Chapter 3: Flashback (1)

“…Damn it.”

I was eating quite well,

but my appetite vanished in the end.

“What am I supposed to do with this mess…”

The fish guts I’d vomited up ruined the fire I’d worked hard to kindle and the good spot I’d found.

“For now, I’ll just cover it with dirt and move on.”

I roughly kicked dirt over it, covering it up, then thought about which way to go.

“To the kingdom… I can’t go back there.”

I hated people.

No, the fact that a single spell could make me hate people so much—it was enough to shatter my mind.

In those common “hated potion” novels I’d read,

the kindness and affection once received would instantly turn to disgust and hostility, breaking the protagonist.

I never imagined I’d become the protagonist of such a story.

I wanted to understand them.

It wasn’t their fault.

The Demon King, the one who cast the spell, was already dead, gone from this world.

His very existence was erased by the goddess, so there’s no need to hold a grudge anymore.

Then, what about me?

“What am I supposed to do with this directionless rage…”

To whom,

and how,

should I release it?

Lighting a fire, I calmed my heart.

The word “dead” itself.

I, who stood here after taking the lives of countless magical beasts.

And I, who died by those beasts’ hands only to rise again,

felt so strange and grotesque that sometimes I didn’t even want to think about whether I was truly alive,

or if this wasn’t all just a dream.

For now, I just wanted to light a fire and reclaim the leisure I’d forgotten.

Because during the journey, there was no time for such things.

Every step forward,

I had to see the corpses of people killed by beasts,

and the further I went, the more their numbers grew.

Adventurers and kingdom soldiers tried to subdue them, steadily reducing their numbers,

but in the end, there was no way to eradicate them all except by killing the Demon King himself.

Beyond normal reproduction, the Demon King’s “authority” created dimensional gates to the demon realm,

where beasts crawled out, building fortresses,

which then became dungeons.

If possible, I’d wipe them out along the way,

and if not, I’d report them to the guild or the kingdom soldiers stationed in villages or territories.

That was the life I led, a journey to the Demon King with minimal rest and maximum effort.

The pure love I’d read about in novels, the kind I’d dreamed of during such a journey—

it didn’t exist.

I just felt a sense of camaraderie,

and since they were all beautiful and kind,

I thought they’d find their own partners.

Hoping to forget this blood-soaked, filthy battlefield,

and that I, too, might one day find peace again,

was that such a grand wish?

Was it something that required tearing a person’s body and soul to shreds,

leaving them to live as a tattered rag?

I swore not to think about it, but only for a moment,

before I realized I was breathing in the aura of death deeply.

Noticing this, Woojin slapped his own cheeks repeatedly.

But this gloomy heart wasn’t something I could easily shake off.

Part of why I couldn’t go back was the frontlines.

I didn’t want to reach the frontlines.

The memories of scorn, contempt, and being kicked while covered in filth might resurface.

Betrayed by the very race I trusted, whose backs I guarded, only to be cut by their arrows,

and when I begged for healing, I received venomous curses instead.

When the time we spent comforting and caring for each other turned into relentless verbal abuse and disdain—

Enough.

Stop, just stop.

I have to let them go.

That’s what’s best for me and for them.

At the end of the adventure, compared to the whole, the pain lasted only a fleeting moment.

I didn’t want to become the petty person I despised, the kind who denies everything over a single mistake despite kindness shown.

But now, I might understand those narrow-minded people I hated,

and that realization disappointed me so much,

and I couldn’t do anything about that disappointment,

so I could only tear at my hair and scream into the dense forest,

because right now, that’s all I could do.

At first, hearing that the goddess had chosen me felt strange.

After all, wasn’t it supposed to be a male knight who saves the world and marries the princess?

Some might call it stereotypical thinking, but the fairy tales I read as a child were always like that.

But I thought this was fine, too.

Saving the world as a female knight.

It felt thrilling enough.

But why was there another person here besides me?

Recalling, it must be that man I met on the night road.

No prior acquaintance, just trudging along a late-night path after finishing work—

a man in the same situation.

Those hollow eyes, somehow similar to mine, worn out from part-time jobs, made me smile faintly.

But he was pitiful.

I became a hero, gaining immense strength and heart (probably due to the goddess’s blessing),

but he had nothing.

He got dragged into this because of me.

The blessing was for one person, and it didn’t reach someone caught up by chance.

I felt sorry for him.

I told him the journey ahead was dangerous and asked him not to follow.

I promised to tell him stories of the journey once it was all over.

“Then, I’ll set out—”

“Wait a sec!”

Seeing a man burst through the door, it was him, Han Woojin, the one who got dragged in.

