A deep feeling of regret welled within him.
If only he hadn't said he'd come back. If only he hadn't volunteered for what basically amounted to participating in a social activity. Now look at him—surrounded by nobles and priests alike, all kissing up to him like he was some kind of prize to be won.
This is what you get for trying to be proactive, he thought bitterly.
Yesterday, he had come to this cathedral wanting to see if the Dragon Hourglass existed as he remembered it from his game world. How it looked, what functions it possessed, whether the game's mechanics translated to reality. Anxiety had been coursing through him then, too—a deep, inexplicable unease he couldn't quite name. He'd powered through it, concealing the feeling that he wanted to be anywhere else but here, and talked, and socialized, with so many people. The priests hadn't known when to stop. He'd answered their questions, talked when appropriate, nodded along to their endless droning about the Three Heroes and holy prophecies.
He should have left. Should have made an excuse and fled.
But he'd said he would return. And Ren kept his word.
Today was worse.
The priests had interpreted his return as genuine interest. The nobles wanted a piece of him—an alliance, a favor, a moment of his time that they could later claim as familiarity with the Sword Hero. A crowd had gathered around him, albeit at a respectful distance, but a crowd nonetheless. Every face was turned toward him. And the mouths plastered on their faces are all speaking towards him.
He could feel his social battery draining in real time. The numbers in his head ticked downward with each passing second. New voices appeared, all expecting an answer. From him.
His party stood off to the side, watching him with expressions he couldn't quite read. Confusion, maybe. Concern? He wasn't sure. He couldn't fault them for looking at him strangely—he was their leader, the summoned hero, and here he was, trapped in a gilded cage of pleasantries and politics, looking for all the world like a rabbit caught in a snare.
Just a little longer, he told himself. Then you can leave. Then you can breathe.
He forced himself to focus.
Information, he reminded himself. You're here for information.
He began to listen carefully. The nobles spoke of trade routes and harvest yields, of monster outbreaks and territorial disputes. The priests droned on about the Church's teachings, the proper veneration of the three Cardinal Heroes, the sacred duty bestowed upon them, and how it would be their biggest honor if they could assist him in any way possible. Their reverence and fanatical voice creeped him out.
As expected, nobody said anything that could be incriminating. That would be foolish—spilling secrets to someone they'd only met yesterday. But Ren hadn't expected confessions. He'd expected patterns. Attitudes. The things people revealed without meaning to.
And slowly, the pattern emerged.
"The demi-human problem in the frontier settlements..." one noble murmured to another, assuming Ren couldn't hear. "I really hope the Shield Hero would simply focus on his duties instead of coddling those creatures..."
"Filthy beasts playing at personhood," another agreed quietly. "They should be grateful for the collar. It civilizes them."
Ren's expression didn't change. His face remained fixed and stoic. But his stomach did a trick on itself.
Thinly veiled insults piled up in his ears. Half-human, half-beast. Not deserving of rights. Tools to be used. Not people to be respected. The priests, when they mentioned demi-humans at all, spoke of them as wayward souls in need of guidance—but their definition of guidance sounded uncomfortably like subjugation.
So this is the world we're supposed to save, he thought.
He remembered yesterday's discussion.
Find information about the Church. Not the public doctrine—anyone could read that. The real information. People who could possibly become their allies. The rivalries between all factions in this church. Most important of all, the hierarchies. Who held the most powers here? Is it the numerous bishops that prowled this place's hallway? Or is it centralized in the Pope himself? He couldn't know. Not unless he dove deep to find out.
If the four heroes ever needed to push back against the Church's influence—especially its bias against Naofumi—they would need to understand its internal politics. Know where the fractures were. Find potential cracks to exploit.
Easier said than done, when every fiber of his being wanted to be anywhere else.
But with each passing moment, that search felt more and more futile. The cathedral, grand and holy as it appeared, seemed to attract the worst of humanity's prejudices. These were the powerful, the influential, the devout—and they spoke of demi-humans like livestock.
I'm sorry, he thought toward his fellow heroes, wherever they were. Motoyasu, Naofumi, Noritoshi. Socializing and information gathering like this is really hard. I shouldn't have volunteered for this.
But he had. And he'd see it through.
A breakthrough finally appeared when the Pope himself emerged from a side corridor to greet him.
