The Hero Is Pathetically Weak
The hero was too damn weak—and Leonhart got the absolute shit beaten out of him.
“Guhk! Th-this can’t be… I won. I clearly won…”
“What? You still haven’t had enough?”
“Aaaagh!”
I shoved my fist into his mouth, and something flew out in a perfect arc. The entire crowd tilted their heads up in unison, then followed its descent like they were performing a synchronized mass game. When it hit the ground—
“It’s a tooth.”
“His tooth got knocked out?”
“Wait… he got his teeth smashed in with a bare fist? The hero? Isn’t he way too weak?”
Now you get it, you idiots.
“This is bullshit… you fucking bastard… I definitely cut you down.”
“I just let you cut me. On purpose.”
I wanted to show them that even the Holy Sword couldn’t kill me. But this idiot seems to think he actually took me down with his flashy swordplay. Typical. Show these types even the slightest opening and they immediately get cocky.
“I killed you. I definitely sliced your throat… guh!”
Of course Leonhart knew about my abnormal durability. He was the one who used me as a meat shield for three whole years. He’d seen me get trampled by monsters and stand back up like nothing happened countless times. Yet he still thought I was just “unusually tough.”
I never explained the Rune of Immortality to him, sure, but there’s a limit to how stupid you can be. Even if I had insane endurance, he was utterly convinced that decapitating me would end the fight. That’s why he charged straight for my carotid artery without hesitation from the very start.
I could’ve dodged easily, but the fact that he believed my deliberate sacrifice was his own achievement was just infuriating. Or maybe that’s just Leonhart being Leonhart. Listing every single brain-dead thing this guy has done would be a waste of space, so I’ll stop here.
“I don’t understand… Fine, your toughness I can accept. But why am I the one getting beaten by a nobody like you? What is this…? This pain…? I can’t breathe. What kind of magic is this?”
“Magic my ass. Your nose is bleeding, that’s why. And since you’re not dying, quit whining.”
“Your fist technique… I’ve never seen anything like it. The moment I came to my senses, the ground was rushing up at me…”
“That’s called boxing.”
“B-boxing…? Never heard of it.”
“If you don’t know it, just shut up and get hit.”
BAM! BAM! BAM!
With his collar grabbed, Leonhart couldn’t resist at all as his face was pummeled in rapid succession. The spectators were so terrified they couldn’t even swallow, silently watching the hero’s face swell up like a balloon.
“Uuu… ugh…”
His lips burst open like a catfish, his cheekbones collapsed, and the flesh of his face looked ready to slide right off. Only then did Leonhart finally stop spitting out arrogant nonsense. At this point, even ten years of pent-up frustration had mostly cleared, and my rage had mostly cooled.
Of course, this wasn’t nearly enough revenge—my guts that Bael had ripped open were still screaming in agony—but throwing a tantrum here would be stupid. I pretended to choke him, pressing my face close, and whispered so quietly no one else could hear.
“Hey. Is Cynthia really dead?”
“…Cough! W-why are you asking that?”
“Just answer the question.”
“…Cough!”
“This son of a bitch.”
“I-I get it! I’ll talk!”
There are always people who only understand when you raise your fist. People like Leonhart.
“I… I don’t actually know if she’s dead or not.”
“What the hell do you mean you don’t know? What exactly happened?”
“…We were attacked by orcs. I thought we could obviously wipe them out, so I let my guard down. But for some reason we couldn’t handle them at all.”
Of course you couldn’t. All your strength came from my skill buffs. Right now you’re all just pathetic trash.
“During the fight, Cynthia took a hit meant for me and fell off a cliff… I can only assume she’s dead.”
“Then why did you come back to the imperial palace?”
“…The imperial army found us almost at the same time as the orcs. With what happened to Cynthia and everything, I came back half willingly, half by force, to get treated… ugh… why are you even asking this?”
“One last question. Where exactly were you attacked by the orcs?”
“…P-Pluton Forest.”
I see. That explains everything.
Having no more questions, I used the last of my strength to hurl Leonhart to the ground and stomped on his head. It was the most obvious victory pose imaginable. Several people even started sketching it, as if they wanted to record the moment.
I later learned that the famous painter Hernando Duchamp had been present and quickly sketched me with my foot on the hero’s head using croquis technique. That drawing apparently sold for 1,500 shillings. Not that it really matters.
“So what’s it gonna be, Leonhart? You surrendering? Or do you want to keep fighting? If you want to keep going, how about we stop playing around and start the slaughter for real?”
“…………”
As the emperor had mentioned, a “self-admitted defeat” was considered the greatest humiliation in the world of warriors. There was even a story about the only son of a certain ducal house who, on the verge of death in a duel against a clearly superior opponent, surrendered—and was immediately disowned. He ended up working as a cleaner in the very mansion he used to live in just to survive. I read it in the newspaper, so it wasn’t an urban legend. It was fact.
Knights in particular would rather die than surrender. If they begged for their lives and survived, their comrades would treat them as already dead. They’d become living ghosts—people would ignore them when spoken to, take their food tray while they were eating, steal their blankets while they slept. They’d torment them until the victim could no longer feel alive, eventually driving them to suicide.
So if the hero—the pinnacle of all knights—openly admitted defeat with his own mouth? He’d be socially buried alive.
