129 - A Certain Hero’s Monologue

I had to admit it—even saying it myself, I was a genius.

It wasn’t arrogance or anything; it really was true.

Ever since I was a kid, whatever people had me do, I was above average.

And if I got serious, people showered me with, “He’s a genius! A child prodigy!”

On top of that, this face—yeah, being popular was such a pain.

I could do anything and I was this handsome… honestly, I scared myself.

When I strutted around like that, a noble set his sights on me.

Luckily, he only noticed my talent and thought, “If we train him early, maybe he’ll be useful for something,” that sort of casual idea, so I was treated pretty well overall.

So for about five years, I trained at House Harks—the marquis family that took me in.

Well, within the first year there was no one left who could beat me.

From around then, the way they treated me improved dramatically.

I figured out pretty fast that they intended to keep me tame and under their thumb.

I had no intention of letting that happen, but given who they were, I couldn’t rebel carelessly.

That was one thing I just resigned myself to, thinking, “Maybe there really is nothing I can do about this.”

Oh, but I still tried various little things to stay in the marquis’s good graces.

But come on—the result being “your first real campaign is against a dragon” was just ridiculous, right?

I had cut down a few bandits and such before, you know?

Even so, finally getting my big debut on the real stage and having it be a dragon was a bit much.

“Wait, so I’m already disposable?”

I was shaken enough that the words slipped right out of my mouth.

When I asked for the details, it turned out they wanted to make me a Dragonbuster—or, if things went perfectly, even a Dragonslayer.

But becoming a Dragonslayer was clearly impossible.

If you asked whether I could really pull off a feat that, up to now, only existed in fairy tales, I could only say, “It would be difficult.”

I didn’t say, “I can’t do it.”

But I had no reason to risk my life for it.

I understood the desire to “prepare a hero” for the coming war with Seizeria, but I figured we should be realistic instead of greedy.

The adult world really sucked… well, I was going to be twenty soon anyway.

I’d long since been an adult, but being dragged around for someone else’s convenience was something I still couldn’t learn to like.

Even so, I had no right to refuse.

They had let me live in luxury for years; I owed them, so I decided to steel myself.

Except—there was a twist to the story.

“We’ll wear it down enough using the army and the mercenaries. If possible, finish it off. If that’s impossible, then one way or another, you must claim the final blow.”

I understood what he meant instantly.

I was a genius, after all—of course I understood.

No matter what, the mercenaries were going to hate me for it.

I was going to swoop in and steal all the glory they had fought and died for—that was how it looked. When people throw their lives away and lose comrades, only for someone else to snatch the prize at the end, of course they are going to hate that person.

And I was the one who had to do it.

I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I had no choice.

We arrived on the field—and it was pandemonium.

Bodies were scattered everywhere, and heavily wounded who couldn’t move lay all around.

In the middle of that, I slipped forward in hiding alongside the “associate” the marquis had saddled me with.

Apparently the marquis didn’t actually want me to die, because he sent someone truly skilled to guard me.

I heard the man had fled from Seizeria, the magic kingdom… he’d apparently been a disciple of a pretty famous master and was extremely gifted at concealment.

I mean, when I realized we could get close enough to touch the dragon and it still didn’t notice us, I couldn’t help blurting out, “Magic really is amazing.”

Sadly, it seemed I had no talent for using magic myself.

According to the old man, bloodlines mattered a lot in that regard, and that was just how things were.

Once in a very great while, someone with innate talent appeared, but unless that talent was discovered in early childhood and trained properly, it rotted away easily.

In other words, as an adult, I no longer had any real connection to magic.

Anyway, from a safe zone, hidden from sight, we watched the battle between the dragon and the humans.

Stray attacks came flying our way several times, but the old man handled those too.

He called it “arrow-warding magic,” and it supposedly worked on pretty much any kind of projectile.

Magic-users were terrifying.

We kept slipping in and out of ruined buildings—changing positions to match the dragon and the flow of the battle—when my turn finally came.

The scout who had been guiding us this whole time pointed up at the roof of a house that hadn’t collapsed yet.

Understanding his intent, I leapt onto the roof, at which point the concealment spell fell away.