The crowd parted almost instinctively, their conversations faltering into respectful silence. Even the most eager nobles stepped back, yielding space as though an invisible boundary had been drawn.
A middle-aged man with a kind face, spectacles perched neatly on his nose. His white religious robes were immaculate, unadorned by the gold trim that decorated the lesser priests—a quiet statement of confidence. Around his neck hung the rosary of the Church of the Three Heroes, its pendant bearing the symbols of the Bow, Spear, and Sword arranged in a sacred triangle.
No Shield.
Ren noticed.
"Lord Sword Hero." The Pope's voice was calm, warm, the kind of voice that made people want to listen. He placed a hand over his heart and offered a shallow bow—respectful, but not obsequious. "I am Biscas T. Balmus, servant of the Three Heroes and shepherd of this flock. I apologize if my clergy have overwhelmed you with their enthusiasm. They rarely have the opportunity to meet one of the Cardinal Heroes in person."
Ren inclined his head in return. "It's fine. They've been... welcoming, if somewhat a little overwhelming."
A faint smile crossed Balmus's face—knowing, but not unkind. "You're very gracious. Still, a young man like yourself deserves a moment of peace." He glanced around at the assembled nobles and priests, and though his expression didn't change, people began to quietly excuse themselves. Not commanded, exactly. More like... gently dismissed.
"If you have a moment," Balmus continued, gesturing toward the side corridor he'd emerged from, "there's a quieter space this way. My personal study. We could speak properly, away from all this noise."
Ren's party stirred slightly—warning, questioning. But Ren made a quick decision. This was why he was here.
"Lead the way."
The study was exactly what Ren would have expected from a man like Balmus. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with religious texts and historical accounts. A simple desk sat near a window that overlooked the cathedral gardens. Everything looks orderly in an intentional way to make you feel peaceful.
Balmus settled into a chair and gestured for Ren and his party to do the same. A servant appeared silently with tea, then vanished just as quietly.
"I imagine you didn't return to the cathedral solely for the pleasure of my priests' company," Balmus said, his tone light but perceptive. "What brings the Sword Hero back to our humble halls?"
Ren considered his answer carefully. "Information," he said finally. "I'm still learning about this world. The Church is... significant. I wanted to understand it better."
"So tell me about the Church," Ren said. "Not the public teachings. The real structure. Who holds power? How are decisions made?"
Behind him, he heard Tersia muffling what sounded like a chuckle. The blonde dual-wielder caught Ren's eye and whispered, "Direct. I like it."
Unfortunately, Welt, the light blue haired mage, healer, and support of their party audibly sighed.
"A sensible approach." Balmus nodded, stirring his tea slowly. "Many summoned heroes in the past have focused solely on fighting monsters and leveling up. They forgot that kingdoms are built on more than just battle. Understanding the institutions, the people, the history—that's what allows a hero to truly make a difference."
Balmus's smile widened slightly—approving, perhaps even amused. "But still, to think you would go straight to the heart of it. I appreciate that." He folded his hands in his lap. "You're remarkably transparent in your intentions, Lord Sword Hero. Most nobles would dance around the subject for an hour before hinting at half of what you've just asked directly. It's... refreshing."
Ren didn't respond to that, merely waited.
Right now, he could afford to be blunt. That was the strange freedom of being a summoned hero—normal rules of politeness and social grace didn't quite apply to him. He wasn't part of their political games. Wasn't bound by their hierarchies. If he asked a direct question, people might be startled, but they'd also be more likely to answer. Because what else could they do? Refuse a Cardinal Hero and risk seeming obstructive? Lie and risk being caught?
Bluntness was a shield of its own. One he desperately needed, given how little social energy he had to spend on niceties. Well, that's not quite accurate. He really just doesn't care about stuff like this. Handling people that hides their true face and intention behind a mask isn't really his forte. Noritoshi would be way better at doing this compared to him.
Biscas took a sip of tea, then set the cup down with a soft clink.
"Ask what you wish, Lord Sword Hero. I will answer as honestly as I'm able."
Ren didn't wait for a second and said, "I already told you. Tell me everything that is to know about the Church."
Biscas went silent for a moment.
