Chapter 144: Roland, We Adore You!

“Miss Eina, are you alright?”

Eina had yet to recover from the recent ordeal. Overwhelmed by the shocking turn of events, she even forgot to offer her gratitude.

However, being a hero in Orario had one distinct advantage: practical adventurers were not so naive as to believe that heroes had an obligation to rescue them. In the face of such despicable scum, there wasn't a single person even inclined to speak up on their behalf.

She simply froze, momentarily stunned by the stark contrast between Roland’s current demeanor and his previous image.

“No, I’m fine, Roland. Thanks to you.”

In contrast to Eina’s reserved expression of gratitude, Bell on the other side was far more enthusiastic.

“Thank you, Lord Sword Hero!”

Despite having witnessed such a bloody spectacle, the rabbit-like white-haired boy displayed far more awe and aspiration than fear or despair. Looking at Roland, Bell’s face was filled with a look of profound appreciation.

“It was just a trivial effort. Besides, I’ve seen plenty of this sort of thing along the way.”

Roland shrugged, entirely unconcerned with Bell’s gratitude. After all, rescuing the original protagonist was merely a matter of convenience to begin with.

“Even if it was just a trivial matter to you, there is nothing more magnificent than this in my eyes!”

Bell looked at Roland earnestly, hesitating for a moment before bowing to him with utmost sincerity.

“If I ever get the chance in the future, I will do everything in my power to repay you!”

The sincere and earnest expression on his face was unmistakably genuine. Though he looked no different than before, Bell’s eyes were practically sparkling.

This attitude made Roland feel somewhat subtle. After all, had he not disrupted the flow of events, this protagonist’s circumstances would likely be vastly different. Yet now, he seemed to have usurped the role of Bell’s mentor and guide?

Roland nodded slightly, forgoing any further chatter. He led the survivors out of the tavern, where outside stood squads of survivors holding various weapons and wearing diverse attire—clearly the harvest of Roland’s previous rescue operations.

Amidst this apocalyptic catastrophe, even the most cold-hearted individuals could not help but be moved. So many people had been transformed into irreversible monsters, rendering distinctions of status, race, and even Familia utterly meaningless.

Only power—only the strong—retained the qualifications to reclaim everything.

Without needing anyone’s guidance, those lacking power naturally knew how to survive a little better.

The survivors’ gazes drifted unconsciously toward Roland.

Having been trapped inside buildings, forced to watch helplessly as zombies infected their unfortunate peers while waiting in vain for official rescue, many of them had finally awakened.

Comrades could not be relied upon, and the blessings bestowed by the gods might vanish at the next moment. Yet Roland, who possessed power even without the divine grace, who could work miracles and had genuinely pulled them from the depths of despair, had become the sole dawn in the hearts of these survivors.

Even without communication, and without Roland making a single declarative statement, he was elevated to the very pinnacle of the pyramid of status, surpassing even the gods themselves.

Roland opportunistically leaped onto the tavern’s signboard, looking down upon everything beneath his feet. He could clearly read the aura emanating from the burning souls of those around him.

Adoration, reverence, dependency.

Faced with human malice—which could cause disasters far more terrifying than this virus behind closed doors—they unhesitatingly offered their devotion.

Roland felt a strange urge to laugh.

And so, he spoke.

“I once heard that humans are like flocks of pigeons. The moment one flies to the right, the rest will blindly follow to the right, regardless of whether the path ahead leads to an abyss or a storm, because the vast majority of people simply lack the courage and capacity to bear responsibility.”

“How similar are you all right now to a flock of pigeons?”

Roland’s biting words pierced straight to the core of the survivors’ nature. Yet facing the hero who had just saved them, though their hearts ached, aside from flushed faces, not a single person could utter a word of rebuttal.

“However, this is by no means a bad thing.”

Suddenly, Roland shifted his tone, softening his voice.

“A king has a king’s talent, and a chef has a chef’s talent. Being able to recognize one’s own limits is never a bad thing. It is precisely because of this that various races can unite, reclaim their lands, and construct the Tower of Babel to launch a counteroffensive against the Dungeon.”

Roland’s words carried an uncanny and distinct infectious power.

“When all is said and done, everyone strives to overcome anxiety and fear simply to live in peace of mind! Whether striving for fame and fortune, dominating others, or earning money, it is all for peace of mind! Marriage and making friends are likewise for peace of mind! Striving for peace is ultimately just finding an excuse for one’s own peace of mind!”

“That being the case, what is wrong with being a pigeon in the flock?”

Roland swept his gaze across the entire area, fixing his eyes on those bewildered pupils.

