Chapter 8: The Hero’s Resentment

I lay still, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was a familiar ceiling, yet unfamiliar at the same time. Whenever I had looked at it in the past, it was always in the dead of night or the earliest hours of dawn. That is to say, it hadn’t been long since this ceiling began to enter my sight in such bright, luxurious colors as it did now.

These were peaceful days.

I don’t know if everyone who went through the war would agree, but at least for me, it was true. Never in my life had I experienced such tranquility. Even though it was only early autumn, I burrowed deep into the blankets enchanted with warming magic and thought: This must be heaven.

The duvet, which always smelled pleasant as if dried in the sun, was fluffy and had a satisfyingly crisp texture. With my hands—so thin that the knuckles protruded—I gripped a handful of the fabric and let go. The wrinkles held their shape for a moment before smoothing out. I watched it intently, then, overcome by a sense of well-being, I buried my face in the covers again and kicked my feet.

It was dangerous outside the blankets. Seriously dangerous.

I made a decision. I may have stood at the forefront talking about a “Great Era” and rallied the soldiers like a devout messenger of the Goddess, shouting that we could save the world—but I was just a human being. Moreover, I was an orphan from the slums, the poorest of the poor, who had never enjoyed a single benefit from the Empire and had never once thought deeply about the existence of the state.

Naturally, someone like me possessed no great sense of mission or patriotism. Expecting such things from a child of the back alleys was nonsense to begin with.

It was enough if I alone ate and lived well. All I needed was a place to lie down and a meal to fill my starving stomach. By some twist of fate, I became a Hero and endured various trials, but now, I wanted to rest. What I desired was not great power or the preservation of the world.

Of course, the goal of the Goddess who created me was vastly different from my own. She wanted to purify this world that had become stagnant and corrupt, and she caused many sacrifices in that process. She chose me as her tool. She took me, who was living a relatively ordinary life as a slum orphan… no, to be precise, she made me.

Dressing a grimy pauper in sleek, flashy clothes and feeding them elaborately prepared gourmet food doesn’t change their status or the way they are treated in an instant.

I used to be treated as a nuisance in the Imperial Palace. In particular, the former Emperor—Felix’s uncle—despised me.

The oracle had been delivered: The Hero would defeat the Demon King. If that was the case, I wanted to go finish him off quickly and spend the rest of my life in comfort. I didn’t want people to keep dying, either.

For a filthy commoner hated by the Emperor to survive in the Imperial Palace…

Thoughts continued to chain together, pestering me. Annoyed, I stared blankly at the ceiling and repeatedly gripped and released the duvet. I focused on the soft, smooth texture of the fabric.

“Ian, may I come in?”

I heard a small knock and Claire’s voice, perhaps thinking I was asleep. The sound of the door opening followed. There were two sets of footsteps.

“Were you sleeping?”

It was Zeimer who entered with Claire. I greeted them, pretending I had just woken up. Actually pretending to sleep made my body ache from being unable to move, but showing them I was wide awake would mean they wouldn’t leave for a long time.

As I blinked, intentionally blurring my focus, Zeimer leaned forward slightly and brushed my bangs aside. They had just been poking my eyes. Claire took my hand from the other side. Both of their hands were large and warm, which felt nice.

By the way, seeing the two of them enter together felt strange. It wasn’t that they hated each other, but they were incompatible and usually felt uncomfortable in each other’s presence. I shifted my gaze from Zeimer to look at Claire.

Neither of them wore their usual subtle, displeased expressions. Of course, Claire could easily hide such feelings, but Zeimer used to scowl openly. Today, even Zeimer had the same expression as Claire.

My blurry vision sharpened after a few more blinks. Both looked worried. My conscience pricked me slightly, but I didn’t want to care about their concern. I wanted to rest now. I didn’t want to think about anything.

Claire gently stroked my wrist with his large, solid hand. He was still holding my hand with his other one. The texture of his palm, covered in calluses and scars, was rough. I barely moved my eyes to follow his movements. Noticing my gaze, Claire moved his hand up from my wrist to hold my hand with both of his. Reflexively and without thought, I squeezed back.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Hearing the voice from the other side, I turned my head to look at Zeimer. While Claire was sitting in a chair, Zeimer was standing tall. Looking up at him as he stood straight with only his head slightly lowered to look at me felt a bit intimidating. Yet, despite the fact that I was the one looking up, it felt as though Zeimer was the one looking up at me.

It wasn’t just my imagination; Zeimer’s eyes were trembling. Unlike Claire, who wore form-fitting clothes, Zeimer wore a flowing cape.

Not fully understanding his words, I stared at him as if asking for an answer, and Zeimer spoke again.

“I said don’t do that. You promised you wouldn’t.”

“Zeimer.”

Claire called his name as if to stop him. I had nothing to say. Of course, I had promised Zeimer I wouldn’t walk into the jaws of death again, but this was a different case. How could I even explain it? That it was all the Goddess’s will? That I wouldn’t die anyway? If I explained it like that, would Zeimer even be able to accept it?

I knew all too well that saying such things to Zeimer, who had almost zero trust in the Goddess, would be useless. So I just kept my mouth shut. I pushed the rising discomfort into a corner of my mind. Since I had decided to live comfortably from now on, I felt I didn’t need to explain myself in detail.

I didn’t die. However, everyone except me could have died. That had always made me so incredibly sad. Now that peaceful days had begun, I simply felt that I could finally think only of myself. Because I, too, was precious to myself. Because I, too, wanted to live.

Dazed, I shifted my gaze from Zeimer to the empty air.

“I’m… sor… ry.”

The words came out in fragments. I wasn’t sure if this was part of the Goddess’s play or due to my own discomfort.

Zeimer seemed to have a lot to say, but when I lowered my gaze, pretending to be tired, he didn’t open his mouth again. He just stood there, looking down at me with a heavy gaze. I knew Zeimer wouldn’t be able to say anything, so I pretended not to notice. In truth, he was pretending as well.

Zeimer left soon after, as if he had truly only come to see me for a moment. My good mood from moments ago sank.

Claire didn’t let go of my hand, holding it tight. His palm was damp. Seeing that my other free hand was also damp, it seemed my own hands were sweating. Feeling sorry, I tried to twist my wrist to slip my hand out of Claire’s, but feeling this, Claire gripped it even tighter. It didn’t hurt, but the grip was strong enough that I couldn’t pull away.

Looking at Claire, I saw his strangely sunken eyes watching me. He looked both happy and sad. I parted my lips, but the tangled emotions wouldn’t turn into words.

“Ian, I… I will only offer my thanks.”

“…….”

“Everything became alright because Ian was the Hero.”

I wanted to cover my ears. Hero… I was no longer a Hero. I didn’t want to receive the thanks offered to a Hero.

“Do you remember the last battle?”

I blinked in affirmation. Claire let out a low laugh.

“Actually, on that day, I went in prepared to die—prepared for the possibility that I might never be able to hold a sword again.”

Ah. This was information I didn’t want to know.

Prepared to die.

Claire’s words pierced me like a sharp dagger. I squeezed my eyes shut, but with one hand captured, I couldn’t cover my ears.

“Thinking it was the end of ends, I drew out every bit of ‘Essentia’ from my deepest core. I knew I might never hold a sword again, but if we lost that battle, what use would it be even if I could hold a sword?”

“…….”

“Everything I wanted to protect would have already disappeared.”

I knew what Claire was going to say next.

“I went in prepared to die, but in the end, I lived. My mana spring, which I thought would be empty, filled up again.”

That was why I didn’t want to hear it.

“It is all thanks to Ian.”

I, now, truly wanted to rest.