Penance
The carriage came to an abrupt halt with no warning whatsoever. The horses snorted, breathing hard. Yet their eyes darted this way and that, as if instinctively sensing that rest was near.
"...What in the world is this place...?"
A beautiful city nestled within a lush, verdant forest. The sound of children's laughter and cheerful chatter filled the air. ...This was unmistakably the Frontier. The only difference was that the demonic forest marked on the map—once a grotesque parade of twisted, monstrous trees that instilled terror in humans—had transformed into something resembling a paradise on earth.
This land, once called hell on earth. They had finally arrived at the Frontier.
The Hero knew all too well the unfamiliar rage rising within her heart, and that this emotion was utterly wrong. These were the people who had tormented Woojin. The ones who had despised and persecuted him. When they cast him out, no one had offered him comfort. They were the hideous, vile creatures who had mocked him, hurled filth at him, and added their own venomous words to the torrent of abuse.
But she knew better than anyone that it was they themselves who had started it all.
"Ah, Hero! Saintess! And Archer! What an honor to see you all alive and well once more!"
"The Hero? The Hero has returned?"
"Hero! Saintess!"
"All praise to the heroes who saved the world!"
As the three stood dazed, stepping down from the carriage and gazing around, people began to recognize them one by one, offering their greetings.
"H-how... how did this happen?"
"The demonic forest vanished with the Demon King's death. The crimson sky cleared away, revealing a brilliant blue one instead!"
"The Goddess must have recognized our sacrifices. It has to be so."
"Hero, we thank you once again for eliminating that wretched man."
"Long live the Hero's party!"
"Long live!"
"...Tch."
The Hero ground her teeth once more. The Saintess simply stared at the ground with dead eyes. The Archer trembled as she looked at the inn where they had once stayed.
This place had not changed at all. It was still a demonic forest. A living hell where abominable demons mocked them. A living hell.
This is a living hell.
"...I have a favor to ask. Hero. Archer."
The three had taken a room at an inn. Unlike before, it was a shabby place on the outskirts, a little removed from the village center. They unpacked their belongings there.
"Speak. What is it?"
"...If it's about cutting down these lunatics, I'm all for it."
"No. It seems... Woojin is still here..."
"...And?"
"I want to reveal the truth."
At those words, silence descended upon the room like an uninvited guest. No one spoke. No one showed any sign of discomfort. They were sinners. They deserved to confess their sins.
But—
"How... exactly?"
"If we gather the people and give a speech..."
"Then we'd be praised and become noble heroes who never lost their dignity even in the face of the Demon King. A happy ending! What kind of—"
"That's not what I—"
"...Penance."
"...Pardon?"
The Hero smiled bitterly. Her face was hidden behind her helmet, so the other two could not see it, but her voice and trembling shoulders carried an unmistakable, mad delight.
"In our world, there is a story..."
And then she told them about the self-flagellating devotees. About the fanatics of the old medieval era who whipped themselves. How, during the Black Death, they had tried to avert the wrath of God through harsh penance, displaying the shocking sight of people lashing themselves to show repentance for their sins.
She spoke of such madness to the other two without the slightest hesitation. And the three resolved to carry out this act.
Woojin had endured far worse pain. So they, too, would bear it. Just as he had carried his burden.
*
"...Oh my god."
When the townsman Evan stepped out of his house, what he saw was a scene of blood and utter madness. The Hero he remembered was a beautiful, strong woman with short black hair. The Saintess he remembered was a gentle maiden whose holiness could spread throughout the world. The Archer he remembered was the very incarnation of beauty.
But this... what on earth was this sight?
The village was filled with sighs and tears.
"Forgive us! Please forgive us!"
"We didn't know! Please, stop the whipping!"
"Goddess, please absolve them of their sins! They have already suffered enough!"
Ironically, it was the passersby who cried out in lamentation and begged for forgiveness. The innkeeper who had made Woojin wear filth, the restaurant owner whose customers had beaten him while he merely watched, the bard who had publicly turned him into an object of ridicule, and the townspeople and knights who had not only failed to stop it but had joined in—all of them fell to their knees on the spot, sobbing uncontrollably.
And before them, on the village platform, the count who ruled the territory knelt toward the three.
"Kill me! Please kill me instead! You must not become the masters of such a horrific scene! Why are you doing this! Was it not the Demon King's scheme? Hero, Saintess, Archer—this is not your fault! It is the fault of all of us who failed to see through that filthy deception, and my own sin in allowing it is the greatest...! So please, put down the whips—"
The Hero laughed. Her method was working perfectly.
The three had turned their backs to the crowd and were mercilessly lashing themselves with leather whips.
Crack— Fresh blood scattered like beautiful flower petals.
Crack— Pain became joy.
Crack— This fleeting agony would become eternity, washing away his resentment.
Crack— We have become sinners. His false accusation disappears.
Crack— Ah, how regrettable that the cursed Goddess's Blessing leaves no scars. But... it is fine this time. At least he has been saved. We have taken his sins upon ourselves.
Even as pain enveloped them, they did not lose their smiles. Even the haughty elf, enduring the humiliation of exposing her back and whipping herself; even the Saintess, doing to her delicate body what she could never have imagined; even the Hero, lashing herself without even removing her helmet—they did not lose their smiles.
Even as tears flowed, they smiled.
