I managed to coax Anze back to her feet after some effort, soothing her until she finally recovered.
By the end of it, even Master and the others—who had been on the warpath just minutes ago—had completely switched sides. "Wolka’s the one at fault here, so don't be sad," "We’ll come to you the moment we need anything," and "Anze is such a good girl," they cooed. I felt like I was shrinking under their collective gaze. Honestly, I was sorry...
Still, I hadn't realized Anze was capable of moping like that. Given her massive heart, I’d assumed she was completely immune to those kinds of negative emotions.
I suppose she’s just a normal girl at heart, just like Master and the rest. I decided to look at it from a positive angle: maybe I’d come to understand the girl known as Anze just a little bit better.
"By the way, Anze."
"Yes? What is it?"
Now that the situation had calmed down, I asked her the question that had been weighing on my mind.
"Just before you came in, I thought I heard his voice. Is he here?"
"Ah," Anze nodded. "Yes, he accompanied me as my guard. He was supposed to be right behind me, but..."
Anze looked toward the door, but there was neither sight nor sound of anyone there.
That blockhead. What was he doing, wandering off and leaving his charge behind? I was just about to let out a sigh when I heard the sound of incredibly spirited footsteps approaching—the kind of stride that suggested someone marching with their chest puffed out.
Then, a walking, talking personification of noise made a dashing entrance.
"Well, well! It has been far too long, my friend! I have come from leagues away just to visit you! Ah, forgive me, the beautiful mademoiselles simply wouldn't let me go. Truly, being such a magnificent man is a sin in itself just by existing! Ha ha ha ha ha!!"
Well, it looked like this idiot was next on my list to deal with.
This was my few-and-far-between friend and narcissistic knight, Rosche.
Like Anze, he was a figure from the Holy City who was barely mentioned in the original story. Despite this comedy-sketch entrance, he was actually a respectable knight. The silvery light armor engraved with the Sword & Cross emblem indicated that he was an elite member of the knights directly under the Cathedral—the Chrys Knights.
To describe his looks, you’d have to pull a word like "princeling" straight out of a manga. Even at twenty, he was over 180 centimeters tall with visibly long legs, golden hair so beautiful it seemed impossible for a man, almond-shaped blue eyes, fair skin, a picturesque posture, and a voice like silk. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he possessed every physical trait a man could want.
However, as was plain to see, his personality was that of a flamboyant, theatrical comic-relief character.
If he’d appeared in the wrong genre, he’d have been the perfect candidate to be a generic jobber defeated by the protagonist. He was overflowing with a confidence that bordered on self-intoxication, his smile always radiant as if roses were blooming behind him. He understood to the core of his being that he was beautiful, and he pushed that fact to the forefront to build relationships with countless women.
When put that way, he sounds like nothing more than a disagreeable narcissist.
In reality, however, he was surprisingly decent. While brimming with confidence, he never looked down on others; instead, he possessed a keen eye for finding the good in people. Though he flirted with many women, he had a firm sense of propriety and never did anything to leave them sad or resentful. He was also deeply compassionate and loyal, though his sheer intensity could be a bit suffocating at times.
Above all, he hid undeniable skill as a knight.
He was seriously strong. We’d been sparring partners ever since we met, and our record was a dead even 49 wins, 49 losses, and 12 draws. He claimed to be just a low-ranking knight, but if that were true, the Chrys Knights were a collection of absolute monsters.
...Ah, right. I suppose I can’t fulfill our promise to have the tie-breaking match for the 50th win anymore. Thinking about that made me feel a little lonely.
"Have you been well, Wolka? I'm glad to see you haven't become wretched in my absence!"
"Pipe down, Rosche. Have some dignity."
"Ha ha ha, my apologies! Even I cannot suppress my own radiance!"
What was wrong with this guy?
"A noisy one has arrived..." Master muttered.
"Haha... he really is as energetic as ever," Yulitia added.
"Loud," Atri stated flatly.
The others looked completely exasperated.
