Chapter 102 - Hero Keisuke, Fifteen Years Old
It was back when I was in elementary school.
I was playing a certain famous role-playing game, and a question suddenly occurred to me.
Why does the King never give the Hero any decent equipment?
Handing over a club and cloth clothes and saying, "Here, now go defeat the Demon Lord," is a bit much, isn't it?
Do you actually want the world to be saved?
Since you provide long spears and metal armor to the castle soldiers, surely you can prepare at least that much for the Hero's party?
Are you actually not expecting that much from us?
While harboring all sorts of suspicions, I remember continuing my adventure and somehow managing to equip myself through my own efforts.
And several years have passed since then; I am now a fifteen-year-old middle school student.
At this age, I can finally understand what they call "adult circumstances."
Like, if you make the protagonist strong right away, the game balance will go to pieces, so it can't be helped.
Or, since those kinds of games are meant for players to enjoy getting stronger bit by bit, it would be bad to rob them of that opportunity.
When weighing fun against reality, there are always parts that are better off being discarded.
Besides, if I think about it carefully, there were quite a few "unnaturalities" that were advantageous for the player.
Adventurers whose every wound closes after a single night at an inn.
Beautiful men and women without a single visible pore.
NPC residents who don't utter a single complaint even if you walk off with items from their houses.
The target audience assumed for those kinds of games is the ordinary boy found anywhere.
Therefore, the kind of reality that would cause them pain is carefully stripped away.
What we love is, strictly speaking, a medieval European-style fantasy that has been adjusted as a product.
Even if the King only gives us a club, we seek a convenient world where we can save up enough money to buy new weapons just by defeating the monsters around us.
I don't need a real medieval fantasy. No one is asking for a battlefield where you feel pain when cut, bleed, and feel nauseous.
Much less, what are they thinking, throwing monsters with highly advanced intellects into the mix?
It makes me want to say that whoever made this world is an idiot.
That's right.
The fantasy world I wandered into was a failure in the truest sense of the word when it came to entertaining people.
First of all, the smell is terrible. The scent of rancid meat and fermented dairy products drifts everywhere.
Because the sewers aren't maintained, the smell of excrement stings the nose on rainy days.
To top it off, since people rarely bathe, I find myself trapped in philosophical thoughts of, Why was I born with a sense of smell?
And above all else.
"Is my face really that strange? Damn it."
Even the reason why the King I had an audience with wouldn't give me any decent equipment as the Summoned Hero was full of reality.
It was because my face was so different from other people's that it was creepy.
My skin color, my features—everything about me was strange, so I didn't look human at all. "Are you perhaps a half-breed with a demi-human?"
Being told such things, I was thrown out of the castle.
In short, it was racial discrimination.
If even modern Westerners have those who blatantly loathe Asians, then in a medieval-style different world where awareness of human rights hasn't developed at all, it goes without saying.
The King stated that if I truly was the Summoned Hero, I should first go and fight the Orcs for the sake of the people.
Prove it through your achievements.
I had no right of refusal.
I was held down on both sides by soldiers and forcibly loaded into a carriage.
From here, I would be headed to the front lines against the Orc army and forced to fight whether I liked it or not.
The weapon I was given was a single, crude longsword. My armor was thin leather.
This is like being told to go die.
What should I do?
Of course, my head knows that running away is the best option.
But even if I did that, what kind of future would be waiting for me?
I have to somehow survive and return to Japan.
I have to become strong.
There's no harm in accumulating combat experience.
So, perhaps this might be a good opportunity.
Telling myself that, I continued to hone my sword.
Was it about two hours since then?
Just as I began to feel motion sickness from the unfamiliar carriage, the driver finally gave the signal to stop.
The surroundings were a dim forest covered in tall trees, and the sound of clashing blades could be heard from afar.
This is the battlefield.
While I was dazed, the soldiers sitting on both sides of me got down, their armor clattering.
I thought I'd rest for a while, but I was practically dragged out to disembark.
"...Seriously, the treatment is terrible."
I muttered a curse in a weakened voice, but the only reply was mockery. They were sneering, wondering if this brat was really the Hero.
Fine.
These guys aren't my allies. I only trust myself.
I'll do it. As long as I have the title of Hero, I should surely be stronger than those random soldiers.
I took a deep breath to steady my mood and regripped my sword.
Since I've lived a life completely unrelated to Kendo or fencing, my stance was entirely self-taught.
I recall hearing that Western swords are better suited for thrusting and striking rather than cutting.
In that case, instead of swinging them in wide arcs, should I use it like a rapier?
As I repeatedly performed thrusts instead of practice swings, my confidence began to grow.
Maybe, in my first real combat experience, my hidden talent for the sword will bloom... and I started to feel a little excited.
I think anyone would turn out like this if a healthy teenage boy were handed a sword.
I mean, this might actually work, right?
That swing just now sounded really good, didn't it? It made a swish sound, didn't it?
