But according to the projections from my own database, a change like this should not have happened so quickly. Based on his trauma profile, he shouldn't have shown signs of recovery until his early twenties.
Takson looked at my golden eyes, and though they were as cold as ever, he seemed to sense the question within them.
He smiled.
"You're not a 'person,' are you, Teacher?"
Excuse me? The sudden accusation caught me completely off guard. Is this brat insulting me?
"The 'human' race has the shortest lifespan of all," he continued, oblivious to my internal monologue. "Compared to demons, elves, and dwarves, we are fleeting."
I'm aware of that. Get to the point.
"You must have lived for an unknowable amount of time, Teacher. It's only natural that you wouldn't understand the feelings of us short-lived races."
Actually, I started out as a pure-blooded human, so I understand perfectly well, thank you very much.
"I was very immature back then," he said, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "All I could think about was getting stronger, avenging my parents, killing all the demons..."
You're still only fifteen, I thought. You sound like some old man reminiscing about his youth.
What is happening? I only asked a simple question.
"I've never let go of that resolve," he said, his voice turning serious. He stopped walking and turned to face me. "I will never forget the blood they spilled."
"Back then, I was impatient. But under your guidance, Teacher, I learned that haste accomplishes nothing. Rushing only leads to mistakes."
"The me who saw strength and revenge as the only things that mattered... he was a fool."
"And it's thanks to you that I've been able to come this far. You never gave up on me."
Actually, I had seriously considered it on several occasions.
"If you hadn't saved me... I probably wouldn't have survived that year..." he trailed off, his expression clouding over for a moment. "It's no exaggeration to say that without you, I wouldn't be who I am today."
The conversation had taken a strange, sentimental turn. I had no idea how to respond, so I simply maintained my blank expression. But from his confession, I had the answer to my original question. This boy's maturity, his mindset, was far beyond that of a normal fifteen-year-old.
"I understand," I said with a nod, my tone as flat as ever, ignoring the sudden turn to heartfelt gratitude.
Takson was used to it. Nothing can faze her, he thought with a fond, internal sigh.
Then, I asked my second question.
"Query: So, is that the reason you want the 'Hero's Sword'?"
If my projections were correct, his desire for the sword should stem from the same deep-seated resolve. But his answer, once again, defied my calculations.
"Huh? Oh, no. That's just because it sounds cool."
"...Eh?"
The serious atmosphere shattered. A light blush dusted Takson's cheeks, and he looked away, scratching his face sheepishly.
"I mean, it doesn't really matter to me if I can draw the sword or become the 'Hero' or whatever. As long as I can kill demons, that's all I need."
So much for his newfound maturity. But... perhaps this was better. To retain some of that childish innocence was preferable to the bitter, hate-filled boy he had once been.
After a long journey through the winding cave, we arrived at our destination.
Moonlight streamed through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating a single stone pedestal in the center of the cavern. And upon that pedestal, a single object rested.
"This is the 'Hero's Sword'?" Takson asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.
There was no gleaming, awe-inspiring blade. Just a rusty, pitted iron sword that looked like it would shatter if you sneezed on it too hard. It was less impressive than a butter knife.
"Affirmative. This is the Hero's Sword," I said, my glowing eyes scanning the blade, confirming the unusual energy signature I had detected.
"Ehh..." Takson sighed. "If you say so, Teacher." But the doubt was still plain on his face.
Unconvinced, he unslung his battle-axe.
CLING!
The sound echoed through the cavern, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Well?" I asked.
"...No way," Takson stammered, looking from the pathetic iron sword to his own formidable axe. "It's just a rusty piece of junk! Look at it! It's about to fall apart!"
He pointed at the sword, which hadn't moved an inch. "It blocked my axe, and it didn't even scrape the rust off!"
"Rebuttal: That is because it is the Hero's Sword."
I didn't actually have any data on this world's holy relics. But my scanners confirmed that the blade was imbued with an immense, dormant power. Its current state was likely the result of some kind of seal.
"Justification: Try to pull it out yourself. Then you will understand."
Grumbling, Takson did as he was told. "It's just a rotten old sword, how hard can it be..." He wrapped one hand around the hilt.
"Huh?"
He blinked. Then he used both hands. He planted his feet, his muscles straining. The sword didn't budge. Not even a millimeter.
"Whoa... no wonder it's the Hero's Sword. This thing is really stuck," he grunted, a newfound respect in his voice.
"..."
"I'm not giving up!"
He took a deep breath, his face turning red with exertion.
"Hnng, hng, AAAAAAAAHHHHH—!"
His strained cry echoed through the cave, startling a flock of birds outside.
….
Two Days Later:-
We were sitting in a restaurant in a nearby town. I held a menu, looking at the sullen-faced boy sitting across from me.
"Query: What would you like to eat?"
"..."
This time, he was the one not responding.
"Query: The Hero's Sword can only be drawn in times of great peril. The fact that you could not draw it means the world is not in danger. Is that not a good thing?"
"Addendum: It has been a full day. Have you not recovered?"
"It's not about that..." he muttered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.
I stared at him for a moment, processing. "I see."
"Correction: It's just a ripped pair of—"
"WAAAH! DON'T TALK ABOUT IT!"
His outburst turned every head in the restaurant. As it turned out, during his final, Herculean effort to pull the sword, the damp, slippery stone floor beneath him had given way. His foot had slipped, and with a loud RIIIP, his pants had split from seam to seam, leaving him with a rather embarrassing memory.
I, of course, was unfazed by the stares of the other patrons. Takson, however, was mortified.
"Sir, could you please keep your voice down?" a waitress asked, approaching our table.
"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, his face buried in his hands.
I ignored him and went back to studying the menu.
….
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