The people of Root Village rarely left their home.
Their lives were already peaceful and happy enough without stepping outside the village.
Perhaps because her father handled distribution of Root’s crops to the outside, Rebecca always dreamed of leaving and going to a big city.
But Rebecca owned nothing, and moving to the city was all but impossible, so instead she chose to work in a neighboring town about an hour away on horseback from Root.
She was now in her second year doing reception work at a small mercenary guild there.
Commuting that long distance every day was a bit inconvenient, but it suited her far better than farming.
Above all, the greatest advantage was how easily and quickly she could gather information because passing on the news she picked up at the mercenary guild to everyone in Root was Rebecca’s little hobby.
“They say a festival will be held in the capital this time.”
When the waiting mercenaries began chatting while queued for assignments, Rebecca opened her ears and listened.
“A festival at a time like this?”
“They’re celebrating the birth of the Hero.”
The Hero!
It was the most interesting topic of all.
“This festival’s going to be extravagant. The Hero of this era is apparently the eldest son of Duke West.”
“A ducal house? Don’t nobles usually hate it when a Hero comes from their own family?”
“The West dukedom is different. Their house was founded on the achievement of defeating the Demon King.”
“Really?”
“The first Hero who slew the first Demon King married a princess and was granted a dukedom. You know a Hero gets to ask God for one wish after defeating the Demon King, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“His wish, they say, was that every Demon King to appear in the future would be felled by one of his descendants.”
“Ah, so he wanted to pass all the honor and rights enjoyed by a Hero down to his line.”
“Exactly. But since those descendants have scattered across the Empire, nowadays a Hero can pop up in odd places. That’s why the ducal house rejoices and calls it an honor when a Hero emerges from them.”
“Odd places or not, they still share the duke’s blood.”
“Blood alone doesn’t make everyone the same. The last Hero was a commoner from who-knows-where, and the one before that had been working in a stable, you know?”
“True. After so much time, a single bloodline can’t stay in one place.”
“Right. Who knows, maybe I’ve got royal blood in me too.”
“Tsk, say that out loud and you might get hauled off.”
After chattering for some time, the mercenaries picked up their contracts and left.
Rebecca rested her chin in her hand, combining every scrap of information she’d overheard.
The rumor about the first Duke West, the first Hero, and his “wish” was famous enough that even Rebecca already knew it, yet it wasn’t considered reliable: there were no records.
It had only taken root as “fact” because over half of all Heroes through the ages had come from the West family.
“Hey, Rebecca. Got any fun stories today?”
A mercenary came up and asked.
Rebecca beamed and delivered the fresh news she’d just gotten.
“Have you heard? The new Hero is from the West dukedom. They’ll hold a grand festival in the capital before he sets off on his quest.”
“Oh, nice! If we head to the capital at the right time, we can rake in work. Any convoy-escort jobs going that way?”
“There are always plenty of escorts to the capital. With the festival, they’ll more than triple. How about a five-person, silver-rank party contract?”
“Something with good pay, please.”
“Certainly!”
As always, Rebecca finished her shift perfectly and returned to Root.
The first to greet her after work was her father, just back from selling their crops elsewhere.
Mixed in with the money he brought were Xion’s sales proceeds.
As always, that was the largest pouch of coins.
“Father, I’ll take this to Xion!”
Now she had an excuse to see him.
If she shared today’s news while she was there, he’d be pleased.
He’d be happy knowing he was the very first to hear the Hero news everyone in the village was curious about.
Rebecca grabbed the heavy coin pouch and ran toward Xion’s house.
“Xion! Are you home?”
Normally Xion would open the door before the knock even finished, yet there was no answer.
“Still out working?”
Maybe he was already in bed.
If so, she couldn’t wake him.
Just as Rebecca, disappointed, was about to leave, the door creaked open.
“What brings you here, Miss Rebecca?”
“Xion! You were inside.”
Rebecca smiled brightly and held out the hefty pouch.
“It’s payment for the potatoes you left last time. Prices went up because the capital’s throwing a festival to celebrate the Hero’s birth, so you got more than usual.”
“Thank you.”
When Xion accepted the pouch and moved to shut the door, Rebecca hurried to speak.
“A Hero’s appeared. You aren’t curious?”
Xion smiled.
Rebecca was about to open her mouth as if hypnotized by that smile, but Xion answered first.
“No, that’s quite all right. Please get home safely.”
“Ah!”
Thud.
With that polite farewell, Xion closed the door.
“I was going to ask him to go to the festival with me…”
So even news of the Hero didn’t interest him.
Come to think of it, Xion never seemed concerned about big happenings.
He’d looked only a little cheerful when she told him of the Demon King’s return, no more than that.
“He probably wouldn’t care even if I told him the Hero’s first destination is Audrit.”
That was premium information a top-class mercenary had casually let slip just before closing time today.
And she hadn’t even gotten the chance to use it.
Feeling regretful for quite a while, Rebecca returned home.
❖ ❖ ❖
As soon as the door shut, Xion went straight to his room.
Unlike his usual unhurried manner, his steps were quick.
On the bed where Xion began and ended every day lay someone who was not Xion with
skin so pale it seemed bloodless, hair black as night.
It was Reinhild, whom Xion had found a week ago collapsed in the mountain behind his house during a storm.
When Xion first discovered him, Reinhild had been in a wretched state. He was alive only by miracle.
Under his torn clothes were scratches and bruises; his wrists, after days without food, looked ready to snap.
Worst of all, his body held no vital strength at all.
It seemed every trace of life force that any living being should possess had been drained. Reinhild had been dying.
Since then Xion hadn’t left his side for a moment, nursing him with utmost care, yet Reinhild still showed no sign of waking.
This was the first time ever that Xion who normally worked even on weekends had skipped the fields, and for a whole week.
One might expect him to talk to the sleeping Reinhild after so long, but Xion never uttered a single word; he simply kept silent vigil.
“Ah… mm…”
From time-to-time Reinhild groaned, cold sweat beading on his skin.
When the condition was severe, he would tremble, clutching his chest and scratching it with weak nails.
Though too feeble to break the skin, his snow-white flesh reddened at the slightest touch.
“Haa… huff…”
Xion gently took Reinhild’s hand, and Reinhild gripped back urgently as if catching a lifeline.
A week ago Reinhild had been too tortured even to moan; he’d had no strength.
Xion felt that the grip was a little stronger than the day before and waited until Reinhild settled into easier sleep.
Once his hand slackened in calm, Xion drew fresh water, warmed it, soaked a clean new towel, and wiped Reinhild’s face.
At mealtime he propped Reinhild up and spoon-fed him thin gruel that required no chewing.
Even unconscious, Reinhild accepted the food; once full, his face looked noticeably more at peace as he slept.
And so another quiet day passed.
Reinhild opened his eyes that night… in Xion’s arms.
❖ ❖ ❖
What on earth is happening?
Reinhild, who had been sleeping in pleasant warmth, froze for ten minutes after waking, unable to grasp the situation.
Let’s put the facts in order.
He had gone to the Demon King’s castle, been chased and attacked by vassals he trusted, barely escaped, and collapsed someplace unknown. That was his last memory.
He’d been certain he would die…
Then is this the afterlife?
Nonsense.
What kind of afterlife smells faintly of butter?
It didn’t feel like his soul had left his body and entered some stranger’s form either.
Nor did it seem he’d died and been reborn.
There was only one conclusion.
I survived.
Reinhild had survived under the protection of some suspicious human he had never seen before.
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