Attack: AoE Purification

The report landed on my desk with a heavy, ominous thump. It was a thick, grim-looking stack of parchment, bound in twine, and it smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and despair. I stared at it as if it were a venomous snake.

“What fresh hell is this?” I asked, not looking up.

Auditor Eliza, my newly appointed shadow, stood on the other side of my desk, her arms crossed. Her fiery red hair seemed to burn with a self-righteous glow in the morning sun. “A public health crisis,” she said, her voice crisp and devoid of emotion. “A severe outbreak of the ‘Wheezing Pox’ has been traced to the capital’s slum district. Dozens are ill. The local clinics are overwhelmed. This report contains the preliminary findings.”

I poked the report with my pinky finger. “A pox, huh? And in the slums? Sounds suspiciously like… actual work.”

“It is your actual job, Inspector,” Eliza retorted, one perfect eyebrow arched. “I am eager to see how the legendary hero handles a legitimate epidemic. I will be observing your methods closely.”

She was challenging me. This wasn't just an assignment; it was a test. A test I had absolutely no intention of studying for.

Edgar, ever diligent, was already strapping on a field kit full of vials, thermometers, and what looked like a pair of goblin-sized tongs. “Sir, the situation is critical! We should head out immediately! Every moment we delay could mean another citizen falls ill!”

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers in a mockery of deep thought. “Patience, my eager young apprentice,” I said, putting on my best wise-master voice for Eliza’s benefit. “A true hero doesn’t chase germs like a common housecat batting at dust bunnies. He must first strategize. Meditate. Formulate a plan of attack.” I paused for dramatic effect. “And most importantly, he must ensure he is properly hydrated before entering the field. Let’s go.”

I stood up, slung my coat over my shoulder, and ambled out of the office, leaving Edgar to frantically gather his supplies and Eliza to make another sharp, disapproving note on her black slate.

The slum district of Lysvalde was a chaotic, vibrant, and profoundly unsanitary symphony of life. The narrow, winding streets were packed with people. Vendors shouted over the sizzle of frying oil, selling skewers of questionable meat that smelled absolutely divine. Children used what looked like a goblin skull as a football. The air was thick with woodsmoke, cheap incense, and the collective body odor of a few thousand people who considered a “bath” to be a theoretical concept.

Edgar, bless his methodical heart, dove straight into the fray. He was a whirlwind of bureaucratic efficiency, questioning street cooks, inspecting water barrels, and taking testimony from wheezing locals with a gentle, professional bedside manner.

Eliza followed him, her expression a mask of detached analysis. She observed everything, her gray eyes missing no detail, her pen a silent, constant judge of the district’s squalor. Every few moments, her gaze would flick over to me, her eyes asking a silent question: Well? What are you going to do?

What I was going to do was find a place to sit down. My heroic duties for the day consisted of wandering past a few stalls, giving a lazy wave to a stray cat, and expertly dodging the goblin skull as it came flying past my head. My ‘high-level overview’ of the situation eventually led me to a tavern tucked between a crumbling textile stall and a leaning signpost. The Whispering Bamboo Tavern. It looked perfect.

A true leader must establish a forward command post, my internal monologue confidently asserted. From which he can monitor the situation… from a comfortable chair… with a mug of ale. It’s strategic.

The tavern was dimly lit, warm, and smelled of cheap beer and fried dough. I pushed the door open, a small bell jingling merrily. A young, energetic waitress with a cheerful smile looked up from wiping down the counter.

“Welcome, sir,” she said, her voice a pleasant little melody. “Table for one?”

I leaned against the doorway, deploying the grin that was rapidly becoming my most-used heroic tool. “Make it a table for a hero on a very important, top-secret mission,” I said, my voice a conspiratorial whisper. “The mission is called ‘morale maintenance.’ And I have a feeling you’re just the person to help me with it.”

She tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Morale maintenance? And what does that involve?”

“It involves a hero receiving critical sustenance—let’s say, your strongest ale—while he mentally prepares to save the entire district from a terrible plague,” I said, sidling up to the bar. “It’s a lonely job, being a hero. Full of paperwork and existential dread. A friendly face and a strong drink can make all the difference.”

She laughed, a bright, genuine sound. “Careful, sir. We wouldn’t want you getting drunk before you’ve done any actual hero-ing.”

“Ah, but this is the hero-ing,” I said, taking the mug she poured for me. “The quiet, contemplative part they never write songs about. To duty… and to charming waitresses who enable it!” I lifted the mug in a mock salute.

