Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 17 (5.1)

Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 17

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Wordcount: 2500

Commissioned by Shaderic.

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On one hand, I wanted Reiser dead, but if she did die, I’ll die too. 

The conundrum of the situation wasn’t anything close to choosing between running over one person instead five others. This was a simpler situation with one side wanting me dead and the other side presumably wishing to imprison me in some dungeon or something. I could read into Reiser’s motivations more, perhaps really discern her goals with me, it’d ultimately be a waste of time. She’s a psychopath indoctrinated to a single belief system that she’s convinced herself to follow without question. 

Religious Zealot + Yandere = Will Never Listen to the Tenth Power.

Therefore, I all I had to do now that she invited the wrath of an entire town upon herself was to decide whether I’d help her stay alive or just let her die. Now, even with how well she’d mastered her abilities, the fact remained that after the fuel for those abilities dried up, she’d simply be a well-trained, human warrior. Given the constant stream of soldiers coming after her, while she ran through the city with me over her shoulder, told me couldn’t take on the entire city. 

At least, not before she got killed trying to leave.

The city garrison knew the place like the back of their hand. They were the glue that was supposed to be released and trap in any attacking force that entered the city. Blood, bone, and bodies were the Empire’s answer to everything, since they could always acquire more and get an improved next generation, so it’s only natural that a city that can’t be taken by Monsters wasn’t going to be broken over the knee by a single, skilled super soldier. It was the same tactic that the Empire used on the battlefield, except with better-trained, better-armed citizens instead of slaves. The line was going to be held at great, personal loss, until the cavalry arrived and routed the rest of the offensive. 

It didn’t matter that Reiser was skilled and capable, when a few hundred individuals could wear her down and kill her. Now, I had no problems with that. However, I did take offense to my situation. If I did nothing, as she held alleys, took over homes, and kept me safe from the encroaching Empire, she’d irresponsibly die and leave me to be executed after intense, continuous torture for several weeks.  

But, if I chose to do nothing, then I’d have to only do nothing in order to get he person who fucked me over killed. I had to choose between my continued existence due to hard work and stress, or instant fulfillment with the only cost being my entire future. Which of the two would I take over? It was entirely a matter of personal preference. 

Death and satisfaction.

Continued living, but having to work to save the life of someone I hated.

Hmmm.

I think I’ll go with the first.

Time to be the absolute, worst escort mission ever then.

…

The sound of battle reverberated through the whole building, while I set about making myself something to eat. Hidden in the nondescript, squat building was a tavern, so I was helping myself to the food and drinks inside. Not only was I filling my stomach with my required dinner, I was also scoping out my competition. How was I supposed to clog the arteries of the world with fried junk if someone had something better? I had to stay on my toes in order to create my empire of delivered, fried food. Until I get my hands on a stable supply of potatoes and salt, I needed to be wary of others cornering the market!

Thankfully, there wasn’t much to eat in the fringes of the Empire.

Most of the foods in the kitchen were a medieval affair or just slightly better rations than what I received while working with the Empire. Cured meat and pickled vegetables filled the entire larder. Given the general requisitioning of magic to kidnap people for slavery, the Empire didn’t enjoy being able to summon food and ingredients through magic. If they could afford to not have supply lines, they’d have expanded further, but with their bodies all focused on summoning more and more people? Yeah, meats doused in salt and pickled vegetables are the primary fare of anyone without the cheat skill of “money.”

However, free food is free, therefore it’s against my ethical principles to not take them. I helped myself to a ham, a jar of pickled lettuce, and a hunk of bread left on the table. What was that? It’s not free? I’m really just stealing things from other people? Well, then, I’m just getting forcible renumeration from my time spent uncompensated for my work. This piece of ham I’m eating is just shaving off the interest off of the interest payment of that particular sum.

