Chapter 18: Chapter XVII – Of matters pertaining not to heathens but of matters pertaining to heretics.

Content Warning: This chapter includes fantasy hate crimes (in this case coming in the form of physical violence that is beyond Watanabe being kicked for laughs). It's nothing too graphic, but I just wanted to be safe before anyone posts an angry comment.

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Following the robed man who had entered the inn in the last chapter, two more men clad similarly in robes entered the inn. Most concerning to everyone in the inn, the two men openly held truncheons. What the three men had in common other than the robes were also their beards, which were messy and reached way past their chests.

“Hear ye, hear ye! We have come to inform our Brassican brothers that the end is nigh!” announced the man in the front holding a book as he preached to the converted.

“By the Divine, it’s those people…” silently commented Rabanowicz in a clearly annoyed tone of voice only audible to Watanabe. The rest of the inn similarly seemed to be either indifferent or slightly pissed off by the sudden evangelism.

“Aren’t the end times days always somewhat nigh, old man?” replied one erudite member of the audience, which prompted couple laughs from the people in the inn. “According to the Cruciferous Codex, the end times will not come as long as Brasscirom is left standing, so Holy Theodore willing, we will not see this world end for another thousand years.”

“That is what the stuffy preachers, who do not even know how to read proper Classic Lahanezite, would tell you!” replied the evangelist with further fervor. “For you see, fellow brothers in faith! The book I hold now is the properly translated version of the Cruciferous Codex into the contemporary tongue, and it reveals a truth that one cannot ignore! It says that, unlike the frequent mistranslation forced on to us good faithful people, ‘Even if Brasscirom is left standing, the end times will come.’”

“You’re standing against the doctrine of our Temple and the authority of the Grand Preacher like a bloody heathen!” shouted one of the audience members in protest, though not everyone in the inn was as fervently orthodox. Some people in the audience had begun debating what the evangelist had said, entertaining the idea while not subscribing to it.

Damn ye who preach and evangelize, complained Watanabe as he continued sipping his soup and wine. Can’t you people just agree on one translation and stop wasting our time? Just have one sect and be done with it.

“Yes! We see that, even with our hallow city standing, other signs of the apocalypse draw near! Have you not seen the degeneracy that has spread in the land of the believers the last few years?” continued the evangelist. “Look at the clothes that all wear, with needless ornamentation and all that loose fabric, some women even wearing corsets to accentuate their figure and lead men astray! Youths courting each other without thinking of the consequences to their mortal souls! Foreigners and heathens that are allowed to step foot in this hallow city just by paying a tax and soiling the soil of this hallow land!”

Suddenly, the man noticed Watanabe’s presence as he approached Watanabe. “See, this man who looks nothing like a believer, how he dares to sit here in our hallow city so casually, how the authorities allow him to sit here!”

“S-Sir… I am just a pilgrim from the far south, I am as much a Brassican as you are.” replied Watanabe as he stared at the men with the truncheons. At least those preachers back in Japan didn’t carry weapons, I should avoid angering these guys if I value my life!

“See, you say that, but those shifty eyes of yours betray your claims! How can the good Brassicans here know that you are not a heathen looking to desecrate this city, how did the preacher who convert you dare show the member of such a clearly uncivilized. un-Lahanezite race the light of Brassica?!”

Before Watanabe could cast [Fake It ‘Till You Make It] to defend himself, he found himself standing in the way of a speeding truncheon held by one of the evangelist’s underlings. The impact was so great that Watanabe fell off his chair and found himself laying on the ground. He was left in a stupor where he was barely managing to stay conscious.

“Shelmiy bocze, do you hold no civility or honor? That weak coward of a man is no fighter, come at me and fight someone of your own size, you detestable sons of asses!” shouted Rabanowicz as she stood up and assumed a fighting stance.

The men, seeing her provoke them, decided that Watanabe was no threat and pursued Rabanowicz instead.  “Look at how that overly effeminate man, who has already been corrupted by the influence of the heathen to reject his Brassicus-given beard, jumps to defend him!” shouted the evangelist as he commanded his underlings to attack.

“I’ll let you know that I am not a man, yet I am ten, nay, a myriad times manlier than ye three combined!” continued Rabanowicz as she spent a few choice words to frustrate the men further.

Despite her commendable use of snark, Rabanowicz didn’t stand a chance against winning against two men who were armed. She instead looked to dodge their attacks, while keeping them from disengaging by throwing insults towards them.

