* * *
“Don’t think about ordinary stuff like that,” I muttered to myself.
But Zerbin isn’t someone bound by ordinary rules or logic.
Anyway, it doesn’t make sense.
It can’t happen.
Zerbin needs to discover true love.
But neither of us really understands what true love is.
How are we supposed to awaken the Holy Sword like this?
It’s impossible for someone like me to be the one.
He’ll find someone more suitable, someone who can truly help him.
That’s the purpose of this journey, isn’t it?
If Zerbin doesn’t figure it out, how much more will he suffer because of the dormant Holy Sword?
And if he misses the chance to fix things because of me…
Just imagining that sends chills down my spine. I can’t let that happen.
Zerbin managed to draw the Holy Sword, but its brilliant golden light quickly faded.
As a result, he wasn’t recognized as a proper hero.
Those who envied him seized the opportunity to slander him, calling him unworthy.
If they were so capable, why didn’t they pull the sword themselves?
That’s what I thought, but unfortunately, Zerbin’s reputation had already been tarnished.
People didn’t trust him.
They feared him.
Villagers, oblivious to the truth, and gullible adventurers all doubted him.
In the chaos of a demon invasion, they clung to whatever loud voices seemed most reassuring.
Yet Zerbin fought.
He protected villagers who refused to evacuate, enduring injuries in the process.
Even when jealous fools sabotaged him, he persevered, overcoming every setback.
It’s appalling that, even with a common enemy, some people let personal grudges ruin the hero’s plans.
The worst part?
There wasn’t just one or two of them.
Some even believed killing Zerbin would summon a “real” hero.
Utter lunatics.
Others challenged him to duels, claiming they’d earn the sword fairly.
They were all trash, no matter how they framed it.
Fair duels? Please.
They’d wait until Zerbin was exhausted from fighting demons before attacking.
And if he refused, they mocked him for being a coward, claiming he was a fraud clinging to a fake hero status.
Our party dealt with those scumbags swiftly.
But constantly having to prove himself must have been exhausting for Zerbin. It went on and on…
Being forced into a role he never asked for, constantly doubting himself—it must have taken the heaviest toll on Zerbin.
He felt deeply burdened by his inability to fully awaken the Holy Sword.
And so, he pushed himself too hard.
The Holy Sword wasn’t always dormant.
Rarely, it would respond to an earnest call and radiate a brilliant light.
That light, arriving when it was needed most, was undoubtedly salvation.
But as much as that light was welcomed, it was also resented.
If the Holy Sword could awaken in the hands of the hero, if it deemed him worthy, why didn’t it shine all the time?
Why did it vanish faster than a blooming flower withers?
Not knowing what could trigger the sword made it even more frustrating.
Whenever there was downtime, the hero’s party often discussed how to awaken the Holy Sword.
“Maybe it’s because we lack piety, given that it’s the Holy Sword. We should perform more good deeds.”
Of course, Dieter, the priest, was the first to offer a devout suggestion.
It wasn’t entirely unreasonable.
But—
“Rejected.”
“Absolutely not!”
“…T-that’s a bit…”
As soon as I voiced my objection, the others chimed in, one after another, except for the hero, who quietly continued eating.
“Why not? Since it’s a sword bestowed by the gods, shouldn’t we strive to please them?”
Dieter’s wide, innocent black eyes blinked at us in confusion, as if he truly didn’t understand.
His clueless expression set off a wave of unease, and sure enough, Katya’s sharp gaze turned hostile.
“If you want to keep playing charity-case, just empty your own pockets, you lunatic!”
“Ah!”
Katya snapped at Dieter, but it was the soft-hearted Saskia who flinched, hunching his shoulders and retreating further into his hood.
His face was even harder to see than usual.
“Fixing your nasty way of speaking to your companions might please the gods too,” Dieter countered cheerfully. “It shows consideration for others.”
To his credit, Dieter didn’t even flinch, smiling serenely.
Admirable composure, but it did nothing to diffuse Katya’s temper.
“Hey! Because of who do you think—”
Before Katya could shout further, I shoved a piece of jerky into her mouth.
Her sharp glare now turned to me.
“Eat while you talk. You’re not in a battle. Yelling will only waste your energy.”
“Damn it.”
Grumbling, Katya chewed on the jerky, whipping her head to the side.
Despite her hot temper, she wasn’t an idiot and understood the logic of not wasting strength on petty arguments.
“Anyway, charity’s off the table.”
I reaffirmed the decision.
While Katya might’ve been rude, this time, the fault was Dieter’s.
Dieter was the only son of a powerful marquis family, adored not only by humans but also seemingly favored by the gods.
At just three years old, he manifested divine power and was declared the next Pope.
Even I, uninterested in noble gossip, knew about it.
In short, Dieter was a pampered noble who’d grown up showered in love and praise.
So, what had he done?
He donated the entire party’s funds to civilians displaced by demon attacks.
A kind act, sure, but everything?
Everything.
What were we supposed to eat?
When I asked, he said, “We have the skills to earn more.”
He wasn’t wrong, but decisions like that required the whole party’s agreement.
But the privileged young noble believed that “good deeds” didn’t need lengthy discussions.
Apparently, this wasn’t the first time it happened before I joined.
The hero was taciturn, Saskia was timid, and Katya was hot-tempered but lacked the words to argue effectively.
In the end, they gave in to Dieter’s stubbornness, unable to reclaim the donated money.
But now that I was here, I wasn’t going to let that slide.
If the world were fair, Dieter could have just raided the noble coffers to help the poor, and everyone would’ve been happy.
Instead, the nobles clung to their goods, refusing to sell even basic potions without exorbitant sums. They claimed the hero might be a fraud for failing to awaken the Holy Sword.
We had no choice but to scrape together funds.
“We still need money,” I said firmly.
“…Sorry, I don’t know healing magic,” Saskia muttered gloomily.
Katya smacked him on the back.
“How many times are you going to say that? Quit whining.”
“S-sorry.”
Saskia shrank further, his hood drooping.
This group seriously lacked proper communication skills.
“Katya’s saying it’s not your fault, so stop apologizing. It’s clearly Dieter’s fault.”
“Hey! When did I—”
“Isn’t it?”
“…I mean, it’s not my fault, but it’s… not. Okay?”
Flustered, Katya stuffed a hard piece of bread into her mouth, cheeks puffing as she chewed to avoid further embarrassment.
Seeing this, Saskia managed a faint smile.
“Uh-huh.”
Satisfied, I bit into a piece of jerky myself.
“Any other ideas?”
To my surprise, Saskia timidly raised a hand.
For someone as shy as him, it was rare.
“I-I can use magic to investigate the Holy Sword.”
“Rejected.”
That courage wasn’t going to work.
“Absolutely not.”
“If you try dunking the Holy Sword in some weird solution again, I’ll kill you.”
“Eep.”
Saskia shriveled under the rejection, but I couldn’t support him.
* * *
