I Became the Hero Who Banished the Protagonist

Bishop Andrei signaled to the inquisitors. The door of the brewery closed as the last person entered its door. The brewery sat on a relatively open plain. The only place to hide nearby was a collapsed grain silo. The Bishop leaned against a collapsed wall and watched as the people entered.

He heard a cracking sound as the brewery’s backdoor opened. The man entered with a book in his hand, the door closing behind him. It was most likely a doomsday cultist referred to as the ‘teacher’ the woman had spoken of. The eyes of the muddled crowd turned as one to the Teacher.

“Thank you for gathering here again today, brothers and sisters.”

He stood at the podium and glanced around the brewery.

“I see we have more people than at the last gathering, which is excellent. I’m glad to see that you’re continuing to spread the teachings to your family and friends, as I’ve been telling you.”

He was met with silence.

‘Teacher’ placed the book he had carried on the podium.

“Well, then, for those of you who are here for the first time, let’s begin our story today from the beginning.”

The sound of a page being turned resonated in the stillness.

“Doomsday is inevitable; it cannot be prevented, nor can it be denied.”

Teacher’s face was hidden in the darkness. The worshippers sat in rows on the brewery’s floor, plunged in darkness without a single candle. Bishop Andrei narrowed his eyes but could not make out his face even with his keen senses. A dark shadow hung over Teacher’s face as if he were protected by darkness itself.

“We are born from darkness and return to darkness. That is what we are destined to do. Everything has its end, and we don’t need to fear it because everything will eventually come to it. The end is never negative; it’s not scary; we just need to open our hearts and accept it. To be able to face the end at any time.”

His voice was confident and convincing. A sense of authority that seemed to encompass the room. He continued in a voice that had no peaks or valleys. He believes that he is only speaking facts.

“We call it order, and its end is coming to us in the form of what people call the Disasters. They are not to be feared; they are the apostles of the end and are meant to be received with open hearts.”

Teacher spread his hands out wide, his chest open and exposed. It wasn’t a great argument, but the tone of his voice, the theatricality of his movements, and the concentration of the crowd drove his words home to the people.

“But how about this: the so-called followers of the Light outside are rejecting our destiny. They tell us that if we pray, things will get better. And what have those prayers done? Have they brought anyone back from the dead? Did they bring your lost land back up to the surface?”

He then pointed at one of the villagers. The man shook his head.

“Nothing…nothing.”

“That’s right. In the end, all we received was an eviction order and news that Evernode had averted disaster. So why, then, did it have to be like this? Why did we have to be the only ones? Why is it we lost our land, lost our families, and were left behind?”

Teacher slammed his hand down on the pulpit. There was a hint of glee in his rising voice.

“It’s because we were chosen; chosen to be the apostles who will deny that false god of Light, the church, and bring this world back to where it should be. To experience doomsday and announce the end of the world!”

-Kill.

Bishop Andrei’s eyes flashed as he recalled what the man had said. If he could kill him now, he would. He could kill those who sympathized with him in the front pews, or he could capture them and inflict such pain that they would cry out for death. Teacher’s ramblings rang in the Bishop’s ears.

“The world is a mess, and we must let go. Our anger, sadness, irritation, all the things that make us ugly- and open our hearts to embrace the end.”

‘It’s too risky to act now. Their power is unknown. We can’t take chances. We don’t know how many evil worshippers are hiding among them.’

“We will be eternal with the Disasters, and those who escape it will eventually meet a more terrible end. Our pain will be gone, and the world will know and suffer with us.”

There was the sound of flipping pages again.

“Now, let us wait. Let us wait and pray for the Great Awakening.”

The people clasped their hands together. They mumbled a prayer. It was in a guttural sound that could hardly be called human language. Bishop Andrei shook his head to clear the sound that seemed to be pounding through his brain.

“What shall we do?”

Bishop Andrei shook his head at his inquisitor’s question. Hand-to-hand combat at night is too risky. Though they won’t lose, the darkness would allow Teacher to escape, ruining their chances in the future.

“We must follow the clues to their roots. We can’t let an impulse ruin all of this. I’ll organize the information we’ve gathered today, and tomorrow I’ll begin a full-scale investigation with Iris.”

The crowd began to disperse. The sky opened a little, casting the moonlight onto the brewery. The people left with dreamy looks on their faces. Teacher had disappeared into the shadows.

“We must kill him before he stirs up more hatred against the Holy Land.”

He must be hunted down and killed.

***

Sleep would not come. I creaked out of my worn bed in the church. Georg slept soundly. I picked up the Holy Sword leaning against the side of the bed and sat up.

(What happened?)

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I unsheathed the holy sword and opened the bedroom door. Stepping out into the hallway, the air was stale. The church’s entrance was shattered on one side. The wind blew in and out through the hole. Even at dawn, the wind here felt unbridled. With no moonlight, the night was very dark.

(You’ve been sleepless lately. How are you feeling?”)

“I’m fine; I don’t sleep much in the first place.”

