Chapter 35: The Hero Who Lost His Sword Heart

The Golden Griffin tavern of the Adventurers’ Guild in the royal capital of the kingdom.

This was the liveliest place in the entire nation.

The air was thick with the smell of ale and sizzling, greasy meat.

A bard with a harp stood at the center of the tavern, playing a tune and singing of legendary heroes from the continent’s past.

“Barkeep!”

“Give me another barrel of that stuff called Heart of Flame!”

“And make it the strongest you’ve got!”

The one shouting like that was a red-haired young woman.

But she was already dead drunk.

Her entire body was sprawled across the table. Her face, usually pretty, was flushed red from the alcohol.

Her name was Ailiya. She was the “Hero” of this era.

Even drunk and dazed as she was, she was still stunning enough to make people do a double take.

Her red hair was like blazing fire, messily scattered over her shoulders, with a few strands sticking to her face from the wine stains on her lips.

She wore expensive silver-white light armor. Now, the buckles on her breastplate had been undone by her own hands, revealing her clearly defined collarbone and the flushed skin of her neck from the drink.

But beneath that beautiful exterior, there hid a broken, fragile soul.

Three months ago, she had still been the genius who wielded the Dawn Holy Sword.

Back then, she thought that reaching this level at her age was nothing short of a miracle in the continent’s history.

Until she ran into that little dragon.

That fight had become a nightmare Ailiya would never forget.

She was completely dominated by that brat—knocked around over and over, and thoroughly mocked time and again.

Now, Ailiya’s hands began to tremble.

Her shaky hand reached down to her waist.

There hung the Dawn Holy Sword, once a symbol of her glory.

She wanted to draw it.

Even just to glimpse the glittering edge of the blade—so she could fool herself into thinking she was still the so-called Hero.

Clang—

The sound rang out.

The blade had barely been pulled out halfway before it got stuck.

It wasn’t because the scabbard had rusted.

It was the holy sword rejecting her.

In that instant, Ailiya’s pupils contracted sharply.

Her mind flashed back to that suffocating scene.

That silver-haired little dragon hovered in midair, her red, vertical pupils filled with undisguised scorn.

“Huh?”

“You’re what they call a Hero?”

The silver-haired brat’s voice was lazy, dripping with obvious mockery.

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“Your strength’s weaker than a newborn Slime, and you dare point that scrap metal at me?”

“Loser~♡ Loser Hero~♡”

The silver-haired woman called out like that, her toes crushing the defensive Barrier in front of Ailiya, then letting out a harsh, piercing laugh.

“Look.”

“You’re crying now?”

“Can’t take it?”

“That holy sword of yours? In front of me, it’s just a pile of junk. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

Ailiya felt as if she could once again feel the despairing dragon’s might radiating from that silver dragon on the battlefield that day.

“You’re just a loser.”

Clatter!

The holy sword fell heavily onto the table.

Ailiya yanked her hand back as if she’d been burned.

Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

She stared at the sword that had lost its light, her eyes full of fear and disgust.

“Ailiya, you’ve really had too much to drink.”

The male magician sitting across from her pushed up the crystal glasses on his nose and sighed with a helpless expression.

He knew exactly why his captain had become like this.

Ever since they returned from that expedition, the once confident Hero had effectively died.

“So what if I’ve had too much?”

Ailiya said, grabbing the cup on the table and gulping it down in one go.

“Right now… I’m nothing but a useless waste!”

“Just let her drink. Don’t bother.”

The one who spoke now was a particularly burly Lizardman monk sitting on the other side.

His thick, muscular arm was covered in green scales, and his arms were crossed over his chest. His expression was grim too.

His long tail swished back and forth behind him, looking quite agitated, slapping the ground repeatedly.

The female priest sitting next to Ailiya gently patted her back, her eyes full of concern.

“Ever since we returned to the capital half a month ago, the requests we’ve taken have been nonstop.”

“The monsters all over the continent are running wild like mad, especially in the direction of the Holy Kingdom…”

As soon as she heard the words “Holy Kingdom,” Ailiya, who had been trembling all over, suddenly went still as a stone.

She slumped back onto the table, turned her face sideways, and stared blankly into space.

“The Holy Kingdom!”

She muttered to herself.

“Over there…”

“It’s unstable, right?”

“It’s not just unstable. It’s a complete mess.”

Seeing Ailiya’s reaction, the female priest bit her lip, then decided to use a little provocation.

“According to information from the Red Lotus Kingdom court mages, the number of dark-type monsters on the Holy Kingdom’s border is multiplying exponentially.”

“And on top of that, a particularly troublesome thing has appeared there.”

“You mean that?”

The Lizardman monk lowered his voice, his already hoarse throat producing an even raspier sound.

“The diamond-level death knight?”

“Diamond level!”

The female priest gasped, the staff she used for healing trembling in her hand.

“That’s the kind of existence that could wipe out half a small country all by itself.”

“I heard that the Holy Kingdom’s Holy Maiden, Seraphina, has already headed for the border, but even for her, taking on that death knight right now is probably still tough.”

“That thing is an evolved form of a Dark Knight. Holy Light can’t counter it.”

The male magician added, his expression turning heavy.

“The Holy Kingdom is in danger now.”

“If no one steps in, that place will be covered in corpses.”

The female priest looked at Ailiya’s back, then spoke softly.

“If only someone could go save everyone now…”

“Like the you from before.”

“That’s annoying!”

Ailiya suddenly slammed her palm on the table, rattling the cups on it.

She staggered up from her chair.

Her hands braced on the table.

Her entire body leaned forward.

Her drunk, misty eyes were filled with irritation and a desire to escape reality.

“Save the world?”

“Can’t those geniuses stronger than me do it?”

“What kind of Hero am I?”

“I can’t even draw my sword!”

“I’m fine just killing Goblins!”

“What does some death knight have to do with a waste like me?”

As she said this, she grabbed the unfinished barrel of wine on the table, tilted her head back, and chugged a huge mouthful.

That mouthful of wine, along with the tears she couldn’t hold back, poured down her chin in streams.

She buried her head deep in her arms.

Her shoulders shook.

The tavern remained as lively as ever. No one noticed the stifling atmosphere in that corner.

The male magician watched Ailiya’s half-dead state and silently gripped his staff.

The Lizardman monk lowered his head too.

The female priest reached out and gently took Ailiya’s cold, icy fingers.

“We won’t give up on you, Ailiya.”

The female priest said softly to her.

“Whether you’re still the Hero or not, you will always be our captain.”

Ailiya said nothing.

She just buried her head even deeper.

Far away, on the border of the Holy Kingdom, that silver-haired Little Miss Brat was being held in the Holy Maiden’s arms, grease dripping from the corner of her mouth as she munched noisily on a chicken leg.