Ren's party shifted behind him. Farrie, the green-haired karate girl in her traditional Chinese dress, tried to look serious and imposing. She mostly succeeded, though Ren caught her sneaking a glance at the tea service like she wanted to ask for a cup.
Bakta—the large, bearded man with the axe, his cloak carefully arranged to hide his balding head—simply stood with arms crossed. His expression was appropriately serious now, but Ren had seen him laughing uproariously at Tersia's jokes just this morning.
Biscas began to respond.
He folded his hands in his lap and said, "The Church of the Three Heroes is, at its core, a council of bishops. Each major region sends a representative, and together they guide the faithful and interpret the sacred texts. I am... first among equals, you might say. A coordinator more than a ruler."
He paused, choosing his next words.
"That said, power flows through many channels. Some bishops have closer relationships with the nobility. Others command more sway with the common faithful. Still others..." His eyes flickered briefly toward the window. "Still others have been here so long that their influence is simply a matter of accumulated trust and relationships."
Ren nodded slowly.
"And the hierarchy?" he pressed. "Bishops report to you? Or is it more complicated?"
Balmus chuckled softly. "You have the mind of a politician, Lord Sword Hero. Or perhaps just a good strategist." He took another sip of tea. "Bishops report to me in matters of doctrine and faith. But administratively? They manage their own territories with considerable autonomy. The Church is vast. It must be flexible to serve the faithful across so many different regions."
Biscas picked up his cup and took a single sip before putting it back down, meeting Ren's eyes directly.
"I sense you're searching for something specific. Alliances, perhaps? Or potential... conflicts of interest?" The word 'conflicts' was delivered gently, without accusation. "If you're concerned about the Church's stance on certain matters, I encourage you to speak plainly. The Three Heroes are above petty politics. If you have questions about how we might support your mission, I am happy to address them."
Ren's party shifted behind him. He could feel their attention sharpening.
He thought about Naofumi. About the demi-human comments he'd overheard. About the missing Shield from the rosary around Balmus's neck.
"I've noticed," Ren said carefully, "that the Church's teachings focus on three heroes. Not four."
Balmus's expression didn't change. Though a subtle tension could be felt, it was quickly smoothed over that Ren thought it was a mere hallucination.
"The Shield Hero is... a complicated figure in our history," he said slowly. "The scriptures speak of the Four Heroes, yes. But they also speak of balance. Of roles. The Sword, the Spear, the Bow—they are the instruments of progress. Of action. The Shield..." He paused, choosing his words with obvious care. "The Shield's role is different. Protective. Defensive. In times of great crisis, that role becomes vital. But in times of peace? The Shield recedes, allowing the other three to lead."
Ren frowned internally. That was a convenient framing—one that justified excluding the Shield from their central symbolism while still technically acknowledging its existence.
"And now?" Ren asked. "We're facing waves of catastrophe. Is this not a time of crisis?"
Balmus nodded solemnly. "It is. Which is why we welcome all four heroes. Including the Shield." He said it smoothly, sincerely. "Whatever historical tensions may exist, the current threat demands unity. The Church supports all Cardinal Heroes in their sacred duty."
But your rosary still only has three symbols, Ren thought.
He didn't say it out loud. Instead, he asked, "Then, what's your stance on Demi-humans? Races that's different from humans in general?"
Balmus's expression grew thoughtful—not hostile, but measured. "Demi-humans are... complex. The scriptures teach that all beings are part of God's creation. But they also teach order. Hierarchy." He spread his hands. "In practical terms, the Church advocates for fair treatment of demi-humans who accept their place in that order. Those who rebel, who reject the natural hierarchy... they create conflict. Suffering. For everyone."
Their place, Ren noted. Not equality. Place.
Farrie shifted behind him, her expression flickering—she caught herself before it became anything obvious, but Ren noticed. They all noticed.
"I see," he said neutrally.
Balmus studied him for a long moment. "Do you disagree with something?"
Ren considered deflecting. But something in the Pope's steady gaze made him answer honestly.
"I'm not sure yet," he said. "I'm still learning."
Balmus nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer with grace. "A wise response. Rushing to judgment serves no one." He rose, signaling that the conversation was winding down. "If you have more questions in the future, Lord Sword Hero, my door is always open. The Church wants nothing more than to support you in your sacred mission."
Ren stood, his party following suit. "I appreciate your time, Your Holiness."
