Proof of Heroism
“Stop! Until he proves himself as the Hero, I will not allow anyone to approach the Saintess!”
The paladins didn’t immediately clear a path just because he claimed to be the Hero. After all, this was the far south, but it was still unmistakably a world where Demon Kings and monsters existed.
“I’ll draw my sword slowly. Only halfway. Since it was bestowed by the Church, any paladin should recognize it at once.”
What was this? He’d been somewhat polite when speaking to me, but the moment he addressed the paladins his manners evaporated like dry ice on a midsummer day.
Even so, the sword he drew halfway had a black core while the edges on either side shone with a translucent white glow. It was unmistakably the blade given to the Hero by the Church. They said that when the Hero poured his power into it, the sword would shine exactly as if Divine Power had been used.
Sure enough, the blade soon blazed with brilliant light, bright enough to serve as a torch all by itself. No doubt about it—this man was the real Hero.
“Everyone, sheathe your weapons. If it is the Hero, we should welcome him.”
The first impression had been a little jarring, but a Hero was still a Hero. The imperial faction of the Church might have broken away claiming they could not acknowledge him, yet the sword only ever activated in the hands of the true Hero.
“Thank you, Saintess. And I am truly grateful for the miracles, mercy, and kindness you have bestowed upon the people I rescued.”
There it was. Maximum courtesy the instant he spoke to me.
No matter how I looked at it, he seemed to view paladins as beneath him, a Saintess as an equal or perhaps slightly above. Then where did he draw the line for equals? Surely he wouldn’t look down on the Patriarch, so maybe an Archbishop? That seemed about the level where he might show such deference.
“The people the Hero rescued, you say? Where did this happen, and what exactly occurred?”
Regardless of his attitude, the claim that he had saved so many lives was not something I could simply let pass. We were still inside Brien Kingdom’s territory; if the Hero had been active here, I needed to hear the details no matter how trivial.
“Those people are the survivors of an entire village that fell into madness. It was a slash-and-burn settlement near the border with the Tellaia Kingdom. I sensed an evil aura and a foul presence, and although I changed direction at once, I still arrived too late.”
Falling into madness—it sounded exactly like a Demon King’s mental attack. That in itself was entirely possible. The Demon Kings were more than capable of it. There was no need for one of them to act personally; even a high-ranking monster commonly called an executive could toy with a slash-and-burn village at will.
The real issue was the location. He had said near the Tellaia-Brien border.
“In the south?”
“No. It was in the north. You likely already knew and were confirming, but the south consists of excessively rugged mountains teeming with monsters, so even slash-and-burn farmers avoid it.”
Yes, that was correct. Even if it had been the south, the problem wouldn’t have vanished. Both Tellaia and Brien were kingdoms located toward the northern part of the continent. The Demon Kings resided in the south. Naturally, organized monster activity was also concentrated there. The academy that accepted influential figures from many nations had not been placed near the empire’s northern border because people were fools. Everything had its reasons.
Yet suddenly, in a slash-and-burn village that had virtually no resistance to such things, the residents had been swallowed by madness. Even the survivors who remained had lost arms or legs, yet it was being treated as no great matter?
“The Church will need to dispatch an investigation team.”
“I was already heading to Romano. I understand the Saintess’s next destination is also Romano. Those people have already found a safe place and settled on their own, so they wish to join you.”
“Very well. Let us help each other.”
“As expected of the Saintess. I knew from the moment you healed them without any compensation and even extended such charity. You are a saintess in the truest sense of the word.”
It had been an action to maintain my brand value as a Saintess, but thanks to that the Hero appeared to have taken a considerable liking to me. In that case, we would stop at Romano and then continue together all the way to the academy.
Wait. According to what he said, had the Hero also been testing me in his own way? Checking whether I was a Saintess who met his standards?
He had said he was sixteen—the same age as this body. Yet he already possessed the cunning to hide among people and test the other party.
“For clergy, that kind of sincerity is only natural. I have never met a clergyman who lacked it.”
“That is true. However, I have heard that lately the Church only accepts the coins it mints in exchange for miracles, and I worried whether its members had become blinded by wealth.”
Saying that in front of paladins and the Saintess. And to the very Saintess who had designed the system herself—though he probably didn’t realize that.
“It is not a matter of being blinded by wealth. It is simply a resolution not to let secular lords steal our original share any longer.”
“…Original share?”
I didn’t know the full circumstances, but the Hero seemed to feel strong antipathy toward that topic. I had thought he possessed a cunning side, but this part of him was still a flower garden.
“That’s right. The original share. The portion that should have been used for the Church to help those in need, to run orphanages properly, and to prevent merchants from taking unfair advantage of the Church.”
The Church was not a pushover. It must not be. Helping the needy required money first, and if the Church acted like a pushover, that kind of money would never accumulate. The person called the Hero didn’t seem stupid, so he should understand quickly, yet it appeared his moral standards were excessively high.
“If that is done, the flow will only reach those who possess miracles. Saintess, consider it.”
“I have considered it. Isn’t it an ironic dilemma? Focus too much on money and people fall into blind spots. Fail to focus on money and you lose any means to help the people in those blind spots.”
