novelraw Chapter 161 : Chapter 161
Chapter 161 : Chapter 161
Chapter 161: The Grave of All Heroes (1)
“Once upon a time.”
Monika opened her mouth.
With a picture book spread open atop the dining table.
“In an age long past, when tigers smoked pipes, when goats bore feathers, when people still made wishes for something….”
All kinds of tableware were scattered across the table. They had just finished dinner. As Fabien carried away the dishes still bearing traces of food, Demian, Ernst, and Roberta listened attentively to Monika’s reading.
“…the Demon King descended.”
Right. That was how it went.
Nodding to himself, Demian thought.
The opening of the fairy tale based on the prophecy of the Hero,
It must have been a form of homage to an ancient classic. The tale of the Hero was something consumed by every nation across Epezeria.
“The Demon King was the embodiment of all malice in this world.”
As if such a thing existed.
Ernst thought, pursing his lips.
There had been a time when he had begged his grandmother to read him Hero fairy tales. That was a story from when he still wet himself. Once he passed the age of ten, doubts had crept in. Even if you killed the worst villain imaginable, peace would not arrive. What would truly change by defeating the Demon King?
The world was rotten to the core anyway.
“An existence that appeared to spread pride, miserliness, envy, wrath, lust, greed, and sloth throughout the world.”
What did all of that even mean?
Roberta thought, her eyes wide.
She had read
For instance, war.
But was that not beyond the Demon King’s domain?
“To defeat such a Demon King….”
Monika smiled faintly.
Beyond the pages of the book bound together with thick synthetic paper, Monika’s pale lips curved gently. Demian, Ernst, and Roberta all thought the same thing at once.
So she could make an expression like that.
“…the Hero set out on a journey.”
Unaware of her own expression, Monika continued the story.
The Hero was the one chosen by the Holy Sword. In other words, someone destined to become the hope of the world. The focal point of the five champions assembled to defeat the Demon King—namely, the core of ‘The Mother God’s Right Hand.’ After wandering through a vague and endless journey, such a Hero ultimately cut down the Demon King.
That was all the story amounted to. A folktale made trite through excessive repetition. Something recited after a meal to aid digestion. As Fabien placed cups of brewed black tea beside everyone,
“And then, everyone….”
Thud.
Monika closed the picture book.
“…lived happily ever after.”
Silence.
Monika blinked.
Her round amber eyes darted about. She looked at Demian savoring his tea, at Ernst yawning, at Roberta bending a teaspoon, at the corners of the dormitory stained by the evening glow. She tightened her lips.
What was this, were they supposed to clap or something?
At the moment when everyone belatedly sensed it,
[It was a very fine story.]
Clap, clap, clap.
Fabien applauded as he spoke.
[Light reading is beneficial to the digestive system. I am not entirely certain why, but that does seem to be the case. Your mouths, esophagi, stomachs, duodenums, livers, gallbladders, pancreases, small intestines, and large intestines are all operating vigorously. Has everyone finished their meal properly?]
Yes.
Everyone seated around the table answered.
It was Saturday evening. The students of Abel’s class had gathered in Monika’s dormitory and just finished dinner. They had ostensibly met to discuss the remedial lessons starting next week, but in truth, they were simply idling and chatting.
“Still, that was unexpected.”
Demian spoke while holding his teacup.
The scar etched near his eye curved with a smile.
“I did not know you liked stories about the Hero, Monika. Do you read chivalric literature as well? I can recommend a few. I am fond of Altria Amnesia’s writing, and her latest release—”
“No, no.”
Monika waved her hands.
“I am not interested in chivalric literature. I am sorry, but I will pass.”
“Of course. Who would go out of their way to read that rubbish?”
Ernst glared at Demian.
“Hero fairy tales and chivalric literature are different. Every newborn in the Empire grows up reading
“Er, you liked it too.”
“Drop it, Demian. That was over ten years ago. When you are a snot-nosed brat, sword-wielders cannot help but look cool. It is different now.”
“Is that so.”
Ahem.
Demian cleared his throat.
Imitating Ernst’s voice, he continued.
“Altria Amnesia must be a peerless beauty. An intelligent-looking woman with glasses that suit her perfectly… but with a muscular build. I am sure that is how she would be drawn. You can tell just by reading her prose. Someday, I will exchange rings with her. A ring set with a radiant jewel….”
That was all you, Demian muttered as he brushed back his blond hair.
“T-That!”
Ernst shouted, his face flushing red, and then,
“Monika, Unni.”
Roberta spoke toward Monika.
Monika’s gaze tilted toward her. Roberta was looking around Monika’s dormitory, holding the bent teaspoon near her lips.
“You really do resemble Professor Argento.”
“…Me?”
Monika tilted her head.
Suddenly? I resemble him?
“Why are you making that face? You look like you were caught off guard. The way there is nothing here is exactly the same.”
In Monika Unni’s residence,
and in Professor Argento’s office,
“There is barely anything that could even be called furniture.”
“Ah….”
Right. There was no furniture.
Looking around, Monika thought.
They were alike in how they wasted space. Both Abel and Monika lived in wide rooms furnished only with essentials.
A bed, a wardrobe, a dining table, chairs, paper notes affixed to the walls, a glass bottle filled with petals gathered from a floral wreath, and the Hero doll Abel had given her. After surveying the dormitory in all directions, Monika murmured,
“This place….”
Was it too empty?
Perhaps she should decorate it a little.
***
The next morning, Cia-Harphe Academy.
