Authors Note: Hello my lovelies, I'm back, and I have to give a heads up primarily to anime-only's, but it goes for others as well…
Having scoured pages of the wiki for RotSH, with the help of suggestions from a few readers, there are certain "setting spoilers" I've decided to integrate into the story, due to how well it happened to fit with the direction I want to take. By "setting spoiler", I'm referring to world-building elements to Shield Hero that we won't know about until, I assume at least, Naofumi sees them all for himself. This will include certain characters that don't appear until season 2 or 3 or even farther (based on questions from some readers…as for which characters, and how BIG of a role they'll play, I'm still determining).
I'll try to keep certain parts vague (while allowing source material readers to fill in the blank on their own) so not too much is given away. But fret not, cuz there are no direct "story spoilers" from Shield Hero itself. Like, if Naofumi loses all four of his limbs and has to strap his shield over his face, forcing Raphtalia to not only be his sword, but his eyes, arms and legs as well, while he develops a series of head-butt attacks or combo moves with Filo swinging him like a golf club….don't worry. I won't spoil that for you. Lol. Only certain parts of the world will be brought to light, based on my impression of them from reading the wiki…
Which leads to my heads up for source material people: Though I do my best to be consistent with canon (setting wise) where it applies (original stuff notwithstanding), I may not hit every nail directly on the head. Therefore, if there are any discrepancies that aren't exact…lets chalk it up to the Time Ripple Effect due to our four mismatched protagonists. And that's it for now! I'll keep my update schedule between 1-2 weeks as best as I can, and will let you all know if something comes up.
Chapter 19
27 days until the Wave
The sun rose on the fourth morning since the heroes summoning; same as always, careless of transpired events. Shadows etched themselves upon the town, stretching from rooftops to road ends. The shadow that should be most imposing of all, one that would enshroud the town whole as a reminder of power, was gone. The castle that cast it had been laid to absolute waste. The extra dose of sunlight was just one irregularity amongst the forced normalcy of the townsfolk. They found resuming life as it always had been was the least stressful coping mechanism.
This is why shopkeepers and homeowners boarding up holes in their walls, cleaning up wooden debris and broken belongings off the floor, treated it as minor inconveniences. Thinking of the human head that flew through to cause such damage would freeze them in horror, choking on lumps in their throat.
People more directly involved in their kingdoms transformation struggled to ignore and behave casually. Minds stuck on repeat, cementing fears for consequences from a hundred different angles, all bound to converge with them at the center, forced their dire reality at the forefront of constant thought. Many sought solace in the emptying of the mind, indulging in physical activity to occupy their worries.
Ritsuka coordinated a team where the castle once stood. Adventurers and knights shoveled dust and debris off the edges of the mountainous bluff. What was left was then scrubbed off with large brooms and wind magic. Artisan craftsmen drafted a blueprint for a bunker, tasked strictly for function, all aesthetics notwithstanding. They stressed that such could never rival the efficiency of the castle. She expected this, arguing that the strategic benefits of the location should not be wasted. The mountain was separated from the town, accessible only after passing guarded gates and bridges. It was an optimal base of operation. The estimated time to complete the barest of a habitable fort, however, was over a month.
This worried Ritsuka, watching the cleanup process with her thumb squeezed between her teeth. She turned to the town, enviously admiring the towering wall that cut the church off from their world. 'If only I could think of a way to get Hajime-sama to help, at the least, make a flat platform for us to build on…'
Dozens of distinct sets of feet, either patting on dust or clacking metal on stone, had stopped. The scraping of shovels had stopped. Brooms brushing against the coarse ground stopped. Several disconnected conversations stopped. Dead silence swept the area like an onset of deafness. Ritsuka's eyes refocused from deep thought, her head turning the same direction all gazes had locked on. Her heart withheld its next beat. Hajime stood atop a pile of stones, his back to the sun. Shadows crept over his face, casting shadows down his cheeks like pitch black tears, as his creased brow hid his eyes from light. He looked menacing. Everyone dropped to a knee, bowing their heads. Ritsuka marched up before him and did the same.
"Hajime-sama!"
He drew in a deep breath. Ritsuka held hers, preparing for what was to come.
"I assume you're Ritsuka?" He sounded as if he'd just stifled a yawn.
She stood up straight and saluted him. "Yes! I am Ritsuka, second-in-command of the Bow Hero, Kazuma-sama's, party! Interim ruler of Melromarc until-"
"Yeah yeah, yeah. Look, I got a message I have to relay to the town, you mind gathering everyone up for me? It'll go smoother if you do it." He turned to her, revealing his features under the sunlight. The menace had vanished, opportuning itself to a new perspective.
