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The cultist’s voice was shaky as he stared at his severed limb, oozing blood as black and sticky as tar. The concept of moderation didn’t seem to exist for the Inquisitors. For them, there was no compromise. When they saw an enemy, they swung their blades relentlessly.

“You really did slice and dice these monsters all by yourself.”

At Bishop Andrei’s feet lay a writhing worshipper with countless wounds. He stomped on its head as if it were a stepping stone and then turned to face Arjen. Before him was a pile of severed tentacles, and the dismembered body parts of the cultists, submerged in a pool of blood.

“They don’t hesitate to use their powers. It took us longer than I thought.”

Arjen kicked the tentacles in annoyance. He had tried to control his strength so as not to kill them. Fighting while controlling the output was sometimes more challenging than fighting at full force.

The strength of the Disaster’s remnants was formidable. Tentacles regenerated after being slashed with regular strikes; aura would kill them instantly. So Arjen kept them at bay. More than parrying their tentacles and attacks, he cut a dozen at a time. Until they could regenerate no more.

“Wretched… monster.”

The cultist muttered under his breath and turned to look at Arjen. Arjen looked down at him with hatred in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to spit on them.

“If you can create more tentacles, do it. I’ll deal with them.”

The tentacles didn’t even touch Arjen or do any significant damage. He showed no signs of exhaustion. The cultist’s face contorted, and then his head fell back. Arjen lifted his decapitated head.

“I’ve never seen someone so insane before. Is it because they worshipped the Disasters, or were they always like this?”

“That’s something we don’t know. Luckily for you, we have someone who does.”

The bishop crushed the last worshipper’s head on the floor and walked toward Teacher. There was still plenty of blood left in his body. He could question him all night long.

“Would you mind helping me with the interrogation process?”

“You talk as if you’re not worried about what’s going on outside.”

“Well, it would be strange for me to be worried when we have the Hero working hard.”

Andrei shoved his hands into his cloak and began to rummage through it.

“As long as he is there, I doubt anything will go wrong.”

“…You trust him quite a bit.”

“Rather than trust, let’s call it faith, more of a religious kind.”

Andrei drew a slender dagger from his bosom; he rubbed the blade to make sure it was sharp, then nodded and twirled it.

“This is a tribute to the man who exceeded my expectations and ended up with a result that was far more than I could have ever imagined.”

Andrei stepped on the severed arm of the cultist and bent to his knees. The smirk on his face was one of genuine amusement. He then thrust the dagger under the cultist’s nose.

“Do your worst.”

“… Of course, I didn’t think you’d open your mouth.”

Andrei smirked at the determined tone of the cultist.

“You know, I’ve heard that quite a lot. You guys all have the same determination until you are given to me. Do you know how many of them never opened their mouths?”

Andrei flicked the hilt of his dagger, and a golden holy circle appeared on its grip. It glowed like the Holy Sword.

“Let’s see how long you can hold out. You’re an evil god worshipper, so you should be able to hold out a little longer, right?”

The cultist’s face twisted at Andrei’s smile. Andrei was so impatient that he sat down on top of him.

“Since there’s nothing left to break or cut, let’s start by lightly stripping you of your flesh. Your face should be the last thing we touch because you won’t be able to answer if we pull all your teeth out now.”

The cultist glared at Andrei, ready to snort, but froze as the dagger blade infused with holy magic touched his flesh. Smoke billowed from the severed limb. A gleam of amusement flashed in Andrei’s eyes, and the worshipper shook his head in disgust.

“Wait! Pull it out of me!”

Andrei plunged the blade shallowly into the flesh of the cultist as if melting into his body. The edge pushed through the tentacle’s resistance, but the sensation of cutting through it slowly made the pain worse. Andrei turned his head to look at Arjen, enjoying the screams as if they were background music.

“Since our work here seems to be done, would you like to check on the situation outside? It’s almost sunrise, and they haven’t given me a report yet. It seems Iris was successful after all.”

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Arjen turned on his heel and walked out of the brewery with some background music. The sky was turning a dusky indigo blue. Up on the boulevard at the far end of the brewery, a group of people were gathered, talking with serious expressions on their faces. On their shoulder was a cultist bound hand and foot.

“Georg.”

Arjen turned to Georg, who was watching the cultists. The Templar’s contorted, glowering face was more terrifying than any other monster’s. Georg lifted his head, looked at Arjen, and raised an eyebrow.

“Arjen. Have you captured all the others?”

“Yes. Bishop Andrei is in the brewery right now, talking to them.”

‘Since when did he talk to heretics?’ Georg frowned.

“And Iris?”

Georg clapped his hands together as if he’d just remembered.

“She succeeded. She healed the child completely. Her healing magic must have grown because it even grew the child’s severed arm.”

He said in a weak voice. He seemed more tired than pleased that the plan had worked as Iris had told him.

