Ch.77. The Protagonist and the Saint (1)

“So, are you the legendary mercenary?”

“Yes, I am the legendary mercenary.”

From the beginning, Aryen disliked the hero. Perhaps the hero who welcomed him as a comrade felt the same way. Both of them knew this fact. The hero was arrogant, and Aryen couldn’t stand his arbitrary nature. Their conflict, which had been simmering on the verge of explosion, fully surfaced after they defeated the “Third Calamity” and returned triumphantly to the royal capital.

“Aryen, leave the party.”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking during our last expedition. It’s right for you to leave. I’ve determined that this party can function perfectly well without you.”

It’s right to leave. Right? What an arrogant voice. No, if it had been perfectly arrogant, he might not have been so angry. The hero’s voice, as he glared at Aryen, contained a hint of anxiety. Those dull blue-green eyes trembled. As usual, the hero’s office was dimly lit with the lights turned off. Aryen let out a hollow laugh.

“Right, you say. Well, let me hear one reason why.”

Did he lose his mind after defeating the “Third Calamity”? Did he think he slew the monster alone just because he delivered the final blow? Aryen glared back at the hero’s eyes, which gleamed like those of a beast.

“You’re too willful. Not only do you refuse to follow my control, but don’t you realize that our entire party is on the verge of splitting apart because of you?”

“How can you be so irritating from beginning to end?”

Aryen spoke with anger infused into each syllable. Still maintaining some pride, the hero-bastard gritted his teeth, contorting every facial muscle he had.

“That’s my line. How can you consistently refuse to follow my control from beginning to end?”

“I would have followed if you were qualified to lead. You incompetent bastard.”

“Since when did someone like you get to judge my qualifications?”

Crack.

The floor beneath Aryen’s feet cracked. As mana surged up with an uncontrollable force, the hero also drew up his own mana to confront it. Their energies initially seemed equal, but at some point, Aryen’s force grew overwhelmingly stronger, as if it would devour the hero’s.

“With eyes attached, yet refusing to see—you might as well be blind.”

“Then with ears attached, yet refusing to listen—you must be deaf.”

The tension permeated the room as if about to make it explode. Aryen was about to argue further with veins bulging, but then realized there was absolutely no reason for him to cling to this situation and closed his mouth. He never had any sense of mission to begin with. He didn’t have much affection for this world anyway. And he especially hated the idea of having to travel around the world constantly rubbing shoulders with this dog of a man.

“Fine, let’s see how well you do.”

Aryen stretched out the word “well” as he turned around. Further conversation seemed like a waste of time. The hero was the one who expelled him, and all responsibility would fall on that guy who had summoned him alone. Aryen bore no fault. Aryen grabbed the doorknob and looked back at the hero. How long could he maintain those arrogant eyes after Aryen was gone?

“I don’t know how long your precious hero act will last.”

Aryen opened the door and paused for a moment. Before throwing everything away and leaving, there was still one thing bothering him. Isis. The Saint who had rebelled alongside him against that hero who knew nothing of reality, whose head was filled only with flowers. And a comrade with whom he had shared even greater hardships.

Isis.

Aryen gritted his teeth again as he recalled Isis’s gaze and smile. Though it troubled him to leave her behind, it would be better for him to depart without a word to avoid putting her in a difficult situation.

“At least, don’t burden the remaining party members.”

Slam.

Aryen left only a short note, then packed all his belongings and caught a night carriage. Whatever happened, he wanted to leave the royal capital first. He wanted to escape this country that had forcibly recruited him from his free mercenary life to serve that mouse-haired hero.

“I guess I won’t be working as a mercenary for a while.”

In the rattling carriage, Aryen rolled his eyes. At the edge of the star-filled night sky, the lights of the royal capital flickered faintly. Aryen sent a hateful gaze toward the city before closing his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll try being an adventurer for a while.”

He put aside the image of Isis’s face that appeared in a corner of his mind. At least he had left a note, so she would know what had happened.

==

Isis was the first member of the hero’s party. Before Ilroy was chosen by the Holy Sword and earned the title of hero, Isis was already fulfilling her duties as a Saint. The reason she could become a Saint despite knowing neither destructive magic nor swordsmanship was solely due to her mana imbued with healing properties.

“Ah…, Saint! Thank you… thank you!”

“I thought I’d have to live as a one-armed man for the rest of my life… Thank you…”

Whether bones were broken, intestines spilled from a hole in the stomach, limbs severed, or eyeballs plucked out—Isis’s magic could heal everything as long as the head wasn’t cut off. When the Holy Nation discovered Isis’s talent, they immediately made her the face of the church and gave her the embarrassing title of Saint. Though the title made her blush, Isis was fundamentally very proud of her duty.

“…You’re going to defeat the Calamity?”

The narrow-eyed bishop, who always wore a kind smile, nodded.

“This was decided at the recent summit between the Kingdom of Kairos and the Holy Nation. Someone chosen by the sacred artifact has appeared. The people of the kingdom already call him the hero.”

