Mastering the Hero #3
"Ha… haha……"
A dark night.
Atop the lavish inner keep, built of solid ash-gray brick, a white-haired woman sat on the terrace by the window and let out one hollow laugh after another.
It had been several days since her limp expulsion from the forest.
Vivian had returned to the fief granted her by the Empire's emperor and drunk without regard for day or night.
For the banished Vivian, this was the only place left to go.
Her face was flushed with drink, and in one hand she always held a glass of amber liquor.
Exile. Exile.
Unable to accept the reality that the World Tree had cast her aside, Vivian made alcohol her refuge.
She had never been one to enjoy drinking, but ever since Castro had poured liquor into her and taken her body, her resistance had lessened considerably.
She simply had never liked it enough to chase the bottle without end, the way she did now.
Muscle honed even further in real combat, without a scrap of spare flesh.
That massive frame that had crushed her beneath its embrace.
And the ecstasy of a female animal it had awakened in her—the ecstasy that had dragged Vivian down into a slave of lust.
Those memories only made her body burn hotter.
"What? You want me to tear the Hero down so we can claim more of the glory? That's too cowardly… aah♥"
There had been dangerous moments, but on one day when the adventure had been going rather smoothly, Castro had pinned Vivian to the bed as if to crush her and whispered sweet love into her ear.
And he had not stopped there. He had stimulated her without rest.
To get what he wanted, he needed as many mouths speaking for him as possible.
Cradled in that magnificent body, Vivian had cried out again and again, and by that point she had long since fallen into being Castro's bitch.
The gentle, mild temperament of an elf had vanished without a trace.
She had been half-soaked in a dank, ugly disposition.
It's cowardly, but if that's what he wants, then so be it.
That was how Vivian had thought, and the other women bewitched by Castro's bestial nature had agreed.
Humans were that sort of creature anyway, and the Hero would be no different from the rest of them—or so they imagined.
So even when the Hero was framed and shut himself away, powerless, in his own fief, she had thought nothing of it. Who could have guessed the World Tree would seize on precisely that point?
Without ever recognizing the arrogance of having underestimated the World Tree's wisdom, Vivian simply blamed everyone else.
If she had known it would come to this, she should have resisted somehow instead of letting herself be held while drunk.
Then she would never have fallen into a bitch, and as an elf she would still have been held in the arms of her homeland.
Vicious regret crushed Vivian's shoulders, but she had come too far down the road to repent of her sins.
Even then, the spectacle of her blaming not herself but the Hero—who had simply seemed less appealing as a male than Castro—was absurd. Yet she had long since grown so filthy that the thought of her own shamelessness never crossed her mind.
Vivian was no longer an elf. Even among humans, she was no different from the ugliest sort.
It was a sight that matched the World Tree's contempt to perfection.
"W-wine… bring me more wine! Wine, wine……"
If only the Hero had been a little more magnificent, none of this would have happened.
Even as she thought it, her mouth only cried out for drink.
Like any common drunk staggering through the streets at the height of a binge.
So this actually works.
That had been the first thought Han Ijin had when he first woke as Adonis.
And today, a similar thought rose in him.
So this actually works, he thought.
"Oh."
Adonis gazed at the fist wreathed in Holy Power that shone like sunlight, and marveled.
It was also a moment of genuine emotion—Semiramis's claim that it would answer to his will had proven exactly right.
On the one hand he had believed that if anyone could do it, this Evil Dragon could; on the other, a seed of doubt had sprouted as to whether it would truly work.
But the moment he became able to draw out Holy Power at will, that seed of doubt burned away root and all.
Cleanly, without even ash left behind—as if it had never existed at all.
Well, that can happen.
Having read his inner thoughts through his expression, Semiramis quietly nodded.
"Thank you. Truly."
When Adonis dismissed the Holy Power and bowed at the waist, a light kindled in Semiramis's eyes.
He had come seeking her out of his own need, yet he offered thanks without the slightest reserve to a being feared and called the Evil Dragon.
Seeing that, a strange feeling stirred in Semiramis's chest.
Was it because she was helping a human who claimed to have killed her once?
Or was it because she—who could not help but feel fear and a diluted hatred toward humans—was facing a human at all?
Semiramis observed herself growing more confused the more she hunted for a reason, then slowly parted her lips.
"Were you not afraid? When you faced me. And when you said you had killed me once—you might well have earned my wrath and died for it."
Semiramis's voice swept over his bowed back, and Adonis straightened.
Standing upright and looking at her, he could see that she held a tangle of complicated emotions.
It was a face that seemed impossibly far from the expression of a woman speaking of anger.
"I was afraid. But with my inadequate mind, the only conclusion I could reach was that I had to beg you. So I steeled myself and came."
"Did you not think it a dangerous conclusion?"
"I thought it was frightening, but not dangerous."
Fear was danger.
To Semiramis—and to many others—the two words clung so closely they might as well have been one meaning.
Yet Adonis was thinking of them as separate things.