'He looks…' As if to confirm her thoughts, he blinked sluggishly while staring at her without focus. '…exhausted.'
Ritsuka blinked a few times herself, transitioning from confusion to educated guess, before nodding in acceptance. 'It must be a message he wishes to deliver himself…' The clean-up crew stayed behind while several adventurers joined her and Hajime toward the town. His irritation grew.
'Those assholes! I stayed up all night to get a working slot machine, and they forced me to relay my stupid message before going to sleep…while THEY went BACK to sleep!'
Still, he stuck with Ritsuka along the way. Members of the Bow Hero's party, surrounding the Spear Hero, was a great way to draw attention and Hajime knew it. Ritsuka hopped atop a fountain in the town square and announced her presence. Even more people had stepped out homes, taverns and shops rather than watching from inside. When as much of the public had come out, Hajime took Ritsuka's place. The hushed mumble of whispers sprinkled around him, mouths hidden by shaky hands. Many of the nervous remarks were not lost on his sharp ears. He didn't care. He was tired and wanted to get this over with.
"Alright. One: The pope is alive, but were keeping him prisoner as punishment for trying to take over Melromarc. Two: We're not gonna take you guys over. All we want to do is stop the Waves and go home. Three: You are free to designate appointments with us to discuss trade deals as well as issues that you feel absolutely needs our assistance, but for a fee. Any questions?"
Ritsuka's head perked up at the third point. The townsfolk, however, just stared blankly. His blunt summary was not what they expected.
"Hajime-sama, is that truly all you have to say?" Ristuka asked politely. "If there is something you are withholding for the moment, please, there is no need. If it is you who has come here, rather than sending Kazuma-sama, I cannot help but assume there is a message you wish to personally impart upon us?"
He turned to her, eyes too tired to convey emotion. 'Well…I can't blame her for thinking that.' "I'm here cuz I lost a fucking game. Trust me, we tried to send Kazuma." He ignored her surprise, looking back at the townsfolk. "So, any questions?"
An elderly woman stepped forth. A heart fortified with bravery compelled her forward, believing she had lived a good and long life. In the event that Hajime was tricking them, with the intent to slaughter anyone who truly does question him, she believed herself most fitting as a sacrifice to keep the young and brave safe.
"How do we know you're telling the truth? That you won't take over our country and rule us with an iron fist?" Heads perked up and faces stiffened with worry. She wasn't the only one troubled by her inquiry.
Hajime looked at her, his exhausted face mistaken as a menacing glare again, contradicted by a nonchalant shrug. "If there was a way to go back to our worlds, you can bet all four of us would be long gone. So… taking you guys over is just a waste of time."
The old lady blinked, tilting her head baffled.
"Any other questions?" He asked, stifling yet another yawn.
"Um…Hajime-sama…" Ritsuka reached out to him, stopping herself from physical contact. "Why don't you go back and rest? We thank you for taking the time to tell us this. I shall consider it and organize any requests we may deem necessary."
"Hm, yeah." Hajime nodded, cocking his thumb towards her. "I hereby declare Ritsuka to be our official mediator for requests… Or something like that." He hopped off the fountain.
"WAIT!" The raspy voice of an old man bellowed. Hajime turned his way. He didn't know him, but Ritsuka recognized him. He was a gangly, bearded mage. The oldest member of Kazuma's party. One of three men that thanked Kazuma for stealing the panties of their party's most beautiful mage.
This old man, too, believed he lived a good and long enough life. One worthy of being sacrificed if it came to it. Though, unlike the old woman, he prepared himself against a violent reaction from every female in the surrounding vicinity.
"The matriarchal system of this country is unfair! Kazuma-sama will agree! I believe something should be done about this!"
A large man in the crowd stood straight, raising his head high with confidence, as if a moment his whole life had built up to came to fruition. "YEAH!" Galeff, the buffest adventurer of Kazuma's party, shouted.
"I concur!" The young paladin, who is still ridiculed for sending Goblin Slayer off, joined in as well.
Agreeing declarations burst forth at random from different parts of the crowd. All from men. A small handful of women didn't mind their concerns, but shadows cast over many sets of eyes at the beginning of their end as upper class citizens. Ritsuka's eyes darkened too, but not due to the nature of the request. It was because of who was requested to fix the issue. She shot a glare at Hajime, hoping he would suggest it be a group effort among them to deliver a less perverted solution.
He rubbed his eye for a few tense seconds. "Sure, I'll run it by Kazuma and let him handle it."
'Oh fuck.' Her jaw dropped at the sound of her worst fear.