Not sleeping one night is fine. I stood at the end of the aisle and squinted. In the pew at the far end, Iris sat still. Staring blankly at the crucifix, she turned her head to look at me.

“Elroy.”

She said my name in a low voice. I blinked at her, then strolled toward the chair she was sitting in. I crossed the aisle and sat down in the chair next to her. She turned her head to follow me.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“…Is that so?”

The chair was cold. I rested my Holy Sword on my lap and looked at the ceiling. The church has high ceilings. Like the night sky, it was shrouded in darkness.

“Same. I couldn’t sleep.”

I looked at Iris. She was looking at me with a pleading expression. But I couldn’t give her the words she wanted to hear. I wasn’t Elroy.

“About the cultists,”

I changed the subject.

“While some villagers are still unaffected, it seems the doomsday cult has some roots….”

I said, remembering the man in the village.

“Be careful.”

I didn’t say the words she was hoping for. Iris reached out to me in despair, then dropped her hands back into her lap and buried her head in her hands. I didn’t leave my seat. But I didn’t offer any words of comfort. Consolation was not what she needed right now. After all, it is the act of burying your guilt.

“…Yes.”

Iris responded to my warning of caution after a long silence.

***

The weather in Bactins has never been good. Iris smoothed the hem of her robe, feeling the dampness of the morning air. Today was her and Arjen’s turn to accompany Bishop Andrei on a full-scale survey of the town.

“The people still remember you, Iris. They may still be grateful to you.”

The Bishop looked down at her. She clenched her fists and nodded. She wasn’t convinced, but she had to do what she could.

“We may have to hurry. We’ll need to catch this doomsday cult by the tail before we have no choice but to capture everyone in this village.”

There were fewer people than when Iris had visited. Iris could recognize most of the faces of those she had healed. Fortunate or not, she couldn’t remember many people yesterday. Those who recognized her would only bow their heads and disappear.

The stench was worse than before. But her ears were not as troubled as before. There was no sound of weeping or wailing.

“Looks like they’re already in deep.”

Arjen muttered. The unusual peace was scarier than the Disaster. The landscape remained the same; only the people’s expressions had changed.

“How can this be….”

Just then, a figure approached Iris at a shuffling pace. Bishop Andrei recognized her, and his brow narrowed. It was the woman who had shown them around on their last visit.

“Your Grace.”

Iris turned to face her, her eyes wide. She remembered the woman. The woman who had come to her with a child whose arm had been cut off.

“…Madam, how have you been?”

The woman smiled at Iris’ greeting and nodded.

“Aye. It is a pleasure to see the Saintess who healed my leg again. What brings you here, and with you, too, Mister….?”

The woman turned her head toward Bishop Andrei. He shrugged and opened his mouth to speak.

“They told me you came back to visit after hearing that the villagers had found peace.”

“I did.”

The woman nodded, letting out a hollow exclamation.

“Yes, I did. My child is all right now, and it would be nice for the Saintess to see him healed.”

‘The child, healed?’ Iris looked puzzled. Beside her, Arjen’s face contorted into a scowl. The pain from the cut was not something that could be healed by Iris’ holy magic alone. She could only ease the pain.

“Ah, well, I wanted to repay the Saintess, so why don’t we go to my home together? Say hello to my child.”

Iris turned her head toward Bishop Andrei, who nodded as if she should go.

“…Yes. With pleasure.”

She had a bad feeling. Iris couldn’t help but feel she shouldn’t visit the woman’s child. But regardless of her premonition of foreboding, her steps were already following the woman’s, heading deeper into the village’s alleyways.

The deeper they went, the stronger the stench became. The woman never looked back as she led the way. She stopped in front of a shack. There was no sign or door. The woman motioned for them to wait, and Iris, Andrei, and Arjen gaped at the house, barely big enough for the four of them.

“My dear, the Saintess is here. Come out and greet her.”

The woman called to the child. Iris’ heart began to race with nervousness.

Footsteps were heard in the other room. It was strange. The woman had repeatedly called her child, but he never responded. As everyone exchanged glances at the oddity, the woman approached the door and opened it.

“How’s it going, Sister? All healed up nicely, isn’t it?”

Iris’ fluttering heart sank with her body, falling on the floor with a thud. She remembered the boy’s face as he cried for help and recalled his severed right arm.

“….”

The boy was no longer in pain. He didn’t even open his mouth. No, he was in no condition to speak. Iris had forgotten to breathe at the sight of his changed form.

An arm. Where the boy’s severed right arm should have been, there was ‘something’ attached in its place. From that, ever so slowly, black flesh grew, eating away at the boy’s right half. It covered half of his face, blocking his mouth.

“It’s a little awkward right now, but he’ll be completely back to normal in a little while! It’s like a chrysalis before it turns into a butterfly. Isn’t it amazing?”

The woman’s voice rose excitedly, oblivious to the group’s reactions.

“And it’s all thanks to Teacher.”

The woman’s eyes were as empty as last night’s sky as she looked at Iris.