Chapter 3.2
(Continued)
Why did we treat him that way?
“Haa…”
There were plenty of reasons.
Their spirits were eroding.
The journey was difficult.
And…
The Sage never left, no matter what they did.
When the journey grew unbearably hard, and they cursed and despaired, the knight would lash out at the Sage, who tried to comfort her.
The proud and haughty elf archer would hurl hurtful words at him whenever he comforted her wounded pride.
And there was more.
Whenever he meticulously managed their meager funds to make a decent meal, they’d complain, saying they were sick of eating the same food.
And the next day, he’d make them an even better meal to comfort them.
When they got tired of his corny jokes and cursed him, he even visited a clown to learn new jokes.
The Sage was always smiling, always positive.
But what did we say to him?
Claire’s mind rummaged through her memories. The cold recollections were like jagged ice, too painful to touch.
We’re struggling.
This journey is unbearable.
Why are you able to smile?
You don’t understand.
Unlike us, who bear a divine mission and blessing to continue this painful journey, you don’t understand anything.
You’re not struggling at all.
When they reached their limit, Leventia and Evangeline would hurl verbal abuse at him to shield themselves.
But even at their cruelest, the Sage would only smile, unfazed, and continue as usual the next day.
In his unflinching demeanor, Leventia and Evangeline only grew harsher, unable to stop themselves.
After all, he was the only one who tolerated their complaints and gripes, the only one who let them vent the burdens of defeating the Demon King.
And back then, what did I do?
Claire’s body trembled with loathing brought on by the icy memories.
She clenched her arms tightly.
Her nails dug so deep into her pale skin that red blood began to drip, but she paid no attention to it.
After all, he must have suffered more.
The Sage had taken on the responsibilities she’d ignored; he must have had it much worse.
As the hero and leader, it should have been her duty to calm and guide her party members.
And yet, Claire had not done it.
Because she was struggling, too.
Because she was terrified of being resented.
Because she was too burdened by her own pain and despair to bear others’.
So she looked away.
She ignored the Sage’s quiet generosity, offering them his unwavering kindness without expecting anything in return.
She hadn’t considered the toll it took on him.
She disregarded the fact that he had joined them purely for their sake, without any divine blessing or mission.
He’ll be fine.
He chose to follow us.
If he was struggling, he’d have left, but he didn’t.
Justifying her indifference with such comforting lies.
And as the hero, who lacked even the courage to bear her party’s resentment, she leaned on him as well.
But eventually, he left.
All through the journey, he’d stood behind them, supporting them.
He accepted every ugly and pathetic side of them, only to disappear in the end.
If he’d left with an angry tirade, she’d feel a little less guilty.
But even as he left, he offered them his encouragement.
“Ah…”
She should have stopped them.
She should have stopped the baseless scorn and criticism.
She should have eased his burden.
She should have done what a hero and a leader should do.
I didn’t mock him.
I didn’t berate him.
I didn’t torment him.
A dark voice deep inside whispered, and Claire forced out her answer.
“But I…”
I ignored his suffering.
I turned away from his silent cries.
I did nothing.
I didn’t mock him, or berate him, or torment him.
I just did nothing.
I didn’t help him, didn’t stop the others, didn’t share his load.
Desperate to protect herself, the darkness continued to cry out.
I was struggling, too.
I was suffering, too.
At least, unlike them, I didn’t burden him.
But the truth didn’t change: she had merely been a bystander, turning a blind eye.
In the end, she’d wronged him just as much.
She’d been complicit in carving the deep scars left on his heart.
An innocent bystander?
No.
She was a passive accomplice, selfishly hoping to avoid his resentment, tainted by her own ugly desire.
Her mind, drawing forth the answers she had avoided, carved away at her conscience, producing a single tear from the icy weight of guilt.
And that tear hung naturally in her sun-colored eyes.
“Sob… sniff… sob…”
Why did I do it?
Because she was afraid.
Had he really not been struggling?
She remembered the nights he murmured in his sleep.
She recalled how he mumbled about wanting to go back, to leave.
She’d known of his pain.
She’d known of his suffering.
And still, she…
Still, she only…
“…Sniff… sob… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
She had been scared.
She hadn’t been brave.
What kind of hero was she?
What courage did she have?
She couldn’t even acknowledge the suffering of someone who had selflessly helped them.
She knew it all along.
Even after drawing the Hero’s Sword and receiving divine blessings, she was just a frightened country girl.
With strength bestowed by the hero’s powers and divine blessing, she’d tried to mask her cowardice, but she was nothing more than a pathetic child.
Terrified of the idea of being resented, clinging to the image of a “good person.”
Though she tried to wipe away the tears streaming down her face, they kept flowing like a broken faucet.
She cried so much yesterday.
No, she’d been crying ever since the Sage left, wracked with regret, despair, guilt, and self-loathing.
And still, her tears would not stop.