Women glowered at the men who voiced support. They responded with mischievous grins. Hajime started walking away as a war of eyes ensued behind him. Then he stopped mid-step. Everyone held their breath, afraid they've angered him somehow. He turned around once again, his eye singling an individual attempting to stay out of sight.
"YOU THERE!" He yelled out.
His gaze cut through the crowd, causing it to split. A path opened, leading right up to Beloukas peeking from around a buildings corner. He tugged on his collar and gulped.
"Where can we find you if we need another Slave Crest painted?"
He began sweating. He wanted to avoid revealing his whereabouts at all costs. Understandably, he believed his life depended on it. He thought of ratting out the fact that there were other people who knew how to create them…but that was not the question he was asked. "I own a tent on the outskirts of the town. Y-you can find me there!"
Hajime nodded, his exhaustion yet again being mistaken for a menacing glare. "We might pay you a visit sometime." He turned around once more and, finally, disappeared.
By the time Beloukas had made it back, he felt as if he'd lost weight just from the sweat and anxiety. He stepped into his dark, dingy tent. Cages stacked atop each other, imprisoning innocent demi-humans, rattled with inhabitants either hateful or terrified. The bars were rusted with filth and the place stunk of stale hay and urine. Blood spatters surrounded the edges of some cages, and coughs and cries decorated the background noise in a miserable choir. Beloukas walked through, looking at the horrid conditions with a new set of eyes.
'I don't know what their opinions of slaves are…but if any of these heroes are against it, then this place will be a death sentence for me!' A weak cough at his side caught his attention. A little tanuki-girl, dressed in torn and unwashed clothes, lay emaciated on the cage floor. Her sallow skin stretched tightly around her skeleton, showing that she was close to death. Whatever sickness she suffered from was about to claim her at any moment.
The sight terrified Beloukas. 'If they're against slavery and they come to visit me today…THEY'LL KILL ME!' In a panic, Beloukas did something he never thought he would do, ever, in his career. Reaching into his supplies, he pulled out the strongest healing potion he owned, as well as a meal he was saving for later. He tossed the food into the cage with the young tanuki-girl and force-fed her the healing potion.
"You're not dying on me today, you little runt!" On this day, Beloukas vowed to improve the conditions of his slaves cages and force-nurse them to optimal health. Once he accomplished all of that, he planned to sell his slave tent to another dealer and flee Melromarc as fast and far as he could.
26 Days until the Wave
Two grand portraits of King Aultcray and Princess Malty leaned against the wall, propped up from the floor. Slits and tears mutilated their pictures with bloodless cuts. A throwing knife was currently lodged through Malty's mouth. The delicate hand of a regal woman wrapped itself around the hilt, cutting further into the canvas as she ripped it free.
"You spoiled bitch." The Queen spat under her breath.
She took a few steps back and looked at the king. Anger rose from her chest, crawling up through her throat, boiling a deep red through her face. Her hand whipped in his direction, releasing the knife, sending it right through his chest.
"You piece of shit, Aultcray!" Her lips curled as she cursed, scowling at his image with cold, furious eyes.
Her personal entourage, the Shadows, accompanied her in the room, spaced at symmetric intervals, cautious of surprise attacks. One of many reasons she was angry at her husband and daughter. She had been working diligently without break, coordinating and cooperating with other countries, including those with which her own had tensions with, to secure a high standing for Melromarc in the international community.
But the years it takes to build greatness mean nothing to the minutes it's destroyed in. In a single act, King Aultcray managed to utterly ruin every last bit of effort she carefully oversaw each detail for, step by vigilant step. The stress was intense and excruciating, with a payoff equally rewarding. Until the high standing she managed to earn for her country plummeted like an anvil tossed on thin ice.
Queen Mirellia's temples pounded, teeth grinding as she entertained mental images of burning her two relatives at the stake. Disbelief, disappointment, anger and hatred overwhelmed her to a sickening degree. Deep, deep down she may have still loved her husband and daughter, but a catharsis was necessary if she was to think straight. Liberal, inconsequential violence upon mere pictures had brought her satisfaction...but served to infuriate just as quickly. Their portraits drenched her vision crimson. Cutting and burning painted canvases would soon lose their only good. The thought possessed her to lurch forward and dig her fingers into the sight of them. What she'd give to be a beastman with claws for just a moment. She wanted to feel it personally as she'd slash away at them.
"Mother…" A voice cracked, nervous and concerned, from the doorway behind her. "…Are you okay?"
She snapped back to her senses. Mirellia's shoulders visibly relaxed. She turned around to her second daughter; Eyes softening at the sight of her.
