Vol 1 Chapter 4 – Because He’s the Hero

The bandit—now minus a head—pitched forward and fell.

Blood gushed from his neck, the dirt drinking it in.

The chunk of rubble jammed onto the Holy Sword’s tip was stained crimson.

“Swish!” Alvarado gave it a sharp flick to shake the blood free, then spoke with perfect composure.

“Surprised, villains? This is the Holy Sword’s edge.”

“No, you didn’t slice anything—you straight-up bludgeoned him! And how much strength does it take to vaporize a guy’s head with a blunt object? I mean, I egged you on, but that’s terrifying.”

The Holy Sword’s spirit fixed Alvarado with a long, accusing stare. A hero caving in skulls with his sacred blade was unheard-of.

Alvarado, however, didn’t care in the slightest. He believed—down to his core—that he was the Hero.

Watching someone get pulped by a rubble-tipped Holy Sword was shocking enough. Knowing that same threat was now aimed at them made the remaining bandits’ legs buckle.

But if they stayed put, they would simply be slaughtered. One look into Alvarado’s dark, blood-clouded red eyes told them he wasn’t the forgiving type.

“D-damn you! Dieee!”

“Hmph!”

“Hmph!”

“Hmph!”

“Hmph!”

With desperate screams the bandits rushed him, gambling their lives on a chance at survival.

It didn’t matter. Even a death-or-glory charge couldn’t reach Alvarado. Accompanied by those deflating kiai, he swung the Holy Sword (rubble and all) in wide arcs.

Each strike either blew a skull apart with a “Bang!” or shattered a dozen bones before pitching the body away.

“Urp…”

Forced to watch, Rasha fought hard not to throw up. Only moments ago she’d been an ordinary village girl.

No sane person feels fine witnessing a massacre. Beside her, the Sword’s spirit looked down in exasperation.

“Yeah, maybe don’t watch? Seeing people get clubbed to death will wreck your mental health.”

For the record, the spirit was entirely unfazed. She’d once fought properly as a Holy Sword, and scenes like this were of her own making.

Not that that was the real reason. In truth she simply didn’t care what happened to humans. Even watching them turned to paste left her perfectly calm.

Besides, these were the jerks who’d mocked her and Alvarado. Dying was only fair—shame she couldn’t torture them first.

How such a creature qualified as a Holy Sword was anyone’s guess. Trying not to faint, Rasha ventured a question.

“Um… if he’s using the Holy Sword, does that mean he’s the Hero…?”

“…Excuse me?”

The spirit’s face twisted with naked disgust—as if to say, What did you just say, mortal?

“Eek! S-sorry!”

Rasha apologized at once. While she trembled, Alvarado strolled over.

“Looks like a lively chat. Mind if I join?”

“Oh, you’re done already?”

“Of course.”

Rasha glanced over his shoulder—then looked away at once. Everything behind him was bright red.

Every last bandit who’d attacked her lay bludgeoned to death, heads missing or limbs bent the wrong way.

Entrails decorated the ground; it was unbearable to behold. Yet the man responsible wore a placid mask.

Snuffing out evil lives stirred not a flicker of emotion in him. He merely shook his head in mild annoyance.

“Seeing powerless yet greedy men only reminds me how hideous they truly are.”

“Why are you talking like the final boss?”

The spirit edged away. Nothing about that line sounded heroic.

Yet…

“Are you all right?”

Alvarado offered a hand to the collapsed Rasha. The way he instinctively moved to protect the weak was unmistakably heroic—

—But his deeds and his gentle heart didn’t match at all, leaving the spirit with a pounding headache.

Still, maybe, just maybe…

Though she knew it was foolish, Rasha opened her mouth.

“P-please, save our village!”

“Leave it to me.”

Alvarado nodded without asking why or how. Because he was the Hero.

“No, you’re not,” the spirit muttered.

◆

I carried the rescued girl—Rasha—in my arms, careful not to jostle her as I walked. An unpaved road is hard to traverse.

“I-I can walk on my own…”

Rasha blushed and protested softly. Such a modest girl.

Look at the spirit. She’s clinging to my back uninvited. I ought to drop-kick her.

“Don’t be reckless. You’re badly injured. Stay still.”

Indeed, an arrow had pierced her shoulder. I’d given first aid, but a real physician still needed to see her.

For a normal girl, a shoulder wound is grave. To me it would be a mere scratch.

A scrape like that can’t cool the flames of righteous justice. I bore Rasha with utmost care so her wound wouldn’t reopen.

“So what’s the plan? You seriously going to help their village?”

The spirit asked with her usual distaste. She wasn’t human-phobic; she simply valued herself far above mankind.

Given the choice between her own fun and saving exploited weaklings, she cared only for the former. Utterly shameless.

“Of course. A Hero saves those who cry for help.”

“You’re not a Hero… Ugh, this is such a hassle.”

There she goes again. If I’m not the Hero, who could be? I’ve got the Holy Sword—case closed.

“Don’t say that, Beloved Sword.”

Rasha overheard us and looked stricken. That would never do.

I gave her a reassuring smile.

“All evil shall be annihilated.”

Evil must be wiped out—especially scum who prey on others for their own desires. Not one of these bandits may live.

Time for pest control.

“I’ve met some intense Heroes before, but…”

“There were several like that?” Rasha squeaked.

So other Heroes shared my views. Good.

…Yes, I’m absolutely the Hero. Perfectly clear.

“Thing is, Al’s the only one who actually follows through this brutally…”

What? The others spared evildoers? Unacceptable—we’re incompatible.

Seems I alone deserve the title of Hero…

“I see it. Is that your village?”

“Y-yes, that’s it.”

Lost in thought, I’d reached a high ridge with a full view of the settlement.

Plumes of black smoke rose here and there—clearly not an ordinary day. With my Hero’s Eye, I saw that some villagers had already been killed.

Bandits swaggered through the streets as if they owned the place. Confirming this, I gently set Rasha down and declared:

“So much trash. Very well—time to kill them all.”