The Captive's Taunt
After walking for quite some time, I arrived at a deserted spot and pulled the crystal from my pocket. When I muttered a few words only I knew toward it, I was no longer in the forest.
It was a dark room where scattered crystal orbs provided just enough light to make out objects. With massive bookshelves lining every wall and packed with volumes, the atmosphere wasn't particularly efficient, but considering who the original owner had been, that made sense.
Denatel, the lich who served as the Demon King Thanatos's right hand and greatest archmage. With his skull head wreathed in green flames, he would have had no need for ordinary lighting to read.
Anyway, this room in the dimensional rift and the only key that could open it had become mine after that final battle. Of course, none of my companions, including Rowell, knew this fact.
"What, you only just got here?"
Yes, among my companions, that is.
"Actually, I arrived earlier than usual."
When I answered the woman's voice coming from the darkness, she appeared along with crimson flames.
"Really? You know, it's hard to keep track of time in here."
Short red hair. An alluring woman clad in dark-red armor—Rofena, the Flame Demon Commander, one of the Demon King's five legion commanders.
"In that case, how about letting me go for a walk? That might fix my sense of time."
"I can't blame you for trying, but you've already used the 'walk' excuse several times."
She had blocked our path many times, but after repeated defeats she was stripped of her rank and sealed in this pocket dimension.
"Besides…"
Thud. Thud.
My outstretched hand met an invisible barrier in front of her.
"I don't have the ability to remove this."
She was trapped inside the transparent wall. The only space granted to her was a narrow circular area barely two meters across.
"Liar."
Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp. It was understandable. Several years had already passed since she was sealed here and I became the sole master of this space. That was no short time. Moreover—
"The Second-Best Strategist, the Nightmare of Orsia Hill, the Deceitful Summoner. There's no way you wouldn't know how."
"Yes, it is a lie."
I admitted it. I knew how to dispel the barrier. It was a powerful enough spell to imprison a Demon Commander. If I were trapped inside, it would be just as hopeless for me. But from the outside, it could be undone more easily than one might think. Maintaining such a spell required both a medium and an energy source.
"That beast ornament over there is the medium, and the fifth crystal orb disguised as lighting is the energy source. Breaking either one would free you."
I had figured that out within the first three days.
She might be sealed now, but she was a formidable warrior worthy of the title Flame Demon Commander. In a one-on-one fight, Rowell might stand a chance, but someone like me would be reduced to a handful of ash. Accidentally releasing her would have been disastrous, so thoroughly investigating the seal first had been the obvious choice.
"……"
Yet when I revealed that I knew not only the structure of the spell but also its exact method of release, her expression turned to one of surprise.
After all, even though she had recited those grand titles—Second-Best Strategist, Nightmare of Orsia Hill, Deceitful Summoner—she and I both knew they were nothing more than empty words. I was merely a companion of the hero Rowell who saved the world, so people assumed I must possess something special as well.
No, more precisely, from their perspective, I had to possess something special. Only then could they respect this insignificant man without any sense of discomfort.
The Golden Flash Aegina, the Yellow Sage Medrup, the Dual-Ring Magic Swordsman Orcan, He Who Creeps in the Night Bagloros, the Silent Empress Lauti.
My other companions each held two or three impressive titles, and they truly lived up to them. But Second-Best Strategist? Nightmare of Orsia Hill? Deceitful Summoner?
They sounded plausible, but that was all they were.
"Why do you look so surprised? Oh, did you really think I had no other way to break the spell besides smashing everything in this room one by one?"
I walked past her toward the bookshelves at the back. This room, Denatel's library and storage for various important items, contained countless magic tomes and artifacts, along with ancient spells and knowledge forbidden to humans.
Of course, unlike Medrup, I couldn't read or understand most of them since I didn't know the ancient tongue or the demon language. Still, the few books and items I could read were more than enough for me.
The Black Grimoire. The Oath of the Yellow Springs. The Prayer of Deep Night.
These forbidden texts, of which only a single copy remained in the world, were so dangerous that even the archmage Denatel had hesitated to use them and had hidden them deep within the library behind secret walls.
Discovering these forbidden books and the secret walls while examining his research journal had been a stroke of luck. I had only been searching for summaries of the books I couldn't read.
"You're going to dig into those creepy things again today?"
Her voice carried both revulsion and a trace of fear. It might have seemed unfitting for someone who had risen to the rank of Flame Demon Commander, but it was only natural.
