Chapter 33 (33): The Village Of The Hero’s Sword: 03

Snow had fallen through the night and into the morning like the sky had developed a quiet habit of dropping white powder on the world below. By late morning the village sat wrapped in a soft blanket of it. Roofs wore thick caps of snow. Wooden fences had turned into white lines in the landscape. Smoke climbed lazily from chimneys and disappeared into the cold blue air.

At the entrance of the village stood a wide wooden gate reinforced with iron bands that had seen more winters than anyone could count. The gate remained open during daylight hours because very few travelers ever came this far. The road leading toward the settlement wound through harsh hills and frozen valleys that discouraged casual wandering.

Two guards stood near the gate, stamping their feet occasionally to keep their toes alive.

Between them stood the youngest leader the village had ever known.

She was small.

Ten years old.

She also happened to be the cheftess of the entire village.

Her boots sank a little into the snow as she talked with the guards. The girl wore a thick cloak lined with wool that made her look like a moving bundle of blankets. A staff hung from her belt even though it looked slightly too large for her. Her hair was tied into a messy braid that swung behind her whenever she moved.

The guards listened carefully while she spoke because even though she was small, she still held authority.

“This snowstorm slowed the eastern road again,” she said while examining a small wooden board with notes scratched into it.

One guard scratched his beard.

“That road has been slow for fifty years,” he replied.

“Yes,” the girl said seriously, “but we should still keep track of it.”

The second guard leaned on his spear. “No one uses that road.”

“Someone might.”

The guard considered this idea for a moment. “Why would they?”

The girl looked up at him with the calm patience of someone who had already accepted that adults were sometimes strange creatures.

“Because roads are meant to be used.”

The guard nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

The girl sighed quietly.

She then turned and looked toward the distant mountains. Even from the village gate the dark shapes of the Schwer Mountain Range could be seen rising like frozen waves in the distance. Beyond them stretched the wild region known as Decle, where thick forests and rocky hills tangled together in a maze that travelers rarely escaped without getting lost at least once.

Which explained why their village received visitors about as often as someone accidentally discovered a hidden sock behind a wardrobe.

Not very often.

The settlement itself existed for a very specific purpose.

A purpose that most of the world had forgotten.

Centuries ago the village had been founded to guard a sacred cave located a short distance beyond the northern cliffs. Inside that cave rested the Megami’s blessing.

The Hero’s Sword.

At least that was the official story. The more complicated truth was known only to the guardians of this place.

The sword had never been claimed.

Eighty years earlier the famous hero Himmel had visited this village during his journey to defeat the Demon King. Word later spread across the entire continent that Himmel had pulled the sword from its resting place and carried it into battle.

Songs were written about it. Stories traveled from town to town. Children pretended to draw invisible swords from imaginary stones while shouting heroic lines.

The only problem with that story was that the sword had never moved from its cave. It still rested exactly where it had always rested. The world believed it had been taken. That belief had been carefully encouraged.

The young cheftess knew the full story because her grandmother had told it to her many times.

Her grandmother had been there when Himmel and his companions visited the village.

The woman had stood in the cave and watched the hero place his hands on the sword’s handle. He pulled. Nothing happened.

Most people who tried to draw the sword reacted to failure with frustration or embarrassment. Himmel had simply smiled.

Then he turned to the grandmother and spoke with the calm confidence of someone who had already made a decision.

He told her to spread the word that the sword had been claimed.

At the time she had not fully understood why.

Six years later the news arrived that Himmel and his party had defeated the Demon King without the divine blade.

Only then did her grandmother realize what had truly happened.

The sword was not meant to judge strength. It existed to judge determination. Many travelers had come before Himmel hoping to claim it. When the sword refused them, they often abandoned their dreams of becoming heroes.

Himmel did not abandon anything. He left the cave without the sword and still marched toward the Demon King.

The young cheftess liked that story very much. It meant the sword had not chosen Himmel. Himmel had chosen himself.

She closed the wooden board and tucked it under her arm. “Well,” she said to the guards, “everything looks normal today.”

“That means nothing will happen,” one guard said happily.

“Yes,” the girl replied.

Then she turned to leave.

She had taken only three steps when something caught her eye. Movement. Far beyond the gate. The girl squinted toward the snowy hills.

Four figures walked down the slope slowly. At first they appeared as small shapes moving through the white landscape. Then the sunlight touched them.

Silver hair. A white coat. A golden staff crowned with a red gem. The cheftess froze. Her eyes widened until they looked like round coins. “It’s Frieren-sama!”

The guards barely had time to react before the girl sprinted forward through the snow like a tiny storm.

She reached the travelers just as they approached the gate.

Without hesitation she threw her arms around the silver haired elf standing in front.

The elf blinked. Her expression carried mild surprise. Then she gently patted the girl’s head.

“Frieren-sama!” the cheftess said loudly while squeezing the elf’s waist. “You’re late!”

Frieren looked down at the child. “Late?”

“You were supposed to come here thirty years ago!”

Frieren tilted her head slightly. “Oh.”

She thought for a moment. “I’m sorry. I was busy.”

The way she said it suggested that even she suspected the excuse sounded weak. The girl leaned back and crossed her arms. “Busy doing what?”

Frieren glanced toward the sky like someone searching for an answer written on a cloud. “Things.”

The girl stared at her. “Important things?”

Frieren hesitated. “Some of them involved collecting spells.”

“Uh huh.”

“Some involved sleeping.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Right.”

Frieren shifted awkwardly. Behind her stood the rest of the group.

The young cheftess noticed them for the first time.

Her attention jumped from one person to another with open curiosity.

“Who are they?” she asked while pointing.

Frieren turned slightly. “They’re my companions.” She replied. “That's Sein, my apprentice Fern and Kraft.”

Fern adjusted the strap of her bag while observing the village gate. Sein looked slightly tired. Kraft stood calmly behind them, his tall figure looking almost too large for the narrow road.

The girl walked closer to inspect them like someone examining a group of unusual birds.

Her gaze stopped on Fern. “You look serious.”

Fern blinked.

“Thank you?”

The girl then examined Sein. “You look tired.”

Sein nodded. “That is correct.”

Finally her eyes moved to the green haired elf holding a red haired boy in her arms.

She pointed. “And who is he?”

Kraft looked down at the unconscious Stark. “He is Stark.”

The girl stepped closer.

“Is he sleeping?”

“No.”

“Is he pretending to sleep?”

“No.”

“Is he dead?”

Sein immediately raised a hand. “No.”

The girl crouched slightly and examined Stark’s face with deep concentration. His breathing sounded uneven. His skin looked pale. The child stood up slowly. “…Is he sick?”

Kraft answered calmly. “We have come here to heal him.”

The cheftess blinked. “Heal him…?”

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