With this, his sins had been placed upon their backs. They prayed desperately that his pain might be even slightly lessened. And when he returned, he would be embraced. They would wash away even a little of the pain he had endured.
And at last, Evan fell to his knees. For he, too, bore sin.
"Please... forgive me..."
The sharp sounds of the whips mercilessly striking their backs filled the blue sky. The cries and the smell of blood that had seemed to vanish from the Frontier had returned once more.
*
"...Ugh!"
The Saintess carefully applied a poultice of boiled medicinal herbs to the Archer's back as she let out a soft groan. Terrible wounds, torn flesh in every direction. Bright red blood still flowed. Her once-fair skin, soft as freshly dried bedding, was now raised and raw like a plowed field.
"Wouldn't it be better to use healing magic...?"
"No, healing isn't necessary... ah...!"
Even as she spoke, the Saintess's own back was still covered in wounds. The Hero, whose injuries had already healed, was gently applying the same liquid to her back.
Besides, they wanted to keep these scars. It felt as though they were carrying even a fraction of the heavy burden he had borne. The occasional stinging pain that reached them instead brought them joy.
The Saintess understood that feeling all too well. The short moans echoing through the room. At least tonight, it seemed painful dreams would not visit them. It was a good day, one in which their guilt was even slightly lifted.
But for the Hero, it was a night filled with envy. Their blood, their wounds—they would remain as eternal marks. But she had nothing of the sort. She could leave behind no evidence on this body, this body she would carry for the rest of her life, that she had taken on even a little of his pain.
She was... jealous of them. Even though the old her would never have entertained such thoughts.
*
"...I suppose I should head back toward the village."
He wasn't sure how many days had passed, but one thing was certain: he could not survive like this. His hands were already calloused from striking stones together again and again to make fire. His clothes had lost their function. He had stripped off his upper garment and thrown it away. ...He couldn't quite remember where.
Since there were no wild beasts anyway, he figured it didn't matter. The only things he'd seen nearby were deer (though they were quite large in this other world... wait, could they even be called deer?) and various kinds of fish.
He had been surviving on fish until now, but the reality was unsettling. What if he failed to catch any? What if he couldn't consume the necessary nutrients? ...It would be disastrous. As someone who had always taken care of his health, this situation did not sit well with him at all.
But going to the village presented another problem. ...He had panicked and fled too far. He had thought that if he found his sword, he might be able to locate the place, but venturing back into the deep forest seemed too dangerous.
Whether he had come from upstream or downstream of the river, this place was nothing but identical trees. A space untouched by any trace of humanity. Perhaps it was nature's own prison.
Suddenly, he felt fear creeping in. If he became truly lost, death would follow. At that spine-chilling sensation, his body could not help but tremble. He barely managed to clench his violently shaking hands and decided to calm his mind.
How many times had he already wandered through the forest in confusion? He was beginning to find ways to comfort himself, slowly emerging from the aftermath of death.
"Hoo... Hoo... Hoo..."
For now, he could survive. For now, there was no immediate crisis. First, he would grill the fish thoroughly and dry them. It was unfortunate there was no salt, but drying them would let him store them longer than eating them raw. He would put them in his trouser pockets and explore once a day. No matter how far he had run, it couldn't have been that distant. For the time being, he would leave markers and gradually familiarize himself with the terrain. That way, he could return to the village.
...He would think about what came after later.
But he did not know. That they would find him first. That they had not forgotten him. And that the time until their reunion was not far off. Finally... he did not know how unprepared he was, or how he should face that reunion.
He did not know that the feelings they held for him, their affection, ran far deeper than a few simple words could express. That their resolve and determination far exceeded anything he could imagine.
He did not know. But he would learn. In the not-too-distant future.
As dawn broke, Woojin set out to catch fish. They wrapped bandages around their wounds and left through the city gates. Woojin succeeded in catching one fish. They succeeded in finding his sword deep within the dense forest. Surprisingly, it was not far from the castle. The fact that his death and his salvation were only a few steps apart gnawed at their hearts.
With trembling hands, the Hero drew the sword. It was covered in the blood of monsters and had rusted in an instant. The blade, blackened with clotted blood that would not come off, filled them with even greater despair. They could almost imagine his final moments.
They continued searching and found the armor he had discarded. At the sight of the tattered armor, the Hero's legs gave out. She collapsed on the spot and stared blankly at it. The Archer and Saintess could only stand there, tears streaming down their faces.
They moved a little farther. Woojin began to dismantle the fish with a stone knife. It was a plump one again today. Even if dried, it would have a satisfying chew. The Hero's party kept walking. Food did not even cross their minds.
And then, in front of a cave, they saw traces of someone fleeing in haste. Dug-up earth, handprints and footprints. The three grew anxious. He had been chased by something. The footprints led toward the river. They ran without a moment's hesitation.
Woojin began to build a fire. His hands ached, but without fire he could not prepare the fish. They found traces of a campsite near the river. And nearby, they also discovered a scrap of tattered cloth. Its dark reddish color was unmistakably blood. For a moment, the three thought he was dead. The Archer, who had picked it up in a daze, wore an expression as if she might die at any second.
The three thought they had lost him once again. Just as the Saintess reached into her bosom, just as the Hero removed her helmet to scream, just then—the Archer tapped their shoulders.
"...Found... him."
Smoke was rising. From a distance close enough to run to at once. Smoke. A small wisp of smoke was rising.