That said, this guy wasn’t some hot-blooded hero brave enough to laugh in the face of death either. If he had been, I wouldn’t have been kicked out of the party before even seeing the Demon King’s face.
“Hey. Stop pretending to be unconscious and answer already. Or I’ll really cut your head off with Exode.”
“………I… I admit… defeat.”
Suddenly, among the countless gazes fixed on this spot, I felt one pair of eyes burning especially hot. When I looked, I saw Theresa, Jeanne, and Sharon standing beside the renowned Prime Minister, the Guardian Duke Zero. All three wore expressions of pure shock, trembling.
Hah. The way they each muttered their disbelief only pissed me off more. They were talking like it had nothing to do with them, but right now, not just Leonhart—you three are trash too, you know?
Just looking at them made the flames of rage that had barely died down flare up again like sulfur.
“Uwaaaaaagh!!”
“If you’re not going to surrender, I’ll just kill you.”
“I-I understand…! I admit defeat! I lost! Guh! P-please stop…!”
I stole Exode and lightly stabbed it into his thigh, and the so-called hero immediately raised the white flag. Pathetic. Even the regular soldiers watching now looked at him with open contempt.
Jeanne looked like she was about to cry. Theresa was muttering some kind of prayer again. Sharon kept trying to make eye contact like she wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t even glance her way.
“Did you all see that? This bastard is just insanely weak! Princess Cynthia simply died because Leonhart failed to protect her! It has nothing to do with me!”
The only people gathered here were royalty and nobles from various countries. In this atmosphere, no one dared to argue with me. Feeling confident, I raised my voice even louder.
“Anyone else got a problem? Step forward! I’ll turn you into mush just like Leonhart!”
““…………””
Honestly, if a truly strong opponent showed up, I’d just become a sandbag. But to these people who thought the hero was overwhelmingly powerful, I must have looked like some mysterious powerhouse with unfathomable strength. None of them dared to challenge me.
“Hahaha. Who would dare challenge the monster who overwhelmed the hero? The duel ends here. As the witness, I shall declare the victor. Hahaha!”
For some reason, the emperor clapped cheerfully and ended the match. I thought I’d finally saved my life, but the emperor stood up and beckoned to me.
“I have something I wish to discuss with you. Follow me.”
“…Sure.”
As it happened, I also had questions for the emperor. Ignoring the hero who looked like his life was over and was letting out miserable groans, as well as my former comrades’ worried faces (except Jeanne—her irritated expression practically screamed “enemy of my lord!”), I was granted the rare honor of a private audience with the emperor in the reception room.
I didn’t know the proper etiquette for such a formal occasion, so I just knelt roughly to show some respect.
“Hahaha. My eyes must have been truly blind. To think I failed to recognize a talent like you.”
“You seem to be in an awfully good mood. The hero you poured massive capital into just got humiliated in front of the public. Doesn’t that put a dent in Your Majesty’s tribute business?”
“Hmm! You understand exactly how money flows. I like you even more now.”
The emperor personally poured me a drink. It was a fine wine, incomparably better than the free beer I got from the tavern owner yesterday. One sip and it was so good I felt my heart opening up. This was dangerous.
“Hahaha. What does it matter who becomes the hero? New wine belongs in new wineskins, doesn’t it?”
“So you’re saying… you want to appoint me as the new hero?”
“Exactly. Sharp as always.”
“But isn’t the hero chosen by divine oracle, not by the emperor?”
“Well… leave that to me. I’ll have a word with the priests. We can just spread a rumor like ‘The previous oracle was mistaken. The true hero is Werther.’ Simple, no?”
“…You’re quite skilled at information manipulation.”
“This is merely a tiny fraction of the power I possess.”
The face that had once looked like a doting father devastated by the loss of his child had suddenly transformed into that of a cunning old politician. Hah… this is why you can’t trust people in high places. They never understand how the people beneath them feel.
What would I even do if I became the hero now? The Holy Sword can only be used by the chosen hero anyway (in my hands it’s just an ordinary blade with an edge), and too much time has passed—my little sister from the modern world is probably already dead. I have no reason left to fight the Demon King’s army.
Besides, I was already sick to death of the hero’s party. I didn’t even want to think about them again.
But then…
“What do you say? You don’t have to be the real hero. You don’t even need to defeat the Demon King. Just wander around the outskirts of the city and pretend to be on an adventure. It’s actually better if the Demon King stays alive. If she destroys other countries instead of us, Lydorphia’s dominance over the human realm will only grow stronger. We’ll simply announce to the world that you’re desperately fighting the Demon King’s forces.”
“So this is how… you’ve been deceiving people all this time?”
“Now, now. Don’t look so serious. It’s simply about giving hope to those who suffer. Someone is out there bravely adventuring to slay the evil Demon King. How much comfort do you think that sweet lie brings to the common people who don’t know when they might die?”
“Then let me ask you one thing, Your Majesty.”
Because of this damned emperor, I remembered her again. The one party member I wanted to forget most of all.
“Who exactly were you giving hope to by faking Cynthia’s death?”
“………What?”
It came back to me clearly. The reason she had fled the imperial palace. She had told me herself that she was running away from this emperor.
“Cynthia is still alive, isn’t she?”