Abel stood facing the window of his office. Condensation clouded the glass, blurring the scenery outside. Extending his index finger to trace through the moisture on the window, Abel stared at the oil heater installed in one corner of the office. Come to think of it, he had never used it even once, despite winter being in full swing.
‘I should pay more attention to this.’
Perching on the round table, Abel thought.
His body hardly felt the cold, so there had been no issue, but his indifference to heating had left the office in shambles. The flooring had begun to crack, and frost clung to the walls. It looked like a corner of an abandoned building.
Silence.
Abel paused for a moment.
Watching his breath escape between his lips, he rummaged through the inner pocket of his formal coat.
‘Review of Epezeria’s current state.’
He then took out a worn journal.
It was time to revisit the oracle.
『──I, Eckhart, God of Fate, gaze upon the world,』
『and thou shalt borrow the eyes of the fair folk.』
『 Status of ‘Epezeria’ 』
─ Causality: 72%
─ Contamination: 38%
─ Holy Sword Awakening Progress: 6%
─ Missions: 3
As causality declined, contamination was rising.
The fluctuations were within expected parameters. As lands like Portsmouth increased, contamination would rise. And as the advent of the Demon King drew nearer, and as ‘The Mother God’s Left Hand’ became more active, causality would fall. The majority of the lost causality thus far was Abel’s responsibility. It was the result of fully unleashing his power during the suppression of the Mirror War.
‘The Holy Sword.’
Abel focused on another entry.
‘Has the Holy Sword begun to awaken?’
Even so, the number was low.
It was no more than the earliest stage of forging. It was still far from revealing itself to the world. That said…
‘Access Monika Lohengrin’s records.’
As Abel thought this,
the words written in the journal vanished.
『──I, Fichte, God of Oblivion, gaze upon the world,』
『and thou shalt reach the depths beneath memory.』
Information regarding Monika began to inscribe itself.
Much of it was unfamiliar to Abel. That was only natural, as the Pantheon’s records concerning Monika were based on the history of the world before Regression. They detailed the life of Monika Lohengrin, who fought as a full-fledged Hero and ultimately met defeat.
Perhaps because of that, the information was gradually being erased. Abilities Monika would no longer possess disappeared, and notions she would no longer harbor faded away. Just as history itself was being altered, so too was the information about Monika being rewritten.
On one side of the journal,
Monika’s portrait was engraved.
It was markedly different from her current appearance. She was far older, and her experience must have been far richer, yet her frame appeared more gaunt and frail than the present Monika.
And above all,
“Professor Abel.”
The presence or absence of emotion on her face.
That was the greatest difference of all.
Thinking this, Abel closed the journal.
“Do you have a moment?”
“Yes.”
Abel looked toward the arched doorway of his office.
Monika stood there, leaning against the door. She seemed faintly chilled, yet her face appeared strangely flushed.
“What is it?”
Step.
Abel approached Monika as he asked,
“Well, um….”
Monika hesitated for a moment, then,
“My dormitory….”
she said in a small voice.
“…I was thinking of decorating it.”
Could you help me?
I need someone to carry things….
. . .
“I believe I mentioned this before.”
Abel spoke,
lifting his head absently.
“I want your living space to look appropriate for someone your age.”
“I remember.”
Monika replied in a quiet tone.
In the center of Naflansee in the Imperial Capital, the clock tower pointed to noon. It was early enough, yet a dense crowd surged around Abel and Monika. They all seemed to be gathered for a single shop.
“I am curious.”
Abel sighed.
With his arms crossed, he stared at the storefront before them.
“I understand that you like Hero fairy tales, but….”
‘The Grave of All Heroes – Main Branch.’
The signboard hanging above the shop was excessively flamboyant. Not only was it adorned with multicolored paint, but the name of the store was scrawled in a lively hand that somehow made it look grand.
Naturally. It was so grand that it was tiring just to look at. That was what Abel thought. ‘The Grave of All Heroes’ was a chain dealing in merchandise related to
“…is that really suitable for your age?”
“What are you talking about?”
Monika shot Abel a glare.
“Age has nothing to do with liking the Hero. People of all ages, genders, statuses, and races patronize this place.”
Come on, follow me.
I will show you something amazing.
As Monika whispered while leading the way,
‘…I do not like this.’
Abel brushed back his hair.
Letting out a small groan, he hesitated, then followed her. People dressed as Heroes were handing out balloons. Abel received a pink balloon from one of them, and just as he was about to step into the shop,
“──You there.”
A scabbard was suddenly pressed against the back of Abel’s neck.
It was a scabbard adorned with lavish decorations. The cost of the ornaments alone would easily amount to several hundred gold coins. After giving it a brief glance,
“Judging by your appearance, you are a Hero.”
Abel swiftly looked at the owner of the scabbard.
It was an armed old man. His body was clad in golden armor, and he stroked his long beard with a smile. From his appearance, he seemed to be a noble.
“I was once a Hero. Not anymore.”
“Is that so. Your Holy Sword still looks quite intact. A bit worn, perhaps.”
“This is not a Holy Sword. It is merely my cherished blade.”
“Oh ho. How charming. A Hero who abandoned the Holy Sword.”
“Speak.”
Abel muttered softly.
He then turned his attention to the space behind the old man. A crowd equipped with all manner of weapons filled the area. Men and women, young and old, gods and mortals, all races alike, all clad in plausible armaments, were staring at Abel.
“Who are you people?”
When Abel addressed them all,
“Is it not obvious?”
Heh heh.
Chuckling, the old man spoke.
“Listen well!”
The old man shouted first,
“All those gathered here──!”
The crowd behind him roared in unison.
“──are, without exception, Heroes of Epezeria!”