Rosche strode over to my bedside, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. Every step was grand, a testament to his bottomless confidence. He looked down at me from his height and asked:
"How is the prosthetic?"
"I'm not used to it. Even if I do get used to it... swinging a sword the way I used to will be... impossible."
A sharp intake of breath came from Yulitia, as if she were the one in pain.
But this was my honest impression after a few hours of rehabilitation. I couldn't see any future where I moved as well as I used to. It wasn't a matter of training; I simply felt it was impossible with the performance of this specific prosthetic. Even the old Sister had said it was meant for daily life.
"...I see."
Rosche's boisterous theatricality suddenly vanished. In a quiet voice I hadn't heard from him before, he spoke.
"I had thought that you and I would continue to hone our skills together from here on. ...Life is truly a fickle thing."
Wait, he was actually being serious. That wasn't like him at all.
But by the time I processed it, Rosche’s face had already returned to its usual mask. He smacked my shoulder with his large palm.
"But I have a feeling that before I know it, you'll have found a way to become even stronger than before! You aren't the kind of man who lets something like this be the end!"
That was impossible. How do you lose a leg and get stronger? What did he think I was?
"Now then... you still have rehabilitation to do, don't you? I have business to attend to, so I shall take my leave."
"Is it work?"
Come to think of it, the Guild’s approval of the dungeon where I fought the Life Reaper had been a massive error. The Holy City might have various matters to sort out as part of the aftermath.
So even this guy did his job when it counted. Just as I was starting to feel impressed, he spoke again.
"Business such as enjoying tea with the mademoiselles of this town, of course! Ha ha ha ha!!"
Anze, you should definitely fire this guy. What was this idiot thinking, abandoning his charge to go eat with women?
"Anze is going to help Wolka with his rehab, isn't she? Then she has no need for my protection."
"Yes, that’s fine," Anze agreed.
It was fine?! Good grief, her kindness was truly bottomless. I felt like telling her she could say no at times like this—or even give him a good smack for his nonsense.
"Well then, adieu, my friend! I leave Anze in your capable hands! Ha ha ha!!"
"..."
Was it really all right for a noble knight, a supposed paragon of virtue, to act like that?
Master and the others looked on with cold eyes. Only Anze maintained her soft expression, seemingly unbothered.
"Is he really okay?" I asked.
"Yes. He fulfilled his duties perfectly during our journey. I wanted to let him rest today."
If she said so, then fine.
Still, looking at it another way, he’d successfully lightened the mood. I stood up, putting my weight onto the prosthetic.
"Well, shall we do a little more?"
"Wolka-sama, I will take over from here. ...You may rest now."
The old Sister, looking incredibly drained, stumbled out of the room with a weary nod as Anze smiled at her. I wondered if being in the same room as an elite Sister from the Cathedral had exhausted her. She was my lifesaver, so I truly hoped she’d get some rest.
The rehabilitation resumed, but without the old Sister there to act as a anchor, things quickly became chaotic.
"Now, Wolka-sama, please come this way! Take my hand!"
"No, Wolka! This way! Come to me! Don't let yourself be fooled by some big-breasted woman!!"
Master and Anze took up positions in my path, their competitive spirits flaring over which of them I’d walk toward.
"Here," Atri said, spreading her arms as if thinking, I guess I should join in too.
"Wolka... Why? Why did you choose Yulitia?! Do you really prefer them big even if they're small?!"
"Wha-wha-wha-wha?!"
When I sought help from Yulitia to escape the pressure, Master started wailing about that, too.
"B-but, for you to choose me... I understand! Leave everything to me from now on. Um, then... s-shall we hold hands?!"
"No, wait, that's not what I meant... Yulitia? Yulitia?"
Yulitia seemed to have some strange switch flipped as well. Seriously, I just wanted them to let me do my rehab properly—
But I couldn't bring myself to stop them.
Because... it felt like it had been a very long time since I'd seen everyone making such a fuss and just being together.
Spending a peaceful moment like this with my comrades made me almost forget that this was a world of depraved dark fantasy.