At the same time, I closed the distance to the dragon, sprinting at full speed to land a blow on its neck.

There, I got a boost from the old man’s magic.

A tremendous gust of wind—like a forceful shove in the back—propelled me as I jumped.

The dragon noticed me just before my sword reached it, so instead of its neck, I slashed across its face, but the magic sword’s edge was phenomenal. It felt like a solid hit—good enough that I couldn’t complain.

The dragon had always known when to pull back, and it was a good thing this one did as well. It simply took off and flew away. If its temperament had been more vicious, it might have gone on a rampage, ignoring its own survival.

“Well, based on its behavior up to then, I was confident it wouldn’t do that.”

I said that and convinced the higher-ups to let it go… but honestly, I wondered if anyone really found that explanation satisfying.

And so, just as the powers-that-be had planned, I earned the title of Dragonbuster.

At the same time, I heard that the reward money for the mercenaries had been cut.

I protested that putting us in a situation where a night-time assassination wouldn’t be surprising, all because of “We never heard about that,” was going too far.

“In any case, no amount of gold will be enough to rebuild a ruined town. We already intended to reduce their pay somehow. If that’s the case, better that you bear all their resentment and gain a strength that can crush it.”

That was why nobles were such a headache.

They deliberately created situations where even your life might be targeted, just so I would grow strong enough not to be crushed by my own fame.

They did things like that without the slightest sign of guilt, which was exactly why people hated nobles.

Still, if I was going to call myself a genius, I had to accept the challenge.

I was confident in my strength.

And I was sure I was either the strongest human alive or close to it.

“I’ll show you what I can do.”

I spoke in a way that made it sound like I might very well end up dead, but the marquis only answered with a fearless smile.

After that, I was buried in post-war cleanup for quite some time—about a year and a few months.

One day, while I was practicing my sword within the grounds of the marquis’s estate, doing my best to avoid getting ambushed, a royal messenger arrived carrying a document.

Summed up in one phrase, it was a “grant of knighthood.”

I wondered if it was really okay for something like that to be this casual, but apparently a knight’s title was basically just a name with no actual authority, so this was normal.

Because of that, my name changed from plain “Alberto” to “Alberto von Raguel.”

At the same time, they handed me another slip of paper and explained that it was an invitation from the temple.

The end result was that the holy sword was loaned to me.

For the first time in decades, a new Dragonbuster had appeared—and he was handsome to boot. If they were going to use me as a standard-bearer for the coming war with Seizeria, then this level of spectacle made sense.

The problem was the cardinal who handed me the holy sword. His expression was all smiles, but his eyes weren’t smiling at all.

Seriously, Marquis—just how many people did you expect me to be hated by?

Anyway, I now held the strongest weapon of all—the holy sword—and once I used it, I understood.

(This wasn’t a weapon you were supposed to use against human beings.)

If I had to sum up my impression in one phrase, it would be: “This thing is insane.”

On top of its terrifying sharpness, the magical power leaking from the blade aided both offense and defense.

They said it drew on the wielder’s mana, but it didn’t feel like a burden—in fact, it actually felt like my body was lighter.

A sense of omnipotence wrapped around me—as though I, Alberto, could do absolutely anything. That was how outrageously powerful it was.

(So this was the holy sword… this was what a holy sword truly was.)

They said everyone who had wielded it died a tragic death… and honestly, with a weapon like this, I could see how someone might get carried away and die in some stupid way.

For a while, I was drunk on the fact that I had the holy sword, but in any case, it handled completely differently from any weapon I had used before.

Even for a genius like me, adapting to that difference wasn’t easy, and I ended up needing a long period of training.

During that time, I tried learning all sorts of things from that old mage, but in the end, I really did have no talent for magic.

Even so, what I learned about handling mana as the wielder of the holy sword turned out to be incredibly useful.

After a year of training, what waited for me was classes in etiquette.

Basically, the marquis’s plans for using me had grown beyond what he first imagined, thanks to how strong I had become, and now he wanted to exploit me in a different sphere as well—or so I guessed.

Naturally, I found those days unbearably dull, with less and less time to swing a sword.

But that daily life ended abruptly.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Alberto. A monster has appeared that I want you to exterminate.”