Vol 1 Chapter 2 – A Hero Just Passing Through

I just remembered something awful.

It was the moment I was dragged out of my perfectly happy shut-in life.

I’m still nowhere near okay with it.

How could they yank me out like that when I never agreed to any of it?

“Grinding brute force”—and the fact this guy thinks being chosen by the Holy Sword that way is normal means something is wrong with his head.

I shot a “sharp glare” at the man walking beside me—Alvarado.

“Ugh, sooo annoying.”

“What is it, my beloved sword? You look downright jaded.”

A “swift sidelong glance” from his red eyes catches me.

They’re not clear or pretty—they’re a murky, pitch-black crimson.

They honestly look like blood.

Most people find them creepy and keep their distance.

But Al doesn’t care in the slightest—disturbing.

Is his mental fortitude even human?

Well, the stuff he does is way out there, so having nerves of steel makes sense.

Anyone else would have snapped by now, doing what he does.

Even I, an inanimate sword, feel my spirit about to break first.

“Don’t call me ‘beloved sword.’ Whose fault do you think this is, huh? Whose?”

Al casually treats me like his personal property, and I glare even harder.

…No, he probably doesn’t mean it like that.

I doubt this guy even understands the concept of possessiveness.

He’s just fundamentally different from normal humans…

Seeing my face, Al thinks for a moment and nods as though convinced.

“…Even Holy Swords have fe—”

“Say one more word and I’ll kill you.”

I’m not human, so I don’t have to react this strongly, but it still ticks me off.

Seriously, he has zero delicacy.

And yet, how can he also have such a pure sense of justice and goodness…?

It’s completely contradictory.

“Understood. I’ll refrain.”

“Haah. I seriously never thought I’d be busting my butt for humans again. Thanks a lot, Al.”

Not that I’m sure we’re actually helping anyone.

I fix Al with a “half-lidded stare”.

Honestly, unlike back when I was really used, I rarely feel like we’re saving people.

Because he does something outrageous every single time.

“Don’t you think working for others is wonderful?”

“Nope. A world where no one has to work would be the wonderful one.”

Is there any other Holy Sword and wielder with values this mismatched?

First time for me.

“It’s fine, beloved sword. Someday I’ll achieve world peace and build a better world.”

“I’ve said it before—that’s impossible. As long as idiots like humans run rampant, it will never happen.”

The goal is so absurdly grand.

If I weren’t involved, I’d be rolling on the floor laughing…

But Al is dead serious about this fairy tale.

Yeah, that’s scary.

“An unyielding heart.”

“…Sigh. And I’m the one stuck going along with this…”

Looking haggard, I tilt my face to the sky.

World peace. Nice as a lofty goal, but the fact Al’s aiming for it is…

“And, you know…”

I glance sideways.

A few notices were pasted there.

Wanted.

Rugged-looking men and women scowled out from the posters.

“Hm? I hear someone calling for help. We’re going, beloved sword.”

Just as I tried to study the rest of the notices, Al blurted that out.

Huh—what?

Why is Al, who isn’t even a Hero, hearing something the Holy Sword can’t?

Isn’t that weird?

“Quit calling me ‘beloved sword.’ And for the record, I don’t hear a thing.”

“A hero can hear it—the sound of human suffering.”

“You’re not a hero, you—aughhhhh!?”

Al suddenly bolted, and I got yanked along in his wake.

Because he’s carrying my real body, I get dragged right with him.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow! Scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape—owww!!”

◆

A girl was running for her life—Rasha.

Her village lay far from the big cities, yet her days had always been peaceful.

All of that vanished in a single day.

Bandit raid.

In this world, in this era, such things aren’t exactly rare.

What set this gang apart was their professional touch.

Bandits are usually half-baked; most start out as ordinary folk.

But the group attacking Rasha’s village was nothing like those run-of-the-mill thieves.

They destroyed the settlement with chilling thoroughness.

And they slaughtered its people as a matter of course—still were, in fact.

“Hey, let’s quit this chase already. I’m getting sick of it, y’know?”

“Hah, hah, hah, hah!”

Rasha didn’t slow at the taunt behind her; she pumped her legs even harder.

She had to reach the lord’s manor and beg for help.

Villagers had sacrificed themselves so she could escape.

To honor them, she kept running.

But the forest mocked her: a glinting arrow threaded through the trees and buried itself in her shoulder.

“Ah!?”

The pain and impact sent her sprawling, and the pursuers weren’t far enough behind to lose her.

From that moment, Rasha’s future was sealed.

The plan to save her village would never come true.

“C’mon, you ran way too far. Do you know how many arrows you made us waste?”

“We’ll just pick them up later. If she got away and tattled to the lord, they might send a hunting party. Don’t make us take that risk.”

“Y-you murderers…!”

Rasha glared at the bandits who could joke after shooting people and butchering villagers.

They were used to such hatred; they only snorted.

“Can’t be helped. We gotta live somehow.”

“In a world where the weak die, whining gets you nothing. The powerless just get looted and squeezed.”

Strength isn’t everything, but life here is night-and-day different depending on whether you have it.

Today’s scene proves it.

Powerful bandits commit injustice; powerless villages are bled dry.

Cruel, yes—but normal for this world.

“All right, time to kill her. Like I said, we can’t have you running to the lord.”

No bandit gang lasts forever.

Sooner or later the lord hears and sends a punitive force.

They knew that, yet chose wholesale slaughter to stretch their days a little longer.

“If we’re killing her anyway, might as well have some fun first. Maximum value, right?”

“Fine, but you finish the job.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, that’s the deal—”

Their eyes flashed with hungry lust.

Rasha could all too easily picture what awaited her.

A fate worse than simple death turned her face pale; she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Someone…help me!”

“No one’s coming, girl.”

The bandit spoke true.

They were off the main road.

The raid was still unseen by the outside world.

No one would save her—no one should have.

—Unless a lunatic convinced he was a Hero happened to be around.

“No. Your plea has reached me loud and clear.”

A man had somehow inserted himself between Rasha and the bandits.

White hair streamed behind him; his murky crimson eyes glimmered ominously.

Eyes that should have been eerie looked inexplicably warm to Rasha.

“Who the hell are you?”

One bandit barked, wariness plain, at the man—Alvarado.

Alvarado met the question with his usual blank expression.

“Just a hero passing through.”

“No, you’re not,” deadpanned the Holy Sword, dragged along for the ride.