Oops.
I think I've awakened.
I might need to think of a name for a special move.
Evil Dragon Flame Kill Gale...
"Hero, hey, Hero."
Sorry to interrupt your fun, but one of the soldiers tapped me on the shoulder.
"What is it?"
"Can you use the [Divine Sword] skill?"
"...What's that?"
"I heard all the successive Heroes could do it."
He explained with gestures, saying, "You extend a blade of light from your palm like this."
"A sword that can cut anything. That is the proof of a Hero. The Holy Sword of the Human Race isn't stuck in some rock; it comes out of the Hero-sama's body."
"You sound like other races have Holy Swords too?"
"They do. We just call them Magic Swords."
I decided to open my status screen and check my own skills.
Immediately after being sent to this world, the method for status appraisal had been explained in my head.
It was my first time performing it on myself, but I wondered if I could do it well.
"Oh. It came up."
【Name】 Keisuke Nakamoto【Level】 1【Class】 Summoned Hero【HP】 100【MP】 100【Attack】 100【Defense】 100【Agility】 105【Magic Attack】 90【Magic Defense】 95【Skills】 Language Comprehension, Status Appraisal, Sorcery【Remarks】 A fledgling Hero who has just been summoned. Suffering from mild Chunibyo.
What is Chunibyo?
Ignoring the term I didn't understand, I stared closely at the skill list.
"It's not there. [Divine Sword]."
The soldiers snickered.
"This guy is a total dud."
I glared at the men as they slumped their shoulders in disappointment, thinking, Just you wait.
Once I produce results, everything will change. Their attitude is bound to soften instantly.
I brushed off the voices telling me to stop and marched steadily into the depths of the forest.
Toward the direction of the shouting.
Toward the direction of the sound of clashing blades.
Moving forward, forward, snapping branches as I went.
Since I am slimmer than the soldiers around me, I can slip through the trees easily.
"Oh."
Before long, several knights came into view.
Everyone held a shield in their left hand and a sword in their right.
With loud metallic sounds of clang and clink, they were indeed clashing with enemy soldiers clad in armor.
It could be called a melee, but whether they were allies or enemies could be told at a glance.
Because the opponents the knights were fighting had pig heads.
Those must be the Orcs. Every individual was slightly smaller than a human, barely reaching one hundred and sixty-five centimeters.
In other words, their height wasn't much different from mine.
If that's the case, maybe I can do this?
If they were two or three meters tall, it would be difficult, but they're basically just middle schoolers with pig faces.
In that case, it's like wrestling with a classmate.
Well, the last time I had a physical fight was in kindergarten, but regardless, I want to believe I can do it.
I'll provide backup.
I'll dash out right now and strike brilliantly.
And then, I'll make them recognize my power.
The opponent is an Orc. A man-eating pig-man. A creature different from me. Even if I kill it, it's not murder. It's no different from slaughtering livestock.
I'll do it.
I'll do it.
My mind has long since made up its resolve.
—And yet, why won't my legs move?
Am I actually scared?
Or am I hesitating?
Those are pigs standing on two legs. It doesn't matter if they wear armor, swing swords, or speak words.
They are evil that attacks villages and kills innocent people.
"...I have to do it."
I grip the hilt tightly.
Mobilizing all my grip strength, I form a thrusting stance.
My target is the Orc's throat.
I'll mount the fallen knight, and then I'll just stab that particularly large pig that looked certain of victory, and that's it.
Heroes in games and manga never hesitated at times like this, did they?
Kind to allies, and utterly merciless to enemies. That's what a modern protagonist is.
I am the Hero. The one who saves this world. The man who brings the happy ending and returns to Japan—
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"
Letting out a roar, I sprint at full speed.
Unnecessary thoughts dissipated with instantaneous speed.
Thrust.
Kill.
Thrust.
Kill.
Repeating only those two phrases, I use every ounce of my body's spring to pierce the Orc's throat.
"...Reinforcements!"
A definite sensation of gouging flesh.
Spitting blood from his mouth, the Orc collapses on his side.
The knight, whose life was saved by the sudden reinforcement, stares at me with wide eyes.
"...Oh... much obliged. You appear to be quite young, but..."
Repeating words of praise about how brave I was, the knight stood up.
Ho, not bad, kid.
Is that the rumored Hero-sama? He's got some guts.
The surrounding knights praised me one after another, and a message floated into my vision saying I had gained experience points.
Victory and applause.
It was undoubtedly a situation worth being happy about.
And yet, within me, a sense of incongruity swelled up.
It doesn't feel very good.
I thought that winning would make me feel refreshed. I expected that in that moment, I would switch from an ordinary person to a hero.
And yet, my heart is not at ease.
A physiological disgust at having killed a living creature clung to me stickily.
If it's like this after killing a pig monster—if, by some one-in-a-million chance, I were to kill a human, what would become of me?
Would I even be able to remain sane at that time?