Mmmm… petty criminality is the best…

A sudden crash drew my attention. It was mostly because I hoped that Reiser would find herself embedded on a wall and fall off it dead. Alas, the individual sent through the front door of the tavern was not my former student. Reiser strode in after him, blade at the ready, and before he could even fall onto the floor, she had had his head in her hands and was ready to leave. 

By ready to leave, I mean that she slapped my gathered loots out of my hands and proceeded to drag me out of the building.

“Oi, I was eating.” It was more than a little difficult speaking while being carried over the shoulder. In fact, it was nearly impossible. The wind, the constant jostling, and droves of potential killers all contributed towards making it difficult to converse with another person without suffering an unfortunate accident. Sure, I’d managed to speak to the Elves the whole time, but those were levels. In fact, no amount of effort is too small in order to ensure that Elves were miserably. I’d do it again even if it meant turning my tongue into a chewed-up mess, if it let me say everything I wanted. “I’m hungry, y’know? How am I supposed to exist without food in my stomach?”

“You are being difficult on purpose, Strategos.” It was good that I was getting to her. What sort of shitty NPC would I be if I didn’t make the player FEEL like they were a enslaving piece of shit that didn’t have my loyalty. Man, whoever programmed me must be feeling really great. A one-hundred percent accurate representation of a slave holding you back, while you try to keep them alive to further your own goals, is a 8/10 game at minimum. “It is unbecoming of you.”

“Yep. That’s what am I doing. Why don’t you just leave me behind and go commit not living?” 

“Tch.”

On the surface, those words seemed controlled and concise, but with an person like Reiser? Voicing discontent was the same as screaming out in frustration. She’s the type to smile even when told to go die in a fire for her people. It just goes to show that pettiness and spite can do more to hurt zealots than anything else. Threaten them with violence and pain, then all you get is a martyr? Irritate them until they snap? Well, then you have a normal human being that you can beat down with experience at being a bigger piece of shit. Jokes on you, Reiser, while you were upholding your morals, I was being a terrible person, thus in this battlefield I reign supreme!

Oh, hey, look another group of enemies that Reiser will have to let go of me for to deal with. 

“Tch!” 

…

Unfortunately, I taught Reiser too well. Even after a dozen-or-so encounters, with me complicating things at every possible opportunity, she wasn’t dead. I’d run headlong into the enemy, stopped moving, and even tried to clip into a wall. That last one was actually a disaster. With me trying repeatedly to walk into solid stone, I hadn’t been able to dive into danger. I’d actually made that battle easier for her! Shame on me. My ancestors would be disgusted with me, as well as all of my teachers. My most sincere apologies, nameless NPCs that got yourselves killed multiple times, I have failed you. 

Well, at least, Reiser wasn’t unharmed. 

Her outer armor was practically destroyed. The city’s security forces started bringing maces and hammers after she dispatched the first few squads sent her way. Then, they started sending in actual, experienced soldiers instead of the town garrison. The upgrade in hardware and software spelled Reiser taking a few hits, even though her sword find its way through people with singular swings. Though she wasn’t sporting armor-break of the eroge caliber, the amount of protections she had on her was slowly, but surely being worn away, until her plans shifted from escaping to finding replacement equipment, so that she could fight the next battle. She was clad only in the scale mail she wore beneath the plate, with a few bruises on her face, and presumably a few more wounds beneath.

It wasn’t the results I wanted from being an anchor, but going from whisking me away into the dark to having to worry about the next battle was definitely a good change.  Unfortunately, when the next set of opponents arrived to kill her, as she strapped on armor stolen from a smithy, I couldn’t finish the job anymore… because, for the first time in a very long, long time, I finally had someone in front of me who I couldn’t allow to survive. 

“Who is that?” My words drew Reiser’s attention immediately. Partly because I was addressing her without insulting her, but mostly because I started helping her strap the armor she found on. Curiosity filled her gaze, again reminding me of the girl I first met, but I ignored it in favor of directing her gaze towards the figure trotting towards us on a horse. “Tell me. Now.”