Looking back on my memories, it seemed that people's lives were generally peaceful as long as they stayed within the cities. After all, until I remembered the original story, even I had been convinced this was a typical, orthodox fantasy world. The fact that I could believe that meant my life had been like lukewarm water compared to what the original protagonist went through.
From a meta perspective, the story was only depraved because the protagonist was there.
Tragedy followed him everywhere. Thinking about it that way made me a little afraid of the day we might actually meet.
He’d saved my life, so I wanted to thank him eventually, but... with a body like this, I’d be the first one to die if I got caught in one of his death flags.
It would put Master and the others in danger, too. I could only pray our paths wouldn't cross yet.
Ah, truly.
—Truly, if only my legs, at least, had been left whole.
As night fell over the town, the adventurers who had finished their day with good meat and drink returned to their inns. The sounds of their laughter, filled with the vigor of people glad to have survived another day and hopeful for the next, sounded to Anze like events from a distant, foreign land.
The town of Luther was the closest settlement to the dungeon Gouzel, which was once again the talk of the Holy City.
The finest suite in the town’s best inn—a room far beyond the reach of an average adventurer—was the temporary Holy Sanctum granted to Anze.
She had thrown open the largest window in the room and was kneeling in the pale moonlight, offering a single-minded prayer.
"Lord, why... why must it be him—?"
There was no sense of fulfillment, no hope for tomorrow, and no vigor left in her.
All that filled Anze's heart was an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
In front of Wolka and the others, she had acted brave, knowing that breaking down would only be a burden. But now that she was alone, the emotions she had suppressed came rushing back. If she didn't pray, she felt she would lose her mind.
Once again, she had done nothing.
When Wolka had needed help most, she hadn't even been there.
She knew it was an impossible wish given her current station, unlike back in their childhood. But the thought of what she had been doing while Wolka was fighting for his life and wandering the brink of death made her blood run cold. She had been enjoying fine meals, chatting with Hakua, and sleeping in a warm bed, completely oblivious.
"He... Wolka-sama has surely overcome enough trials already. Why... why must this happen...?"
If she hadn't been warned that he had lost an eye and a leg, she might have fainted the moment she saw the eyepatch and the prosthetic. She had clung to her remaining reason to act normal, but she had still blurted out her true desires—to live together in the Cathedral, to heal him with everything she was.
Because Anze knew. She had seen the blood-soaked effort he had put in as a child.
Of course, their time together had been brief, and it would be arrogant to assume she understood his entire life. But it was a fact that he had been so devoted to his training that it bordered on self-harm, and he had nearly died in a crisis the village adults had deemed hopeless.
Even after she left the village, he must have continued that frantic struggle to survive.
He had surely spat blood a thousand times over—and then, finally, he had found comrades he could trust.
Wasn't that enough?
Didn't he deserve to be rewarded?
Anze couldn't help but cry out against the irrationality of a world that would thrust such a cruel fate upon him now.
Even with her Holy Magic, she could not regrow a limb or restore a crushed eye.
He had finally reached A-rank at such a young age; his hardships were supposed to have finally borne fruit. Why? Why?
"Wolka-sama..."
A single tear fell from her cheek onto her finger just as two distinct knocks sounded at the door.
"Anze, are you there?"
"...Yes. Please, come in."
Anze quickly wiped her eyes and stood up, steadying her breathing. The man who opened the door and entered with an elegant bow was Rosche, her official guard for this mission.
With a calm smile and an air of refined grace, he seemed like a completely different person from the loud character he played during the day.
"Welcome back. ...Is it finished?"
"It is. Shall I give the report tomorrow?"
"No... tell me now."
Anze closed the window and drew the curtains tight. Rosche applied a fourfold Deafness spell to the room, ensuring absolute privacy. It wasn't that they were discussing anything illicit, but it was the standard protocol for official reports.
"Then, the report," Rosche began, clearing his throat.
