Despair. It was something I was familiar with. I feel despair whenever I spill my coffee in the morning. I feel despair when I hit my toe on the side of a table. I feel despair when I pay in too large denominations because I didn't have any change.

Yes. I felt despair.

But this? This wasn't despair. This was dread. An all-encompassing feeling that threatened to swallow me whole.

The Bowel Hunter looking for a smith for her tools of her trade.

And me, a blacksmith.

"You're not going to let her do this, are you?" I was frantic, I will admit. I saw what she was capable of. I would not stand much of a chance. But these guys? These knights were some of the strongest in the kingdom.

Where I'll be nothing more than a stepping stone, these guys were like boulders blocking the path.

Unfortunately for me, Juukulius shook his head.

"I talked with Reinhard about it. You need to make the blades, Hikigaya."

I opened my mouth in protest, but the other person in the room beat me to it.

"Wait, what? What the fuck Julius?" The disbelief in Argyle's voice was overcome with a tinge of anger. I don't usually agree with Argyle, but this?

Yes indeed, what the fuck Juukulius?

"Hear me out," he raised a hand to stop the rant that was about to explode, "You haven't heard of Bloody Year, have you?" At both our negatives, he nodded.

"Before the Bowel Hunter became famous, there were a string of murders in Gusteko that followed the same pattern as these recent ones. Hindsight tells us that it was Granhiert that did it, but at the time, it was enough for the kingdom to start accusing its neighbors of assassinating its blacksmith population. Unlike ours that has been going on for only a week, theirs went on for the better part of a year, as the name suggests.

"Then it stopped just as it started. A blacksmith later came out with an admission that they had met the murderer, and had forged her a set of kukris. The rest is, as they say, history."

"That doesn't explain why you want me to make a mass murder weapons."

Then, and the image will forever be burned in my mind, I saw Juukulius look down in shame, "Doing so will limit the damage she could do." He whispered harshly, "Even now, the Holy Kingdom of Gusteko suffers from a lack of capable blacksmiths. They've had to import weapons from other countries, an action that has led to a rampant increase of crime as the knights became more and more undersupplied." He breathed deeply, "This cannot happen. Not during the Royal Selection.

"So please," The knight actually bowed. A full, textbook, 90-degree bow. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought this guy was Japanese, "For the sake of our country. Even if it goes against all your morals. Even if these blades will kill fellow countrymen. Please, forge these blades. For anything else will mean countless others will die."

One for ten. Ten for a hundred. A hundred for a thousand.

In other words, sacrifice.

Let the few suffer so that the many can live. An ideology that a dead-eyed man followed in his quest to be a hero. It was a concept rooted in the idea that the many should always have priority. Impartial. Cold. Calculating.

The opposite of what you'd think a knight should be.

A knight was the epitome of classical heroism. Save everyone you can. Chivalrous. Honorable. Everything that was morally good.

The man standing in front of me was groveling. He wanted me to make a tool of death that will be used to kill. He was willing to bow down and lower himself so that others can live, so that those who died did not do so in vain.

To me, Julius Juukulius was no knight.

But, I sympathized with him more than I would want.

I understood that, regardless of whether I made the weapon or not, the Bowel Hunter would still kill. It's only a matter of how many more she would kill.

Had I been anyone else, I probably would have refused. I was in a relatively safe area. If I wanted to, I could probably pressure the Council to provide me at least a bodyguard. I could also just go into hiding, while making sure that trying to find me would be an exercise in futility.

So many things I could do.

So many things I wouldn't do.

"Fine. I'll do it."

I would never be a knight. I would never be as honorable as them. I couldn't stand against the forces of darkness like them. But that didn't mean I didn't want to help them.

Though I hate this world, I can't truly hate the people. None of them had a say in being born. None of them deserve being murdered in cold blood. I can't do anything to those that are already dead.

But I can do something about those that could be.

