When the Hero’s party first arrived in the village, the village chief had no choice but to vacate his own house.
Because in Root, where outsiders almost never came, there wasn’t a single inn.
If he mishandled a noble-born Hero, ruin could follow, so the village chief offered up his own home.
Even after handing the house over, he kept worrying:
Would the biggest house in the village look far too shabby to the Hero?
And there sat the Hero Jake, in the middle of that very shabby house, staring blankly, one hand pressed to a cheek that Reinhild had slapped hard.
“Did you run into someone who hit you?”
“Do not belittle the token of my love, Elijah.”
What on earth had happened to him? How did he go searching for the Hero’s Sword but came back this deranged?
No matter how Elijah looked, that mark wasn’t a love‐tap. It was the imprint of someone swinging with all their might.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Of course. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“I mean your head, not your cheek.”
“A cheek is part of the head, is it not?”
“I’m asking if the brain inside your skull is okay.”
“If you mean the peal of destiny’s bell, I most certainly heard it.”
He’s hopeless. Completely gone.
When they finally recruit a cleric for this party, she’ll have to see whether mental ailments can be healed.
“The person you met… he’s from this village, right?”
“Unless he was an elf, said to be the fairest race alive, he must be.”
“Pointed ears?”
“Not at all.”
“Then he’s a villager here. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To Rebecca’s. She can tell us who he is. Confess, invite him to the party… do whatever. First, we find him.”
Jake, who’d been sitting dazed ever since returning from the lake, sprang up and dashed straight to Rebecca’s house.
A guest arriving so late was hardly welcome, but Rebecca couldn’t show it. The visitor was the Hero.
Jake poured out a lavish description of his “fated one,” as if the wedding were tomorrow.
After listening a while, Rebecca answered,
“There’s no one like that in our village.”
Her tone was firm.
“I saw him clearly with my own two eyes.”
“You said he was a man with fair, spotless skin?”
“Indeed.”
“Everyone here, young or old, works under the sun. Their skin’s all brown.”
The only villagers less tanned were Rebecca, who didn’t farm, and Xion, whose skin stayed unusually light despite farming.
But Xion and the Hero’s vision of “a man with transparent skin, rosy cheeks, and a shy air” were millions of miles apart.
Light for a farmer, yes, but not skin white as fresh snow.
“I see.”
Jake accepted Rebecca’s words more calmly than Elijah expected.
That’s unexpected.
Elijah had half thought he’d argue, but he was so composed.
Elijah almost revised his opinion of Jake.
“I must have met a fairy.”
Scratch that. He’s still crazy.
“Right. A being so beautiful couldn’t be an ordinary person.”
“Fairies exist only in legend.”
“If he’s not a villager, or an elf, or a fairy—what on earth is he?”
“Don’t know. Pale skin, black hair, red eyes… only the previous Demon King comes to mind.”
“The Demon King? Not bad.”
Is this lunatic serious?
“The Hero and the Demon King are bound by fate. By the will of the gods, they must spend their lives at each other’s side.”
“Hello, Hero? Snap out of it. Heroes and Demon Kings don’t live together. They spend their lives beating each other down, killing and getting killed.”
“Ha-ha, a joke. Such a beautiful, noble being can’t be the Demon King; the Demon King is wicked and crafty. Elijah, you should have seen those pure eyes. Yes! He’s surely a messenger of the gods, sent to guide me!”
Messenger of the gods, my foot.
“I understand! The Hero’s Sword must be in that lake!”
Shouting, Jake bolted from the house.
“You just got home. You’re out the door again already!”
Elijah was exasperated, but as a party member he had no choice but to follow.
He wished now he’d refused that invitation to join the hero’s party.
“The merciful gods sent him to show me where the sword lies, Elijah. Of that I’m certain!”
It sounded mad, yet it wasn’t entirely impossible.
If I were a god and I’d picked Jake as Hero, I wouldn’t sleep either. I’d worry so much.
Had Elijah been a deity and seen the state Jake was in, he would have put up a big sign reading THE HERO’S SWORD IS RIGHT HERE.
Hoping to find the sword any moment, the two hurried to the lake.
“Uh… wh-what?”
There was no lake.
“What the— You said there was a lake!”
Only a huge pit the size of a lake remained.
A vast round depression, not a single drop of water in it.
“But… there should be a lake here….”
“You claimed a beautiful man walked out of a crystal lake. Are you sure that lake ever existed?”
“There… there was water… a lake….”
“Are you hallucinating, Jake? We’re doomed. This generation’s Hero is a wreck. Oh gods, what trial is this for humankind!”
“There… there was… a lake… Ah! The gods must have taken the water away ahead of time, so we could find the sword easily!”
Face bright again, Jake leapt down into the dry basin and started digging at random, hoping the Hero’s Sword lay buried beneath.
No sword appeared nor anything remotely like one.
❖ ❖ ❖
“Yaaawn.”
Reinhild woke with a huge yawn.
For the first time in ages, he’d slept soundly, with no nightmares of being chased by Heroes or of a peaceful world.
Maybe because he’d overdone it yesterday, or maybe because Xion had held him especially gently.
Whatever the reason, he’d awakened before Xion came to rouse him.
“Smells good.”
A sweet scent drifted from the kitchen.
Heavier with butter than usual. Perfect.
I wanted something sweet anyway. It was just right.
When a lot of mana burns away suddenly, your body feels drained, batteries empty.
Then you have to eat sweets or foods so greasy they weigh on your stomach.
Otherwise, mana loss can make you seriously ill or even faint.
True, they’d had a hearty dinner, but Xion had thrown it together in a rush after tending Reinhild. Little of it had been fatty.
He couldn’t very well explain that his mana was gone, and with so much to hide he’d felt embarrassed to ask for greasy food, so what luck was this?
Reinhild dashed out of the room.
“You’re up early today, Reinhild.”
“W-wow.”
He couldn’t answer.
On the table was at least double the usual spread.
Not merely “generous,” but a variety and richness fit for a party.
So this is what they mean by a table groaning under the feast.
“Xion, what is all this?”
“Breakfast bread, to start.”
Breakfast bread? Don’t be absurd.
Every morning “Xion’s breakfast bread” meant thinly buttered slices toasted lightly, eaten with milk or soup.
Today’s “bread” was different.
The crust didn’t look buttered at all, yet the loaf shone with grease—who knew how much butter was kneaded in. The cut surface was packed with sugar-cured fruit and huge walnuts.
Beside it sat a massive bowl heaped with whipped cream.
“Can I spread cream on the bread?”
“Of course.”
“Unbelievable.”
The day came when he ate bread not with milk or soup but with cream!
Eyes shining, Reinhild surveyed the dishes.
Scrambled eggs laden with cheese.
Bacon, normally forbidden as a bundle of “bad fats.”
Various meat dishes whose fat and skin, usually stripped away without mercy, remained intact.
Even the potato dish oozed cheese, and the steamed pumpkin had a slab of butter melting on top.
“What’s this?”
“Peanuts boiled with sugar, corn syrup, and butter till they set. I prepared plenty, so snack on them all day.”
He could feel his blood sugar rising just hearing the explanation.
Xion had made all these health-destroying delights?
For breakfast, no less?
And so many?
Just looking at the high-fat spread refilled his strength.
Picking what seemed the healthiest item—a tomato—he took a bite.
Maybe roasted till sweet and then sprinkled with sugar, the flavor penetrated to the core.
Delicious.
“…”
Reinhild set the half-eaten tomato down slowly.
The brightness on his face tightened, as if nerves had struck.
After a pause he asked gravely,
“Am I about to be kicked out?”
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