The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?

Footsteps echoed across the white-stone courtyard as Alina and Luther passed through the temple gate.

The guards at the entrance bowed deeply, their armor clinking in unison, yet Luther didn't so much as nod. His gaze was elsewhere—fixed on the silent figure beside him.

Alina hadn't spoken since they left Noia Town. Her tears had long since dried, but she kept her hood low, shadows veiling her face. Luther's shoulders slumped slightly. He wanted to say something—anything—but no words came. His lips pressed into a thin line before a quiet sigh escaped him.

What was he even supposed to say?

"Hey, sorry, we just saw a town blink out of existence"?

He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, "Just great…" under his breath.

As they moved deeper into the temple grounds, the murmur of voices drifted from ahead.

"He hasn't been back for four days now!"

"Why did the apprentices and guards even let him leave in the first place?"

"That's rich, coming from the same idiot who told them to listen to the apprentice's orders!"

The voices overlapped—frustration, worry, and disbelief.

Luther stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing.

A group of six royal knights stood near the marble staircase, their polished horses restless and their silver armor gleaming under the morning light. The Empire's dove banner fluttered proudly behind them.

How did I not notice them when I worked in?

To their left stood the cluster of the temple elders, their golden robes heavy with embroidery—and worry.

But what made Luther blink wasn't the knights or the elders.

It was Liliana.

She stood at the center of it all, her posture sharp and commanding, her red hair flaying as her fingers tapped impatiently against her sword hilt.

"He couldn't have gone far," one elder was saying, pointing toward the horizon. "If we use the Holy Eye, we might—"

Elder Huro, perpetually caught between wisdom and irritation, promptly smacked the other on the head.

"Use your brain, you halfwit! The Holy Eye only works on those weaker than the temple's magic. The saint's magic rivals the temple. Without a medium means unlimited power, remember?"

The others started muttering again, arguing about the impossibility of finding the Saint.

Liliana exhaled sharply. Her patience thinned. Her gloved hand gripped her sword hilt, and with a subtle cough, she silenced them all.

"I'll find him," she said flatly. Her voice held both authority and annoyance. "And when I do, I'll drag him back myself."

She turned—and froze.

Her eyes locked with Luther's.

For a fraction of a second, her composure slipped. Her pupils widened slightly before she masked the surprise with a quick inhale.

"Ah…" Luther muttered. "Fancy seeing you here."

Liliana said nothing, just straightened her cloak and stepped aside.

Using that distraction, Alina quietly slipped away—her cloak swaying as she disappeared into the temple's inner halls. Luther's gaze followed her briefly. He didn't chase. She needed time… and, honestly, so did he.

Hell, we just watched an entire town vanish, he thought. If anyone deserves a mental break, it's her.

"Anyone sane would've fainted," the demonic sword hummed lazily in his mind. "You two are just weird."

"Shut up," Luther muttered under his breath. "Not now."

Before he could take another step, a rush of robes surrounded him.

"Saint Luther!"

"Where have you been?!"

"Are you injured?"

"Four days without communication!"

The elders swarmed like a flock of panicked birds, voices overlapping. Their wrinkled hands reached out to touch his shoulders, his robes, and his face—as if checking he was real.

Luther's expression twisted somewhere between panic and discomfort. "Uh… personal space?"

"Thank the gods you're safe!" one elder cried dramatically.

"Yeah," Luther muttered mockingly, "the gods are definitely my best pals."

"Did you encounter the enemy?" another asked.

"Yes," Luther deadpanned. "And no, they didn't autograph my robe."

The guards near the gate snorted into their helmets.

Before the chaos could escalate further, a heavy thud echoed from above.

Then a blur of motion cut through the elders.

The ground shook slightly as someone landed with a flash of gold robes—and the next instant, Luther found himself engulfed in a crushing hug.

"Luther!"

"Gah— Master— air! AIR!"

His ever-energetic teacher squeezed him tighter with a grin so wide it could rival the sun. When she finally released him, Luther staggered back, gasping dramatically.

Then she smacked him on the head.

"What was that for?!" he yelped, rubbing his skull.

"For leaving without informing anyone!" she scolded. "Do you have any idea how many sleep-deprived elders I've had to listen to because of you?"

"Oh, please," Luther shot back, crossing his arms. "No one was even here when I left!"

"You hit me back?!" Mariana's voice rose an octave, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

Luther leaned in until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Yeah. What are you going to do about it, old lady?"

Gasps rippled through the nearby priests. The guards tried—and failed—to stifle their laughter.

The elders, however, barely flinched. They looked tired—as if this was a normal Tuesday.

"Saint Luther," Elder Huro muttered to the man beside him, "remains a disaster."

"Indeed," the other replied. "A charming disaster, but a disaster nonetheless."

Meanwhile, Luther and Mariana were still bickering, their voices overlapping like quarreling siblings.

"You're grounded for two days!" Mariana barked.

"You're not my mother!"

"I might as well be! I raised you!"

"Correction—you trained me, yelled at me, and occasionally tried to kill me!"

"That's called discipline!"

The demonic sword's voice snickered in Luther's head. You two are adorable. Can I get popcorn for this?

"Not. A. Word," Luther hissed under his breath.

Mariana caught the whisper and squinted. "Are you talking to your sword?"

"...Maybe."

Her brow twitched. "You need therapy."

Luther grinned. "Says the woman who tried to exorcise a chair last week."

"That chair moved!"

"Yeah, right!"

The guards couldn't hold it anymore. Laughter burst from their ranks, echoing across the marble walls. Even some elders cracked smiles.

Then—

A soft cough.

The sound cut through the laughter like a blade.

Both Luther and Mariana froze mid-argument.

Luther, still half-lifted over Mariana's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, turned his head—and saw her again.

Liliana.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, her knights behind her, her hand resting calmly on her sword hilt. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze—her gaze—was fixed on him.

Luther blinked. The noise around him faded.

"…Why," he muttered under his breath, "is she here?"