The conversation of the Guarani that day, which had colored the path they were to follow with vivid hues, ended there. But if we were to append an answer-like explanation to the earlier part of their exchange, it would be that half their guesses were correct—and the other half, not.
In short, the incident at Myuronba did indeed involve the Hero.
However, the encounter with the demons was not a mere coincidence, as they had convincingly assumed. Though the expression might not be entirely accurate, the truth was that it had been deliberately orchestrated as a demon-hunting operation.
This took place on a certain night in Myuronba, shortly before the event.
"Faub, I understand how you feel, but surely you know that some things must be restrained," said a man about ten years older than the young man he was addressing. The young man—barely twenty, if that—was called Faub.
But Faub’s face made it abundantly clear he wasn’t the least convinced by the older man's lecture-like tone.
Fueled by his emotions, Faub raised his voice again.
"A Hero who doesn't help settlers? That’s laughable. You agree with me, don’t you, Maro? Blan?"
Knowing full well he couldn’t outtalk the older man, Faub tried to pull his younger comrades—the brother-swordsmen—onto his side.
"Yeah, anyone who stands by and watches their own people be attacked by demons has no right to call themselves a Hero."
One of the brothers spoke with evident annoyance, as though forced into saying it, and the other gave a firm nod.
Faub let out a triumphant shout.
"Then you're with me—"
"Nope. You're wrong."
"Exactly. Don't get it twisted, Faub."
"What do you mean?"
Faub asked with a scowl at the contradiction, and the brothers answered dully.
"My brother and I just said we'd help anyone in trouble if they were right in front of us. No offense, Faub, but we agree with Arist’s view that national governments should handle the security of settlements."
"That’s right. Once you accept one request, the others come flooding in. Let me be clear—I have no desire to become some convenient justice warrior flying all over the place for a handful of coins. And working for free? Absolutely not."
"Exactly. If they want to hire us, I’d say at least a thousand gold coins per day."
"I want ten thousand."
"Then I want fifteen thousand..."
"Damn you, you greedy bastards!"
In the cheapest inn of that modest town—cheap even among cheap—the so-called Heroes and their companions exchanged this crude debate over a drink that barely qualified as alcohol.
And the reason for their argument?
It was the same thing the Guarani had discussed.
No, it was the exact inverse of it.
"Protecting one's citizens and defending one's own settlements is the ruler’s responsibility. Asking us to take that on is an abdication of duty. That much I understand. But that doesn't mean it's okay to let the people die, does it? Tell me, Arist."
The older man, named Arist, sighed at Faub's stubborn repetition of a point that had already been refuted several times. He then spoke again, this time with added coldness in his voice.
"Your sentiment is admirable. However, just because the rulers fail to do their duty doesn't mean you must bear it all. Drawing a line is just as important, Faub."
"No. If there's someone in need, we have to help everyone. If we ignore a plea for help and stand by, we’re no better than those derelict rulers. I refuse to be that kind of person."
"...That’s admirable."
Arist knew that Faub truly meant what he said.
But he also knew how far reality fell short of such ideals.
Arist let out a long sigh.
"...It's important to hold onto that feeling. But you must also realize that ideals and reality differ."
With those words, Arist delivered a brutally pragmatic question.
"Let me ask you this: if two towns are attacked by demons at the same time, what will you do?"
"I'll save them both."
"What if it’s ten? Twenty?"
Faub answered the first challenge without hesitation, but then stopped.
Sure, it was easy to say he’d save everyone.
But he knew all too well from bitter experience that such a thing was impossible.
As Faub fell silent, unable to answer, Arist pressed further.
"Even with teleportation magic, delays in communication and the need to defeat enemies already present at your location make timely responses impossible. When the families of the dead ask you why you didn’t come sooner, what will you say?"
"I’ll apologize. Say I’m sorry."
"That won’t bring back the dead, nor is it a real answer. But fine. One more question. Ten towns are attacked at once. If you still insist on saving them all—what order do you choose?"
"I’d go to the nearest first."
"I see. So, say the nearby village has ten residents, attacked by five thousand demons. Meanwhile, a faraway town has a thousand women and children surrounded by five hundred demons. Would you still go to the village of ten first?"
