Chapter 103: Hero Festival – Part 1 (4)

Shortly afterward, the crowd parted in a straight line, and from within it emerged a procession.

Their appearance was grotesque and unnerving. Rather than inquisitors, they resembled cultists—an impression that seemed far more fitting.

The crimson robes draped over their entire bodies looked as though they were soaked in blood, and the iron masks concealing their faces radiated an aura no ordinary person could hope to challenge.

Their heights also stood out, most of them towering over 180 cm.

And it wasn’t just one or two of them—dozens marched in unison, their sheer numbers amplifying their already overwhelming presence.

“These are supposed to be inquisitors? Seriously?”

Sion muttered under his breath, suspicion written all over her face.

“You’re kidding, right? They’re not the real deal, are they?”

“Of course not,” Marianne replied. “It’s just cosplay, so don’t worry.”

“Cosplay? So you’re saying the real ones look like that too?”

Marianne’s response only deepened Sion’s unease.

The dystopian flair of this scene, 500 years into the future, was something far too radical for her conservative sensibilities.

Sure, even in her time, religious fanatics were rarely sane, but this…

“Inquisitor General, incoming!!!”

A loud drumbeat accompanied by a booming voice marked the arrival of someone significant at the rear of the procession.

Sion turned to see a colossal man striding confidently at the center of the group, flanked by aides.

The man was massive—two heads taller than anyone else, with shoulders broad enough to seem unnatural.

His measured, deliberate strides exuded a solemn, disciplined air.

It wasn’t just his physique or demeanor that stood out; his mask, far more elaborate and luxurious than those of his subordinates, left no doubt about his authority.

That guy looks like a big deal… but does someone like him really fit into this theatrical nonsense?

“Hmm? Wait a minute—”

But before she could make sense of the odd unease creeping over her, her thoughts were interrupted by a furious shout.

“There he is! It’s him!”

The shout came from someone in the crowd, and as Sion turned her gaze back to the procession, a large wooden cart appeared, carrying an enormous cross.

About a dozen inquisitors escorted the cart as it glided smoothly forward.

The cross, easily five meters tall, had iron restraints fixed to its arms like a crude rack.

Suspended from it, like a twisted trophy, was a red-skinned demon man.

“So that’s the ‘criminal’ they caught this time?” Sion muttered.

“Again with that guy? Doesn’t he ever give it a rest?”

“Seriously, these demon bastards can’t seem to go a single day without causing trouble!”

“Kill him! Hack him to pieces this time!”

The crowd erupted into curses and jeers, their fury boiling over at the sight of the demon.

It was a scene straight out of a genuine inquisition, and Sion shuddered as fragments of past memories flashed through her mind.

But when the atmosphere grew too chaotic, the lead inquisitor stepped forward and raised a hand to calm the crowd.

“Silence! Silence, all of you!”

The cacophony subsided as the inquisitor declared,

“We shall now commence the interrogation. Remain silent and bear witness!”

With that, the inquisitor unfurled a scroll with a dramatic flourish and turned to face the demon hanging from the cross.

His voice, sharp and stern, rang out.

“Criminal Mamot, hear this!”

He began to read the charges aloud, his tone unyielding.

“You claimed to the Organizing Committee that your upcoming work would be a lighthearted comedy and healing story, and your submitted samples reflected as much.

However, the released title The Hero Party’s Baggage Carrier turned out to be a vile, depraved tale of NTR, in which an original character—a lowly laborer—employs insidious and heinous schemes to defile each member of the hero’s party one by one!

In doing so, you violated Article 8, Section 4 of the Hero Festival participant laws, which expressly prohibit any depiction of sexual relations involving characters other than Hero Lier and his allies.

Do you admit to these charges?”

The inquisitor’s piercing gaze locked onto Mamot as he finished his accusation.

The demon smirked, feigning nonchalance.

