Hidden Village

I leave behind the bodies of the two goblins turning to shadow, the Holy Sword Ascalade gripped tightly in my hand. It glows softly with the light of the sun, illuminating my way. The canopy of the forest lets only the dappled moonlight in, though I can still see the fires engulfing the village clearly.

I step into the bounds of the village, and I feel the remnants of their illusory veil. That must be a good sign. It means they can repair it and hide themselves once more. It hasn’t all been lost. I didn’t come too late. But in front of me are the bodies of people, dead and dying, and the knowledge that I can do nothing for them. I can’t heal somebody, after all.

I plunge Ascalade into the body of a goblin, a normal one that comes up to my waist, and it returns to shadows. I cut through the stomach of an ogre towering over me. And it returns to shadows. I dash across the village, passing by so many bodies, cutting my way through the demons, returning them all to shadows. The enemy platoon numbered around fifty. I’ve banished them all away in only a few minutes.

That’s what a hero can do.

That’s all a failure of a hero like me can do.

I sheath Ascalade at my waist, and moments later the villagers surround me. They seem pensive. It makes sense. Their village was just attacked for the first time in centuries. I spot the chief of the village, a withering old man leaning heavily on his cane, among the crowd.

“How dare you, Hero Dust!”

It isn’t anything unexpected. Even without monsters in their village, they weren’t pleased to see us. We disrupted their existence with our arrival. Four hundred years ago, following the victory of the first great hero, his companions settled this land, which is so full of magic and vitality. Several generations after, they created a spell to hide themselves away, and so they forsook the world.

We forced ourselves into their village to ask for their aid, the rumors being that they have weapons more powerful than the outside world. They begrudgingly equipped us, but it was obvious enough how much they disliked being intruded on. Even if it was for the sake of defeating the Demon King, it was obvious they would rather we never came.

And then we failed. We stepped on their way of life and couldn’t even kill the Demon King. We did it for no reason at all then. And they must know that too. If we succeeded they would never have been attacked. If I wasn’t a failure of a hero nobody would have had to die.

They hadn’t liked me in the first place, of course they hate me now.

“How dare you come back here! Inviting death upon us all, tearing away our veil, letting monsters do as they please, how dare you! What sort of hero are you supposed to be!”

Nobody says anything against him. The reason is obvious. He’s right. Though I can’t say that I enjoy hearing it from the mouth of somebody else. All of this is my fault, after all.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t become a hero. Don’t worry, I’ll leave soon.”

There’s only one thing left for me to do here. Among the rubble of ruined buildings I find a shovel, and so I make my way to the cemetery.

I only saw it in passing when we first arrived in this village. Luckily, it was untouched in the battle. It’s large, almost as large as the entire rest of the village. Obviously it would be important. It’s the last resting place of heroes, after all. If it were the capital there would be grand monuments. But there are only headstones here, like anyone else.

I’ve already counted the dead. There were six people I was too late to save. Everyone else could still be healed by the other villagers.

And so I start digging. I’m a strong young man, so it isn’t anything hard. I was usually the one doing it for people in the village. I’ve been doing it longer than I’ve been fighting demons, at least. I’d like to think I’m good at it. But that can only take me so far. No matter how strong and skilled I am, I can only shovel as much as I can shovel. It still takes a long time if I’m doing it by hand. Even though it’s something that could be done in an instant with magic, like the canyon surrounding the Demon King’s castle, it takes a while if you’re doing it by hand. But even if I could use magic, I would rather do it like this. I’m not the hero anymore, so I don’t feel so pressed for time. There’s only one duty left for me now, as the wielder of Ascalade at least.

As I dig, I can feel the villagers staring at me. They must think I’m a hypocrite, letting their friends and family die only to dig their graves. That’s not the sort of thing a hero should be. I should’ve been able to save them, if I were a real hero. If I were stronger and bolder, they would have been saved.

It reminds me of the capital, the few times I was called there. So many people were looking at me with hatred and mistrust. It’s easy enough to get used to, but I suppose they were right in the end. I really couldn’t be a proper hero. So I don’t mind the looks from the villagers. I just keep on digging.

It’s the following evening when I finish digging the graves. When I turn to leave the cemetery, I find a plate of food on a tall stone box behind me. It must be an offering to the dead. They must be getting ready for the burial.

I’m sure they don’t want to see me, so I’ll try to leave quietly. I really can, and I leave the village without meeting a single person.

“Sunlit Sanctuary.”

A shimmering barrier stretches around the village as I leave it. And so I walk onward, the hero with the holy sword in hand.

But all I seem to be able to do is wait for people to die. Whether it’s this body and this life, or my failure to be a hero, it seems I can’t do anything without people already having died. I’m not qualified to be the hero. I’m not the hero humanity needs. So I’ll return to the capital with the holy sword.

I’m not qualified to be a hero, Ascalade, so let me find you someone worthy of wielding you.