Chapter 14 – A Crack in the Golden Armor

His eyes.

The moment he looked at me, I knew he could see everything.

It was a look that cut through the polished armor, the practiced smile, and the mountain of reputation I had spent years building. It was a look of pure, horrifying clarity.

He saw the rot underneath.

My name is Siegfried, and I am a fraud. I am a master of the game of heroism, a puppeteer who pulls the strings of fame and glory. For years, I have worn the mask of the noble warrior, the selfless champion, the man who would sacrifice anything for the greater good.

It is a lie.

Glory is a currency. A smile is a tool. A heroic deed is an investment. I play this game for the ultimate prize: The Aethelgard Fruit. A rumored SSS-rank artifact, a single bite of which could grant a century of life. The ultimate key to power.

My sources had traced a whisper of its energy to this backwater town.

Then I saw him. A pathetic-looking boy being carried like a sack of potatoes. He should have been nothing.

But a faint, sacred energy clung to him. He was the one. He was the target.

And he looked at me.

No. My heart froze. That’s not the look of a simpleton. There’s no awe, no confusion. It’s… judgment.

He saw right through me.

I have fooled kings and tricked archbishops. I have convinced legions of my flawless nobility. My mask has never failed me.

But this boy… this unassuming, weak-looking child… he saw me. He’s a true hero. The genuine article.

And a real hero can always smell a fake.

“My name is Siegfried.”

I forced the words out, my voice as smooth as I could make it. The perfect hero’s greeting. My mask felt heavy on my face.

The girl carrying him, the one with the crazy eyes, was staring at me.

“Is something wrong, Ryu-kun?”

Her voice was dangerously sweet. A claim of ownership.

The boy, Ryuuji, just lolled his head back. He was feigning weakness. A test.

“N..nope.”

His voice was a pathetic squeak.

“It’s just… I have a bad feeling about him.”

My blood ran cold. He was already moving against me. He was telling his companions. He was warning them. He was pointing a finger directly at my soul and telling them it was black.

This kid wasn’t just a hero; he was a judge.

The girl’s grip on him tightened. Her gaze shifted to me, her sweet expression replaced by a look of cold appraisal.

“I see.”

Her voice dropped an octave.

“If you don’t trust him, I don’t trust him either.”

She knows. He must have told her everything. This terrifying woman… she’s not just his companion; she’s his enforcer. His guardian angel with the eyes of a killer. He’s already moved his pieces to counter me.

My carefully laid plans were crumbling before I’d even begun. I had to salvage this. I had to prove him wrong. I had to reinforce the mask.

I glided forward, flashing my most dazzling, most practiced smile.

“You must be the wounded hero I’ve heard whispers about.”

I positioned myself in front of them, trying to project an aura of unassailable goodness.

I extended a hand, my white leather glove perfectly clean.

“Allow me to escort you. A warrior of your caliber shouldn’t be… inconvenienced.”

I needed to show benevolence. I needed to appear helpful.

The girl’s arms became steel bands around his torso. A low growl rumbled in her chest. She was rejecting my help. On his command.

My smile felt brittle. This was a nightmare.

I had to double down. I made a desperate gamble.

I reached into my pouch and produced the crown jewel of my medical supplies, a single vial of shimmering elixir worth more than the mayor’s entire town.

“I have superior medical supplies.”

I held it up for all to see. A clear, undeniable act of selfless generosity.

“Let me tend to your wounds properly.”

Look! See? I am a good person! I am giving this priceless treasure to you freely! I am the hero everyone thinks I am! Believe it!

But the boy was not convinced. He delivered his final, soul-crushing judgment.

With all the strength he could muster, he lifted a weak, trembling hand. He pointed past my perfect, shining form.

He pointed directly at the sweating, obviously corrupt mayor.

“No…”

His voice was a pathetic, dying rasp.

“I… I trust… the mayor.”

The air left my lungs. The world stopped.

He didn’t just reject me. He didn’t just refuse my help.

He chose the greasy, pathetic, walking cliché of a villain over me. He publicly declared that he trusted the most untrustworthy-looking man in the province more than the “perfect hero.”

He wasn’t shielding himself. He was exposing me.

He was telling everyone, without saying a word, that I was more dangerous, more fake, and more rotten than the cartoonish scoundrel standing beside me. He had just demolished my years of work with a single, pathetic gesture.

This kid wasn’t a mastermind. He was a saint. A terrifying, all-seeing saint.

And he had just marked me as a sinner.

The girl, his loyal executioner, followed his silent command. She turned her back on me and carried her precious cargo toward the sweating, gormless mayor.

I stood frozen, not in admiration of a rival, but in cold, stark terror. My perfect facade had been shattered.

I have to get that fruit and disappear before he exposes me to the entire city.