"Melty…" A slow smile forced itself through her rigid tension, before pursing her lips. She visualized the stress blowing out, feeling the edge to her anger drift away. "I'm sorry you had to see that. The meeting with the other leaders was…stressful. To say the least."
Melty averted her mother's gaze, clasping her clammy hands behind as she eyed the torn portraits. She took a few uneasy steps into the room, only stopping when it felt as if her shaky knees would buckle under weight. She tried to speak… "They must be-" And stopped immediately, ashamed of the anxiety strangling her voice. She cleared her throat and wet her mouth. "They must be pretty mad at Father and Sister, huh?"
Mirellia forced a laugh. "About as much as I am." The unhappiness to her smile was creepy.
"Well, you have every right to be, more than them!" Melty responded, hoping her validation would help her mother feel better. She opened her mouth, shut it quickly and rocked back and forth on her feet, until she decided on what she wanted to ask most. "So...what's going to happen now?"
Mirellia guessed this was going to be her question. Under any other circumstance, and truly ANY other, the question would not have been necessary. She brought Melty along for everything. It served as training for the future heir of Melromarc. It's what allowed the second-born princess to supersede the first in rights to the throne. But this was a meeting that Mirellia wanted to handle with as quick of wit as she ever thought with. No distractions; especially Melty. Even though Melty in particular, would not have been the issue. There was a very important reason for this.
Granted, if Melty had witnessed her mother in action, she certainly would have been in awe. Hearing the silver tongue and sharp mind of the queen at work was akin to verbal sorcery. But the situation was too dire to scrap ones way out of without a price to pay. Having mentally configured the factors like chess, Mirellia concluded what the price was most likely to be. It gave her two damned good reasons to keep Melty out of sight. She breathed a gentle sigh of relief as her daughter stood before her, safe and untouched.
"For now, everything is going to be OK." She looked her daughter sharp in the eye, a gleam of pride shining with the high tilt of her chin. "There are three countries especially that were offended by your Father's actions. Do you know which ones?" A sharp mind may be inherited, but it dulls without cultivation.
"Um…" Melty turned her eyes up in thought, bringing a finger to her cheek. "From what I know…it would be the countries of Siltvelt and Faubley, right?" Her finger pulled away at a realization.
"Oh, and Shieldfreeden too."
"Good." Mirellia nodded. "Tell me why."
"Well, Siltvelt already has a problem with us due to how demi-humans are treated, since they exercise supremacy over humans. And I'm also sure they and Shieldfreeden are concerned over how the Shield Hero will be treated in our country. But for Faubley…" She tried gulping away the tightness in her throat. "Weren't they…" She stooped her head, ashamed on behalf of her father. "…supposed to attempt the hero's summoning first?"
"Yes. Good job." Mirellia nodded again. "That is why all the world's leaders had gathered here. We understood that Faubley, for numerous reasons, would indisputably be given the right to try summoning a hero first. The rest of us had decided on an order to be followed through afterwards. As you could surmise, the Shield Hero was to be attempted by Siltvelt or Shieldfreeden."
Melty put a finger to her chin. "When was our turn?"
Mirellia snorted a heavy sigh. "We were fourth in line. Or, supposed to be, until five days ago when Faubley attempted the hero-summoning ritual." She turned to the portrait of her husband, folding her arms with a pinched expression. "You already know how that went."
Melty nodded, looking at the portrait too without saying a word. At 10 years of age, she already understood that their planet was one packed with distrusting countries, constantly at odds with each other. A fast-traveling spy network was but a natural system to grow from such. The irony was lost on many how, had their world not been so vindictive and greedy, it carried the potential to unite them to the benefit of all. As a result, word had spread immediately when Melromarc violated the international agreement.
Melty grimaced, like something sour popped on her tongue. "Father really did something bad when he summoned them all for Melromarc, huh?"
Mirellia smiled, a sweet grin barely hiding the venom seething beneath. "Yes!" She whipped around and slung a knife right through his eye, startling the Shadows to jump. "He diiiiid!" She sung.
"EH!" Melty stuttered, shaking her arms in a panic, thinking of a way to distract her mother. "B-but, we're ok for now, right? H-h-how did you manage to calm them down?"
The queen straightened herself, regaining composure. One of the Shadows threw the portrait, more holes than picture now, into a fireplace while another propped up an untouched replica. "Siltvelt was ready to declare war on us, naturally. I believe they've just been waiting for an excuse since the last major war they lost to us, and so I had a rebuttal prepared long before this." She turned only her eyes to Melty, giving a mischievous smirk. "I reminded them that the Shield Hero from the last generation of heroes was killed in their country, is all. Would you trust a hero in such a place?"
