No to Being the Suffering Heroine!

He turned his head to look back at the alley, where a man clad in full armor stood proudly, wielding a broadsword.

His face was hidden by a helmet, but judging by his tone and demeanor, he was probably the vigilante leader, Yuron Frederick.

Behind Yuron, a line of nearly ten warriors stood at attention, ready to assist him.

Four fully armored figures, three in partial armor, and three more clad only in chainmail—quite the colorful bunch.

Among them, there were some who looked clearly stronger than the vigilante leader at the front.

But it wasn’t that they were strong; it was more that Yuron, being the head of an organization, was on the weaker side, making them seem relatively stronger.

In any case, it was quite a surprising lineup to run into in a place like this.

“Didn’t you hear? Lakan! Stop right now!”

Yuron shouted once more, pointing his broadsword at Lakan.

It looked like he rushed over to handle the situation after being informed of the slums’ circumstances… but honestly, was he just making things worse?

With the remnants of Abandon, Bagest, and now the adventurer guild all present, plus the vigilante group joining the fray, it was essentially all forces of Pesengwigel gathered in one spot.

Rather than being resolved, things were escalating to a point where they could ignite into chaos at any moment.

“It’s been a while, Yuron. What brings the busy vigilante leader here?”

Lakan, rather than feeling intimidated by the leader’s intervention, wore a smug smile, exuding confidence.

“I thought you wouldn’t be able to get up under the weight on your shoulders. Isn’t the burden you inherited a bit too heavy for you?”

“I didn’t know you’d be concerned about my burdens.”

Yuron responded with a flick of his tongue, irritated.

“Stop your nonsense and turn back at once. If you do, I won’t hold you accountable for this heinous act!”

As soon as he declared this, the men standing behind Yuron drew their weapons in unison.

Swords and axes, shields and spears, bows and arrows—their movements were in perfect sync, like a well-trained army.

“Responsibility? Are you talking to me?”

Lakan bared his teeth, growling as he threatened Yuron.

“You’ve grown, Yuron. Really grown… How dare you mention responsibility to me?”

Vicious intent permeated his every word. The vigilante’s higher-ups flinched, gripping their weapons tightly.

“You are not Albert. You cannot become like Albert. So why should I listen to that nonsense?”

Had it been the words of the first vigilante leader, he might’ve listened.

Back in his youth, Yuron had a run-in with Albert and, having literally been crushed, he might’ve pretended to heed those words.

The trauma from that defeat was so great that he deliberately kept the scars from that battle as a reminder.

“…So, are you saying you plan to continue this lunacy?”

“Of course! It just got interesting!”

Well, I’m not finding this amusing at all.

“If you understood, get lost and stop interrupting, leftover trash from Albert.”

Lakan waved his hand dismissively, practically treating him with contempt. It was a brazen attitude that would infuriate even the mildest of souls.

“…You’ll regret this.”

“I doubt that. What are you anyway?”

Yuron’s voice dropped lower. In contrast, Lakan flashed a confident smile, ready to take on any challenge.

Amidst their glaring stares, an intense tension filled the air.

“……”

But they were just chattering amongst themselves! Am I not even in their thoughts?

Looking at the setup, it didn’t seem like any resolution was in sight. Maybe I could take a stab at this? With a bit of luck, I might just kill him.

Subtly, I slid my left hand behind my shoulder, clenching my palm. I concentrated on the ring belonging to Eleadra on my finger.

Edelmut’s divine barrier had already been used up when I shattered his broadsword, but I still had a trump card up my sleeve that I hadn’t revealed yet.

Or rather, it was a card I hadn’t had the chance to show yet.

– Sssss…

The blood spear, Cavellach, slowly revealed its fangs, having drunk deeply of my blood.

◆◆

“…Indeed, I owe my current position to the illustrious reputation of my late father.”

The tension that threatened to erupt into conflict eased slightly as Yuron calmly acknowledged his own weaknesses.

“Hmm…? Right, you know well.”

Lakan evidently found this indifferent response unexpected, as he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“Then, leaning on that reputation again shouldn’t cause any shame.”

With that, Yuron entirely withdrew his hostility. Even sheathing his drawn sword, he demonstrated he had no intention of fighting.

What’s going on? Is there another option besides direct confrontation? I held my bloody spear, choosing to temporarily retain it within the ring.

It seemed worth it to watch this a little longer.

“You, Lakan, once swore an oath to my father. You said you would fulfill any request made of you twice in return for mercy shown to a defeated foe.”

“…Did Albert tell you that?”

“Indeed. I believe the moment has come to honor that oath.”

Yuron nodded affirmatively.

To receive two requests in exchange for sparing a life lost in combat.

Yuron intended to use one of those here, demanding Lakan stop this insanity and withdraw peacefully.

“…I did not swear to follow anything. I said I could not comply with demands that risked my life—like disbanding Bagest.”

Lakan’s voice turned decidedly somber. Had he been hit hard? It seemed true that such an oath was made.

“Do you think my request is of such magnitude?”

“That… yes, it is not.”

Lakan, grinding his teeth, reluctantly nodded, seemingly unwilling to argue about it.

“Then retreat. You must prove your so-called ‘honor of a warrior’, right?”

Yuron gestured towards the alleyway, urging Lakan to leave.

“……….”

Lakan remained silent for a long while. Even with a banquet laid out before him, he was just like a dog obediently waiting for an order.

“Honor or pleasure. Which will you choose?”

“…Damn it, that bastard Albert continues to block my way even after death.”

After deep contemplation, Lakan ultimately decided to uphold his honor as a warrior and accept the old oath.

Honestly, a human trafficker talking about honor? But then again, that’s how thugs usually operate.

They may be vile and cruel by nature, but among their peers, they obsess over loyalty and street cred, protecting their own so-called honor meticulously.

It seemed even Lakan couldn’t shed his strange obsession with honor, despite having nothing in his head except for fighting.

“Fine. I’ll step back as you wish. Just this once.”

With those words, Lakan sheathed his sword and retreated, promising to return to their base in the great coliseum with his subordinates.

At that moment, the major disaster that had struck the slums came to an ambiguous close.

◆◆

“…We were lucky.”

Once Lakan exited the alley with a scowl, Yuron let out a long, held breath of relief.

Even though he had the insurance of the old oath, relying solely on that to stop Lakan must have felt like a gamble.

It was clear he had no certain belief that things would turn out so well.

“Regardless, I’m glad this conversation was possible. Nice to meet you, I am Yuron Frederick, the current vigilante leader.”

Even with his uncertainty, there was something more than just saving the slums that propelled him forward.

“Thank you for your help… if that’s the right thing to say. I’m Krimhilde.”

I lowered my head slightly, leaning on Edelmut as if it were a staff, showing my gratitude.

While Yuron’s intervention had indeed helped me significantly, I couldn’t let my guard down and trust him completely.

“No need to thank me. To be honest, I was helped by you too. Without you, Lakan wouldn’t have backed down at all.”

Yuron displayed humility while removing his helmet, revealing his face. He looked like he meant no harm, giving off a vibe that suggested it was safe to relax.

“I’d still feel embarrassed being thanked for that. I didn’t help out of pure goodwill.”

With a short ponytail reaching below his shoulders, golden hair and blue eyes. He looked princely, but his frozen expression made him seem somewhat cold-blooded.

He seemed more suited to the ballroom of the nobility than as the commander of a militia.

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