Balmus smiled—warm, paternal, impossible to read. "May the Holy Weapons guide your path."
The rosary glinted in the afternoon light as he spoke. Three symbols. Sword, Spear, Bow.
No Shield.
Ren nodded politely and let himself be escorted out.
Noritoshi, Naofumi, he thought to himself, we have a lot of work to do.
As they walked through the cathedral halls toward the exit, Tersia waited until they were well clear of any listening ears before speaking.
"Well," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "that was less painful than I expected. Thought we'd be stuck there all day."
"Tersia," Welt said flatly, still writing in his book. "Read the room."
"What? I'm keeping the mood up. That's my job." He glanced at Farrie, who had been unusually quiet since they left the study. "You okay?"
Farrie nodded, though her expression was troubled. "I'm fine. It's just... 'their place.' That word choice stuck with me."
Bakta adjusted his cloak, making sure it covered him appropriately. "The Pope seemed reasonable enough. Polite. Listened well."
"Polite people are the hardest to read," Ren said quietly. "You can't tell what they're really thinking."
They walked in silence for a moment, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the cathedral's stone walls.
Then Tersia spoke again, more gently this time. "Hey, Farrie. Can I ask you something?"
She looked up. "Sure?"
"You seemed genuinely surprised back there. By how they talked about demi-humans." He tilted his head. "Did you not know? I figured everyone in the capital knew how folks here think."
Farrie hesitated. "I... I guess I didn't. I… No, I don't know. I really don't know. Why would people… I really know nothing about the big city, huh…"
Bakta frowned. "How is that possible? The Church's teachings are everywhere."
"Not where I'm from." Farrie's voice was quiet, thoughtful. "I grew up near the border. Way out east, past the mountains. Different villages, different folks. My neighbors were a mix of humans and demi-humans. We didn't have any religion or views we followed—not like this." She gestured vaguely at the cathedral around them. "We just... lived. Worked together. Celebrated together. Fought monsters together when we had to. There's nothing like this back home."
She paused, something dawning on her face.
"Actually... now that I'm thinking about it..." Her brow furrowed. "I don't remember a single missionary ever coming to our village. Not once."
Welt looked up from his book, his serious expression sharpening with interest. "That's because they were likely turned away."
Farrie blinked. "What?"
"By the local lord," Welt explained, adjusting his grip on his tome. "Border lords often operate with considerable autonomy. If your lord didn't want Church influence spreading into his territory—if he preferred the peace you described, where humans and demi-humans coexisted without doctrinal interference—he would simply refuse entry to any missionary or priest who tried to come through."
Tersia let out a low whistle. "So her whole village was basically running on a don't-ask-don't-tell policy with the Church?"
"More like an active keep-them-out policy," Welt corrected. "It's not common, but it happens. Border regions are hard to control. Local lords there have more power to resist centralized institutions like the Church." He glanced at Farrie. "Your lord must have been quite determined to protect that way of life."
Farrie was quiet for a long moment, processing this. "I never knew. I just thought... that's how everywhere was."
"Clearly not," Bakta rumbled. "The capital is... different."
"Very different," Tersia agreed, his usual humor tempered with sympathy. "Welcome to the part of the world where people have Opinions with a capital O."
Farrie let out a small, humorless laugh. "I guess I have a lot to learn."
Ren, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "Sounds like you grew up in a good place."
Farrie nodded. "It was. I didn't realize how good until now, I guess."
Ren considered something, then—trying for lightness—said, "So what I'm hearing is, compared to capital folk, you're basically a country bumpkin. Me too, probably."
He meant it as a joke.
But Farrie's expression flickered. Her shoulders tensed. "A bumpkin? Is that what you think of me?"
Ren blinked. "That's not—"
"I know I don't know how things work here," she said, her voice tighter than before. "I know I'm not sophisticated like the nobles or whatever. But I'm not stupid. I just—" She stopped, pressing her lips together.
It felt like the silence that followed crushed Ren directly.
Ren felt something twist in his chest. He'd messed up. He'd tried to make a joke and instead he'd made her feel small. That wasn't what he wanted. That wasn't who he wanted to be.
His mouth opened. Closed. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to fix it. Words had never come easily to him—not the right ones, not when they mattered.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, quietly. Meekly. It came out smaller than he intended, but it was honest.