“No, Saintess. If everyone possesses the will, it is entirely possible!”
There, there, there. Of course, if everyone had the will it would be possible, but the problem lay in the word “everyone,” not the will. Where in the world could you find unanimous agreement on helping the needy while setting aside financial profit, of all things?
“Hero, let us acknowledge what must be acknowledged. There may be the will, but it cannot belong to everyone.”
“But…”
“The Church itself is currently divided. How can everyone listen to a Church that cannot even become one on its own?”
The new face of the Church was pointing out its own flaws with her own mouth. Even if the Hero was an idealist who valued spiritualism, he could hardly avoid thinking about it now. And that was precisely the opportunity.
“Even so, we must not surrender to reality. We must break through it and advance.”
“I know that. Which is why I intend to mend the Church’s division first. Your role in that will be truly vital. How about it? Will you help me?”
Telling someone like him specifically what to do would be the worst move. How effective could rational, logical explanations be against a Hero steeped in spiritualism and the gospel of guts? They wouldn’t be entirely ineffective, but they would hardly be sufficient.
Therefore, a somewhat romantic approach was necessary. In other words, an emotional appeal in a direction he could empathize with.
“…What should I do first?”
See? A Hero was a Hero after all. He might be idealistic, authoritarian, and fond of talking about perseverance, but justice lay at his foundation.
Whew, good. This is business. Nothing but business.
“First, I would like you to travel with me to the academy. That way the Church, the Pope, and the high-ranking clergy who have not yet met me will be able to sympathize properly with our cause.”
No matter how twisted the Hero’s personality appeared, at his core there was only a sixteen-year-old boy. His background was not particularly extraordinary, nor was any dragon power hidden in his bloodline. And from my own experience, boys that age were really, truly, very active. In quite a variety of senses.
Therefore there was no need for me to pull his arm and press it against my chest. Doing so might even backfire. Besides, I myself was not accustomed to such blatant beauty tactics. Simply holding his hands earnestly with both of mine would be more than enough.
“I-I, uh, u-understand…”
As expected. Still, the fact that he had agreed to accompany me was far more important than his bashful reaction, so my intended first, short, and extremely awkward beauty tactic ended there.
Actually, the clothing had almost no exposure; it wouldn’t even have revealed any cleavage. I hadn’t expected it to work so easily. It wasn’t as if I had sprayed perfume.
“Then, for now, please tell me some stories.”
“Pardon? What sort of stories?”
“You’re the Hero, aren’t you? You must have traveled to many places. Why not tell me how the world works? I’ve only read about it in books.”
Although it was only at the level of hearsay, withdrawing immediately after the beauty tactic succeeded could create discomfort. In other words, after closing the distance I needed to pull back slightly, then gradually draw closer again so he would feel an appropriately intimate distance.
Since he was a Hero capable of recognizing, grasping, and responding to unexpected mental attacks faster than anyone, it was only natural he would have abundant travel experience. Listening to his stories would be enjoyable. And if his storytelling turned out to be mediocre, that would actually be better. If I simply chimed in saying it was interesting, favor would accumulate on its own.
Although the Church had split over the issue of recognizing the Hero, in other words, to seize the initiative while reuniting the Church, I needed to keep the Hero in my grasp. At the very least, I needed the option of whether or not to assist when the empire tried to win him over or assassinate him.
“Ah, no, it hasn’t even been a full year since I set out on my journey.”
Not even a full year. Well, thinking about it, that made sense. The Hero was currently sixteen, so even if it hadn’t been a full year, he had been traveling since he was fifteen. Fifteen—that was still very young. Basically a second-year middle-schooler. And at the age most susceptible to the most fatal disease of one’s entire life: chuunibyou.
“Hero, actually I have been out for less than a month. So please, tell me. We still have some time before departure, don’t we?”
“Yes, that is correct, Saintess, Hero. I will inform you once preparations are complete.”
“Well then…”
During the time the quick-witted paladins had courteously provided, the Hero’s storytelling proved decent for his age but not particularly outstanding. Simply listenable. However, his nicely curling red hair and the deep, sparkling brown eyes that seemed filled with curiosity were enough to make most women feel his storytelling was far better than it actually was. It was the same phenomenon where women burst into laughter at the exact same words when spoken by a handsome man.
“Does it really happen like that? Even if you grill an orc until it’s crispy, the parasites inside don’t die?”
“I was purely curious. They look like green pigs that had a rough childhood, after all. I wondered whether they tasted like pork.”
“And? How was the taste?”
“The smell was promising, but the parasites looked like threads so thin I could barely see them, so I gave up completely. It’s a problem even before the reluctance to eat monsters, so Saintess, even if the opportunity arises, please do not even consider it.”
“Still, hearing about it like this makes me curious about the flavor. Actually, I haven’t even seen an orc monster in person before.”
What was this? Did I have a talent for this area? The way I naturally continued the conversation, chiming in as if the Hero’s stories were interesting, felt so effortless that the thought crossed my mind.
No, was this even something I was faking in the first place?
At any rate, in that important first meeting with the Hero, I had managed to leave and receive a rather good impression. For some reason it felt as though I had made a small mistake, yet I couldn’t quite pinpoint what the reason might be.