At the word “hero,” Isis opened her blue eyes wide. Seeing her reaction, the bishop let out a small laugh. The dim candlelight hazily illuminated the bishop’s smile. The bishop turned toward the relief on the wall where his shadow flickered and sighed softly.

“The Holy Nation… or more precisely, our Blue Orthodox Church would have had to do this eventually. The fact that Kairos Kingdom, which possesses the Holy Sword, made the proposal first was a welcome development. And for this mission, the Holy Nation will recommend you, Isis, to assist the hero. It would be best if you volunteered to join the party first.”

Since she had always lived for duty, this wasn’t anything special. Isis nodded confidently. She was confident that her sense of mission and justice was second to none. Even if it was the hero chosen by the Holy Sword.

“So, will I be going with just the hero?”

“That would be too difficult. The Kingdom of Kairos will mobilize all its resources to support this expedition. With such a noble cause backing it, other countries will also roll up their sleeves and help.”

Though the bishop spoke as if telling her not to worry, Isis couldn’t help but be concerned about the support from other countries. She didn’t think they would understand the meaning of this expedition and provide proper support.

But who would have known that the hero would be the biggest problem once the party was formed?

“I’ll go first here.”

“No, you fall back. I’ll take the lead.”

The hero was dogmatic and arbitrary. He never listened to the party members’ opinions, and whenever something happened, he always tried to draw his prized Holy Sword and step forward. His temper was so hasty that he had endangered the party more than once by recklessly charging at monsters.

“Don’t interfere.”

The hero wasn’t weak. But he was weaker than the mercenary who joined during the journey. The worst part was that the hero developed an inferiority complex and feelings of inadequacy toward the mercenary. The first journey of the hero’s party, the path to defeat the “Third Calamity,” could be summarized as a battle of pride between the hero and the mercenary. The difference between them was that the hero flaunted his pride, while the mercenary had no need to do so.

It was only natural that the Saint came to rely on the mercenary more than the hero.

Why did such an inadequate person become the hero? Wouldn’t the journey have been smoother without the hero?—Such resentment toward the hero grew. Meanwhile, the hero, completely oblivious, openly showed his affection for Isis. In fact, this was one of the hardest things to endure.

Be patient. If Aryen is here, I can endure it.

And just a few days after they defeated the “Third Calamity,” Isis heard shocking news from George.

“You expelled him? Aryen?”

There was no need to think twice. Isis hurriedly headed to the hero’s hideout with George following her. She opened the door and poured out her complaints to the hero. No, not complaints—the reality of this hero’s party. The hero’s face, which had been listening to Isis’s words with feigned calmness, had somehow turned blank.

“Fine, if you’re just going to stand there stupidly without any explanation, I’ll leave this damn party too. I’d much rather go find Aryen than stay with you.”

Isis decided to leave to find Aryen. The Holy Sword was just a secondary factor. If she were to continue the journey to save the world, it would be much better to persuade Aryen to join her than to stick with this wretched hero.

“Who says you can leave this party?”

Even at this moment, the hero seemed to be under the delusion that he held control of the situation. Isis poured out her words to the hero’s stupid face.

“Ha! Who says? I say. You can’t bind me. You should know that well.”

“Wait—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear any more. If you don’t want to create friction with the Holy Nation, don’t try to hold me back or follow me.”

Isis knew that the Holy Nation would always take the Saint’s side. And she could clearly see what path the hero’s party would take after expelling Aryen. The Kingdom of Kairos might have supported her too, but they would never take the hero’s side. The kingdom’s key figures didn’t seem particularly fond of or welcoming toward the hero anyway.

With these thoughts, Isis left the royal capital.

.

.

Two weeks had passed.

Isis now looked less like a Saint and more like an ordinary female adventurer. With her cloak pulled over her head to avoid people’s gazes, Isis sat in a tavern in a remote village, her blue eyes gleaming.

“…Wait for me. I’ll find you soon.”

In Isis’s hand was the note Aryen had left behind. In it, Aryen had briefly described what discord he had with the hero, why he left the party, and where he planned to go. Isis carefully folded the note, put it in her pocket, and let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, so you’re from the royal capital?”

Just then, Isis overheard a conversation between the tavern owner and a customer. At the mention of the “royal capital,” Isis perked up her ears to listen to what they were saying.

“Yes. I’m not an adventurer, just arrived here today on a temporary assignment.”

“Any interesting news from the royal capital these days? Is the hero’s party still doing well?”

Hero’s party.

Isis’s blue eyes sank. She didn’t particularly want to know, but it was information she needed to have.

The customer looked around quickly and began speaking in a lower voice.

“I heard the hero’s party has undergone major changes. They say the Saint and the mercenary left.”

“Really? Why on earth would they…”

The customer made a gesture of putting his finger to his lips, silencing the owner.

“Shh. This is just between us. You know, I only know this because I work at the palace. It’s not something to be spread around.”

“I know, man. Choose whatever you want to drink. Just tell me the story first.”

At the customer’s next words, Isis couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh.

“Besides that, it seems the hero’s party has many issues on multiple fronts. I heard the palace is holding a hearing about it.”