Farrie looked at him.
Tersia stepped in smoothly, clapping a hand on Ren's shoulder. "What our fearless leader means is that we're all learning here. Capital folks, border folks, summoned hero folks—none of us have a clue what we're doing half the time." He grinned at Farrie. "Ren's just the most obvious about it because he has the social grace of a particularly awkward rock."
"I—" Ren started, then stopped. That was... actually pretty accurate. He nodded meekly. "Yeah. That."
Farrie stared at him for a moment longer. Then, unexpectedly, a small laugh escaped her.
"You're really bad at this," she said.
Ren winced, preparing for more hurt.
But Farrie kept laughing—not mockingly, but with a kind of release. She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm honestly feeling a lot of stress because this place is just so different from back home. I've become real sensitive." She took a breath, composing herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. You were trying to be nice, and I snapped at you."
Ren blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "I... it's fine. I shouldn't have—the bumpkin thing was stupid. I don't even know why I said it."
"Because you were trying to make me feel better," Farrie said, her smile turning softer. "It's okay. The thought counted."
Tersia snorted. "Barely. That was a rough landing, Captain."
"Tersia," Welt warned.
"What? I'm just saying. If jokes were monster attacks, that one would have friendly-fired our own teammates."
Bakta rumbled a quiet laugh, then quickly covered it with a cough.
Ren felt his ears warm. "I said I was sorry."
"And I accepted," Farrie said firmly. She reached out and lightly punched his arm—the kind of punch that was more gesture than impact. "We're good. Really."
Ren looked at her, searching for any trace of residual hurt. He didn't find any. Just tiredness, and relief, and maybe a little embarrassment of her own.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Good."
Distinctly aware of his own embarrassment, Ren opted to move on quickly. He cleared his throat and addressed the group.
"Alright, now that all of our business here is finished, let's split up and begin hunting just like yesterday. All monster remains that you guys get can either be sold or you can keep for yourselves too."
He paused, checking the sun's position. "I'm going to head toward the eastern plains. Need to test out some new weapon forms and grind experience. Let's meet again around four hours from now. Here, in front of this cathedral."
His party looked at each other, sharing a look that Ren couldn't decipher. Welt raised an eyebrow. Bakta gave a small shrug. Farrie's eyes widened slightly before she quickly looked away. Tersia's usual grin flickered into something more thoughtful.
Ren waited, confused. They were communicating something—he could tell—but he had no idea what. It was like watching a conversation in a language he didn't speak.
Finally, Tersia let out a long sigh, as if relenting.
"Alrighty then," he said, his tone lighter than his expression. "Eastern plains it is. Try not to get lost, yeah?" He pointed at Ren. "And be careful. Don't do anything stupid while we're not around to laugh at you for it."
"Tersia," Welt said, but there was no real reproach in it. He turned to Ren. "He's crude, but the sentiment stands. Be careful. The plains have tougher monsters the further out you go. Don't overextend."
Bakta stepped forward and clapped Ren on the shoulder—a heavy, solid pat that nearly made him stumble. "We'll bring back good materials. Try to do the same."
Farrie hesitated, then gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry again. About earlier." She fidgeted with the sleeve of her traditional dress. "And... be careful, okay? I don't want our awkward leader to get himself killed."
Ren felt something warm in his chest despite the awkwardness. "I'll be fine. It's just hunting."
Tersia snorted. "Famous last words. You and the word 'fine' haven't exactly been friends so far from what little I have seen."
"That's—" Ren started, then stopped. Because Tersia wasn't wrong. "I'll manage. Don't worry."
"Sure you will. And I will worry about you. That's what party members do, you know?" Tersia waved as he started walking backward, already heading toward the market district to exit the city. "Four hours! Don't be late, or I'm telling everyone you got adopted by a monster and became its pet."
"I won't be late," Ren called after him.
Welt shook his head, adjusting his book under his arm, and followed Tersia. Bakta gave Ren one last nod before lumbering after them.
Farrie lingered a moment longer. "Hey. Ren."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for apologizing. Most leaders wouldn't bother." She smiled—genuine—then turned and jogged to catch up with the others.
Ren watched them go, a strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude swirling in his chest.
