novelraw Chapter 162 : Chapter 162
Chapter 162 : Chapter 162
Chapter 162: The Grave of All Heroes (2)
The band began to play.
A lively melody etched itself into Abel’s ears. Traditional Imperial music—perhaps rearranged to suit the modern age. Gazing toward the center of the shop, Abel thought as much. Beneath a banner emblazoned with the words ‘The Grave of All Heroes,’ performers holding their respective instruments were putting on a show.
There were five musicians in total. Their attire was rather ridiculous. Saintess, Mage, Strategist, Inspector, and Hero—dressed in ostentatious fashion, as though imitating ‘The Mother God’s Right Hand.’
“Where did you go?”
Suddenly, Monika grabbed Abel’s sleeve.
She tugged his arm closer and whispered,
“There are so many people, so be careful not to get separated.”
“Do not worry. I merely….”
Abel turned around.
The old man clad in golden armor. Alongside him, people armed in their own ways were chattering noisily. It was the same crowd they had encountered at the shop entrance—the ones who had proclaimed themselves Heroes of Epezeria.
“…I only went to speak with the Heroes for a moment.”
Abel muttered with a sigh-laced voice.
What kind of place was this, exactly? Looking around, he wondered.
Regardless of age, status, or race, everyone was dressed with the same purpose. At a glance, they all seemed to be imitating the Hero and companions from
“Costume play.”
Monika explained.
“They dress up as the Hero and companions and enjoy themselves. This place functions not only as a shop, but also as a gathering hall. People who like the Hero come together to chat. Sometimes they hold reading sessions, or sit around tables to play board games.”
“I see.”
Abel replied in an indifferent tone.
It was too large to be dismissed as a mere shop. In one corner, rare Hero dolls were being auctioned, while in another, a space had been prepared for those wishing to sell handicrafts. Just as Monika said, it did resemble a social gathering of sorts.
- Such a Hero, that is quite a fine costume.
- That looks like a real prosthetic arm. Which version of the Hero are you imitating?
- It is not a prosthetic arm, everyone. You are lacking in knowledge. Have you not seen the ‘Giant’s Right Arm’ arc in the
- Ah, I think I remember. The Giant’s Right Arm and the Demon’s Left Hand… the story from when the Hero fought without the Holy Sword.
What on earth were they talking about?
Tilting his head, Abel wondered. A small group had gathered around Monika, chatting excitedly. He had been wary, thinking they were mocking her disability, but it was a needless concern. They seemed to regard Monika’s prosthetic arm as nothing more than part of her costume.
- Hey, Hero. You have an unusual Holy Sword.
- Ho ho, it looks like you have deliberately aged a real blade.
- May I touch it? I will show you my Holy Sword too.
Passersby also gathered around Abel.
Among them, a child reached out toward Abel’s cherished blade.
“…No.”
This is a real blade.
Muttering softly, Abel drew it back.
“Please do not mind it too much.”
Monika, walking ahead, spoke.
“Here, everyone addresses one another as Heroes. You can think of it as role-playing. Your formal attire, and the sword at your waist… they will regard it all as decorative props for a Hero’s costume.”
“This is disorienting.”
Abel pressed a hand to his forehead.
His head throbbed. How could etiquette be this convoluted?
“More importantly, look at this.”
Meanwhile, Monika picked up a framed piece from a display.
She held it out to Abel. Inside the large frame was an illustration of the Hero and companions in battle-ready stances.
“Is it not magnificent?”
“What about this is magnificent?”
Abel let out a small sigh.
No matter how much he pondered, he could not find anything commendable. The poses of the figures in the illustration were far too theatrical.
“It depicts the moment just before they clash with the Emperor.”
“Why are they fighting the Emperor?”
“Because the Emperor failed to resist the Demon King’s temptation. With a Mana Stone embedded in his head, he became the Demon King’s host.”
“If a Mana Stone is embedded in one’s head, one simply dies.”
“Who does not know that? It is a fairy tale.”
Come on.
Please take it.
Monika said, holding out the frame.
“I am going to hang this on the living room wall. To liven up the atmosphere.”
“…Very well.”
Abel took the frame.
He continued to accept the items Monika handed him one after another. Framed illustrations, low-rarity dolls, and beyond that, bookmarks, handkerchiefs, and for some reason, keychains…. What was all of this supposed to be? Carrying the growing pile of luggage, Abel thought,
‘None of them seem to be in their right minds.’
Each time he stepped between the displays, shrill voices rang out.
A Hero beginning an adventure, a Hero staying at an inn for the first time, a Hero clashing with monsters, a Hero nearly being devoured by a monster resembling a treasure chest….