As for the audience in the inn watching this unfold, while most of them didn’t approve of sudden acts of violence even towards heathens, they were either scared of going against armed men or they didn’t care enough about a heathen to risk their lives for them. Except a few meek vocal objections from the patrons, nobody dared to intervene in the fight.

What an effective application of kiting, thought Watanabe as he slowly came back to his senses. What do I do now, though? I have already seen that an unarmed ghost can down me in one hit, I definitely cannot go against one, twelve, or in this case, three angry men. The most sensible choice is for me to escape while the men are distracted.

Watanabe, while he had always wished for an encounter like this to happen, didn’t want to risk his life for a non-harem member. He was a hero, but it wasn’t a hero’s job to save everyone, especially if they weren’t important to the future plot. He might have thought of Rabanowicz as a deuteragonist for a while, sure, but there were plenty of better deuteragonists out there in the wild. Plus, Rabanowicz was kind of like a mentor character, and it was the job of a mentor character to sacrifice themselves for the protagonist, right?

Watanabe made excuses like the above as he got up and decided to head for the inn door to escape.

“Get out of our land, scum!” shouted one of the heathens as he finally landed a blow to Rabanowicz’s shoulder. She winced in pain; she was slowly losing her stamina as the men continued to chase her. She was too preoccupied to notice that Watanabe was abandoning her.

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No, it just doesn’t make sense, selflessly charging in there is not the right idea. Heroes must make sacrifices, thought Watanabe as he took another step towards the door.

It had seemed easy to Watanabe, when reading overpowered heroes, to step up to injustices like this. Yet, now that he was the protagonist, it wasn’t as easy to step up when he lacked the power to ensure victory. All those heroes, and their supposedly admirable acts, Watanabe was making the right choice by not emulating them foolishly. There would be a time when he’d be strong enough to beat these three men with a flick of his finger and today was not that time, he thought.

“Brassicus Prima damn you to hell!” added the other underling as he struck Rabanowicz right in the chest, causing her to have trouble breathing as she felt like her lungs had suddenly stopped working.

This is the right thing; this is the right thing, the most rational thing to do! As the chosen one, as the protagonist, you can find better than her, you do not need to concern yourself with every trifle, thought Watanabe as he took another step.

While Rabanowicz was busy trying to regain breath, the evangelist joined in the attack as he kicked her right on the knee. Rabanowicz lost her balance as she collapsed on the ground, crawling in pain.

There were a dozen people in the inn that could help her, yet no one had done so yet.

‘First off, all who come from another world tend to share the delusion that they are destined for greatness, or that they are the hero of some story.’

You are wrong! I am not under any delusions, for I am truly destined for greatness! I am the hero of this story, why would I be sent here without a purpose?!

‘Love? With someone I just heard about yesterday and saw today?’

Yes, that is how the conventions of this genre work! Every attractive woman is supposed fall in love with the protagonist, not be stolen away from the protagonist by the deuteragonist!

‘It’d just not be the right thing to do.’

Being needlessly kind to a stranger, that sort of naïveté won’t lead you anywhere! You’ll just end up abandoned when you meet a villain who knows how to abuse your good will…

…

…No, I’m the protagonist, I don’t need to- I can’t- No, it’s not logical, I’ll just end up on the ground like her! I’ll just be down on the first shot like last night! Stop it, don’t be foolish! You need to live to discover how this setting’s system works, you need to be alive so that you can collect the harem you deserve, you can reserve the heroics for when you get overpowered! You do not need to-

THUD!

Watanabe had snuck up from behind one of the underlings and struck him with the hilt of his sword. The man, who couldn’t handle the blunt trauma, collapsed as the evangelist and the other underling turned in surprise to see Watanabe standing behind them.

Watanabe was, to use the most apt term, scared shitless. He was shaking so hard that he’d score a perfect 10 on the Richter scale. He was sweating so hard that it looked like he had stayed under the rain for hours without an umbrella.

“S-St-Stop r-right t-there criminal sc-scum! Yield and be righteously vanquished by the legendary… Uhm… Ranmaru!” meekly declared Watanabe, quickly making up a name for his sword, as he collected the measly amount of courage he had.

“What the-” Before the other underling could react, he joined his comrade in becoming a human-rug on the floor thanks to a swift kick by Rabanowicz directed to his groin.

“You filthy heathens fight in such a cowardly manner! Brassicus Prima will punish you on this earth and in kingdom come!” shouted the evangelist as he promptly retreated outside the inn upon seeing his underlings defeated.

“Monsieur, we should probably leave before that evangelist brings more of his dreadful flock.” said Rabanowicz as she spat on one of the men on the ground. “I do not think the patrons of the inn will appreciate us being here any longer either.”

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