“It worked.”

Georg looked at the others.

“…What happened to those people.”

“One of the villagers, helped by Iris, is working hard to convince them. Most skeptics are starting to doubt the doomsday cult, and some are still in denial.”

“I see.”

Arjen nodded.

“I assume Iris is safe?”

“She is. She’s exhausted from using so much magic, but she’s unharmed. Elroy took her back to the church.”

Unharmed. Arjen let out a small sigh of relief at the words. When the villagers had left the brewery in a huff, he’d thought things would go wrong outside.

“…That’s right. Elroy saved the day again.”

Georg muttered. Arjen looked at the townspeople expressionlessly, then started to walk away. He’d been putting it off, but he couldn’t put it off any longer.

He needed to talk with Elroy. A conversation with the Hero.

With that, Arjen steeled himself and began to walk. To face some form of truth or change he had avoided all these years.

***

I learned something new.

Iris was a crybaby.

“I’m sorry.”

She sobbed until we reached the Church. I sat her down in her bedroom, then she started crying again. ‘What’s wrong with her? She must have eaten something wrong.’ I stiffly sat on the floor across from the bed where Iris sat.

“I know it was wrong, but I was so scared then… I only thought of myself and not the people.”

Iris blinked back her tears. I quickly wiped her eyes with my hand. ‘She’s crying so hard. I feel bad for her.’

(Why don’t you try to comfort her, because it’s not like you can just let her go.)

‘Sorry. I’m not good at comforting, and there’s a reason I can’t.’

I sighed and shifted in my seat to get a little more comfortable. My sigh caused her shoulders to flinch, and it was then that I realized how young she was. She lowered her head and whimpered to compose herself, then lifted her face. Her eyes were blue, but all I could see was crimson. Her hair stuck to her face in all sorts of places. She was a mess.

“Iris.”

I said her name, and she nodded.

“…Yes.”

“First of all, thank you. You’ve saved this place, and they’ve probably succeeded in catching the cultist worshippers in the brewery. We’ll have a chance to tend to the wounded.”

Iris blinked, and a teardrop slipped out of her eye as she did.

“It’s just a small repayment for what I didn’t realize then. I’ll continue to look out for them.”

Her words sounded much more mature. I gave her a small smile, relieved.

“I see. I’m glad to hear that.”

“…It’s only because you insisted on sending me here.”

Iris curled up into a ball.

“I didn’t even think about it. I just, at the time, hated you… I said it to oppose you, and you didn’t even blame me.”

There’s a lot I’ve done wrong. She smiled dryly and leaned her head back again.

“I failed to instill faith in you back then. I couldn’t do my job as the Hero.”

“No, you didn’t. I…we were so wrong. If only I had believed in you then, as you believed in me a while ago.”

I shook my head. It was good to think and recall past wrongs, but it was not good to let them drift into assumptions. We need to avoid repeating them, and they do nothing but keep us in the past.

“My magic has recovered a bit. I’ll heal you.”

Iris made a fist as she spoke, slid off the bed, and moved closer to me. Her hand went to my forehead. I involuntarily lifted my hand to stop her, but she saw the gaping hole in my hand, and her expression turned grim again.

“That…must have hurt a lot.”

Very gingerly, She brought her hand to my injured one.

“Why… instead of me. Heug~!”

I couldn’t let her reveal that. At a time when people’s faith was tilting from the logic of the doomsday cultist to her devotion, if she admitted her wrongdoing, the whole game would tip over.

“It’s okay.”

If being so the target of their anger, resentment, and flying rocks will save them, how could I not take it? I’ve faced the Giant’s fist, so what’s a rock?

“I’m sorry.”

Her words were quiet, and she burst into tears again. Iris squeezed my hand, then began to sob silently, and a golden warmth slowly enveloped me, starting at the tip of my fingers. The burning sensation slowly began to fade.

“…Cured.”

Iris said shortly afterward, removing her hand. The wound was literally removed. ‘If only we had a healer like that in our party.’ I smiled bitterly.

“With this power, you can help others now.”

“I will.”

Iris nodded. Her face was a mess, but she was still beautiful. The heroine is always meant to be.

(You really think a lot of people are beautiful.)

…No, no, no.

‘What is the Holy Sword trying to say?’ I tightened my grip on the hilt of my, barely holding back a fierce shake of my head.

“…I’m going to go wash my face.”

Iris said, rising from her seat. She did need to wash her face, wipe away some tears, and blow her nose. She trudged over to the door and opened it.

“I guess you’re done talking.”

Iris opened her eyes and paused, facing the person standing in the doorway. It was Arjen, looking a little tired. ‘Is he here to check on Iris? He really destroyed the cultist to see her as soon as possible.’

Arjen glanced sideways at Iris as she slipped through the door, then turned back to the room. His eyes locked with mine.

“We need to talk.”