Chapter 6: Confession

“Hero, are we…there?”

The carriage jerked to a sudden stop.

The horses exhaled, their breath misting in the air.

Their eyes darted around, anticipating rest.

“…Where…where are we…?”

A beautiful city, nestled amidst a verdant forest.

The cheerful sounds of children playing, of laughter and chatter, filled the air.

…This was Frontier, the front lines.

But the blighted forest shown on the map, the terrifying expanse of twisted, monstrous trees,

Was gone.

In its place stood a paradise.

This land, once known as hell on earth,

Was where they had finally arrived.

The hero felt a surge of unfamiliar rage, a feeling she knew was misplaced.

These were the people who had tormented Woojin. Scorned him, abused him.

When they had cast him out, no one had offered him kindness.

They had mocked him, hurled filth at him,

Joined in the chorus of abuse,

Vile, despicable people.

But it had been they, the hero’s party, who had started it all. They knew this better than anyone.

“Ah, Hero, Saintess, and Archer! We are honored by your safe return!”

“Hero? Is that the hero, returned at last?”

“Hero! Saintess!”

“Praise be to the heroes who saved our world!”

As they stumbled from the carriage, dazed, people began to recognize them, offering their greetings and praise.

“Wh…what…what happened here?”

“The blighted lands! Vanished, with the Demon King’s death! The crimson sky is gone, replaced by clear blue skies!”

“The Goddess has surely blessed us for our sacrifices. Indeed!”

“Hero, thank you again. For ridding us of that vile beast.”

“Hail the hero’s party!”

“Hail!”

“…Grrr.”

The hero gritted her teeth.

The saintess stared blankly at the ground, her eyes devoid of life.

The archer trembled, gazing at the familiar inn.

Nothing had changed here.

This was a nightmare.

A hell where leering demons mocked their every move.

A living hell.

“…I have a favor to ask, Hero and Archer.”

The three lodged at the inn.

Unlike before, they chose a rundown establishment on the outskirts of town, far from the bustling center.

“Speak. What is it?”

“…If it involves killing these vermin, I’m all ears.”

“No. It’s about…Woojin. He’s still not welcome here…”

“…And?”

“I’m going to tell them the truth.”

Silence descended upon the room, thick and heavy.

No one spoke.

No one reacted.

They were sinners.

Deserving of confession.

But—

“How…how do you plan to do that?”

“If we gather the people, make a public address…”

“And then we’ll be celebrated as the heroes who withstood the Demon King’s torments without losing our virtue. A happy ending! That’s what—”

“That’s not what I—”

“…Penance.”

“…What?”

The hero let out a bitter laugh.

Her face, hidden by her helmet, was unreadable, but

Her voice, and the tremor in her shoulders, betrayed a manic glee.

“In our world…”

She spoke of the devout, those who sought atonement through self-punishment.

Of flagellants,

Of those in the Middle Ages who whipped themselves.

During the Black Death, they had sought to appease God’s wrath through extreme acts of penance,

Publicly flogging themselves in a gruesome display of repentance.

This madness, the hero recounted without a trace of hesitation.

And the three resolved to do the same.

Woojin had suffered far worse.

So they, too, would endure.

Just as he had.

“…Good heavens…”

Evan, a villager, stepped out of his house and into a scene of chaos and bloodshed.

The hero he remembered was a beautiful and powerful woman with short, black hair.

The saintess was a gentle maiden, an embodiment of divine grace.

The archer was the very image of beauty.

But this…

What in the world had happened?

Groans and cries for mercy filled the town square.

“Forgive us, please forgive us!”

“We didn’t know! Please, make it stop!”

“Goddess, please absolve them! They have suffered enough!”

Ironically, the pleas for forgiveness came from the townspeople themselves.

The innkeeper who had allowed Woojin to be soiled,

The tavern owner who had watched him being beaten,

The bard who had mocked him publicly,

The villagers and knights who had not only witnessed but participated in the abuse,

All knelt, weeping uncontrollably.

Before them, on the raised platform, the count who ruled the region knelt before the three heroes.

“Kill me! Kill me instead! The heroes should not endure this horrific spectacle!

How can you do this?! It was the Demon King’s doing! It was not your fault, Hero, Saintess, and Archer!

It is our fault, all of us, for failing to see through his wicked deception! And it is my fault, most of all, for allowing it to happen…!

So please, stop the whipping—!”

The hero smiled.

Her plan had worked.

The three stood, backs bared, lashing themselves with leather whips.

Crack—

Crimson blood sprayed across the platform, like scattered flower petals.

Crack—

Pain transmuted into a twisted sense of relief.

Crack—

This momentary agony, a small price to pay for his exoneration.

Crack—

They became the guilty ones. His name was cleared.

Crack—

It was a shame that the cursed blessing prevented scarring.

But…this time, it was alright.

He was redeemed.

They had shouldered his burden.

Even as pain consumed them, they did not falter, their smiles unwavering.

Even the haughty elf, enduring the humiliation of self-flagellation,

Even the saintess, her delicate hands inflicting unimaginable pain,

Even the hero, mercilessly whipping herself beneath her helmet,

They continued to smile.

