No to Being the Suffering Heroine!

A creaky, shabby inn room with no guests in sight.

In the Kingdom of Rhine, the hero Friet was there.

Against the peeling wall, he leaned back, exhaling a sigh full of despair.

“…How did it come to this?”

Why on earth?

Despite his body being unscathed, Friet’s expression was twisted in intense pain.

Feelings he’d never anticipated when taking his first steps as a hero—regret and frustration—were clawing and tearing at his heart.

Is it just his expression that’s in shambles?

Dark circles under his eyes. Days without washing his unkempt hair. Sunken cheeks. Right now, Friet was nothing more than a junkie who’d sell even his parents for his fix, completely unlike the public’s verdict that claimed he “just had an interesting face.”

“Was I wrong?”

With the state of a crow whose wings had been clipped and fell into a sewer, Friet rehashed his memories, spiraling into self-denial and regret over and over.

“Did I screw up?”

Old memories piled up in his foggy brain, muddied by fatigue and frustration.

The shock of receiving the hero’s mark when he was just a rural commoner.

The stress of being recognized as this generation’s hero and granted the holy sword, ‘Nibelung,’ by the royal family.

When he stood at the grand ceremony with the praise and cheers of the crowd, he felt exhilaration.

Up until then, Friet’s heart was filled with hope.

Even the heavy burden of “the hero’s duty” seemed achievable if he worked hard and teamed up with his companions.

But then…

—He lost…? To mere hobgoblins?

It didn’t take long for the cheers for the new hero to turn into disappointment and contempt.

“…You’re really hopeless, you know that?”

His party members, who first shook hands with hopeful expressions, quickly realizing they had drawn the short straw.

◆◆

Imelia, Irina, and Brunhilde weren’t always critical of Friet from the start.

When Friet, the upper class, faced a disastrous defeat against hobgoblins, they were a bit perplexed but didn’t mock him; instead, they offered solace.

“Cheer up, Friet! It’s your first time, so it’s only natural. If you gain some experience, you’ll definitely get stronger!”

“Tch, let’s chalk it up to bad luck this time. You can do better next time, right?”

Imelia held Friet’s left hand with both of hers, encouraging him, while Irina clicked her tongue yet refrained from outright condemnation.

“Yeah, you were just a commoner unconnected to battle… It’s not unexpected to lose. Don’t worry. If you don’t know how to fight, I’ll teach you.”

The last one, Brunhilde, didn’t stop at mere consolation; she even offered to teach him swordsmanship herself.

But that didn’t mean she would impart her battle techniques, as they weren’t compatible with the massive greatsword form of Nibelung.

So, Brunhilde instructed Friet in the basics of being a swordsman and stamina training, along with tips on facing various foes.

Months went by.

Friet’s party barely defeated a couple of dungeons after facing a series of hardships, and Brunhilde was left in despair over the results.

Even at the most optimistic evaluation of Friet’s swordsmanship talent, it could only be described as catastrophic.

“You certainly have spirit… but how can you be this talentless…”

Brunhilde, having seen countless swordsmen as a knight of the Kingdom of Rhine, was flabbergasted to find someone so devoid of talent for the first time.

Even worse was that he wasn’t just talentless with the sword. Testing him with other melee weapons yielded similar results.

The spear pierced the air, while axes and clubs missed and slammed against the wall.

His 179 cm height and muscles gained from training meant his attack power was somewhat decent, but… what good is that if he can’t hit anything?

Noticing this, Irina wondered if it’d be better to try archery instead, but even she threw her hands up in defeat after a single day.

Magic and divine miracles were entirely out of reach for him.

Friet had no talent whatsoever. One could question if he was under some kind of curse.

How could a hero, who should serve as the backbone of the party, be so utterly incapable?

Brunhilde was an unbeatable swordswoman among her peers, and Irina, an elf with eighty years of life experience, was a superb archer. But even they had their limits.

To raid dungeons as a four-member party, at the very least, they needed someone to take care of the minor enemies while keeping the strong ones occupied.

For Friet, that was impossible.

Not only was he unable to deal with the minor foes, but he often ended up getting his head knocked in by them.

Brunhilde and Irina would eliminate the strong enemies as quickly as possible and then rescue Friet and Imelia from peril.

This meant that the moment just three elite monsters appeared during a dungeon raid, their party was in mortal danger.

