Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Scar-6
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"Good work! Um, water first..."
The porter could only watch that mythical battle unfold.
The Hero's arm was torn open, and the mage's fingertips on both hands were charred black from her own spell.
The Saintess looked relatively unscathed, but the sweat beading on her forehead and her unsteady steps revealed just how intense the fight had been.
Even the archer, who was supposed to fire arrows from a safe distance, was bleeding from wounds all over her body from the tree monster's bullet-like branches.
The tree monster, corrupted by magic, had whipped the Hero with its massive trunk while simultaneously attacking those providing support from afar.
Drawing its attention was, naturally, the archer's role. She had screamed and buried arrows deep into the tree, sharing the brunt of its fury with the Hero.
Her thin clothes were soaked with sweat, revealing her figure without reserve, but the porter couldn't bring himself to think of it as lewd.
Because the stains on her clothes weren't just sweat. Blood, dirt, and splintered wood fragments clung chaotically to her garments, weighing down her body.
The porter had done almost nothing. Even if he had tried something, it wouldn't have changed a thing.
He had at least opened his canteen to bring her water, but the archer cut him off with a cold expression.
"Don't come any closer."
The archer knew her reaction wasn't rational.
It wasn't from the Hero, who possessed strength and nobility—just a barbaric, weak human. But his actions were undeniably kind.
Not as pleasing as kindness from one of her own elves, perhaps, but it was still something to be glad about, like a dog or monkey wagging its tail to greet its master.
Yet Nerwen couldn't feel simple joy. The battle had left her unsatisfied, and her body, pushed to its limits, was utterly exhausted.
And no matter how charitably she tried to view it, the porter's body was far too pristine compared to hers, fresh from the brink of death and covered in blood.
"Understood!"
The porter was a bit flustered but immediately moved to support the others.
Nerwen knew it was unreasonable to show hostility to the porter here. Even if he had joined the fight, he couldn't have torn off so much as a sliver of bark from that magic-infused tree.
But emotional anger was a separate matter. Seeing someone safely hidden away while others endured life-or-death struggles wasn't pleasant.
Unlike the priestess or mage, he lacked even the bare minimum means to protect himself. Without him, she could have drawn the tree monster's attention a bit less dramatically.
And when she thought of that smell of his, there was no way she could like him.
Even so, he was rushing desperately to the next person.
"Are you alright, Hero?"
"Ah, it's you... I'm managing. Thanks."
The Hero, who had been sent flying several meters by massive tree branches, still hadn't lost her composure.
After glancing around at the others for a moment, the Hero whispered softly to the porter.
"...Sorry. This wasn't what was promised to you."
What she and her father had initially promised was a comfortable life. Taking on the responsibility that was never his to begin with and receiving that power in exchange—that was the deal.
But on the Hero's party's journey, time was life itself. Escorting him safely from afar with an army, as before, simply couldn't keep up with the schedule.
And an army couldn't enter the Demon King's lands, only small units, so it was a method that couldn't be sustained.
"It's fine."
Carrying the luggage and trying to help the others however he could—that was his own choice.
"Thank you."
"You can give me more if needed. I know it's not my place to say, but... it's necessary."
Ironically, the one most sensitive to death was the porter.
The mage and archer felt regret and sadness, but nothing more.
The Saintess grieved every time someone died, but she had witnessed no small number of deaths. Resignation that life and death were inevitable had taken root in her heart.
But that man treated the death of even one unrelated person as a monumental event.
As if something horrific, abominable, and utterly unacceptable had occurred.
No matter where he came from, there must have been wars there too. Friends or family lost to beasts, accidents, or illness.
Yet he acted as if he were completely unaware of such things, desperately trying to prevent death.
"I'll endure as long as I can."
"We might have to ask even more of you. I hate to admit it, but if you say the word... I'll demand it of you."
"Doesn't matter. If it's necessary."
At that time, that's what the porter thought.