“Hey, get your facts straight. It’s NTL, not NTR. The porter is the protagonist, not Lier or Sien. Learn your genres before making a fuss.”

“You insolent wretch! How dare you mock us with wordplay?!” the inquisitor roared.

The crowd, spurred by his outrage, began shouting again, their anger rising to a fever pitch.

“You lying bastard! You said it was a slice-of-life story!”

“I trusted you this time, damn it!”

“Why does the cover have three pure-hearted heroines when the content is garbage-tier gold-plated NTR?!”

Some even began hurling stones at the demon, prompting the lesser inquisitors to intervene and restore order.

“Calm yourselves! This trial cannot proceed amid such chaos!”

After a few minutes, the crowd reluctantly quieted down, though their glares remained fixed on the demon.

The lead inquisitor resumed, his voice solemn.

“The sins you have committed are too heinous to be cleansed even by the flames of purification. However, in accordance with the teachings of the great deity Lafrey, even a sinner as vile as you will be granted one final opportunity to repent and walk the righteous path.

Criminal Mamot, do you accept the mercy of the gods and vow to atone for your misdeeds?”

The inquisitor’s intense gaze lingered on Mamot, who glanced around at the hostile crowd, their eyes filled with disgust and contempt.

Closing his eyes, Mamot murmured softly, “I accept.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Could it be? Was this defiant demon truly surrendering?

But their astonishment was short-lived.

“—Did you actually believe that?”

Mamot grinned, his voice dripping with mockery as he sneered at both the inquisitors and the crowd.

“You’re all hypocrites—filthy, self-righteous hypocrites.

“What’s that? ‘NTR disgraces the honor of heroic figures who’ve devoted their lives to the world’s salvation’? Oh, please.

Then tell me, you sanctimonious pricks, how are your precious BL, GL, or TS stories any better?

Are those somehow honorable? Is that how you define virtue?!”

“…..!”

The crowd, momentarily stunned, exchanged uneasy glances.

Mamot’s argument wasn’t entirely without merit, and some even felt a twinge of doubt about their own double standards.

But not everyone was swayed.

“Shut up!!!” Marianne shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Mamot.

“You NTR-loving scum wouldn’t understand the subtle, genuine emotional exchanges in BL! You can’t even begin to grasp the depth of our pursuit of true human connection!”

“She’s right!”

“Mamot, take back what you said!”

The crowd erupted again, this time in defense of their own preferences.

At the forefront, Marianne raised her voice, joined by the women mingling among the crowd.

Their resounding cries were reminiscent of an elite force of a hundred warriors, each capable of holding their ground against a thousand foes.

As some of the crowd cautiously distanced themselves from the group, a man sneered and said,

“Really? But do you think Sien or Lier themselves would feel the same way?

My guess is that if they were resurrected in the modern day and saw those works you indulge in, they’d tear them apart in rage. ‘How dare you distort our precious friendship like this!’ they’d probably yell.”

“….!”

Marianne flinched, stepping back with a startled expression, as if struck to the core.

The man, smirking at her reaction, glanced around at the crowd and continued,
“I used an extreme example to illustrate my point, but isn’t it the same with your other pairings? Sien and Exia, for instance? How many times did they fight tooth and nail during their three years of travel?

And yet, you’ve decided to spin it into some romantic narrative. Did you confirm it with them directly?

No, because you’d be too scared to ask, wouldn’t you? Just a bunch of cowards, really.”

“You bastard!”

At that provocation, a young man dressed in a Sien cosplay rushed forward, unable to contain his rage.

He drew a sword—designed suspiciously like Exia’s—and lunged at the man.

Alarmed inquisitors dove in, six or more at a time, trying to restrain the youth as he yelled furiously:

“Take that back! Take it back! Sien and Exia are the ultimate pairing! What do you even know?!”

The crowd, too, shouted in unison,

“That young man speaks the truth! You ignorant fool, incapable of understanding true love!”

