The Empty Seat
Meanwhile, at that very moment, the Hero's Party was—
They say that if you wish to know a person's true nature, you need only sit at the same table with them. After all, food, clothing, and shelter form the very foundation of human society, and among them, culinary culture runs deepest of all. What a person eats, how they eat it, and what they speak of while eating—these things lay bare the trajectory of their life. Even the most flawless individual, blessed with beauty, talent, and impeccable character, might reveal themselves to be a psychopath who stirs mint chocolate sauce into sweet-and-sour pork. No one can claim with absolute certainty that such a thing is impossible. No matter how thick the mask one wears to conceal their true self, no superhuman exists who can completely hide their nature when confronted with the primal urge of hunger. This holds true even for those the masses revere as heroes.
"I warned you time and again—if you read at the table one more time, I'll put an arrow between your eyes! Dawna!"
"My word… To take issue with such an efficient method of acquiring both necessary calories and broader knowledge… Are all elves so shackled by such trivial principles, Apis?"
"……"
The red-haired elf woman in the mismatched attire of bow and apron, slamming her foot onto the table as she shouted, was Apis. The black-haired woman whose frail frame looked as though it might collapse in a breeze, the one who had scattered countless books with inconsistent scripts across the table, was Dawna. And the burly man sitting with arms crossed, dozing off without a care for the commotion, was Victim.
To anyone unaware of their identities, the scene would seem like nothing more than siblings squabbling over a trivial matter. But if one knew that each of them possessed enough power to topple a small nation overnight, the sight would evoke the image of helpless villagers caught in a dragon's territorial dispute—desperate to flee as far as possible, driven purely by survival instinct.
Divine Archer. Apis. Archmage. Dawna. Iron Wall. Victim. The Hero's Party. Each of them lived up to their legendary reputation, the sharpest blades humanity could thrust at the Demon King's throat. Their fame had long since become an unshakable truth, sung even by children throughout the Capital.
"You seem determined to test the limits of my patience once more! Very well—if you're so curious, this benevolent soul shall gladly oblige!"
"What nonsense is this? There is no need for such an experiment. Your patience being shallower than an ant's gallstone was already proven during last evening's meal."
"……"
The air was taut with imminent violence. Apis's bowstring was drawn taut, ready to loose at any moment. The mana flowing around Dawna shifted, reshaping itself into blades of ice and raging flames in response to the killing intent. The only one who might have stopped their clash from turning the surroundings into a lifeless wasteland was Victim, the party's vanguard—but he was perpetually half-asleep except in battle, and a mere squabble among comrades would never rouse him.
It did not take long for the situation to spiral beyond anyone's control.
"Hah! Try it, then!"
"To subdue an unreasonable opponent by force… It ill suits me, yet perhaps occasionally descending to your level of barbarism may broaden my horizons…"
Just as the two heroes prepared to clash with hostility far beyond what a petty dinner-table dispute warranted, a voice neither of them should have been able to hear spoke.
Ah, why are you two fighting again?
Both turned sharply toward the empty chair.
Mediating their quarrels had always been his role. Their clashing temperaments and upbringings had never once escalated to the point of shattering the party, and that was only because of the lubricant he provided. Even they themselves dimly understood this.
"Haa… Enough. I'm done. I refuse to bicker with you even while eating…"
"I concur…"
As the two reined in their fighting spirit, the chill in the air gradually subsided.
Half a year had already passed since he vanished, leaving only a single letter behind. Yet the rift between them had only deepened, showing no sign of mending.
With an exasperated sigh, Apis rose from her seat.
"Where are you going?"
"To bring the Hero her meal… She hasn't come down despite it being dinnertime. Knowing her, she's probably buried in work and forgotten to eat again. Remember that incident a while back, when she smashed her own statue with her bare hands after rescuing some nameless human children? No matter the circumstances, destroying something a fan made by hand isn't very heroic, so she's writing a letter of apology to the sculptor herself…"
"I see… A reasonable judgment, for you."
"Hah! Well, aren't you just overflowing with gratitude."
"……Apis."
"What now!"
"Ah, it is nothing… Go on your way."
"Tch."
After Apis carried the plated meal upstairs to the Hero, Dawna, who had been staring at the same page without turning it, murmured softly to herself—words no one would hear.
"Please… come back soon. You… Is this not enough already…? I understand now. I truly do. Without you, I am nothing but a fool who cannot even manage a simple 'thank you' for a meal… If you are watching… If you can see this foolish version of me, then hurry back and scold me properly…"
The faint whisper, too weak to become proper sound, was swallowed by the open book and reached no one.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Apis pressed her forehead against the firmly shut door and steadied her breathing. Ever since that man had suddenly disappeared, facing the Hero always filled her with the same tension as walking unarmed into a monster's den.
"Hero…"
Apis recalled the past. The Hero's gaze had always been steady. Even after he vanished, she never rested, cutting down hordes of monsters with her usual bright smile. She fought for days without sleep, her golden hair stained crimson with blood, yet she kept swinging—slashing, and slashing again. When she single-handedly annihilated hundreds of monsters despite her comrades' pleas to stop, she had seemed like the reincarnation of a hero from human fairy tales.
Was it a sense of duty? Competitive spirit? Or perhaps an attempt to ease her comrades' anxiety over the sudden vacancy? None of those explanations felt quite right. In truth, the reason hardly mattered. The fact that the Hero had thrown herself into battle against countless monsters without regard for her own safety was a deed worthy of respect—one that benefited the Capital, the human race, and the entire world.
But—
"That just isn't like you… Hero…"
In daily life there had always been minor frictions, but on the battlefield—at least on the battlefield—the Hero had seemed no different from usual. Her swordsmanship was flawless, her movements clean and efficient, her coordination with the party impeccable. Yet as someone who had always watched her closely, Apis could not shake the sense of something deeply wrong. She could not put it into words. It was merely an ominous premonition that something was out of place. As though someone who merely resembled her was forcing herself to play the role. Like a candle on the verge of guttering out. Like gunpowder with a lit fuse. A precarious balance that would collapse at the slightest tremor.
And the cause of it all was painfully clear. The raw emotion Apis had failed to suppress finally took shape as resentment toward a certain someone.
"Hey… Just where the hell are you, you idiot… Hurry up and come back…"