Meanwhile, back at Lysvalde Castle, the Holy Kingdom’s envoy arrived with all the subtlety of an opera singer in a library. Ceremonial drums echoed through the halls as knights in immaculately polished silver armor marched in perfect formation.

At their head was a man who seemed to radiate pure, unfiltered righteousness. Sir Justus, Paladin of Justice, stood tall and unsmiling, his hand resting on the pommel of his greatsword. His armor wasn't just shiny; it seemed to glow with an inner light, and his jaw was set with the grim determination of a man who considered even a misplaced comma a threat to cosmic law.

“Your arrival honors us,” Princess Marie said, greeting them with a polite, but knowing, smile. She’d seen men like him before. Full of sound, fury, and a complete lack of irony.

“We come on a sacred mission from the Pontiff himself,” the chief cleric with the envoy announced. “We are here to bestow the Holy Kingdom’s blessing upon the Legendary Hero of Lysvalde. We have heard tales of his immense power.”

Sir Justus nodded curtly, his gaze sweeping the hall as if searching for evil lurking behind the tapestries. “A power that can purify the world must be acknowledged. And witnessed.”

Hours later, I was on my third mug of ale. The initial charm of playing the part of the ‘brooding hero’ had worn off, replaced by a profound, soul-crushing boredom. Outside, I could see Edgar and Eliza still diligently working, a small, sad island of order in an ocean of chaos.

Ugh, this is taking forever, I groaned internally. At this rate, they’ll be here all week. I’ve got better things to do. Like napping. And thinking about napping.

I sighed. “Well… guess it’s time to clock out the heroic way.”

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I didn’t need to chant or draw a magic circle. I just reached for the vast, untapped ocean of mana within me—the perk of being ‘Max-Level’—and gave it a gentle push.

A silent, invisible ripple of pure, golden, holy energy expanded from my body. It washed over the tavern, turning the cheap ale in my mug into a divine nectar. It swept out into the street, across the entire slum district, over the city walls, and across the whole of the kingdom. A perfect, instantaneous Area of Effect: Purify.

Out on the street, Edgar was taking the temperature of a feverish old man. The man’s wheezing suddenly stopped. He sat up, blinked, and said, “I feel marvelous! Fancy a game of cards?” The grimy puddle at Edgar’s feet shimmered and turned into crystal-clear water.

Eliza’s black slate let out a piercing beep. She stared at it, her eyes wide. A massive, off-the-charts energy signature of pure, unadulterated holy magic had just detonated, and she was standing at ground zero. She looked around at the suddenly healthy, vibrant, and spotlessly clean slum district, her mind utterly failing to comprehend what had just happened.

Back at the castle, Sir Justus was mid-sentence when the wave of purification washed over the throne room. He stopped, his body rigid. He dropped to one knee, overwhelmed, a hand pressed to his chest. “This… this power! So pure… so vast… it is the Hero! He is performing a great miracle!” With a conviction born of pure zealotry, he stood up, his eyes blazing. “I must go to him! I must witness this righteousness firsthand!”

Edgar and Eliza finally tracked the epicenter of the energy wave to The Whispering Bamboo Tavern. They found me leaning back in my chair, casually finishing my ale.

“Sir…” Edgar stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the now-gleaming street outside. “What… what just happened? The pox… the grime… it’s all just… gone!”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that? Just used a little AoE Purify. Cleans everything. Like a magic pressure washer. Saves on paperwork. You can write in the report that we successfully traced the outbreak to a… uh… cursed ham sandwich and disposed of it.”

Just as Edgar’s brain began to melt, the tavern door burst open. Sir Justus stood there, framed in the doorway like a holy avenger, his armor practically blinding. He scanned the room, and his blazing eyes locked onto me.

“Hero Okina Sukebe!” he boomed, his voice echoing through the tavern. He marched forward and bowed low. “I am Sir Justus, Paladin of Justice! I have felt your divine power! I have come to witness your glory and to pledge my sword to your sacred cause! I will serve and fight alongside you!”

I stared at him. The zealous knight. The audit-happy redhead. The eager rookie. My life was flashing before my eyes. My peaceful, lazy, low-effort life.

No, my mind screamed in silent, abject horror. Not another one. This was supposed to be a relaxing, slice-of-life comedy, damn it! Not a JRPG party recruitment drive! Get him away from me!

Aloud, I just yawned. “Charming, really. But maybe let’s save the sword-pledging for after I’ve finished my beer.”