episode_0013

A worn and shabby inn room, far from what one might call a guest room.

Freet, the warrior of the Line Kingdom, was there.

Leaning against the peeling wall, next to a crude and messy bed, he let out only sighs filled with despair.

“…How did it come to this?”

Why?

His exposed body bore no wounds, yet Freet’s expression contorted in intense anguish.

Emotions he had never considered when taking his first steps as a warrior—regret and frustration—ripped and tore through his heart.

Why just an expression of despair?

Dark eyes beneath heavy shadows, unwashed jet-black hair for days, and cheeks streaked with neglect.

Contrary to the world’s judgment that “his face is the only thing worth looking at,” the current Freet was nothing more than a wretch, consumed by alcohol and drugs, selling even his parents.

“Was I wrong?”

Like a crow with broken wings, plummeting into the sewer, Freet repeatedly dwelled on self-denial and regret, recalling and reflecting on his memories.

“Did I make a mistake?”

Old memories resurfaced in his weary mind, layer by layer.

The bewilderment when branded as a warrior from a mere peasant.

The burden felt upon receiving the title of the Line Kingdom’s Holy Sword, “Nivelung.”

Even the elation he experienced standing at the center of praise and cheers, the protagonist of a splendid inauguration ceremony, alongside the three companions appointed by the royal family.

Until then, Freet’s heart had been brimming with hope.

Even the weighty “duty of a warrior” felt like something he could achieve, as long as he worked hard and stood with his comrades.

However…

– Defeated… by mere goblins?

It didn’t take long for the praises for the new warrior to turn into disappointment and scorn.

“…You’re truly useless, aren’t you?”

From the expectant expressions during their handshake, to the realization of their own failure, Freet’s party members swiftly transitioned from enthusiasm to contempt.

◆◆

Initially, Emelia, Irina, and Brunhilde hadn’t been quick to criticize Freet.

Freet, despite being considered a superior race, had suffered defeat against a mere hobgoblin. Nonetheless, rather than mocking her, her companions offered words of comfort.

“Cheer up, Freet! It’s your first time, so it’s understandable. If you keep gaining experience, you’ll surely become stronger!”

“Well, let’s just chalk this one up to bad luck. There’s always the next time. I can do better, right?”

Emelia firmly held Freet’s left hand with both of hers, encouraging him, while Irina, though sticking her tongue out, refrained from blame.

“Yeah, after all, you were originally a commoner unfamiliar with battles… So it’s possible to lose. Don’t be disheartened. If you don’t know how to fight, I’ll teach you.”

Lastly, Brunhilde went beyond mere consolation and proposed to personally teach Freet swordsmanship.

However, her offer didn’t imply passing on her own swordsmanship, which was primarily thrust-oriented, derived from polearm techniques, and ill-suited for the heavy greatsword Nibelung that Freet wielded.

Therefore, Brunhilde only taught Freet the basics of swordsmanship, physical conditioning, and tactics for facing various foes.

Months passed in this manner. Freet’s party struggled through several dungeons, and Brunhilde despaired at the results.

Even if Freet’s sword skills were generously evaluated, they were still deemed disastrously inadequate.

“Surely there’s enthusiasm… How can someone be so devoid of talent?”

Brunhilde, who had seen numerous swordsmen as a knight of the Kingdom of Laine, was utterly astounded by Freet’s lack of talent, to an extent she had never witnessed before.

Moreover, it would have been fortunate if he lacked talent only in swordsmanship. Even if handed a different weapon, the result would have been the same.

Spears pierced empty air, axes and maces struck walls. Thanks to his 179cm height and physical training, his attacks were reasonably forceful, but if he couldn’t land a hit, what meaning did it hold?

The ineptitude of Irina, who attempted to teach archery instead of wielding a bow, led her to give up within a day. Magic and divine miracles were entirely out of reach, and Freet had no talent whatsoever, almost as if he were cursed. With such an incompetent central axis in the party, could it function properly? Brunhilde was a skilled archer, having lived 80 years as an exceptional elf, yet even she had limitations. If the four-person party were to conquer dungeons, at the very least, while they held formidable foes at bay, the rest should handle minor enemies. This was impossible for Freet, who not only couldn’t manage minor foes but was often beaten by them. Brunhilde and Irina had to swiftly deal with the toughest enemies while rescuing the endangered Freet and Emilia.