I clearly told him it was dangerous,

yet there he was, in ill-fitting armor, a clumsily sheathed sword,

and a massive backpack, panting heavily.

No way.

“Han Woojin! I wish to be a squire to aid the hero’s journey!”

“…I told you, it’s dangerous. You don’t even have a blessing—”

“Please allow it!”

“But even if I allow—”

“It is permitted.”

Huh?

“The one best suited to care for a person from another world is another from that world. Your courage is admirable, so you may follow as the hero’s squire…?”

Erica stared at Woojin with an incredulous expression.

They’re called “the beloved” or sometimes elves.

In movies and novels, elves are always stunningly beautiful… or handsome…

It’s true.

Compared to her, I’d feel sorry for even being in the same room.

Anyway.

I’m dumbfounded, too.

Since when did this guy plan something like this?

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the hero… Kang Da-eun, right? Anyway, the journey seemed too harsh to let you go alone.”

“So. That’s. Why. I told you not to follow, Woojin. I have the blessing, so my mind and body are several times stronger.

But you, an ordinary person, at best on par with an apprentice knight—can you really endure this journey?”

She tapped her chest twice. Why’s she doing that?

“But even a hero isn’t all-powerful, right? Cooking, camping, reading maps—miscellaneous tasks. I’d gladly do them.

Would others do the same? Would anyone willingly take on such grunt work until the end of a grueling journey?”

He’s not reliable.

Not at all…

But why is the saintess looking at him with such an impressed expression?

“Such diligence and noble sacrifice! Hero, he’s surely essential to our journey!”

I don’t think so.

Look at him puffing up from a single compliment. Ugh.

“Cooking? You good at cooking?”

Now you’re fixating on weird details, archer.

“When you live alone—well, I mean… I grew up hearing you have to handle household chores.

I’ll take care of the grunt work, so you all can focus on saving the world! How’s that?”

“Sounds like a losing deal.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

Sigh.

“Fine. But if you ditch us halfway, I’ll cut you down myself. What’s that saying? A scar on the back is a man’s disgrace or something?”

“Eek…”

“Hmm, that’s pretty cool, isn’t it, Woojin? If you run, you’ll get an arrow to go with that scar.”

Seeing his crestfallen face, I couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied.

If he’s volunteering to be worked to the bone, I suppose there’s no reason to refuse.

To be honest, the mental blessing seemed utterly useless.

“Ugh.”

Fighting magical beasts—cutting down inhuman things.

The wounds I inflicted were so gruesome I could hardly bear it.

I couldn’t control my strength, and the severed limbs and heads of the beasts…

Oh, I’m imagining it again—

“Urgh! Blech!”

I saw him running over, looking horrified.

“Need me to pat your back? You okay? Maybe you’re poisoned…”

“No, it’s not that… I just feel sick. Really.”

“Here, water. Rinse your mouth. Follow me. Some fresh air will help.”

I roughly rinsed my mouth with the water from the bottle he handed me and followed him.

A slightly open clearing. The others were there, too, on a spot with several flat stones.

The saintess was crying from the aftermath of our first battle, and Erica, comforting her, couldn’t hide her exhaustion.

So much for high expectations.

The knight saving the princess was supposed to be a bit more dazzling.

“Sit here for a bit, drink some water from the canteen, and rest. I’ll… clean up a bit.”

“Why bother cleaning that up? It’s gruesome—just leave it.”

“There are ferocious wolves in this forest, not just those beasts we saw. If they smell it, it’ll cause trouble.”

“Then I’ll—”

No, thinking about the battle again.

“Look, you’re still not okay. Rest. If we end up in another fight, your role is the most important.”

“Alright…”

It’ll take more time to get used to this madness.

And I was grateful for him.

Without him, I might’ve given up on this journey already.

No, to begin with, is it normal to throw just the three—no, four—of us into a journey to face the Demon King?

Were fairy tales ever written by sane people to begin with?

Three months have passed since we set out.

We’re still far from the Demon King’s territory,

but somehow, we’re managing.

At first, I’d gag when cutting down those burly, muscular beasts,

but now, even slicing through ones in black armor feels like nothing.

Still, when I’m exhausted, he comes over with snacks and fans me,

making the heavy armor feel a bit lighter.

Or maybe it’s because the new armor he got is much better?

How many swords have I broken so far?

I don’t know.

It’s just that, at some point, the sword felt natural in my hand.

Like he said, I just keep cutting endlessly.

Looking back, there were some fun memories on this journey.

Like Woojin’s nightly cooking classes,

or Erica’s cooking that, despite following the same steps, turned into a bomb.

…God, that was awful.