Tears streamed down their faces, but their smiles remained.

With each lash, they carried his pain.

They prayed that his suffering would be eased, if only a little.

And when he returned, he would be embraced.

They would atone, in some small measure, for the pain they had caused him.

And then, Evan knelt.

He too, bore the weight of guilt.

“Please…forgive us…”

The sickening thud of the whips echoed through the clear blue sky.

The sounds of weeping and the metallic tang of blood, banished from Frontier,

Had returned.

“…Ngh!”

The saintess winced as she gently applied the herbal poultice to the archer’s ravaged back.

Terrible wounds, raw and weeping.

Crimson blood still oozed from the lacerations.

The archer’s skin, once smooth and soft,

Was now a patchwork of torn flesh.

“Perhaps…you should use your healing magic…”

“No, I don’t need it…ow…!”

But the saintess’s back was also a tapestry of wounds.

The hero, already healed by her blessing, carefully applied the poultice to the saintess’s back.

The archer wanted to keep the scars.

They were a tangible reminder of the burden she now carried, a fraction of the pain he had endured.

The sharp twinges of pain brought her a strange sense of solace.

The saintess understood.

The soft moans from the other side of the room.

Tonight, at least, their nightmares would stay away.

It was a good night, a small victory against the crushing weight of their guilt.

But for the hero, it was a night of envy.

Their blood, their scars—

Permanent marks of their atonement.

But she had nothing.

Her body, blessed with swift healing, bore no evidence of her penance.

She envied them.

A thought the old her would have scoffed at.

“…Should I head towards town…?”

I had no idea how many days had passed. But I knew I couldn’t survive like this much longer.

My hands were blistered and raw from striking stones together, trying to make fire.

My clothes offered little protection.

I had discarded my shirt.

…I couldn’t remember where.

There were no wild animals here, so it didn’t matter.

I’d only seen deer (massive things, for deer…were they even deer?),

Birds, and fish.

I’d been living on fish, but it wasn’t sustainable.

What if I couldn’t catch any? What if I wasn’t getting the nutrients I needed?

…That would be a problem.

As someone who had always been meticulous about his health, this worried me.

But heading towards town presented another challenge.

…In my panic, I had run too far.

If I could find my sword, I could retrace my steps. But

Venturing back into the deep forest seemed too dangerous.

This place was a sea of identical trees.

I had no idea if I’d come from upstream or downstream.

This place was untouched by humanity.

A pristine, natural prison.

Fear, sudden and sharp, pierced through me.

If I became truly lost,

Death was inevitable.

The chilling realization made me tremble.

I clenched my shaking hands, trying to calm down.

How many times had I stumbled through these woods in my delirium?

I was learning to cope, to comfort myself,

Emerging from the shadow of death.

“Haa…haa…haa…”

I can survive.

For now, I’m okay.

I’ll grill and dry these fish.

It was a pity I had no salt, but dried fish would last longer than raw.

I’ll store them in my pockets and explore once a day.

I couldn’t have run that far, even in my panic.

I’ll leave markers as I go, develop a sense of direction.

That was the only way back to town.

…I’ll deal with the rest, later.

But he didn’t know.

That they were searching for him.

That they hadn’t forgotten him.

And that their reunion was close at hand.

Most importantly,

…He didn’t know how unprepared he was,

How to face them.

He didn’t know the depth of their feelings,

The intensity of their affection, far beyond words.

He didn’t know the strength of their resolve, their determination,

Far exceeding anything he could have imagined.

He didn’t know.

But he would learn.

Soon.

As dawn broke,

Woojin went fishing.

They bandaged their wounds and left the city gates.

Woojin caught a fish.

They found his sword, embedded in a tree deep within the forest.

Surprisingly close to the castle.

The proximity of his death and his rescue gnawed at their hearts.

The hero, her hand trembling, pulled the sword free.

Covered in monster blood, rusting rapidly.

The caked, blackened blood filled them with despair.

They could almost picture his final moments.

They continued their search, finding his discarded armor.

At the sight of the tattered remnants, the hero’s legs gave way.

She sank to the ground, staring at the armor.

The archer and saintess stood beside her, silent tears tracing paths through the grime on their faces.

They pressed on.

Woojin gutted the fish with his makeshift stone knife.

A plump one today.

Even dried, it would be satisfying.

The hero’s party continued their relentless search.

Food was the last thing on their minds.

They found signs of a hasty retreat at the entrance to a cave.

Scratches in the earth, handprints, footprints.

Their hearts pounded.

He had been running from something.

The tracks led to the river.

They ran,

Without a word.

Woojin started a fire.

His hands ached, but the fish needed to be cooked.

They found remnants of a campsite near the riverbank.

And a scrap of tattered cloth, stained dark with blood.

For a moment, they believed he was dead.

The archer clutched the cloth, her face ashen.

They thought they had lost him again.

As the saintess reached inside her robes,

As the hero removed her helmet, about to scream,

The archer touched their shoulders.

“…Found…him.”

Smoke curled into the air.

Within running distance.

Smoke.

A thin wisp of smoke.