Entropy's Servant

Chapter 60 - Meaning

In the Holy Capital, at the Hero Headquarters, sat a lad at his desk, head on the table, muttering to himself.

His name was Reynald. Even among Heroes, he was special, because he possessed the class Holy Swordsman, and thus the skill [God-Sword].

He didn't react to the knock on his door, and he didn't react to the door being opened. Only once Ebstrea walked over to him and touched his shoulder did he sluggishly sit straight up, revealing the bags under his eyes.

"Woah... You look terrible, Reynald," Ebstrea said, and she peered into his eyes, a worried look on her face.

"Ebstrea," Reynald said, "what does being a hero even mean...?" It seemed he had opted to completely ignore Ebstrea's comment.

"Huh? What do you mean, Reynald?"

"You know, all this time, I thought being a Hero was about defeating monsters, and making the world a better place."

"Mhm."

"But then that guy comes along, and the demons under his command are nice. So I figure, 'well, being a Hero is about helping people in Lady Luciel's name', you get me?"

"Then, you don't think it is?"

"Not anymore."

"Reynald, you're a nice guy, but I have no idea what you mean."

Without much of a warning, Reynald reached out to Ebstrea, grabbing both of her shoulders. "R-Reynald?! I don't think we should... not in this kind of place..." she said in response, face like a tomato.

"Tell me!"

"Huh?"

"If being a Hero is about following Luciel, then what's with the Azalyths?!"

In a moment of panic, Ebstrea practically dove onto Reynald, covering his mouth with both her hands. "Shh!" she said, "don't say that out loud!"

Though he was unable to speak in this situation, Reynald's expression revealed to Ebstrea that he didn't understand why. "We're not supposed to know that, remember?" Ebstrea said, shaking her head and finally removing her hands.

"Ah... right," Reynald said, nodding. "Uhm, that said... Ebstrea, would it bother you to, uh, get off me?"

"Hyah?!"

With a leap, Ebstrea removed herself from Reynald's waist. "S... Sorry about that..."

"No, I was in the wrong, in the first place..."

After a few minutes of both parties trying to pull the blame onto themselves, Ebstrea suddenly remembered the original subject. "Anyway," she said, "if you want to be a Hero, isn't it just fine to do what feels right... That's what I think."

"Do what feels right, huh... Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Ebstrea."

"Any time, Reynald."

In an abandoned land, far to the north, beyond even the elven forests, covered in snow and ice, inhospitable to all but the undead, stood a gorgeous castle.

In the castle's throne room resounded the enraged screeches of the castle's mistress--a skeleton, blue flames in her eye sockets, fluttering robe around her shoulders, a crown of ice on her head.

"What do you mean it didn't work?! I developed that poison myself! There's no way it'd have no effect!"

The living statue of ice that had once been a Hero, standing in the corner, shivered in delight and envy as he watched the scene. Before the Ice Queen hovered a maid, a pale blue, constructed of spectral ice. "No, that is, uh," the maid stammered, "he didn't even drink the poison..."