Wanting to know why, Semiramis slanted her eyes and asked,
"You know full well what I have done, and still you say it is not dangerous? To humans, I must have been as great a threat as the Demon King himself."
"First of all, you are a quiet being so long as no one provokes you first. And you do not hate humans—you took your revenge as a mother whose child was stolen. Of course I knew that a whole kingdom was reduced to ash in the process… but even so, I did not think of you as dangerous. If you had truly hated humans, you would have tried to burn not only that kingdom but every human alive."
The rage of a woman who has had her child stolen—a child she loved beyond measure—runs deep.
It is also dark, and dense.
And if the one who stole that child was a king deciding for his nation, then Adonis thought the entire country deserved to pay the price.
A king was the representative of a nation, and in this world a representative's decision became the nation's decision.
Of course, had Adonis himself been one of the parties involved, he would have bitterly resented Semiramis—but humans were cunning creatures.
Even if war broke out at the far end of the earth and a massacre unfolded, so long as it was not their own affair, it was hard to feel true anger.
Some might call that cold. Adonis thought it was simply unavoidable.
"You are rather cold-blooded."
"It can't be helped. It was a long time ago, and besides, I'm not even from this continent. And… you only loved your child. If anyone was at fault, it was the mages who took the child out of their own greed."
When Adonis spoke with an awkward smile, Semiramis said nothing, folded her arms, and turned her back.
You only loved your child—the words kept circling in her head.
Was it because he had offered comfort with such a beautiful voice and face?
Or because, though the circumstances differed, she could feel that he had sincerely shared in her pain?
Semiramis felt the heart that had been frozen solid ever since she lost her child begin to tremble.
Is she angry because I touched a raw wound?
Feeling he had said the wrong thing and regretting it, Adonis hastily decided to change the subject.
But first, an apology.
"I'm sorry. It isn't something I had any right to speak of……"
"Hm? Ah… it is fine. Pay it no mind. Hearing such words from the Hero's mouth simply put me in a strange mood. Even if you were not the Hero to begin with……"
In any case.
Semiramis cleared her throat, composed her voice, and turned back toward Adonis.
Seeing an expression considerably softer than before she had shown him her back, Adonis thought she did not seem angry.
Thank heaven for that.
"Thank you for saying so. But……"
"But? Have you something more to say?"
"It's nothing else—only, how should I pay the price you mentioned a little while ago? I meant it when I said I would give you everything, but if what you want is my life… could you wait just until my revenge is finished? If I die now, I won't be able to take it."
"…The price. Now that you mention it, I did say something of the sort."
A price, of all things, while her heart was still in such disorder.
Semiramis felt as though her chest were being squeezed, and wondered what she ought to do.
Of course she intended to take a price—but nothing particular came to mind.
There was nothing to gain by taking his life, and the man standing before her was not even an enemy, nor a person of this continent.
Holding such a person to account seemed far too harsh.
"Hm."
Then Semiramis's eyes lit, and the corner of her mouth twisted ever so slightly.
When no good idea presents itself, putting the decision off for a while is also a method.
Of course one could not simply put it off, so one had to attach a plausible excuse.
"For now, though you can draw out Holy Power, simply being able to raise Holy Power does not make the whole of a Hero. Does it?"
"Pardon? Well… that's true enough."
He had no idea what she meant by bringing this up, but the words themselves made sense.
Sacred magic that used Holy Power.
Combat techniques that had to be wielded with reason rather than the body's instincts—there was a great deal still to learn.
So when Adonis nodded without protest, Semiramis spoke with the satisfaction of a plan falling into place.
Without realizing what lay at the root of her urge to invent some other reason.
"For the time being I shall serve as your opponent, so learn your techniques and refine them. I will take my price after that."
She already let me use Holy Power, and now techniques on top of that?
Adonis broke into a cold sweat wondering what kind of price she would demand, but he laid a hand over his wildly pounding heart and steadied his breath.
He had already leapt in ready for danger; there was nowhere to retreat, and no telling what would happen if he did.
Fortunately Semiramis seemed to be in a good mood now. If he simply obeyed well, the weight of the price might grow lighter.
Having reached that conclusion with a calmer head, Adonis bowed with formal courtesy.
"I gratefully accept your instruction."
"A wise decision. I happened to want to test for myself just how troublesome a Hero can be, so this works out well."
Semiramis drew a pleased arc at the corner of her mouth and pointed a finger at Adonis.
Right now, she said—take up the holy sword.
Adonis looked utterly flustered for a moment, at a loss, then set his face and drew the holy sword into his hand.
Semiramis's gaze—soft and yet sharp—swept over Adonis's blade.
"I will moderate myself as appropriate, but you need do no such thing. Being cut deeply once or so will not kill you. So cast aside your worries and come at me."
Semiramis stepped back several paces and flicked her hand. Adonis gripped the holy sword's hilt tightly in both hands.
So hard it seemed he might crush the hilt itself.