Accepting this means that the dozen or so smiths that died to Elsa Granhiert would be the last ones to die for nothing. In doing so, I would have saved those that she would never visit in the night.

A hero. An unsung, unknown one, I would be.

No matter how bitter it was.

"Blacksmith-san?"

I snapped back to reality. Damn, stop getting pulled into flashbacks, me. You're making me look bad. Sorry, me, but you're doing that yourself anyway.

"If you're fighting her, then these won't do." I gathered the blades I had and went into the back once more. I shuffled through the numerous weapons I had, until I found the ones that I had prepared beforehand. Three longswords, perhaps the best weapons I had made to this day. For these ones, I had strengthened them to the point of nearly bursting.

In doing so, they possessed almost unnatural sharpness, being capable of cleaving through a solid block of steel by just dropping them from high enough. I had made these specifically for three knights, one of which was standing in front of me.

You may think I made these with some sentimentality in mind. You'd be wrong. I made these entirely because I wanted to make sure that the Bowel Hunter could be taken down. That woman, upon looking back to the fight, didn't ignore the damage that was done to her.

No, I for sure saw, and heard, her bones crack and shatter. Saw her skin peel back from the sheer force I had put into my attacks. The reason she managed to fight despite those injuries was some form of regeneration.

Bullshit powers, if I had to take an honest guess as to how.

But not undefeatable.

Her regeneration, though I didn't know its limits, could most probably not fix an entire arm. Or, failing that, would at least limit her fighting ability for a short time.

For the kingdom's knights, I have no doubt that that window was more than enough to fully knock her down a peg.

I carried the three swords back with me, to the still confused Natsuki and Astrea, though the latter had an idea of what I was doing, I suspect.

Natsuki.

Everything that's happening right here is a classic story in the making. It's so cliche that my long lost light novel reader self could guess where this was going. But that in of itself is an issue.

My story, the story of how I became a blacksmith was enough for a light novel, I can't stress that enough. But I never was a protagonist. No, that's just how this world works. And that's why I refuse to get involved with this boy any more than I need to.

He's a protagonist, that much I can tell from what little I heard from his and Astrea's conversation, but the issue was, this world fucking hates protagonists.

Flugel, Hoshin. Both of them achieved enough in their time that they ascended into a status similar to legends. I've heard stories of how they just knew things. Of how they were smarter than literally anyone else around them.

In reality, those two were more than likely the same as me and Natsuki - arrivals from Earth.

But the existence of those two suggests another, more crucial thing: that we aren't the only ones. Logic dictates that if two individuals become famous, then there's at least countless others that failed trying to do so.

So what happened to the others? The others beyond myself and Natsuki?

Simple.

Like I said, this world hates protagonists. It was a simple enough conjecture that I didn't have to think about it too hard.

They died.

Nobody hears their stories because nobody listens to a random guy getting mauled to death by a bunch of mabeasts. Nor to someone getting mugged and left for death in the countryside. Nor just dying to a disease with no cure.

Countless other isekai protagonists died because this world hated our very existence. I just got lucky with being transported to a fairly decent location, as well as keeping a calm enough head to not rush into danger believing in some wacky isekai power-up.

The others were likely not so lucky.

Natsuki was almost like that. Had he not shouted, had Astrea not been here, then it's possible that this would be another unknown, tragic end for a protagonist. Nobody would hear about another victim of the Bowel Hunter.

But Astrea was there. Astrea is here. Without a doubt, both our chances of living through this just shot up by an immeasurable amount.

"Bowel Hunter, huh? Yeah, that checks out." Natsuki grimaced as he gripped his stomach. Strange. Usually, when a character does that, in a light novel, manga or anime, they're thinking back on past experiences. But had the kid encountered Granhiert, he would have already been dead.

Precognition, then? An idea of just how Granhiert would go for him?

Not important. Not now, at least.

"Yes, Natsuki-san," started Astrea, "That's why I'm asking if you would stay back and let me deal with her. She is much more dangerous than you think." The knight tried to keep Natsuki from throwing himself into danger. That wouldn't work. I knew this because he's been trying this for five minutes now.