“Don’t you see how their feelings gradually blossom? That’s the real treasure!”

“I support Mana X Sien, but even I can’t tolerate such blasphemy! Someone kill that man already!”

“Burn him! Burn him at the stake!”

The court quickly descended into chaos, a frenzy spiraling out of control.

Amidst the cries for execution, Sion muttered quietly from the back,

“You know… he’s not entirely wrong, is he?”

-“Right? The guy’s surprisingly rational when it comes down to it.”

But by now, the mob was too far gone to discern right from wrong.

The square trembled as thousands of voices chanted, “Burn him! Burn him!” The sheer volume felt like it could shake the earth itself.

The inquisitors, caught off guard, exchanged panicked glances.

Then, as if seeking guidance, they turned as one toward their leader.

The High Inquisitor, acknowledging the unspoken plea, raised an arm and muttered a brief incantation,

“Calm Emotion.”

A soothing wave rippled through the space, silencing the mob as if cold water had been poured over a roaring fire.

The frenzy dissipated, replaced by an eerie calm.

“Impressive,” Sion murmured, watching from a distance.

“To pacify such chaos with a single spell, and without even a grand gesture… He must be a skilled cleric. Or perhaps a mage?”

Both possibilities were plausible, as the Calm Emotion spell existed in both divine and arcane disciplines.

For someone like Sion, who often exploited such ambiguities to scam others, this level of expertise was particularly noteworthy.

“Criminal Mamot,” the High Inquisitor intoned as he stepped forward, his voice deep and commanding.

“Though you stand accused in this trial, your arguments hold some merit. Indeed, many decry this festival as a disgrace to the heroes’ honor.

While our order strives to curtail such slander, we are but mere humans, not omnipotent deities.

However…”

The Inquisitor raised his head, his gaze piercing through the mask as he glared at the accused.

“Even if, for argument’s sake, we accept your critique, there remains an unforgivable transgression. You advertised The Hero Party’s Baggage Carrier as a lighthearted comedy.

You reported it as such to the festival committee. Yet, the actual content sold to the public was a vulgar work of depravity, leaving viewers appalled.

How is this anything but deceit? If you are as righteous as you claim, why did you choose the most dishonest means to express your views?”

This, then, was the crux of the outrage: not merely that Mamot created an NTR story, but that he had concealed its nature and sold it under false pretenses, causing widespread discontent.

Had it been sold discreetly to a niche audience, there might have been quiet disdain, but it wouldn’t have escalated to a trial.

The Inquisitor’s pointed question elicited a chilling grin from Mamot.

“Why, isn’t it obvious?” he replied, as if stating an undeniable truth.

“The real charm of NTR lies in catching the audience completely off guard!”

And with that, the debate ended.

The Inquisitor, shaking his head in resignation, asked one last question:

“Do you truly have no intention of repenting?”

“None,” Mamot answered flatly.

“Very well.”

The High Inquisitor closed his eyes, murmured a prayer, and declared solemnly:

“The verdict: death by fire.”

Torches were lit, and the pyre beneath Mamot ignited.

Flames roared upward, engulfing him as the crowd cheered.

Yet, instead of agony, Mamot burst into laughter.

“Is this all you’ve got?! This isn’t even hot! My home’s bath is hotter than this! Weaklings!”

Though his body blackened from the flames, he remained defiant, shouting at the crowd:

“I’ll be waiting in the depths of hell, you hypocrites! Hahaha!”

Watching from afar, Sion whispered to Marianne,

“Isn’t that actual fire? Are they seriously burning someone alive for selling an obscene book?”

Marianne waved it off. “Nah, he’s part fiend. Fire can’t kill him; it just stings a bit. Think of it like standing under a scorching sun for hours.”

“Ah…” Sion sighed in relief. Humanity hadn’t completely lost its mind.

But as Mamot laughed maniacally while being burned, Sion couldn’t help but think,

 ‘….This world is truly insane.’