The Hero's Death (2)
“Is this the Hero’s village?”
“Yeah. The village where the first Hero closed his eyes.”
The young Hero gazed at the village panorama from its entrance. The first Hero, whose name was not preserved. The village that still held his final breath. In this small mountain village...
“Hero bread for sale! Freshly baked and piping hot!”
“You’ve come to the Hero’s village, so you gotta buy souvenirs! Here! Hero statues! Hero sword replicas too!”
“Hero Memorial Hall! We’ve perfectly recreated the house where the first Hero lived! Just 10 silver!”
...it was a scene of commerce shamelessly capitalizing on the Hero.
“What the heck is this...”
“By the way, none of the villagers here are direct descendants of the Hero.”
The silver-haired girl said coolly.
“After the first Hero died, his bloodline gradually left this village. Some direct descendants stayed for the first few generations, but they all departed soon after.”
“Then what are the people here?”
The silver-haired girl shook her head slightly at the Hero’s question.
“Who knows. Probably humans who heard the legends of the Hero and flocked here to make money off them?”
“In the end, it all comes down to money...”
His expectations utterly shattered, the young Hero flopped face-down on the ground in despair.
“Still, being close to the Life Church’s headquarters means they feel safe from the Demon King’s threats, at least.”
“Sure, but... what the hell is Hero bread? Hero bread...”
“It’s bread baked in a tiny sword-shaped mold with flour dough. Filled with sweet red bean paste—super tasty. Wanna try some?”
“No. I’m good...”
The Hero despaired once more.
The Hero’s village. When he’d first heard the name, he’d imagined...
A small village where the Hero’s descendants gathered. A place to test a new Hero when one appeared. By overcoming those trials, he’d earn the first Hero’s recognition and claim the treasures he’d wielded.
Something like that. But in reality, it was just a tourist trap...
“The Hero’s descendants are people too. They all scattered after the first Hero died.”
Before he knew it, the silver-haired girl was hugging a paper bag full of sword-shaped bread, munching on one.
“You really not gonna eat any? I’ll finish them all myself?”
“I’m not...”
“It’s sooo good, though.”
Oblivious to the young Hero’s feelings, the silver-haired girl crunched away at the pint-sized sword bread.
- Records of a Certain Hero Party’s Adventure -
The Hero descended into hell alongside the reaper.
Walking the riverbank that divided the living world from the underworld, he saw children missing their parents.
Do even kids like that come to hell...?
“Death is impartial to all, young and old alike. But innocent children who know nothing pass straight to their next life without judgment.”
The Hero and reaper passed the children and arrived at a ferry landing where a boat was moored. An old man stood there, his mouth sewn shut with black thread, unable to speak.
“There should be a pouch in your robes. Take out the fare.”
In my robes?
The Hero rummaged through the plain white robes and pulled out a hefty pouch.
“Smaller than I expected. For a famed Hero, I thought it might be some massive bundle too heavy to lift.”
This is... the pouch from my sister.
It was made from wyvern wing leather, light enough to carry a whole house. But...
And this weight... I’ve never filled it with anything this heavy before.
Carefully lifting the pouch—not at the ferry, but on the solid riverbank—the Hero opened it.
A torrent of silver coins poured out, forming a small hill.
“...?”
No wonder it felt so heavy.
The Hero chuckled softly at the coin mound.
This should cover the fare, right?
“Ah, yes.”
The reaper and ferryman could only nod limply at the enormous pile of silver.
The Hero pressed on with the reaper.
They passed a beautiful flower field that healed with a mere glance, then a black gravel path where nothing appeared.
They crossed a hell of flames that incinerated souls, a hell filled with those impaled on ice stalactites, and a hell overgrown with thorny trees.
And in a hell of pitch-black darkness where not even a step ahead was visible, a massive gate appeared before the Hero.
“This is as far as I go. The three underworld officials are inside.”
Judgment happens there?
“Yes. They review a person’s life, weigh their sins, and pass sentence. Well, I’ll be off then.”