Ultimately, the Kingdom of Rhine’s hero party found themselves stuck in a stalemate with no impressive achievements, unable to even break through mid-level dungeons.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hold them off… ”

“I’m not worried about that. If all you can do is apologize, you might as well be good at that. Right?”

That’s when Irina’s tone towards Friet started to drip with sarcasm.

That was the first crack.

◆◆

With their hero party struggling to achieve even a single decent result, the nobles of the Kingdom of Rhine also began to look down on Friet with disdain and scorn.

They weren’t expecting anything from a mere commoner.

Was it a mistake on the goddess’s part?

If things were to go this way, wouldn’t it be better to just eliminate this generation’s hero and wait for the next?

Within the nobility’s social circles, the name Friet had long since transformed into that of a punching bag. All sorts of blame and ridicule flowed freely.

Even amidst such circumstances, Friet persevered, fighting monsters and actively aiding those in need, but…

“I don’t think Friet is the hero I was hoping for.”

Disaster struck in an instant.

With the approach of Gunther, the half-elf hero from the neighboring Kingdom of Burgundy, who was on the rise.

Friet’s shock came with the declaration of party transfer like a bolt from the blue.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just give up? Unlike Gunther, you can’t even properly handle an orc warrior. With skills like yours, all you’ll do is burden your party members.”

Before shocked Friet’s eyes, the priestess Imelia delved into mockery disguised as concern.

Clinging tightly to Gunther’s left arm, sandwiched between her chest.

It was an openly embarrassing display of affection that could make one blush.

Friet’s shock stemmed not just from that expression of affection but from the derisive tone as well, leaving him speechless.

As if that weren’t enough, Imelia wasn’t the only one announcing a transfer.

“Irina…?”

“What? Don’t talk to me, you mayfly larva.”

The elf archer Irina, once his comrade, stood next to Gunther. Her cold, icy glare filled with contempt was something Friet had never seen before.

“You’ve made my life hell because of you, you know? You really couldn’t pick a more appropriate phrase to use.”

Her words dripped with contempt unlike anything he’d ever encountered.

“I’ve heard that short-lived ones are incompetent, but who knew you’d be this incompetent? What a relief to have the option to switch.”

With that final remark, Irina left Friet’s party.

“Well, it’s like this. I’m a bit sorry, but don’t blame me, okay? It’s your incompetence that caused this.”

With a smirk, Gunther looked down on Friet while holding onto Imelia’s waist with his right hand.

And…

“I have some affection for our past, so I won’t say anything harsh… but I, too, intend to leave your party.”

“Brunhilde. You too…?”

The knightess, who was both his mentor in swordsmanship and a comrade—no, she was even more significant to Friet—was also leaving him.

“I genuinely regret that it has come to this, but honestly, there’s no future staying here.”

Unlike the other two women, Brunhilde didn’t mock him.

She thought Friet had no power or talent but that his mindset was impeccable for both a knight and a hero.

The problem was, the most crucial quality required from a hero was not character but power.

Power strong enough to breach deep dungeons and attack demon territory.

Without it, and with no potential of obtaining it, a hero with only a grand title was nothing more than a fool.

Eventually falling into the label of “incompetent hero,” just like their party leader, Friet.

Thus, Brunhilde had no choice but to leave his party.

Despite having used every possible means to train him, Friet couldn’t even defeat a single orc warrior.

For someone like Friet, it was impossible to fulfill her ambition.

“So, it would be better… Better to go with Gunther. There seem to be some issues with his personality, but he appears to possess the strength we can count on.”

“I-I’ll try harder…!”

With a shaky voice, Friet uttered the common desperate plea, attempting to sway Brunhilde’s heart back to him.

“That’s futile. You have no talent.”

If that was a situation where persuasion would actually work, she would have never even considered transferring to another party.

Thus, Brunhilde turned away, declaring their connection had come to an end.

“This is for your benefit. Just drop the title of hero that doesn’t suit you, return the holy sword, and go back to your hometown.”

She delivered her last piece of advice laced with minimal warmth.

“Go back and live a life farming; surely the goddess will rescind the hero mark she mistakenly granted.”

With those parting words, Brunhilde turned her back on Friet and left him.

In the same direction as Imelia and Irina, and Gunther.

That broke Friet’s heart.

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