.

"Yes. This commission's theme is 'teamwork.'"

No—snap out of it. I shook my head. This guy's Kale, not the prof. He's old but not that old, and not some untouchable authority!

"I'll do it. Looks, fun."

But I knew the truth: choice was out of my hands. The group project... er, commission? That'd be on her too.

"Mm. To clarify: since the theme is teamwork, you'll need to follow some restrictions. What matters for this promotion—pardon my rudeness—isn't your power, but your cooperation."

"No, problem."

And with that, the Hero opened the gates of hell herself.