Reiser’s gaze was better than mine, so she could confirm what I’d inferred. All I could tell was that someone was coming surrounded by troops in heavy armor, while they sat upon a horse. It was dark, so I had to use my hearing more than anything. The same didn’t go for little-miss-psychopath. With just a little magic, she could see in the dark just fine. 

“That is the lord of this town. One of the Empire’s finest war masters. Hill the Holdfast.” The name brought back unpleasant memories. Bile rose in my throat. The first time I’d been electrocuted came surging back to memory. A face framed by red dominated my vision, before I blinked it away and focused on the present, instead of the past. It was easy enough, since I intended to fix the past. Not by killing it, but by converting it to better memories for the future… by killing it. “How could you hate him so much? He perfectly supported you and lost much for suggesting the summoning of the Amazons. He is the reason you live now.”

“Shut your mouth, before you sound even more stupid.” What half-decent leader wouldn’t send slaves to kill and be killed in another land, so that his constituents were rewarded? Why wouldn’t he work to have monsters that he didn’t have to feed, who apparently killed anything and anyone if they weren’t looked after, to fight against his enemies, while he sat on his throne and munched away. Again, the Empire’s ability to twist any situation to their advantage was utterly disgusting. If everything besides what they say is a lie, then every situation that arises will have a lie made for it while they didn’t have to do a thing. “He’s here to kill you. I’m going to help you kill him. That’s all you need to know.”

Reiser wasn’t about to shut up, so I covered her face with a helmet before any more of my braincells died.  Then, I took stock of the smithy we’d broken into as the storefront was slowly surrounded by men in full plate, with pikes, and who were led by someone who outmatched Reiser. The additional weapons in the shop, ranging from swords to spears and axes and barrels of arrows, had some use, but I was after a bigger prize.

Even though the Empire skimped out on money for food, basic necessities, and things that didn’t help them “win,” the opposite was true for whatever contributed to victory.

So, after breaking through the shit lock to the actual forge of the smithery, I found what I was looking for. 

The Ifrit was neither bound nor chained, but that was because that wasn’t required. The source of the heat required to forge magical steel with magic naturally required a monster, snce the Empire wasn’t willing to waste magical adepts of their own people into the menial task of making arms and armor. No, they were all required for an interdimensional slave trade. So, instead other resources were diverted into the task, after a bit of modification.

And by modification, I mean lobotomy.

The Ifrit before me was only an Ifrit. It was nothing more and nothing less than a species of monster whose output could be adjusted via a collar that was tapped into her spine. Any femininity of the monster was stripped off and sewn up, while “penitent” robes were grafted onto what remained of her body. If you looked at her from the corner of your eye, or from a distance, she’d look like a nun clad entirely in white, especially as she devotedly knelt in the middle of a circle that ate her life to fuel arcane forges and equipment. 

A resource to be used and thrown away with the Empire’s seal of approval.

I’d like to say that I felt sick looking at it, but in the end, I was happy to see it. A hero would recoil in disgust at the sight, feel nothing but hate, and maybe even refuse to do anything besides kill her. No. That wasn’t me. Instead, I found a familiar control apparatus, a more elaborate version of what was used to either shock me into compliance or kill me, and took hold of it myself. 

“Heat up.”

I’m really no better than the Empire.

“Hotter.”

The lengths I’d go to in order to defeat them outstrip what they’re willing to do by an order of magnitude. If I had their power, if I could do what I wanted with the people around me, and if my morals were the only thing that could stop me, then this war would already be over. 

“More.”

Source: me. 

“Good. Now, run. Spread. Heat up more while run. Don’t stop until you’re dead.”

Concrete evidence: me turning a living, breathing thing into a living, speeding bomb in the middle of a city filled with thousands of people… and smashing the only thing that can stop it. 

After all, if I didn’t have favorable terrain, then I’ll just have to make it myself.