The morning light in Solencia carried a hint of absurdity—just another day in the capital, where market vendors hawked "Hero's Rest Tea" alongside "Heretic's Bane Salve." Itsuki Hiroto awoke to a chorus of frantic knocks. His enchanted scroll had been unusually quiet overnight—too quiet. He swung the drapes aside and nearly tumbled backward.
Every wall, every lamppost, and every merchant's stall bore your face: a stark, woodcut‑style portrait of Hiroto under two ominous headlines in flaming red ink:
> WANTED DEAD
WANTED ALIVE
WANTED EXPLAINED
Below, in smaller letters:
> #1 SAVIOR
#1 HERETIC
Hiroto staggered back. Great. Now I'm simultaneously the world's deliverer and its demon. He threw on his robes and dashed to the window. The city square—usually a hub of orderly chaos—had become a frenzy of snapping fingers and shouting voices:
> "Have you seen him? The clerk who punched a dragon into a haystack?"
"You there! Are you the Divine Variable or the Voidwalker?"
"Reward offered! Head of the Divine one, living or dead!"
He ducked away as a pair of bounty hunters—one clad in heavy plate, the other in burning-coal robes—frisked a terrified baker.
Sera, hair in disarray and clutching a satchel of "invisibility dust," burst into the room. "Captain! They're plastering posters everywhere. They even reprinted your face on omelet placemats!" She pulled out a folded omelet wrapper with his portrait printed on it.
Hiroto exhaled. "I didn't ask for this. I want to be invisible."
"Too late," Sera said, tossing the wrapper into the fireplace. "We need to tear down those posters before the street gangs frame you for starting a revolution."
He nodded, face pale. "Let's go."
---
Moments later, Hiroto, Sera, and Lady Virelya skulked through an alley behind the Cathedral of Radiant Dawn. Virelya scanned the street with narrowed eyes.
"Church Inquisitors are offering holy pardons for your capture," she reported. "Nobles are offering knighthoods to anyone who delivers you unharmed. Merchants are offering… everything."
Sera shuddered. "I saw a vendor selling 'Hiroto's Peaceful Nap Pillows.' Thirty gold each."
They rounded the corner and found an entire wall plastered with the Wanted posters. Hiroto's portrait looked simultaneously saintly and sinister—gloriously heroic on the left, demonic on the right.
Hiroto swore softly. "How do I look so evil? I'm not even wearing my bad‑guy outfit."
Sera shrugged and produced a handful of invisibility dust. "Sprinkle this—maybe no one will recognize you."
Hiroto frowned. "I can't hide forever." He tore at a corner of a poster. The paper resisted like old parchment. He tore harder and succeeded in peeling a strip away—but lost his grip and the poster shredded. A church lantern ignited with divine glow, revealing an Inquisitor in white and gold approaching.
"Captain Hiroto!" the Inquisitor called, raising a censer. "By holy writ, you are summoned for heresy investigation!"
Hiroto yelped. Sera scattered invisibility dust at their feet. The Inquisitor coughed as the cloud engulfed him.
"Over here!" Virelya shouted, grabbing Hiroto's arm. They sprinted down the alley, the Inquisitor stumbling after, arms flailing with the censer.
They skidded into a merchant's bazaar, where a vendor selling "Hero's Oats" hawked his wares. Hiroto dashed between stalls—vendors grabbing his sleeve, thrusting silver coins into his hand:
> "Take my money—just say a blessing!"
"Please sign my child's forehead!"
"You must lead our militia!"
He shoved coins back. "I'm not accepting donations!"
But each merchant pressed more coins into his palm, convinced that paying homage to the Divine Variable would ward off famine, war—and possibly taxes.
Sera tugged him on. "Keep moving!"
---
They burst into a nearby tavern—the Gilded Tankard—slamming the door behind them. The innkeeper frowned as a church lantern swung overhead, like a halo on a swinging pendulum.
"Sorry," Hiroto panted. "We need to lay low."
The innkeeper nodded to a back room. "Quiet corner for you."
Inside, they barricaded the door with a chair. Hiroto sank onto a bench. "I can't keep running from posters."
Virelya laid a hand on his shoulder. "We're not going to tear down every wall in Solencia. We need a bigger solution: a public declaration that frames you beyond both extremes."
Hiroto rubbed his temples. "Like what?"
Sera flopped onto a cushion. "I know a bard who owes me a favor. He can compose a ballad called 'The Clerk Who Saved and Scared the World'—maybe if people laugh, they'll chill."
"Hilarious," Hiroto said dryly. "Then I'll have shrines filled with laughter."
Virelya smiled thinly. "Better than shrines filled with scorn."
Hiroto sighed. "Alright. Let's draft a proclamation: 'I am neither god nor monster. I just want to file my reports in peace.'"
Sera clapped. "Brilliant. But first, we need ink."
---
They slipped back out into the tavern's kitchen, where a sleepy cook stirred a pot of stew.
"Madam—er, sir—can we borrow ink?" Virelya asked politely.
The cook yawned, handing them a quill and inkwell. "Just sign away any future property damage, will you?"
Hiroto scribbled on a scrap of parchment:
> PUBLIC PROCLAMATION
I, Itsuki Hiroto, humble warehouse clerk, vow that I am neither divine nor damned. My accidental heroics do not mark me as savior, nor do they brand me as heretic. If you seek an example of true faith, look within your own hearts—don't plaster my face on walls.
Wanted: Not by me.
He added a small signature, folded the parchment, and stamped it with his seal—an image of an upturned crate.
---
Under cover of noon, they tore through the Bazaar District again, posting their proclamation over every Wanted poster. The first few merchants recoiled, ripping down traditional wanted sheets to replace them with Hiroto's declaration. Crowds gathered, curious:
> "Did he write that?"
"He sounds… sane."
"Maybe he's both, and neither."
The Church Inquisitor reappeared, lantern raised. Sera threw more invisibility dust—this time at the posters. The wanted images flickered, half‑visible, like ghosts. Townsfolk laughed. Inquisitors coughed. Merchants scratched their temples.
Hiroto aired his proclamation from a soapbox:
"I am not a savior, nor a heretic. I am a man who wants peace. If you want to honor me, close these shrines. If you want to punish me, file your reports in triplicate. But please—stop plastering my face on everything!"
A hush followed. Then, someone in the crowd began clapping. Soon, others joined, a ripple of applause that drowned out the inquisitor's sputtering.
Lady Virelya stepped forward. "Well said. Perhaps now we can discuss more pressing matters—like those tremors in Varn."
Hiroto blinked. Finally, something serious.
But a sharp cry of alarm cut the air: "The Emperor's Guard approaches!"
They turned to see a squad of palace soldiers marching toward them, weapons drawn—but carrying proclamations of their own:
> IMPERIAL DECREE:
Captain Itsuki Hiroto, by order of His Majesty, is hereby pardoned for all mistaken acts of heroism and heresy.
You are ordered to present yourself at court immediately.
Hiroto exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Wanted, pardoned… explained?"
Sera laughed, relief flooding her features. "Congratulations, Captain. You're the only person in history both pardoned by the crown and denounced by the church in the same breath."
Hiroto managed a tired smile. "I should've just stayed a clerk."
Virelya placed a steady hand on his arm. "But then we wouldn't have half the fun."
As the palace soldiers escorted them away—crowds parting to cheer, cough, and remove newly pasted proclamations—Hiroto realized that no amount of posters or proclamations could define him. He would keep stumbling, saving, and clarifying his own legend—one reluctant step at a time.