His party was weird.
He adjusted his sword at his hip, turned toward the eastern gate, and began walking.
The afternoon sun warmed his back as he left the cathedral behind.
Four hours later, Ren stood before the cathedral once more, his party trickling in from various directions.
Welt arrived first, his robes slightly singed but his expression satisfied. Bakta came next, dragging a cart loaded with monster corpses—mostly large, axe-friendly creatures. Tersia strolled up moments later, whistling, with Farrie beside him looking tired but content.
"Productive day?" Ren asked.
Tersia grinned. "Productive enough. Found a nest of those Scale Hounds you mentioned. Welt got to test some new spells." He jerked a thumb at the mage. "Singed his eyebrows off, but he says it was worth it."
"They grew back soon enough," Welt said flatly. "The data was invaluable. It's good to finally have confirmation that heroes foreknowledge is actually real after all."
Farrie stretched, her traditional dress wrinkled but intact. "I'm starving. Can we eat soon?"
"Not yet. I still have some business here," Ren said. "And I want to compare notes on what we found."
Bakta grunted agreement, already eyeing a food stall in the distance.
They entered the cathedral together, Ren at the head. The evening light streamed through the stained glass windows, painting colorful patterns on the stone floor. The crowd from earlier had thinned—only a few nobles and priests remained, speaking in quiet clusters.
Ren was already planning his exit when a portly noble stepped into their path.
"Lord Sword Hero!" The man's face split into a wide smile. "What a fortunate coincidence. I am Baron Harvel, and this is my son, Aldric."
He gestured to the young man beside him—early twenties, blond, wearing gleaming armor that looked more decorative than functional. A fresh insignia marked him as a recent inductee into something.
Aldric bowed stiffly. "An honor, Lord Hero."
Ren nodded, already feeling the social trap closing around him. "Congratulations on your... acceptance?" He glanced at the insignia, trying to remember what it meant.
"The Crimson Order Knights," the baron supplied eagerly. "My son was just accepted yesterday. Top of his class in the academy."
"Father," Aldric murmured, embarrassed.
Ren's party shuffled behind him. He could feel Tersia's amused gaze boring into the back of his head.
"A fine achievement," Ren said, because that seemed like the right thing to say. Polite. Normal.
The baron beamed. "I was hoping—if it wouldn't be too much trouble—that you might do us the honor of testing his skills. A brief spar, perhaps. Just to see if he meets the standard of a hero's party."
Ren's internal alarm bells rang. "I... my party is already—"
"Of course, of course!" The baron waved a hand. "I'm not asking you to replace anyone. But if you found him adequate, perhaps he could join you temporarily. Learn from a true hero. Gain experience that no academy could provide."
Aldric stood straighter, hope flickering in his eyes.
Ren opened his mouth to refuse. He had a party. They worked well together. Adding someone new—especially someone untested—would disrupt their dynamic.
But the baron was looking at him with such expectation. Other nobles nearby had paused their conversations, watching. The priests at the far end of the hall had turned their heads. Refusing would look... what? Uncharitable? Arrogant? Unheroic?
He didn't know. That was the problem. He didn't understand these social rules, these unspoken expectations. Noritoshi would know how to navigate this. Noritoshi would have a polite refusal ready, phrased so carefully that the baron would walk away feeling honored anyway.
Ren just stood there, trapped.
"That's... I mean..." He glanced back at his party. Tersia's grin had widened. Welt's expression was carefully neutral. Farrie looked sympathetic. Bakta just shrugged—this was Ren's problem.
"I suppose a brief test couldn't hurt," Ren heard himself say.
The baron's smile grew impossibly wider. "Wonderful! Aldric, you hear that? The Sword Hero himself will evaluate you!"
Aldric bowed again, deeper this time. "I won't disappoint you, Lord Hero."
Ren nodded numbly.
As the baron began discussing arrangements—tomorrow morning, the training grounds behind the cathedral, he would have a fresh set of practice weapons delivered—Ren felt Tersia sidle up beside him.
"Smooth," the blonde murmured, just loud enough for Ren to hear. "Really smooth."
"Shut up," Ren muttered back.
"I'm just saying. You got duped."
Ren shot him a look. Tersia's grin was usually fun to look at, but now it's really irritating.