All three volumes dealt with beings from the ancient depths that even the Demon King Thanatos and the Goddess of Ruin Nix could not approach, and the methods to reach them.
"Don't worry. I know my place. I'm only reading them. I have no intention of actually trying anything. Or rather, I don't have the ability to do so even if I wanted to."
I had no desire to summon an existence that even the Demon King and the Goddess of Ruin could not approach. Even if I did, I didn't believe someone like me could succeed.
This was nothing more than childish, pointless self-satisfaction. Books and knowledge no one alive today had ever seen. Beings from the ancient depths. By reading and learning about them, I could feel as though I myself had become special, and I wanted to cling to that illusion.
The one and only. A special existence. Yes, someone close to that person.
I gathered the three books and sat down beneath the light right in front of her prison. There was a desk at the far end, so there was no need to sit here, but watching her flinch every time I turned a page was certainly not unpleasant.
"You really are just going to read? Then what's that disgusting mana that makes you twitch every time you turn a page?"
"……"
I answered with silence. Even I had nothing to say about that. Whether it was lingering attachment or a futile hope, I clearly hadn't been able to discard it completely.
After that, we spent an hour or two reading and bantering. Her expression grew stiffer with every turned page, yet she kept speaking to me. For her, I was the only conversation partner left, and even that was limited to an hour or two a day. She had no other choice.
"By the way, what is that guy doing now?"
"That guy?"
"You know. The one with the hood, the scar on his chin, and the face that looks like it was pulled out of a fire."
"Ah, you mean Orcan?"
Orcan. A man from the desert tribes who wielded two magic swords in a peculiar style reminiscent of the phases of the moon, earning him the title Dual-Ring Magic Swordsman. As a fellow "companion of the hero," he was straightforward but warm-hearted and affectionate. Despite the scar on his chin, he was undeniably handsome, and his sun-bronzed skin was striking.
But we had never gotten along. I could find nothing in him to empathize with, and he liked nothing about me.
To quote him directly: "Even if a vulture perches quietly on your shoulder, no one likes a vulture." He always compared me to a vulture. No matter how friendly and clever it pretended to be, it would always be the first to tear into the corpse.
Well. Maybe he was right. I wasn't sure if I was exactly a vulture, but my true nature was certainly different from theirs. And perhaps he had seen through part of that nature.
"He returned to his tribe in the desert. According to the letter he sent last time, he's become chieftain. He even took two wives."
At least one of them was a woman I knew. The woman who had pressed a sword to my throat the first time Rowell and I met Orcan. She had been beautiful. Not just her appearance—her eyes, filled with love as she looked at Orcan, had been especially lovely.
"Really? I thought you two didn't get along, but he even sent a letter. I guess you were closer than I thought."
"That's not possible. The letter was addressed to Rowell. There wasn't even a simple greeting for me."
Come to think of it, aside from Orcan, none of the other companions sent letters directly to me either. They only added brief greetings in the letters they sent to Rowell and Aegina.
"Well, I haven't sent any either."
"So in the end, you're the only one left with nothing."
For a moment, I unconsciously gripped the book tighter. Seeing my reaction, a cruel smile I hadn't seen in a long time appeared on her face.
"…What do you mean?"
Even though I tried to sound indifferent, it didn't matter.
"Isn't it obvious? The hero got the princess, and the others gained fame and the status that comes with it. They became special to one another. Of course they did. You all risked your lives together to save the world. But you?"
I tried desperately to stay calm, but I could feel my face stiffening. Conversely, her smile only deepened.
"Of course you gained fame—as the hero's 'companion.' But that just makes you one of many. Status? You're still living in a small house in a rural village. And do you really think you're special to the others? Do they see you that way?"
"……"
I couldn't speak.
Just like the phrase "companion of the hero" suggested, we had only gathered because of Rowell. Yet during our long journey, there had been moments—big and small—that made us special to one another. Medrup and Bagloros had captured an enemy fortress in the Goite Mountains together. Aegina and Lauti had been trapped alone in a collapsed cave for five days. Orcan and Bagloros had dueled to the death in front of enemies to rescue hostages, each trying to sacrifice themselves for the other.
Through such experiences, they had become trusted friends, companions willing to stake their lives on one another for the rest of their days.
But I had no such stories. In almost every situation, I had been with Rowell, or one of several companions, or—on rare occasions—alone. Even the battle at Orsia Hill, where I was said to have played my greatest role, had happened when I was by myself.
Perhaps it was because my abilities were the weakest among the companions.