I snorted.

"Give it up. The kid wants to fight, and I say let him." I tossed Natsuki one of the swords. He almost dropped it.

There were two ways that this could go. Either the kid would live, or he would die. That's it. If he lives, then the taverns and bars around the capital would be singing his song. If he dies, then nothing of note would happen.

But with Astrea, the chances of the former would be all but assured.

"Besides," I strapped one of the swords to my own waist, "I'm coming with you. I've got a score to settle with that bitch."

I know what you're thinking, inner me. Why the fuck are you even going with them? You're risking your intestines being spilled on the floor! And to that I say, yeah, I am.

But surprisingly, I don't think that's going to happen. Why? Astrea. Despite my historical lack of trust with just about anyone, excepting Komachi and Hiratsuka-sensei to an extent, I had faith that the Sword Saint wouldn't let anyone under his protection die.

I just had to convince said man of that. For someone who's considered the strongest person in the capital, the guy is lacking a lot of self-confidence. Something I can grudgingly say that I can relate to.

"Hikigaya-san, please see reason." Astrea was frowning now, "The Bowel Hunter is dangerous enough. You've seen it for yourself, there's no need to put yourself in more danger than needed."

"You think I don't know that?" I calmly turned to Astrea, "That bitch almost killed me. If you think me stupid enough to ignore that, then you don't know me at all." I glared at the knight. Had it been anyone else, I would like to think that I would have cowed them with my eyes.

"I refuse to live in fear, Astrea. And the one way I can do that is by seeing her corpse right in front of me."

I don't know when I started to become as callous to death as I am now. My stay in this world wasn't a nice one, yet it could have been worse. Never did I think I would wish actual death to someone.

Sure, back on Earth, I'd wish for all riajuus to die. I'd even tell myself to kill myself. In each of those times, never did I truly mean it. Death was an outcome that would never be reversed, and the thought of truly wishing it on someone was out of the question.

But for Elsa Granhiert? An exception could be made.

She had me make tools that would see death on others. Sure, I was under no illusions that all the knights I've made weapons for were as morally sound as Astrea, but I was certain that none of them were cut of the same cloth as the Bowel Hunter.

I suppose that's why I wanted to do this. Her actions over the months were my responsibility. Even if it would put me on the same level as her, I would see to it that she be put down like the rabid dog that she was.

"I'm with Blacksmith-san." The indecisiveness that plagued Natsuki was gone in an instant. His fish-eyes, similar to mine in many ways, were more full of life than mine would ever be, "I've got someone that I want to protect, and I won't just let you take all the credit, ya know!"

The last line was said jokingly, but the traces of nervousness still lingered. Astrea stared for a moment before closing his eyes and sighing. A smile formed, but one that I could see was more than a bit forced.

"Alright. But please, if something were to happen, you get behind me."

I rolled my eyes as I tossed the last sword at the knight, "I want those back," I warned, "Those things are worth at least five holy gold each, so if they break, you're paying in full."

Astrea's eyebrows raised as I spoke. My usual weapons would normally cap at around five gold apiece, depending on the quality. A single blade that cost ten times as much? Must have been a significantly higher quality, I could see him thinking.

It helped that I wasn't lying, as I knew he could just see through that with those damn blessings of his.

It also helped that I set the price just now, so I could have said they were worth twenty holy gold and it would've also been true.

"Jeez, you're really making me nervous holding this thing!" Natstuki looked more concerned about the price than anything, "I'm still totally broke!"

"Yeah, that's why you should take care of it, or you'll be my debt slave for the next year or so."

"Harsh!" He recoiled back as if struck, "Well, I guess I could still sell that metia of mine…"

"Metia?" Astrea asked as I started to lock up the shop.

"Yep! Someone I know said that this thing," he pulled out a phone of all things, "Was worth at least twenty holy gold!"