This, too, had no easy answer.
Rushing to save the ten nearby would mean fighting five thousand enemies—a huge effort that would take time.
And while doing so, many of the thousand in the other town would die.
But choosing to save the thousand would mean leaving ten to die right before your eyes.
Stuck in a moral maze, Faub fell into silence once more, and Arist delivered one final blow.
"Then let me ask one last thing. Suppose I were the demons’ commander, and I used the captured civilians as hostages, demanding you drop your weapons. You, who claim to save all—what would you do?"
Refuse, and the hostages die.
Accept, and you die—and the hostages might not even be spared.
Watching the now-silent Faub, Arist let out another exaggerated sigh.
"Now do you understand? You may be strong, but not strong enough to obtain everything you desire."
"That’s why you must focus on what only you can do. And that does not include running off to every village and town under attack."
"But still—"
"If a town we're staying in is attacked, then it’s a different matter."
Arist’s offhanded comment took the dejected Faub by surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if we’re in a town under attack, and we don't fight back, we disgrace the name of Hero. And Myuronba hasn’t been attacked yet. That means it soon will be."
"So then—"
"To be honest, I’ve been concerned about the demons’ recent movements too. Though for different reasons than you, I also felt we shouldn’t leave things as they are. So..."
"Let’s do it. Let’s slay some demons."
"But the timing is up to them."
"Then we wait."
They didn't know when the demons would come, so it could be a long wait.
Arist made that clear. Faub agreed. The other two accepted it as well.
But the attack came sooner than expected.
The following night.
"...They’ve arrived."
"Yeah."
Faub replied briefly to Arist’s observation as they watched the enemy approach.
Another voice cut in.
"But there are only about fifty of them. And most are mere grunts."
"How dull."
Of course, this comment came from the two younger warriors with the battle axes.
This was par for the course, and Arist gave a theatrical grimace.
"Maro, Blan. Did I hear disappointment in your voices?"
"With numbers that low, the three of us can’t even go all out. No hidden army of five hundred in the rear, Arist?"
"Thankfully, no."
"Should’ve said unfortunately."
"No, fewer enemies is always better. Not a word of that was a lie. Besides, the barrier is perfect. They can’t enter or attack the town."
"...Well, if there are no more, nothing we can do."
"Yeah."
"Alright, let’s decide who fights wh—"
"Hold it, Faub."
Just as the four men casually discussed how to divide up the enemies at the town gate, a new voice interrupted.
"You three plan to handle this all yourselves. But that’s not going to happen."
The formal leader of the group—a man wielding a greatsword—frowned and turned toward the speaker: a beautiful woman with long silver hair flowing behind her, dressed in a white gown not suited for battle. She was older than the boys, though still young herself.
"With that few enemies, we don’t need your help, Fine..."
"You can handle them, I’m sure. Very impressive. Then from now on, don’t expect healing spells. But before that, maybe a little punishment is in order."
The three young men—about to leap into battle with weapons drawn—suddenly remembered the recent punishment she had delivered, disguised as "discipline."
...A sulking Fine was unstoppable.
...They’d just have to give in.
...This was the demons’ fault for not showing up in larger numbers.
With no choice, and eager to avoid another nightmare, the three reluctantly raised the white flag.
"Fine, just leave us a few, okay?"
Representing the trio’s shared thought, the Hero spoke.
Unlike you guys, I’m kind and considerate—of course I’ll go easy. But how many remain depends on them.
"Fine. We’d like to be able to say we helped out when we report back to the Demon King's capital. Please leave some of the mages alive."
"Understood. The mages, then."
"Alright. Let’s begin."
Fine smiled radiantly at Arist’s modest request, raised her right hand high, and then lowered it toward the oncoming demon soldiers.
"...Begin."
That was all she did.
But what followed was far beyond anything that gesture implied.
In an instant, most of the demons were engulfed in flames and perished without knowing what had hit them. The few survivors were badly burned—incapable of fighting.
And that wasn’t the end.
As the few conscious demons came to their senses, the final calamity closed in.
A roaring greatsword.
Two raging battle axes.
Those were the last things the demon soldiers ever saw.
“R-Retreat…”
Comments
Post a Comment