The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?-Chapter 137: Ch136 Separated Unwillingly

The corridor was wrong.

Not in the obvious way.

Not broken. Not ruined. Not hostile.

Just... wrong.

It was too quiet.

Luther walked behind the lead guard, his hands free but his situation unmistakably not. Two guards flanked Elythra behind him, and he could feel another presence somewhere just outside his peripheral vision—close enough to react, far enough to avoid being obvious.

They were being escorted.

Not dragged.

Not threatened.

Escorted.

That almost made it worse. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

The chamber they moved through was dim, lit only by faint lines of green light threading through the stone walls like veins beneath pale skin. The air was cool and still, carrying a scent Luther couldn’t quite place. Not damp. Not dusty.

Old.

The floor beneath his boots hummed faintly with magic.

He noticed the runes first.

They were etched along the walls at regular intervals, intricate patterns spiraling outward from central glyphs he didn’t recognize. Some glowed softly. Others were dark, as though waiting to be activated.

Containment runes.

Barrier runes.

Detection arrays.

He didn’t need to understand them perfectly to know what they were designed for.

"...Comforting," he muttered under his breath.

The guard in front didn’t react.

Elythra had been silent since the prison cell.

Too silent.

Luther risked a glance back.

Her posture was still upright, but her steps were slower now. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. But he knew her well enough to see it.

Her movements were heavier.

Like she was walking against resistance.

She finally broke the silence.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked, voice controlled but edged with steel.

The lead guard didn’t even look back.

"Silence," he said flatly. "Continue walking."

Elythra’s jaw tightened.

Luther saw her fingers twitch slightly at her side—instinct reaching for a sword that was no longer there.

She knew better.

She also knew she couldn’t win here.

The tension in her shoulders was almost physical.

Then the demonic sword’s voice rang inside Luther’s head.

Her body is still adjusting.

Luther blinked.

Adjusting to what? he thought back.

The mana flow here, the sword replied casually. It’s different. Thicker. Older. It doesn’t move the way she’s used to. It’s pressing on her aura, forcing it to recalibrate.

Luther’s eyes flicked to Elythra again.

She looks fine, he argued mentally.

Looks are deceiving.

He frowned.

Then why am I fine?

The sword chuckled.

You’re weird.

Luther nearly choked.

Excuse me?

Weird, the sword repeated. Unsettling. Structurally questionable.

That is not an explanation.

It’s the only one you’re getting.

Luther clenched his jaw so hard he felt his teeth protest.

He almost said it aloud.

Almost.

But he remembered very quickly that he was surrounded by armed elves in a dim corridor full of glowing runes.

So instead—

He screamed internally.

THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER.

The sword immediately winced in his mind.

Stop that. You sound like an angry hen.

Luther’s eye twitched.

I am not an angry hen.

You are clucking aggressively.

I am asking reasonable questions.

Reasonable? the sword scoffed. You’re the only person in this corridor not being crushed by ancient mana density and your first thought is "why me?" That’s adorable.

Luther inhaled sharply through his nose.

Yes. Why me? Shouldn’t this be affecting me more? If this place is that old, that pure, shouldn’t it reject me? I’m human. Mortal. Allegedly normal.

The sword hummed.

Allegedly.

Luther ignored that.

Magic doesn’t reject you because it doesn’t need to, the sword continued. You don’t need a medium. You don’t pull on it. It flows to you. It likes you. It bends when you ask.

Luther frowned.

That’s not—

You’re a saint, the sword said bluntly. Or something adjacent to one. You don’t force mana into shape. It already wants to be shaped by you. So why would this place resist?

Luther’s steps faltered slightly.

Don’t call me that.

Call you what? Saint? Child of God? