Werther Has Appeared
Looking back, the realization that it had not even been a full day since meeting the hero made Atlas let out a hollow laugh. No, it wasn’t even a full day. He had made contact with the hero yesterday evening, brought him to the base camp, offered him hospitality, and after the man fell asleep they had been attacked. By the clock, less than twelve hours had passed. In that short span of time, the base camp erected with painstaking care by the Empire’s elite troops had been annihilated. The soldiers were killed to the last man, without exception. Even the veteran battalion commander with over thirty years of distinguished service now lay as a headless corpse. Those who had died fighting might have been the lucky ones. The rest had fallen under the spell of that repulsive Morphino from the Eight Protection Army and offered their bodies to the enemy. They too must have spent their entire lives training to defeat the Demon King’s forces, only to be reduced overnight to minions of the very demons they had sworn to destroy. It was tragic.
Those were the words his grandfather—the head of the 175th generation Gauss family and the mage of that era’s hero party—had once told him.
Atlas possessed no remarkable talent for magic, so he had never even dreamed of joining the hero’s party. Still, he had joined the Imperial Army and made something of himself by subjugating the lesser demons that appeared in Lydorphia. He feared the Demon King’s army, yet he might have secretly fallen into the arrogance of believing they were not an unbeatable foe.
Reality, however, was cruel. Only four people… no, in truth just one single Morphino, and the Empire’s hand-picked elite soldiers had been wiped out. Even the hero’s party—their sole pillar of support—was in a state of total collapse.
To Atlas’s eyes, the hero’s party presented a truly grotesque sight. The saintess was on her knees, frantically repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” as though apologizing to someone. The elf’s cheeks were flushed like a lovestruck maiden as she muttered incomprehensible words. The knight had completely fainted and lay motionless, while the mage shed sorrowful tears and bid farewell to someone only he could see. They were all still lost inside Morphino’s hypnosis, unable to regain their senses.
“Grandfather… proud ancestor Theodore of the Gauss family… I’m sorry. The family line ends with my generation. Neither the Imperial Army nor the hero’s party is any match… I’m a trash mage not even worth E-rank, so I’ll be dying soon too. Ugh… How frustrating!! Without even putting up a proper fight!!”
Whenever they fell into such desperate straits, the hero was the one who always turned the tide. The hope of all, the cornerstone of the party, was the hero himself. Yet Leonhart, perhaps still traumatized from nearly being burned at the stake, remained unconscious.
If even that pathetic excuse for a hero would stand up and fight, Atlas would genuinely bow his head in respect and worship. But then—
‘…Huh?’
The SI that could see through every kind of status abnormality informed Atlas that the hero was not actually unconscious. He had been at first, but at some point Leonhart’s mind had returned. Since he had been rescued right before the flames could consume him, there was no real physical damage beyond the mental shock, so he had quickly come to his senses. The only reason he was still lying there was obvious.
“That worthless piece of shit… Don’t tell me he’s just pretending to be unconscious because he’s scared? And that’s supposed to be the hero? Fuck, why the hell was a guy like him chosen?”
Once again his grandfather’s words rose in his mind.
When Atlas had asked what he meant, his grandfather had only offered a meaningful smile and refused to elaborate. But now he finally understood. To think a piece of garbage like that was the hero… If Atlas had been given the authority to choose, he would never have handed the Holy Sword to a coward like Leonhart.
…The Holy Sword. That’s right—Holy Sword Exode.
The only weapon in the world said to be capable of killing the Demon King rested at the hero’s waist. Demons and the Holy Sword existed in absolute opposition. Even a commander of the Eight Protection Army would inevitably perish if pierced by it. Since the hero was clearly awake, they had to seize this chance.
Atlas crawled over to the hero, who was still putting on a flawless performance of unconsciousness, and whispered.
“Leonhart. Morphino’s performance is almost over.”
“…………”
“It looks like your party members have suffered severe mental damage. Expecting them to fight hard seems unlikely.”
“…………”
“So here’s my suggestion… While the Eight Protection Army is still off guard, why don’t you launch a surprise attack with your Exode and wipe them all out?”
“…………”
“You son of a bitch! I know you’re awake, so stop pretending to sleep!”
“Ugh!”
The moment Atlas pinched his thigh, Leonhart’s method acting collapsed. The hero opened his narrow eyes and glared.
“What the hell do you want from me? This mess happened because you bastards tried to kill me. I’m innocent.”
“I see there’s nothing left to be disappointed about with you. Still, you are undeniably the one and only hero of this world. Don’t you possess even a shred of pride as the chosen hero?”
“Does pride put food on the table?”
“Then are you really going to keep playing dead like this? If we do nothing, we’ll all die anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to die fighting…?”
“…………”
“Hey.”
“…………”
He was pretending to faint again. It was hopeless. This hero didn’t even have the courage of a cornered rat that bites a cat. The only opportunity had been while the Eight Protection Army was distracted by Morphino’s violin.
Eventually Morphino’s violin fell silent. It signaled that the party members had finished their hundred-day ordeal and returned to reality.
“I’m sorry, Werther… I was wrong, I’m sorry…”
“Ah! The light is back. Have you forgiven me, Werther…?”
“………………….”
“…Someone wake Jeanne up. Her eyes are completely rolled back.”
Cynthia nudged the knight’s side with her foot to bring her back to consciousness. Even Cynthia’s own eyes were puffy and swollen. Of course, their awakening did not improve the situation. They were still doomed to be slaughtered helplessly before the Eight Protection Army. With their minds unstable, expecting any meaningful resistance from the hero’s party had become even more unrealistic.
“How was it, everyone? Did you enjoy the hundred-day journey guided by this Morphino? Peeking into the abyss of the saintess, the elf, the knight, and the mage was quite the novel experience for me. Explosions of intense emotion truly are the highest form of art humanity can create.”
“Hey, Morphino! You’ve had enough fun! It’s my turn now—leave it to Lord Mapharlok! I’ll torment them my way!”
“My, my. According to rank, shouldn’t the turn pass to Luci, commander of the third legion?”
“I’m not particularly interested, so let Mapharlok do as he likes.”
“True… The only ones who could stop an excited Mapharlok would be Lord Beelzebub or Lord Bael. Lord Bael is dead, and Lord Beelzebub, as always, seems uninterested in what we’re doing.”
“…Not entirely, it seems.”
Luci, whose face blended decadence and elegance in equal measure, looked toward Beelzebub with interest. Morphino shrugged, a question mark floating over his theatrical features as if he had no idea what she meant.
“Morphino’s methods are too old-fashioned! Mental anguish? How boring. Smashing their bodies is far more cheerful and dynamic!”
“Uwaaaaagh!! Let go! Please let go!!!”
Mapharlok grabbed Leonhart’s skull with one hand and lifted him into the air. To Mapharlok, a human skull was as fragile as an ant’s waist. Leonhart flailed helplessly in midair, weeping and begging for his life.
“It hurts! It hurts, demon lord! Please spare me! Hic… hic… I’ll do anything you ask!”
“What the hell is this guy? Is he seriously the hero? And wait—you were awake the whole time and just pretending to be unconscious?”
“Please spare me. Just spare my life, please please… I’ll do anything. Anything at all. I’ll become a dog for the demon lords, so please, just my life…”
“Fuck, is this guy really the hero? Is this piece of trash seriously our fated enemy, Morphino?”
“You can see for yourselves. That object at his waist is unmistakably the Holy Sword. Even touching it would be dangerous for us, so please be careful. Now that I think about it, if he really was pretending to be unconscious earlier, we might have been in serious danger if he had struck while we were off guard.”
Atlas let out a low groan and hung his head. That was when he noticed the wet patch on the grass. He wondered if it was raining, but no. It was the trace of Leonhart wetting himself. The man was a living example of the lesson that beneath the floor there is always a deeper floor.
“Ah, fuck! The bastard pissed himself! Goddamn…”
“S-s-s-s-s-spare my life, please spare me.”
“Is that the only thing this guy knows how to say? Hey! You’re the hero, right? Then pick up the Holy Sword and fight me! One on one! If you win, I’ll spare all your comrades!!”
The party members, now fully conscious, watched with wide eyes as Mapharlok held their hero. Leonhart was still a man. Surely he could at least risk his life magnificently for the women. No—he was not merely a man. He was the hero. Fighting for his comrades was supposed to be his very duty. The party members clung to one last thread of hope.
Especially Jeanne, who had sworn infinite loyalty to him, prayed desperately that Leonhart would roar with righteous fury and cut the enemy in two with the Holy Sword.
Yet what they witnessed was not the conduct of a hero, but the pathetic groveling of an irresponsible man who could not even be a proper head of a household.
“P-please, demon lord… spare me… My comrades… I offer them to you. They are talented. They will surely be of great use to the demon lords… So please… just spare me…”
“…This idiot doesn’t even seem worth keeping alive. Hey! Can I just kill him?”
It was then that Beelzebub warned in his husky voice.
“Be careful, Mapharlok. Even a lowly life is still a life worth preserving.”
“Hah? What nonsense are you spouting, Beelzebub? This bastard isn’t even worth being careful about. If I just put a little strength into my hand, he’ll go crunch and die.”
“!! An arrow! Dodge it, Mapharlok!!”
“—What?”
The dark mage Luci noticed the incoming arrow a beat later than Beelzebub and shouted, but her warning was too late for Mapharlok. By the time the thought “I need to dodge” formed in his mind, the arm holding the hero had already been severed and was rolling across the ground.
“Uwaaaaaagh! My arm!! What the fuck, who did that!!!”
The balrog clutched the severed stump and screamed. Morphino scanned all directions in case an arrow was coming for him too.
“What is this? To sever Mapharlok’s arm in a single shot. Who on earth? Did a sage-class mage just happen to be passing by?”
“Where did it come from? Who—! Ah! Over there?! That purple-haired little girl! Don’t tell me that kid cut off Mapharlok’s arm? His temper is rough, but he is the second-in-command of the Eight Protection Army!”
Luci spotted the girl riding in the carriage who appeared to have fired the arrow.
“Second-in-command or not, there is still an overwhelming gap between him and the first. Besides, the one we should truly be wary of is not the fledgling archer. There is one more behind her.”
Beelzebub had already fixed his gaze on the direction the attack had come from. Rather than the girl happily jumping around with her bow, he was watching the handsome young man driving the carriage.
The carriage carrying Werther and Vanessa rumbled loudly as it entered the base camp.
“Wow! I hit him, Werther oppa! From this far away! If it wasn’t for me that guy would have died! I saved a life!”
“It wasn’t a life worth saving, though. If I had to choose, it would have been better to let him die.”
The hero’s party, including Leonhart, stared at the approaching Werther with eyes wide in disbelief. Why was he here? It made no sense. Yet the one more shocked than even the hero’s party was Atlas. Having instantly recognized Werther’s true worth alongside Beelzebub, he was struck by an even greater shock than when the hero’s rank had been measured as F.
The fact that the purple-haired archer was AA-class was surprising enough. At that level, she would have been worthy of special recruitment as a general in the Imperial Army. However, the class of the young man driving beside her was even more unexpected.
Vanessa Valentine — AA-Class
Werther — X-Class
X-class was a “unmeasurable” judgment given when someone possessed skills so overwhelmingly superior to their average stats that normal assessment became impossible. For example, if someone had a body so weak that a dog bite could kill them through sepsis, yet also possessed a finishing move capable of destroying an entire city, it would be ambiguous whether to call them weak or strong—hence the unmeasurable verdict. Yet even Atlas’s grandfather, who had been the mage of the hero’s party, had said he had never encountered an X-class in his lifetime. It was the stuff of legends found only in ancient historical texts.
Could that young man truly possess a skill on par with the powers of antiquity?
Atlas raised the precision of his SI to the maximum to uncover the secrets of the skills Werther possessed.