Behind them, Welt sighed quietly. Farrie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Even Bakta's shoulders shook slightly.
Ren turned back to the baron, who was still talking enthusiastically about his son's achievements, and resigned himself to his fate.
I really need to learn how to say no to people, he thought.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Ren was already planning a quick exit when a figure in white robes intercepted them.
"Lord Sword Hero." The woman who approached was middle-aged, with sharp eyes behind a gentle smile. A bishop's insignia rested on her chest. "I am Bishop Serafina. I was hoping I might have a word, if you have a moment."
Ren's party exchanged glances behind him. Tersia's expression clearly said, Here we go again.
Ren suppressed a sigh. "Of course, Bishop. What can I help you with?"
What followed was a masterclass in ecclesiastical pleasantry.
Bishop Serafina spoke of the cathedral's history, its founding, its restoration after the last Wave. She spoke of the Church's gratitude for the heroes' arrival. She spoke of the weather, of all things—how the recent rains had been a blessing for the crops, how the farmers were optimistic about the harvest. She spoke of her own journey to the capital, the challenges of administering a diocese, the importance of faith in difficult times.
Ren nodded at what he hoped were appropriate intervals. He murmured agreement when her tone suggested agreement was expected. He made eye contact and tried to look interested.
Behind him, his party slowly died.
Tersia's grin had frozen into a rictus of polite suffering. Welt had long gone into the realm of his own imagination, staring at nothing. Farrie was subtly pinching her own arm to stay awake. Bakta had somehow mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open.
The stained glass windows darkened. The colorful patterns on the floor faded to gray.
The sun went down.
Ren lost track of what was being said somewhere around the detailed explanation of candle consecration rituals. His mind had wandered to monster stat distributions, unlock requirements, the optimal experience grind for tomorrow, how to optimally use the strengthening methods. Anything but this.
"—and so, the Pope wanted to express his personal gratitude for your visit," Bishop Serafina was saying.
Ren snapped back to attention. "I'm sorry?"
She smiled warmly, apparently unaware—or uncaring—that she'd talked through sunset. "His Holiness was hoping to give you this himself, but he's been preoccupied with other matters. He asked me to deliver it on his behalf."
She produced four small pouches from within her robes and held them out.
"Dragon Hourglass sand," she explained. "A small token of the Church's esteem. The sand from the hourglass is known to have properties that could aid for the holy weapons. We thought you and your fellow heroes might put it to good use."
Ren stared at the pouches. Four of them. One for each hero.
"That's..." He wasn't sure what to say. "Thank you. I'll make sure the others receive theirs."
Bishop Serafina beamed. "Wonderful. May the Holy Weapons guide your path, Lord Sword Hero."
She inclined her head and departed, her robes swishing softly against the stone floor.
Ren stood there for a moment, holding the pouches, processing the last... however long it had been.
Behind him, Tersia let out a long, exaggerated breath.
"I'm dead," he announced. "I died somewhere around the third mention of candle wax. This is the afterlife. There's no possible way I'm still alive after that."
Farrie groaned. "My feet hurt. From standing. For hours."
Welt rubbed his temples. "I have never in my life heard someone say so much while communicating so little."
Bakta yawned—actually yawned, huge and unrestrained. "Food?"
Ren looked at the pouches in his hands. Then at the dark windows. Then at his miserable party.
"Yeah," he said. "Food. Definitely food."
They stumbled out of the cathedral into the night, exhausted, hungry, and collectively traumatized by the experience.
As they walked toward the Slumbering Boar inn, Tersia slung an arm around Ren's shoulders.
"So," he said cheerfully, "think you can survive another day of that?"
Ren thought about it. About the baron. About Bishop Serafina. About all the conversations he didn't know how to have.
"No," he admitted.
Tersia laughed. "Good answer. Let's get drunk."
"I don't drink."
"Then watch the rest of us get drunk and make fun of you for being responsible."
Farrie perked up. "That does sound fun."
Even Welt nodded reluctantly.
Ren looked at his party members and could only sigh in exasperation.
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Hey guys, Author here. Just wanna say that I successfully got my mentor to read all of my fanfiction. And I got cooked so hard gang. But at least I learnt a lot of things. And I also got a new fanfic coming up. A little spoiler, it's about Naoya Zenin.