Pen and Paper Translations

Since arriving in Root, the Hero Jake had hunted for the Hero’s Sword without a single break.

Finding the blade’s whereabouts was anything but easy.

Because he could hardly blurt out “Has anyone here seen the Hero’s Sword?”, Jake replaced the question with: “Is there anyone in this village who owns a sword?”

Perhaps that wording sounded threatening. Everyone he met threw themselves facedown, trembling as though about to die and begged for mercy.

Under such conditions, asking was impossible.

Instead of answering “I don’t know,” the ashen‐faced villagers wailed for their lives to be spared.

Jake even wondered in earnest whether they’d mistaken his visit for the Demon King’s arrival, not the Hero’s.

After several futile attempts, Jake abandoned conversation with anyone except the village chief and Rebecca.

“Judging by that farmer who swung a grain sack like a weapon, I thought everyone here would be equally lawless,” Elijah remarked, utterly unconcerned.

Jake only grew more anxious.

He needed to locate the Hero’s Sword, return to the capital, complete his party, and then defeat the Demon King… yet he was wasting far more time than expected.

By now, people in the capital would be growing curious about his whereabouts. Once it became known that he’d come to a tiny village like this, they would press for an explanation.

The fact that the Hero’s Sword was not in the Hero’s possessionmust never come out.
Absolutely never.

Jake clenched both fists.

He was burning inside.

“We can’t very well search every house by force… this is bad.”

“I asked Rebecca,” Elijah said. “She claims no one in town owns a sword at all.”

“It’s prejudice to think commoners never train with blades. Didn’t we meet a man who wielded a sack like a sword?”

“She insists none of them practice. At all.”

“Impossible! Then… could it be… the villagers all swing farm tools instead?”

Perhaps the sack‐wielding farmer had spent years honing that flour bag in place of a blade.
Maybe the others, too, could whirl hoes and scythes like weapons.

Jake was mildly curious but now was hardly the time.

“How about letting Rebecca help us? She’s at least willing to talk.”

“Absolutely not!”

For generations House West had safeguarded the Hero’s Sword.

Heroes born of the West line, once their duty ended, returned to the ducal manor and presented the blade that had severed the Demon King’s neck to the family.

Even those Heroes not from West came back to the capital to live in luxury, and the sword was naturally retrieved by the ducal house.

But the previous Hero of common birth had vanished instead of returning.

Vanished entirely, taking the Hero’s Sword with him.

“For House West, losing the very source of its prestige, the Hero’s Sword, is a stain beyond measure. The outside world must never know.”

“And yet it’s fine to tell me?”

“You’re my comrade, aren’t you?”

To hide the loss, House West fabricated history:

A comrade of the vanished Hero had brought the sword back, they wrote. The blade was still preserved in the ducal castle for the next Hero.

Twisting many records about the former Hero did not bother at all. Even if the gods punished them, they did not fear.

What they did fear was the family’s reputation crashing once the truth emerged.

“Fine. You chase that ‘aura of the Hero’s Sword’ you said was calling you. I’ll talk with the villagers. Maybe they won’t drop to their knees if I go alone.”

“Thank you, Elijah.”

The reason villagers failed to answer questions about swords was the very fact that their interrogator was a noble.

For people who had never left their hamlet, nobles were little more than mythical beings and in such towns, fantasies about nobles usually turned ugly.

Jake’s question “Does anyone own a sword?” had probably sounded like “Which insolent peasant dares possess a weapon capable of threatening me?”

Elijah, who looked nothing like a noble despite being minor gentry, headed to the village center to speak instead.

Wondering where in this town a sword might be hidden, Jake roamed the outskirts, chasing a hint of aura he could not feel, praying he might stumble upon something.

Splaaash!

Who knew how long he’d walked?

While circling the deep woods behind the village, he suddenly caught the sound of water.

A river or lake back here?

He knew he shouldn’t waste time but curiosity tugged at him.

Small and unadorned, this village blended perfectly with nature; how splendid might its rivers or lakes be?

At last curiosity won. Jake followed the splashing.

It wasn’t long before he found it:

A beautiful lake… and Reinhild, drifting upon its surface.

Beautiful…

He did not mean the lake.

Jake’s gaze could not leave the man swimming.

As though one with the water, Reinhild moved freely across the lake: sometimes lying relaxed, letting the ripples carry him; other times stroking arms and legs like a leisurely swimmer.

Unmindful of the chill that seeped to the bone even without entering, he even dove beneath the surface.

Jake stood motionless, simply watching.

If that sight were a work of art, it was one that sucked the viewer in.

After a long while Reinhild rose and, turning slowly, locked eyes with Jake.

“…!”

Jake stared, spellbound.

Short hair clung wetly to the other’s brow and cheeks, droplets slid along strands, gathered at his chin, then fell with a plip into the water.

Between parted, drenched shirt buttons lay a long white neck and collarbones pooled with water.

The thin, soaked cloth clung to every line of his body, making him somehow more seductive than if he wore nothing at all.

Fireworks burst in Jake’s brain. A festival began.

In short, Jake fell in love with Reinhild at first sight.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Uh, wh-what…?”

A human.

A human he’d never seen.

Why is a human here at this hour?

Reinhild, who hadn’t imagined anyone discovering him, panicked.

His secret trip out of the house to train mana must remain hidden. Xion must never know.

If Xion learned Reinhild was preparing to leave, he’d surely be sad.

If that gentle face twisted and asked, “Are you going away, Rein?” Reinhild doubted he could answer.

Though he was worrying over a human, he didn’t have even the leisure to scold himself.

First priority: silence this stranger.

Xion must not find out.

“Um,” the human’s mouth opened.

Reinhild splashed madly toward him, clothes heavy with water. 

He clamped both hands over the man’s mouth and, eyes pleading, shook his head. 

Please keep this secret.

Honestly, he’d rather merge the fellow with the lake forever, hold him under and be done.
But right now he lacked the strength.

Completely oblivious to these thoughts, Jake thought his heart might stop.

Reinhild’s faintly trembling expression: eyes so desperate they looked ready to spill tears, cheeks and nose reddened by cold, pale skin and damp lips… It was devastating.

Even if Jake’s heart had stopped, it would have restarted the instant those hands touched his cheeks. It thundered like a fish flopping on land.

Unable to restrain himself, he seized Reinhild’s hands.

“Tell me your name!”

“Eeeek!”

Thwack!

Reinhild reflexively smacked him.

“Ah—s-sorry!”

He hadn’t meant to hit the stranger.

I didn’t intend to attack!

When Xion touched him, it felt warm, but being touched by this stranger sent shivers crawling up his spine…

No, now wasn’t the time to justify.

The man looked dazed from the blow.

Reinhild didn’t waste the opening. He ran.

❖ ❖ ❖

Long after Reinhild fled, Jake remained there, blank-eyed.

When our hands touched… bells rang in my head!

Could this be love?

At twenty-three, Hero Jake was stunned for the first time by a feeling so intense it left his mind reeling. 

He decided to call it “love.”

Thoughts of the Hero’s Sword had vanished from his mind long ago.