“You should all understand that I have no obligation to be a savior, nor is there any reason for me to save everyone. The only thing I can guarantee is that those willing to follow me will be granted eternal peace of mind.”

“And now, I have a question for you. Whether you agree with my philosophy or not, citizens whom I have saved—did you see it?”

“Did you witness my battle against the horde of corpses that even the strongest adventurers in this city feared? Did you see the power possessed by one crowned with the name of hero?”

As Roland’s voice trailed off, a slightly fierce expression surfaced on the faces of every armed survivor.

It was neither fear nor anxiety, but rather a reflected glory born of immense joy.

The atmosphere among the survivors clustered around Roland was intensely heated, their gazes filled with fanaticism.

“We saw it! The hero lord humiliated the corpse horde! The Sword Hero is invincible under the heavens!”

“Invincible under the heavens!”

In less than half an hour, Roland carved a path back and forth along the main thoroughfare where the majority of Orario’s population gathered, rescuing all the survivors still struggling to survive while spearheading the way for them.

Naturally, he could not attend to every single detail. Though the main force of the regrouped corpse horde was intercepted by him alone, there were always some deeply hidden stragglers that caused regrettable casualties.

Of course, these costs were entirely negligible in the eyes of the remaining survivors.

Compared to the despair of waiting to die inside dilapidated buildings, the ability to find a new pillar of support caused them to subconsciously overlook those trivial sacrifices.

They saw hope for survival in this hell, and thus cast an immensely fervent adoration upon the embodiment of that hope.

“That is enough. In that case, I have no desire to waste any more breath. Those who decide to follow me shall no longer raise senseless questions regarding my decisions. There are no distinctions of Familia here, nor are there any ruling deities. Here, there is only me—your Sword Hero!”

Roland raised his voice even higher.

“And any catastrophe or enemy attempting to seize what is mine—be it the Dungeon or other Familias—I will crush them to dust. All you need to do is give full play to your talents and contribute to me. As for those who died because they rejected me, I shall feel pity for them, but I will feel no sorrow.”

“Because I do not need any self-righteous fools to challenge my authority. Those who refuse to obey me may get lost right now.”

Roland fell silent for a moment, locking eyes with the crowd below. Only after hearing no extraneous sounds did he nod with satisfaction.

“Very well.”

Roland wore a gentle smile, turning language into a weapon that stirred the hearts of men.

“Then, before marching toward the Tower of Babel, before the battles begin, puff out your chests with pride! Those of you who have survived this catastrophe until now—whether you secured your survival through wisdom and courage, or simply through sheer luck—until this very moment, you are the best living proof that hope and miracles exist.”

Roland raised his head, pointing a finger toward the crowd as he spoke.

“My friends, you are the true heroes!”

The flames of fanaticism pushed the fervent personality cult to its ultimate climax.

“Lord Roland! We adore you!”

Waves of frantic cheers followed one after another, quickly attracting the remnants of the corpse horde. Yet despite their instinctive fear of the horde, not a single survivor in the crowd moved their feet to run.

They simply watched quietly as the horde descended, gazing upon the omnipotent savior as he raised the holy sword in his hand.

Adventurers, ordinary citizens, and visiting merchants alike completely lost their reason, bursting into thunderous cheers.

They cheered the name of the hero, celebrating this feat and great achievement—rescuing all the survivors from the very heart of the corpse horde with his bare hands.

They applauded and celebrated this singular, peerless achievement.

Without anyone reminding him, Roland could feel the surging pulse of a sense of accomplishment deep within his heart.

Another encrypted word had been inadvertently unlocked.

One born to be a ruler should naturally grasp everything in their hands, basking in praise and glory.

The grand achievement required to advance to Level 3 had thus been accomplished.

Roland swung the Ester in his hand.

“Clang—!”

The brilliant radiance robbed the world of all its colors.

The dazzling sword beam tore straight ahead, piercing through both the space before him and the corpse horde alike. The boundless magical power contained within it churned the atmosphere into shattered shockwaves. Zombies on the periphery of the sword light were left with severed limbs, but those facing the center were reduced to empty nothingness.

Even the sun in the sky paled in comparison.

The silvery-white sword beam transformed into the purest, most solemn judgment, akin to divine retribution, slicing apart all despair.

Like galloping thunder, like a fleeting flash of light.

“Secret Emperor? No, I should by no means belong merely to an emperor of the dark.”

Roland smiled.

He could be a hero, he could be a demon, he could even be a savior, but in the very end, he had to become the eternal emperor of his own kingdom.