The saintess, tasked with tasting, panicked and shoved it into Woojin’s mouth,

and with a single “Gack,”

he passed out, which was honestly hilarious.

I shouldn’t laugh.

The saintess was tearfully casting “Heal” like crazy,

and Erica, pale as a ghost, tried to eat her own food…

only for two people to collapse, leaving the saintess going,

“W-Wah…”

A self-destruct show, really.

Honestly, it’s kinda more fun than Earth.

By the way, how do I understand what they’re saying?

For me, it’s probably the blessing,

but what about Woojin?

I’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.

“If you’re asking about speaking, it’s this. An artifact.”

He showed me a necklace he always wore, lifting it slightly.

“When we arrived, you were talking in some weird language, even though we came here together.

I used gestures to show I couldn’t speak, and they gave me this. A necklace with translation magic.”

He was one thoroughly prepared guy.

When we needed time to wash off the blood, he’d have spare clothes ready in his backpack.

After we all washed, he’d guide us to the campsite he’d set up while we were cleaning up, then wash himself.

He was a great person.

As promised, he was helping us to the fullest.

While we slept, exhausted, he’d get up and buy weapons, swords, arrows, and spare bows, adding them to his load.

Even though he must’ve been tired, he’d take on our burdens when we struggled,

carrying them on his back.

Even though we were clearly less tired,

even though we were stronger.

Yet he willingly eased our burdens,

carrying them as if it were nothing.

I was grateful for him.

No, that wasn’t enough.

I wanted to make him happy.

For the heart he showed me and my companions,

I wanted to repay him in my own way.

At some point, I found myself watching him.

His face, his actions,

and above all, his kindness made my heart race.

This man, who gently cared for a blood-soaked woman and offered words of comfort, I liked him.

Every time I was about to collapse under self-loathing and resentment toward the world,

like a knight from a fairy tale,

he pulled me out of the abyss, and as the journey went on, I felt him becoming my everything.

I’ll cherish this feeling.

Because someday, I’ll surely need to tell him.

“Now…”

“Here’s the frontlines. The enemies will be tougher than anything we’ve faced.

The village atmosphere isn’t great either. Makes sense, right? Let’s avoid unnecessary trouble and split up to gather info.

There might be new intel on the beasts.”

At what could be considered the true start of our journey, we scattered.

Looking back now, why didn’t I realize something was off, why didn’t it feel strange,

even though I should’ve known something was wrong—

I failed.

I, who was supposed to lead everyone,

failed, and that frustrates me so much.

And I, who should’ve been more vigilant,

failed to be so—

Grit.

I ground my teeth without thinking.

My teeth ached, but the sensation soon faded.

One of the hero’s powers: an indomitable body.

Unless it’s fatal, wounds slowly heal—a seemingly overpowered ability.

This power, which aided her trained, resilient body to some extent,

now made her hate it, because it left no evidence of her self-punishment.

Whipping herself like a penitent,

cutting her wrists with a dagger, leaving scars like a plowed field,

or smashing her head against a wall until it bled—

all that remained was a broken whip, a dulled blade, and a cracked wall.

Her body bore no marks.

He died.

They say he died and came back.

Is that really a relief?

He must’ve been writhing in betrayal and pain.

She didn’t want to imagine how he, powerless, met his end.

“Hngh, haa.”

She breathed heavily.

She wanted to tear off this suffocating armor.

Sweat poured like rain,

and she could smell her own overpowering scent.

But she didn’t take it off.

Removing it was never an option.

When she let her guard down, her emotions were manipulated.

By that man in the black robe,

when he grabbed her face and cast the spell, she missed it.

And she forgot it, only learning the truth after the Demon King’s death,

when she received the oracle from the goddess.

Who’s the hero?

Who’s the champion?

Who, who,

“A knight saving the world? What a joke.”

Her low murmur carried deep self-loathing.

The path she chose to walk,

the noble hero’s path she carved,

and the horrific journey she ended by killing the Demon King—

she denied it all.

Right now, she was neither a hero nor anyone.

She saw herself as an unforgivable villain, deserving of death, closer to the Demon King.

She didn’t want to let herself off easily.

Instead of the light armor he’d given her,

she wore heavy steel armor, nearly impervious to weapons,

and an iron helmet that blocked mental magic.

She hid her face.

No expression, no excuse,

no peace would she allow.

Atonement.

That was all.

The reins were pulled tight, and the carriage sped up.

The passengers didn’t complain.

They, too, thought this was only right.

Even a moment’s comfort was unacceptable.

He must still be writhing in pain.

And his pain

was something they ought to bear,

just as he had done for them.