Saving the Princess
The bitch can say whatever she wants. I don’t need to hear it.
“W-wait a second, you porter—! How dare you interrupt the words of the absolutely stunning beautiful girl Lady Cynthia? You think you’ll get away with that… huh? W-what is it? Why are you coming closer! D-don’t hit me!”
As Werther strode forward with pure venom in his eyes, Cynthia scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. Yet his footsteps only grew farther away.
“W-what the hell, Werther? You picking a fight? Fine, come at me if you’ve got the guts!”
He advanced on the hero without hesitation. The same hero who had been happily tormenting the porter now panicked openly the moment Werther dropped the act and charged, his hands shaking like leaves. Cowardice ran in his blood.
“F-fine. I’ll show you exactly how strong I am. The power of a true hero whose bloodline is on another level from a mutt like you… wait, what?”
“…Bunch of idiots. Get lost.”
But Werther simply shoved the hero aside with a stony face and glared fiercely at the thick underbrush. In that instant a snake shot upward with terrifying speed and sank its fangs into his neck. No human reflex could have dodged it.
“Son of a… bitch.”
Werther’s face turned deathly pale in a heartbeat. The porter who had saved the hero’s life dropped to one knee as his vision blurred. Even after landing its strike, the snake flicked its tongue in clear dissatisfaction. Its true target had never been some worthless small fry.
It changed direction and began slithering toward the hero, who had fallen on his ass and was trembling violently.
“Not one step closer! You will not touch my lord!”
Jeanne’s arming sword flashed. The snake was sliced in two, and the assassination attempt ended in failure.
“This is a banni snake. Its defensive power is low, but its killing ability is so potent it can threaten even high-ranking demons. One bite and your limbs go numb in five seconds, your blood coagulates in ten, and brain death follows in thirty. A truly horrifying monster. Well done, Jeanne.”
“I didn’t do it for you, Theresa. But you sure know a lot about them.”
“The Demon King’s army loves using banni snakes for assassinations. The incident three years ago that shook the entire continent—the Pope’s assassination—was their doing. The Empire’s knight commander and Lydorphia’s Guardian Duke Zero were both guarding him, yet the snake slipped in silently, bit the Pope’s ankle, and escaped.”
Theresa, who had attended the Pope’s funeral as a nun of the Grand Church, spoke while covering the gruesome remains with sand.
“W-wait, then what about Werther? It definitely bit his neck earlier, didn’t it?”
Sharon’s pointed elf ears drooped. The entire party turned their gazes to Werther’s back. They had all clearly witnessed the fangs sinking into his neck.
“…Fuck. Goddamn it, this hurts like hell. Shit… guess I won’t be eating ice cream anytime soon.”
“Werther. Are you still alive?”
“What kind of stupid question is that, Theresa? Did hanging around Cynthia lower your IQ?”
“I knew you were tough, but to not even lose consciousness after a banni snake bite… just how durable is your body? In any case, thank you for saving the hero’s life, Werther.”
Saintess Theresa offered the party’s gratitude.
“Hmph! This once, I acknowledge it. Protecting my lord was truly impressive.”
Jeanne gave warm praise.
“That was incredible! I grew up in the forest my whole life and I never even sensed the snake coming!”
Sharon flailed excitedly and patted Werther’s shoulder.
“Wait… so you were trying to catch the snake? I got scared for nothing— I mean, that’s not what I— Ohohoho! As a reward for catching the snake, I shall specially allow you to be my pillow tonight! You may kowtow in gratitude to the absolutely stunning beautiful girl Lady Cynthia!”
Cynthia let out a sigh of relief and expressed her “gratitude” in her usual manner.
Everyone was congratulating Werther on his rare accomplishment, but one person alone refused to join the warm atmosphere. Leonhart wore a sullen scowl.
“Ugh… it hurts so fucking much. My throat kills every time I swallow. Heal me already, Theresa.”
“Shut the hell up!!”
The hero suddenly roared. He forced a solemn expression, desperately trying to pretend his earlier trembling fear had never happened.
“Theresa! Isn’t your healing power supposed to exist for me, the hero?”
“Well… yes, but—”
“Then don’t waste mana on a mere porter! For the record, I was only pretending to be scared to lure the banni snake. Jeanne! You interfered unnecessarily!”
“Pardon? Ah, um… I-I’m sorry?”
No matter how loyal she was, even Jeanne found the excuse too ridiculous to swallow. But the hero was fuming so hard that the rest of the party had no choice but to humor him. On top of nearly dying moments ago, the fact that everyone was fussing over Werther instead of him had finally triggered the narrow-minded hero’s tantrum.
“I knew the snake was after me! I deliberately lured it!”
“Like hell you did, you pathetic bastard.”