The Hero’s sorrow, the Hero’s hatred, the Hero’s despair, the Hero’s love.
All manner of stories centered on the Hero were being recited.
‘Why are they so obsessed with the Hero?’
If it were merely a child’s admiration, he could understand it.
But this seemed to constitute a culture—almost an industry. Monika was selecting relatively inexpensive items, yet some of the prices that caught Abel’s eye were far too high to be dismissed as simple admiration. They were beyond the reach not only of children, but of most ordinary workers.
‘I cannot understand it.’
As Abel frowned, thinking thus,
“──Listen!”
A shout rang out from somewhere.
Abel’s gaze turned toward the source.
Monika was looking that way as well. On a platform set up in one corner of the shop, a gaunt man was shouting. Judging by his attire, he appeared to be wearing a modified version of northern armor.
“I am the Hero of Perpetual Snow.”
The Hero of Perpetual Snow?
What was that supposed to be?
Abel stopped in place, puzzled.
From his appearance, the man looked incapable of defeating even a northern foot soldier. Even so, a large crowd had gathered around him, listening intently.
“I slept in hibernation for hundreds of years, trapped within ice. Beasts of the abdomen embraced the ice themselves and freed me, allowing me to stand before you all.”
“Oooh──!”
At the man’s words,
the audience erupted in cheers.
“Enough!”
The man swept his arm.
The audience fell silent at once.
“I am not yet worthy of such cheers. I have failed to save the North. The blizzards of the Main Gods’ screams are ravaging the land, and innocent children are starving to death. I must save the North.”
“Is that man suffering from delusions?”
Abel asked Monika.
He could only regard him as ill. To survive for hundreds of years while frozen—it was impossible. The man’s frail build looked as though he would panic at the mere weight of frost.
“That is not it.”
Monika turned toward Abel.
With the edge of her hand near her mouth, she whispered,
“It is a monthly event. Participants recite their background as Heroes before everyone. That person is acting as a Hero from the North. Like writing a novel, he creates his own story and tells it to the crowd.”
“Why do they do such a thing?”
“Because the one who recites the most compelling narrative receives a prize. And also….”
Because it is fun.
Monika murmured with a faint smile.
“You find this sort of thing fun?”
“Is that not allowed?”
Abel asked, and Monika asked back.
It was not forbidden. Abel shrugged.
Monika listened to the man’s speech with keen interest. She was not the only one. The audience responded as expected—marveling at resolute tales, groaning at sorrowful ones.
“Monika.”
Thus, Abel spoke.
There was something he needed to confirm.
“You are quite clever, and precocious. You understand society’s injustices, the horrors of war, and the deaths of others.”
Then why?
Why are you so engrossed in fairy tales?
Abel asked.
“The atmosphere here is overly light, yet hollowly solemn. You should know well that the contents of fairy tales border on fiction. Even if a true Hero were to appear, the salvation hoped for by those gathered here would not be so optimistic.”
“That is….”
Monika pressed her lips together.
She tilted her head at Abel’s sudden words, but soon replied,
“Because it is necessary.”
“At least, it was for me. When I lived at the orphanage, the stories of the Hero were the perfect form of entertainment for us orphans.”
Having lost our parents and our hometowns,
after arriving at the orphanage, the sisters would recite stories of the Hero to us every night.
“Thanks to that, we could sleep peacefully. No one believed the Hero truly existed, but… that was precisely why. Only a savior who did not exist could comfort us.”
That is why I like them.
The stories of the Hero.
“You might find it a little foolish, Professor. It is childish, is it not? But please understand. I do not really know what hobbies suit my age, aside from liking the Hero’s stories….”
“I do not find it foolish.”
He was merely concerned.
For one day, Monika would have to realize that she herself was a Hero.
“I merely….”
At that moment, applause burst forth.
It seemed the man’s speech had ended. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he stepped down from the platform.
Next speaker, please. A Golem acting as a staff member called for volunteers. Several people raised their hands, and just as the Golem began calculations to select the next speaker,
“I merely… wish there were a little more leeway.”
Abel stepped forward, and Monika’s eyes widened.
Without hesitation, Abel pushed through the crowd and stood facing the platform. Wariness was clear in the audience’s eyes. There was a proper procedure, and everyone wished to speak of themselves, yet Abel had brazenly cut the line and now looked down upon them.
“Listen.”
As silence passed between them, Abel spoke in a blunt tone.
“I am….”
He continued.
Without a single lie, speaking of himself.
“I am a Hero from another world.”
And he told them how he had come to Epezeria.