Wait, where’s my sister? She’s gone.
The reaper who’d guided him had vanished.
Hmm... Guess I have no choice but to go in.
Staring at the enormous gate before him, the Hero steeled himself.
What’s the worst? I’m already dead—what else can happen? I won’t die again! But this gate... how do I open it?
The Hero examined the massive gate. Jet-black, carved with intricate patterns. It vaguely resembled the underworld entrance, but vastly larger.
Creak.
The gate began to open on its own.
Ooh... An automatic door, huh.
The Hero peeked beyond. A dark passage lined with countless crimson pillars. At its far end...
The underworld gods, no doubt.
Steeling himself once more, the Hero took a step through the open gate.
“You’ve finally arrived.”
The scene shifted completely. A building adorned with antique grandeur. Three pairs of eyes gazing down from straight ahead and both sides.
“Seven layers, seven days each—forty-nine days at last. The Hero’s judgment begins.”
To the left sat a being of pure black shadow. Like the reaper, but overwhelmingly more immense, shrouded in the aura of death—a colossal reaper.
“That’s Thanatos. King of the reapers, commander of all shades.”
King of the reapers. That explained why the Hero sensed a similarity to his guide and this Thanatos.
Next, straight ahead: a figure in eastern robes, face veiled by a flowing crown of cloth. One hand held a mirror, the other a bamboo scroll.
“Yanluo—or Moros. The investigator who reviews your life.”
Compared to the others, this one felt remarkably mild.
Finally, to the right: a woman half-alive, half-dead. One hand held scales, the other propped up a massive greatsword.
“Ugh, this is such a hassle. Can’t we just pass him? From what I hear of his mortal deeds, he’s total free-pass material.”
“Ceres. Introduce yourself.”
“So annoying... Ahem. I’m Ceres. The judge who weighs sins and delivers verdicts.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes burned fiercer than the others’.
“Then let us begin.”
Yanluo shone the mirror on the Hero, then scanned the unfurling scroll.
“Hero. Hero Johanan. Lost your parents young, became an orphan wanderer, then chanced upon the Life Temple’s sword and became the Hero.”
“The Hero had a name? Whoa... First I’ve heard of it.”
“Ceres. Quiet.”
Thanatos’s low voice made Ceres pout like a sulky child.
“Thereafter, you traveled the world with the Dragon Priestess, slaying countless monsters to save humanity.”
“Dragon Priestess? Goddess really has no shame. Why’d she take on such a hassle?”
“Ceres.”
“Yeees. I’ll be quiet.”
Ignoring her, Yanluo continued reciting from the scroll.
“Travel ended, you married, had one daughter, lived quietly without incident, and passed away at 103.”
Was I 103...? Honestly, I never kept track of my age.
“Hmm. Orphans often lose count. Let’s skip ahead then. Work’s piling up, and with three of us on one soul, I worry for the backlog.”
“Ce-res.”
“Okay, okay~ I’ll be quiet.”
He’d expected the underworld gods to be grave and strict, but the atmosphere was surprisingly light.
“Let’s see. No murder record. No fraud or theft. Minor violence only against monsters—to protect humans or save other lives.”
“Spotless.”
“Well, duh. Look who he hung with.”
The three underworld gods nodded as they reviewed the Hero’s life.
“On this alone, a life without issue.”
“Indeed. The first soul in underworld history to pass judgment unscathed.”
“Mm. Just needs the scales now, right?”
Ceres lightly aimed the tip of her greatsword at the Hero. A faint something leaked from him, gathering at the blade’s edge.
“This? Like shaking dust off clothes. Barely any sin... I can guess the result without looking.”
“Ceres. Procedures must be followed.”
“I know, I know. You old-timers are so rigid.”
Ceres placed the gathered sin on the scales, but they showed no change.
Then.
“Now, for the final sin.”
Yanluo, who’d recited silently till now, spoke softly.
“The charge: a mere mortal monopolizing a god.”