Melty puffed her chest out proudly and smiled. 'That's mother for you!'
"As for Shieldfreeden, I granted them, alongside Siltvelt and Faubley, the right to send emissary's to Melromarc and recruit the heroes of their choosing. After that, there was not much of a need to argue. The summoning ritual is not always successful, so in this regard, we are lucky that all four heroes had been managed to be brought. Now, it's up to the heroes themselves whether they want to join their countries."
Melty nodded, mimicking her mother's mannerisms. "I understand!" Then she blinked a few times as a thought popped in mind. "But mother, if any of the heroes refuse to join, what if the other countries think we're persuading them not to? Especially the Shield Hero? Won't Siltvelt or Shieldfreeden complain?"
"If it happens to come to that…" The queen's mischievous grin hadn't faltered. "Then I'll just tell them that the heroes are cleaning up some of the scum from my country. I'll use the very elements about Melromarc that they hate to our benefit. They can't complain then. The international community knows I've been trying to uplift our standing with other countries, and with the way my orders had been so blatantly disobeyed…what can they possibly say when they've acknowledged my personal efforts up to this point, and the very things they take issue with are being specifically purged from my lands?"
"Ah!" Melty tucked her fists in at her side, flashing her teeth. "I get it!"
"Plus…" The queen turned to the new portrait. "He may have fallen quite low, despicably so…but the respect that your father begets from the other countries, even from his enemies, is a big help. In fact, because of that, I was able to issue a gentle warning about the dangers of attacking the nation possessing four legendary heroes. It was argued that those heroes may still be new to their weapons, but as long as your father lives, every country, including Faubley, would think twice before launching an attack upon us now." She resisted throwing a knife through the yet-to-be sullied portrait. "Those are two dangerous forces they would not want to incur upon themselves."
Melty tilted her head. "So that's why Faubley isn't taking action against us?"
Melty didn't notice it as Mirellia hid it will…but her smile stiffened. Her brow wrinkled and her eyes flickered with a dark emotion. Regret? Anxiety? Pity? Either way…
"Yes, it is." She lied. Just one lie, but far from a little one.
Her daughter sighed with a palm to her chest. "Thank goodness!"
This was the reason she kept her away from the meeting. In spite of Siltvelt's personal vendetta, there was one country that posed an even greater threat to them. Faubley, the worlds most advanced country with the mightiest military. Sitting atop the most powerful country was a beastly man who, only under ones breath, is called by his earned title the Pig King. Mirellia prioritized his appeasement over everything else.
It was central to shifting the circumstances in her favor. The things she had told Melty were not lies. She had indeed guilt tripped Siltvelt through their history with the Shield Hero. She had granted the offended nations permission to recruit the heroes. The reminder of the four heroes in her country had made anyone ready for war, hesitate on spot. And the name of King Aultcray was indeed enough to make any country think twice before attacking. But each country had thought twice. Shiedlfreeden was not swayed by Siltvelts history, and war was an easy way to force the heroes out of Melromarc. If another nation's martial superiority was proven, it was common sense that newly summoned heroes would align themselves with a safer guarantee for victory.
Thus, Mirellia had told her daughter no lie. The omission of the core truth underlying each word she carefully chose, though, rendered her fundamentally dishonest. The queen had successfully appeased Faubley. So, with them on her side, Siltvelt, Shieldfreeden and any other nation thinking of war had stepped down. But it was not without sacrifice.
Her own words replayed against her will like a traumatic memory. "I grant you my first daughter, in return for your support."
Everyone in the meeting room fell silent when Mirellia agreed to this demand. World leaders sat still, staring at her from the edge of a large round table. The Pig King himself, though, remained unseen behind the sultry curtains of a royal palanquin. Yet, without showing his face, the noises he made easily conveyed his excitement. Several leaders cringed at the sound; it was less human, and more a carnivorous pig licking its chops. In spite of his anger, even Siltvelt's leader felt a pang of sympathy. The cruelty of this sentence was one that no parent should be forced into.
Fortunately, the Queen was not so careless as to ignore thinking even further ahead. As she traced the trajectory of possible outcomes, mapping out the pieces in an elaborate array of calculated moves, already an idea struck. She let the judgement of others slide off her as she planned how to spare her daughter from a fate that, at the moment, she was tempted to leave be. This just testified to how dire the situation was, and how desperate Mirellia was. The survival of Melromarc was delicately hinged on this promise to the Pig King.
And to Queen Mirellia's credit… it was a good idea.