“What?! Werther, you—!!”
The Holy Sword Exode soared into the air. If it came down, it would split the skull of the very porter who had just saved him. The hero, lost to rage and about to commit friendly fire, suddenly noticed the horrified looks on his companions’ faces and froze.
This time even they seemed to think he had gone too far; their eyes were shaking. Even Jeanne.
After calming down, he realized killing the man really would be excessive. So he chose a different form of punishment.
“Kuk… you bastard. If you’re so proud of that endurance, why don’t you make it your official job?”
“Huh? What are you on about?”
“I am the hero. Cynthia is the mage, Theresa the saintess, Sharon the elf, Jeanne the knight. Everyone has a proper role, yet you’re still just a porter? The porter job doesn’t even exist in a real party! Therefore I shall graciously create a new position called ‘Tanker’ for you. From now on you will serve the party as our meat shield.”
“There’s no such job as tanker either… Forget it. Arguing with you is a waste of breath.”
Unlike the hero, Werther had zero interest in childish ego contests. He stayed focused on his goal.
“Fine… Then from now on I’ll stand at the front and become the shield that protects you all from monsters. In exchange, I’m begging you—please let’s leave Lydorphia and head east. I’m asking you nicely.”
Even after getting bitten by a banni snake to save the hero, instead of thanks he had nearly been killed. Despite the absurd treatment, Werther swallowed his complaints and bowed deeply in earnest plea.
“I genuinely want to defeat the Demon King. Our party’s only purpose is to subjugate the Demon King, isn’t it? If you’re worried about the Demon King’s army, I’ll stand in front and take the first hits. So please, stop wasting time circling the suburbs and let’s move toward our real objective. I’m begging you. Do that much and I… I’ll block every monster as your meat shield.”
“Yeah, yeah—”
The hero’s answer was utterly insincere. Naturally, Werther’s desperate wish was never granted.
Not only the Demon Continent—even Grimoire remained a distant dream. The hero party continued their pointless wandering around Lydorphia.
Of course Lydorphia still had monsters. In essence, they were simply cleaning up the scraps that had seeped into the superpower nation.
Werther had raged at first that this broke their agreement, but he gradually fell silent. Whenever a monster appeared, everyone’s eyes turned to him with the silent command: You go first.
So Werther would step forward alone and face the beasts with nothing but his bare body—no magic, no skills, no swordsmanship. He didn’t fight them. He simply endured their attacks.
He possessed no special techniques aside from inhuman endurance. That endurance alone was superhuman; it bought the party time to leisurely analyze the enemy, devise strategies, and finish the monsters off once they were exhausted. Theresa and Sharon usually studied the foe while Jeanne or Cynthia delivered the killing blows. Leonhart took the last hit with the holy sword.
“…Heh. The holy sword absorbed the Demon King’s army’s power again. Just how much stronger can someone like me become… hehehe.”
“An easy victory, my lord.”
“Total domination. We’ve gotten insanely strong, haven’t we? When was the last time we even took damage?”
“All thanks to our lord’s guidance. We are steadily powering up through divine energy.”
“Ohohohoho! And it’s all because I’m such a beautiful girl… Huh? Where’s Werther?”
Growth without effort. Victory without wounds. A journey without meaning.
By then Werther was already sick of everything.
“Haa… haa… fucking bastards… it hurts so goddamn much. Why doesn’t the Rune of Immortality block pain too? What a broken shitty game… cough! Fuck…”
While his comrades reveled in victory, Werther was nowhere to be seen. Cynthia slipped away from the others, who were debating which wine to drink to ease their fatigue, and found him sitting alone in a dark swamp.
No one got hurt?
His body was covered in lacerations and bruises. Hot blood still streamed from the wounds. Even Theresa, the party’s healer, had stopped casting recovery magic on him, trusting only his unnatural regeneration.
Familiarity eventually becomes expectation. No one cared anymore when Werther bled. No one paid attention to the way his heart was breaking.
He himself had realized it long ago. It was already too late.
Three years had passed since he reincarnated into this game world. Far too long for a sister who couldn’t even walk on her own to survive alone.
Couldn’t he just call for help? Werther knew better than anyone that if Jiwon believed her brother had abandoned her, she would choose suicide over asking strangers for aid.
“Fuck… what the hell am I even doing here… hic… ow, it hurts. It hurts, Jiwon… I’m in so much pain… ow… hic… hic…”
“……….”
Cynthia, who had come to invite him to the celebration, froze solid at the sound of his broken sobs. Her heart plummeted.
In the dark swamp before her, Werther—skin riddled with puncture wounds—cried bitterly. Behind her, around the bright bonfire, the rest of the party, completely uninjured and sweating as if they had merely played a light game of tennis, happily uncorked bottles of wine.