"The Guild in this town appears to be 'white.' They merely received the report of the dungeon’s completion. The ones who conducted the investigation and granted approval based on that report were definitely the Guild in the Holy City. Additionally, the party that first reported the completion was a group from the Royal Capital. I can't rule out a false report, but the Guild staff didn't suspect them at all. They were a reputable party with a solid track record."
Anze felt a small sense of relief. If the culprit had been in this town, she wasn't sure she could have remained calm.
"However, that Guildmaster... I’ve already forgotten his name. He did nothing but dodge responsibility and make excuses. You were right not to come; a leader like that is a burden to his subordinates."
Rosche steered the conversation back.
"Currently, the most suspicious party is the Investigation Team dispatched by the Holy City Guild. Their entire purpose is to prevent exactly this kind of error. They can't simply claim they didn't know or didn't notice—not when they were paid handsomely for the responsibility."
In theory, while rare, there were past cases of dungeons being incorrectly reported as completed. Sometimes an adventurer boasted too much and made a false report out of desperation; other times, an amateur genuinely believed they had won when they hadn't.
But every time an error occurred, innocent lives were lost.
That was why the modern Guild dispatched experienced adventurers as an Investigation Team to provide third-party verification. It was a role of great honor and even greater pay.
If an act of betrayal against that duty had occurred in the Holy City, right under the nose of the Cathedral...
"...I see. Then, for the time being, I do not need to take action myself."
"No. It’s a relief for me, honestly. If you were the one to pass judgment, I doubt there would be enough of the sinner left for a burial."
"Rosche-sama? You make me sound barbaric."
"Hardly. You are simply a very single-minded, wonderful woman."
"Really, now..."
Rosche bowed with a warm smile.
"Leave the unpleasant business to me. You should stay by Wolka's side. Once we return to the Holy City, it will be difficult for you to see him like this."
"...Thank you. I’m relying entirely on Hakua-sama for things back in the city, but..."
"It will be fine. She’s diligent when it counts, and she cares about her friends. Since someone important to you was hurt, she won't slack off, no matter how much she grumbles."
Anze agreed. For her sake, the foul-mouthed Saint had handled everything. She had ranted about the schedule, but then she had taken the lead in making preparations, selecting Rosche as the perfect companion and creating a formal reason for them to travel as messengers.
To Anze, she was a dear friend, an irreplaceable childhood companion, and a reliable older sister figure.
"That concludes my report."
"Yes. ...May I ask one thing?"
"What is it?"
Anze looked into Rosche's calm eyes.
"Are you not frustrated?"
Rosche and Wolka were rivals who had honed their skills together, and they were close friends. Anze wanted to know how he truly felt about Wolka's condition.
"—I am. Beyond words."
The reply was thick with a simmering rage that made Anze stiffen.
"You’ve seen it, so you know. Wolka's sword was not something an ordinary person could achieve. As a swordsman, I respected his skill from the bottom of my heart. ...To think it might end like this makes my blood boil."
"..."
"But well, we don't need those kinds of emotions between us."
Rosche’s voice returned to its usual tone, and he shrugged.
"That is my personal anger; it isn't something to be taken out on anyone else. I intend to remain the same friend to him that I’ve always been."
"...Is that why you told that lie in front of him?"
"Eating with a woman was a fact. It was the woman at the Guild reception. She was very helpful during my questioning."
What a mysterious man, Anze thought. He was a knight whom she and Hakua trusted completely, yet he refused to show his competent side to his friends. He had been running himself ragged with investigations, yet he told a flamboyant lie about flirting just to keep things light for Wolka.
And above all, he had already decided how he would face Wolka from now on.
What about me?
She couldn't heal him, she couldn't stand by him as a comrade, and her institutional support had been rejected. What could she possibly do for him?
In the end, she hadn't changed at all since that day in the village.
"Anything else?"
"...No, I’m fine now."
The moonlight was cold.
It looked like it would be another sleepless night.
"Thank you for your work, Holy Knight Roschehart. I look forward to tomorrow."
"As you wish, Saint of the Heavenly Sword, Lady Anjesheit. ...May you have pleasant dreams."