My inner business owner was screaming at me to scream at the kid to shut up. Did common sense stop existing when I got transported over here?

"Stop that." I ground out, "You want to get mugged, showing that thing off?" Really, showing off how much you have is probably the reason why you needed the Sword Saint in the first place!

It took a moment for the realization to click, "Oh shit," He quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket, "You didn't see anything." He tried to act as calmly as possible, but I couldn't miss the way he was looking back and forth in a mild panic.

Astrea smiled, a less forced one than before, "I had my eyes closed the entire time."

Well, if nothing else comes out of this, at least the red-haired asshat made something of a friend in Natsuki.

The walk to the slums was, to put it mildly, a somber one. Astrea never walked this way, I suspect, and Natsuki had probably never seen this back on Earth. Japan had a tendency to try and hide their unwanted, well, anything. The poor was just another one of those things.

And there were many more unfortunate souls in the capital than anyone would care to admit.

The number of people wearing ratty clothes increased exponentially as we traveled to wherever Natsuki was leading us. By the half hour mark, I could see at least twelve different people who would probably have tried to steal from us had the Sword Saint not been right next to us.

Small mercies, I suppose.

Still, as we walked, I couldn't help but think that the area was becoming more and more familiar. At first, I didn't think much about it. In the first year or so of my life, I lived here while doing my apprenticeship as a blacksmith before I made enough money to at least get a decent place in the nicer parts of the city.

I recognized a few of the landmarks here and there; the soup kitchen that provides some free food everyday, the dilapidated park, that one apartment that houses five families. All of them brought back a wave of memories.

One memory in particular grated a lot on my mind.

"Oi, Natsuki," I got his attention as he inspected if the blade was still strapped firmly on his belt, "How'd you even know that this was going down anyway?"

"I was, ah, tracking down a thief who stole something from someone I know."

The headache grew, "And by chance was the thief a blond girl around this tall?"

Natsuki nodded in apparent confusion, which quickly turned into a sympathetic look, "She stole something from you too, I'm guessing?"

"Follow me, I know a shortcut." To their credit, as I took the lead, neither batted much of an eye.

I led us through a maze of dilapidated buildings and more would be thieves. If the brat really was behind this, then she was in more trouble than her payout could possibly give.

Soon enough, we stood in front of yet another rundown shack. It looked almost abandoned, with a couple of clothes on a windowsill the only indication that it was still lived in. I walked up to the door and banged on it as hard as I could.

"Oi, old man, open up." I continued to bang incessantly. At this time of day, the old man should be done with his third bottle of booze, and if you didn't yell loud enough, he'd be sleeping right through anything.

By the twenty-fifth bang on the door, I could hear footsteps making their way to the front. I didn't stop banging.

"Alright, alright!" The door burst open as a giant of a man with graying hair peered out, "The hell do you want, Hikigaya."

"Rom. Felt's gotten a bad mark."

"How ba-" Rom cut himself off as he noticed the people behind he. He groaned as he rubbed his head, "Fuck's sake, come in then."

"Huh. That was easy." Natsuki rubbed his head in apparent confusion. To some extent, I could understand it. How exactly does a blacksmith know a black market dealer and a thief?

Simple. Because beyond their rough, no shit attitude, they're honestly one of the few trustworthy people I found in this entire damn city. Sure, you still need to watch whatever you have when Felt's in the room, and Rom had a drinking problem that's hell for his liver, but these two had bleeding hearts more than anyone I knew.

After all, they did help me out when I needed it.

And if saving them from Elsa Granhiert was my way of repaying that, then that's even more of a reason to actually follow the protagonist, no matter how much I wanted to do otherwise.

A/N: Not much action in this chapter, but a bit more inner monologue from Hachiman. I should also state this now: unlike my other stories, this one is in first person, and Hachiman is an unreliable narrator. Enough said.

If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

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As well as an extra special thanks to: jadrien pang. Your support really helps a lot. Thank you again.