“…O-oh—hohoho! D-did something difficult happen? C-crying like that when you’re just a porter, how pathetic! If it’s that bad I can kick your butt for you! Perfect comfort for a pervert like you, right? R-right?!”
“……………”
Cynthia had tried to cheer him up in her own way, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She still wonders sometimes what she should have said instead.
And not long after that, Werther died right before their eyes.
Looking back now, Cynthia thought from her bed in the detached palace, perhaps it had been suicide.
Suicide! Suicide of all things!
In the dark of night, Cynthia shook off her thoughts and slipped out of the quiet bedroom.
“Huk… heuk… Werther is dead. I’ve been caught by my damned father again. I’ll have to live forever as his puppet!”
“A person is free from the moment they are born.”
That was what Werther had told her that day.
“Heuk… heuk…!”
Cynthia ran barefoot through the detached palace garden. Blood flowed from her soles where she stepped on glass shards, but she did not slow down. Strangely, the closer she came to death, the more alive she felt.
“Your Highness! Princess! Please stop!”
Perma, who had sensed the ominous atmosphere and been unable to sleep, chased after her. With a face that looked far older than his years, he desperately tried to dissuade the princess who was rushing toward death.
“If you go any farther you will leave the barrier! A terrible curse is engraved on it—blood will gush like a fountain from every pore!”
“Huk… heuk…!”
Cynthia halted, breathing hard. She had already felt the boundary line radiating sinister magic; she was a mage, after all. An overwhelmingly powerful barrier. It had to have been created by hundreds of absurdly strong mages working together under the emperor’s orders. There was no way she could break it alone.
So… it was perfect.
“Old man!! I refuse to live as my father’s doll!!”
Cynthia screamed until her throat tore.
“I know… heuk… heuk… I’ll think of a solution with you, so please come back first—ugh!! My neck!!”
“Don’t push yourself, old man. The Slave’s Mark won’t let you rebel against that damned father of mine, will it?”
“You knew… ugh…”
“If I die, I might meet Werther again in the afterlife. Then I’ll finally be able to tell him what I wanted to say! So… I’m going!”
“You mustn’t! Your Highness!!”
Tears streamed down Perma’s face as he watched Cynthia cautiously reach toward the barrier. The memory of the day he first held her as a newborn baby suddenly flooded back, wetting his eyes.
“Raise Cynthia well.”
With a single command from the emperor, Perma had become her tutor and remained at her side ever since. Yet because of unavoidable circumstances he had committed a grave sin against the princess. He had believed it couldn’t be helped. After all, the emperor had ordered it.
The emperor was absolute. Even the Guardian Duke, greatest mage in the empire, was merely a subject who bowed before him. Who would dare oppose the emperor?
But this young princess was fighting her father with her life on the line.
“Your Highness… If only I had possessed even a fraction of your courage… kugh…!”
The affection he felt for the princess and the burning hatred he felt for the emperor both surged, yet the Slave’s Mark seared the back of his neck like molten iron. Still, the moment her palm touched the barrier, Perma made his decision.
If, by some miracle—one in a billion— the princess survived and crossed beyond the barrier, he would reveal everything. The full truth of the gaslighting born from the emperor’s conspiracy. All of it.
“Haa… haa… Werther… Werther… I… I have something I must tell you… the words I should have said back then…”
The closer she drew to the barrier, the fiercer the whirlwind became, slicing like blades. Her signature rolled hair whipped wildly. Her heartbeat thundered at its peak.
Dying was terrifying. Nevertheless, the princess summoned her courage and stretched out her hand—
“What? What words? I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
Yet the hand that should have been gushing blood from the terrible curse was caught in a firm grip. This voice… could it be? No. Maybe? No… it couldn’t be. No matter what, this was too brazen a dream.
“Princessssss!!!”
Perma was screaming. Why? Because she was dying? But it didn’t hurt. Someone was holding her hand tightly. Was this the grim reaper? Aah… she was too scared to open her eyes.
“Hey, you bitch. When someone shows up, the least you can do is acknowledge them. Ah, for fuck’s sake. I went through all that trouble to tear open the barrier.”
“…………”
No way. That voice, that tone, the casual way he called the princess a bitch. There was only one person those details could point to.
Cynthia slowly opened her eyes.
Inside the forcibly ripped gap in the barrier stood Werther, bleeding as if rain were pouring from his body, yet perfectly, unmistakably alive.
“Is this… a lie?”
“Don’t cry so disgustingly. I only came to keep my promise. I’ll help you this once, and after that we won’t meet again. Come on, follow me. I’ll get you out of the imperial palace.”
In the palm he held out so confidently were clumps of the emperor’s beard he had ripped away. Cynthia grabbed that hand without the slightest hesitation.