///// -Ahh... Feels good. There, around the hilt... Oh, that's refreshing.
"Don't talk nonsense."
He was just wiping the sword with a handkerchief. Thanks to some mystical power, it was relatively clean, but even a tiny speck could throw off the blade's trajectory.
"So, what are you going to do?"
"...Stay."
I had no intention of risking my life for these people. I'd already done enough.
But this wasn't particularly dangerous. In the worst case, even in the thick of battle, I'd have room to escape. Though that would mean abandoning the soldiers who came out to fight alongside and saving only my own skin.
As long as I wasn't throwing myself alone into a horde of orcs to protect them for real, my life wasn't at risk.
"I'll do it until I can't anymore..."
But the war situation might not be as hopeless as it seemed. There could be more conscriptable troops than expected, or reinforcements might arrive.
If these people all died just because I wasn't there, that would be too regrettable.
-Yeah, that's what a Hero should do! Don't worry. As long as you hold me, victory is assured... Eek!
I smacked the hilt of the holy sword with my palm. With a cute squeal, the holy sword shut up.
The holy sword occasionally said useful things and was basically on my side, but honestly, I couldn't fully trust it.
If anything, it was overly optimistic and didn't think things through.
-No, really! For real...
"You've changed a lot. I didn't notice back then... but now I get it."
"What?"
"I didn't think you'd agonize over this and make that decision."
Nerwen looked at me with pitying, sympathetic eyes. It wasn't pleasant.
"So, you're upset?"
"Whatever choice you make, I won't object."
Nerwen sat in the corner of the inn room, whittling arrows. Normally, she wouldn't use such makeshift ones, but right now, there were too many enemies to kill.
"I swore to you. If you just take me to the World Tree, I'll do anything you want."
"Yeah."
"Even if you told me to kill all those people, or hunt down an entire orc horde alone—I'd carry out the order."
She valued bloodline and honor even more than the Hero did. For her, breaking a promise with a monkey like me would be a greater humiliation than bowing her head to one.
"My personal feelings don't matter. But still..."
Uncharacteristically, Nerwen trailed off. I didn't particularly value our conversations anyway, so I ignored it and went back to cleaning the sword.
"What I shattered was truly beautiful. That's what I've come to think."
So I couldn't understand her words.
///// "Oh dear... You're not someone we can welcome with open arms. What brings you to this humble place?"
He was an old man in plain priestly robes.
But just from his voice, Celia could sense his terrifying faith and well-honed physique.
"I have a question..."
With her eyes covered by cloth and her head bowed low, Celia leaned on her staff, stumbling forward.
Though she couldn't see it, the old man's friendly smile had stiffened noticeably, enough to feel the strangeness.
"I can't imagine why the church's Saintess would visit our Erinis sect. If it's about revenge on that baron, by any chance..."
"N-No! It's not about needing revenge or wanting it! I just... have a question..."
Silence fell. But Celia felt the tension ease slightly.
"That's a relief. Turning away requests aimed at you was quite the ordeal."
"R-Really? But this place... they'd take anyone..."
The Goddess of Revenge didn't discriminate. She didn't distinguish between sinners and saints, beggars and royals.
Of course, this was an orphanage and a church, so all they could offer was prayer. But even that boosted the success rate of vengeance considerably.
People who made a living proxy-revenging could connect with those seeking it, and just receiving the Goddess of Revenge's blessing gave comfort and hope for success.
"True. But most clam up when asked to bring the victim themselves. Erinis is the Goddess of Revenge, not Judgment—we can't lift a finger without the victim's will."
"Ah..."
"That aside, many in your faith hold grudges against you. I'm afraid even this long chat will make them shun me."
Celia started to retort aloud but quietly closed her mouth. It might be common sense in a goddess's church, but here it'd just be dismissed as a joke.
"So, why are you here?"
"P-Priest... um, that is..."
Trembling, Celia stated why she had come.
"Do you... hear the voice of God?"