The Half-Baked Cleric Wants to Retire
I just want to quit.
Please, for the love of everything holy, let me quit.
That single sentence had become my lifelong mantra, repeated like a prayer every single day for the past few years. And yet here I was, still stuck in this godforsaken position, unable to escape no matter how hard I tried.
My name is Regis. Once upon a time, people called me the Saint of the Holy Sword. Now they just call me the Hero. Whether I like it or not.
I never asked for any of this. I was just an ordinary orphan who happened to pick up a shiny sword one day. The next thing I knew, the damn thing was stuck to my hand, glowing like it had found its soulmate, and suddenly the entire church was kneeling before me, declaring that the prophecy had been fulfilled.
Look, I get it. The world was in danger. The Demon King was rising. Someone had to do something. But why did it have to be me? There were plenty of talented, ambitious, actually qualified people out there. People who wanted power and glory. I just wanted a quiet life, maybe open a small bakery or something. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently yes. Because for the last seven years, I've been dragged from one battlefield to another, swinging this stupid holy sword while priests chanted behind me and nobles cheered from the safety of their castles. I've slain demons, closed rifts, saved kingdoms, and somehow ended up with a growing collection of women who seem dangerously obsessed with me.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about the harem part. At least, not entirely. But when your lovers start showing yandere tendencies and the church starts treating you like a literal god, retirement starts looking really appealing.
Which brings me to today.
I stood in the grand audience chamber of the Holy Capital, the very heart of this corrupt religious empire that had been rebuilt after the Demon King's defeat. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows depicting my own heroic deeds. It was enough to make me want to vomit.
The Pope—old, wrinkled, and far too cunning for his own good—smiled down at me from his elevated throne.
"Hero Regis," he intoned, voice echoing through the hall. "Once again, you have saved us all. The remnants of the Demon King's army have been eradicated. The people sing your praises from every corner of the continent."
I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Your Holiness, about that retirement I mentioned last month..."
"Retirement?" The Pope chuckled as if I'd told a charming joke. "The world still needs its Hero. There are still threats. The northern barbarians grow restless. The southern kingdoms squabble. And the church..." His eyes gleamed. "The church requires your divine presence to maintain order."
In other words, they needed me as a figurehead to keep their power intact. The political restructuring of the church after the war had left them vulnerable, and I was the only thing keeping the faithful in line.
I could feel the familiar weight of responsibility crushing down on me again. The burden of being the chosen one. The guilt from every comrade I'd failed to save during the war. The trauma that kept me up at night, replaying battles I wished I could forget.
But before I could open my mouth to argue, the massive doors to the chamber burst open.
Three women strode in, each radiating enough murderous intent to make the holy knights guarding the room take an involuntary step back.
First came Elena, the high priestess with silver hair and eyes that glowed with barely contained obsession. Her white robes clung to her figure in a way that was definitely not regulation. "Regis," she called, voice sweet enough to give you cavities. "I heard you were back. You didn't come to see me first?"
Behind her was Seraphina, the elven archer whose arrows had saved my life more times than I could count. Her long ears twitched with barely suppressed anger. "Master, if you keep avoiding us like this, I might have to tie you up again. For your own safety, of course."
And bringing up the rear was Lilith, the former demon general who'd defected during the final battle. Her crimson eyes locked onto me with predatory focus. "My beloved husband," she purred, the word dripping with possessive delight. "The palace preparations for our wedding are almost complete. You wouldn't disappoint your favorite wife, would you?"
I hadn't agreed to any wedding. I hadn't agreed to any of this.
The Pope beamed as if this was all perfectly normal. "Ah, the Hero's devoted companions! How wonderful to see such loyalty."
Loyalty. Right. That's what we were calling it.
I sighed deeply, feeling the familiar wave of exasperation wash over me. This was supposed to be my retirement speech. Instead, I was once again surrounded by political intrigue, religious corruption, and three very dangerous women who seemed determined to never let me go.
I just want to quit.
Please, someone, let me quit.
But as Elena's hand slipped into mine with a grip that could crush steel, as Seraphina's eyes promised both love and violence, and as Lilith's tail wrapped possessively around my ankle, I knew the truth.
Retirement wasn't in the cards for me. Not today. Maybe not ever.
The half-baked cleric was going to have to keep playing hero for a while longer. Whether he liked it or not.