In other words, if even three elite monsters appeared during dungeon conquest, it meant the party faced annihilation. Ultimately, the Royal Line Kingdom’s hero party found themselves unable to properly breach even mid-level dungeons, falling into a state of disgrace without any convincing achievements.

“Sorry, I couldn’t stop them…”

“No need to apologize. It’s fortunate that all you know how to do is apologize, so you should do that well, shouldn’t you? Isn’t that right?”

Around that time, Irina’s tone towards Freet began to mix with sarcasm. That was the first crack.

◆◆

The hero party, which had been eagerly supported, failed to achieve any notable results, causing the nobles of the Line Kingdom to scorn and disdain Freet. They didn’t expect anything from commoners. Perhaps the goddess made a mistake. If this is the case, wouldn’t it be better to eliminate this current hero and wait for the next one? Within the aristocratic circles, the name Freet had long descended into nothing more than a subject of ridicule, with all sorts of criticism and sarcasm freely circulating.

In such a situation, Freit bravely fought against monsters and actively helped those in need. However…

“Freit, you… don’t seem to be the hero I was hoping for.”

Crisis struck in an instant.

It came in the form of Gunter, a half-elf warrior from the flourishing kingdom of Burgundt, who had been rapidly gaining influence. For Freit, it was akin to a thunderbolt – a declaration of party betrayal.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just give up? Unlike Gunter, you can’t even handle a single orc warrior properly. Continuing to fight with such skills only makes it difficult for your party members,” Emelia, a priestess, expressed her concern-laden mockery directly at Freit, clinging tightly to Gunter’s left arm, almost embracing him between her chest. It was so overt that it made Freit blush involuntarily.

What shocked Freit wasn’t just this display of affection, but also the mocking tone. Regardless, her actions were undeniably effective in rendering him speechless.

To make matters worse, Emelia wasn’t the only one declaring betrayal.

“Irina…?”

“What? Don’t talk to me, you ephemeral larva.”

Standing beside Gunter, Freit’s former comrade, the elven archer Irina, exuded an icy, unprecedented disdain.

“Because of you, I’ve been thoroughly disgusted all this time. You really picked the wrong person to mess with.”

The contempt conveyed in her biting words was incomparable to anything seen before.

“We’ve heard plenty about how incompetent you are, but who would have thought you’d be this useless? It’s a relief to be rid of you.”

With these words, Irina left Freit’s party for good.

“Well, this is how it turned out. I feel a bit sorry, but don’t blame me, will you? Ultimately, it’s your incompetence,” Gunter said, holding Freit’s hip with a condescending look on his face.

And then…

“I won’t say anything harsh due to our past camaraderie… but I too am leaving your party.”

“Brunhilde. Even you…?”

The one who had taught him the sword, a mentor and comrade… No, to Freit, she was more than that. Yegas, who had been by his side, had also left him.

“It’s truly regrettable that things have come to this, but honestly, there’s no future for me if I stay here.”

Unlike the other two women, Brünhilde didn’t mock Freit. In her eyes, Freit lacked not in strength or talent, but rather, her spirit was flawless, be it as a knight or a hero. The issue lay in the fact that the most crucial quality demanded of a hero wasn’t character, but strength. The strength to break through the depths of dungeons and launch an assault on the demon territory. A hero who couldn’t possess such strength, a hero with no prospect of obtaining it, was nothing more than a grandiose fool. Just like her party leader, Freit, who had ended up being labeled as the “inept hero.” Thus, Brünhilde had no choice but to leave Freit’s party. Despite employing every means at her disposal to train her, Freit couldn’t bring down even a single orc warrior. As such, there was simply no way for her to achieve her aspirations.

“In that case… It might be better to join Gunter’s side. Though he seems lacking in character, we can place our hopes in his strength.”

“I… I will work harder… I promise…” Freit stammered, attempting to persuade Brünhilde with a trembling voice, hoping to change her mind.

“It’s futile. You lack the talent.”

Of course, if persuasion were possible with such words, she wouldn’t have even considered defecting to another party. Therefore, Brünhilde turned her head, declaring the end of their relationship.

“This is for your own good. Stop being an unsuitable hero, return the Holy Sword, and go back to your hometown.”

With these parting words, containing at least a modicum of compassion.

“Return to your hometown, farm, and live. If you do so, perhaps even the goddess will revoke the mark of a flawed hero that she mistakenly bestowed upon you.”

With that advice, Brünhilde turned her back on Freit and left his side, heading in the same direction as Emelia, Irina, and Gunter. That broke Freit’s spirit.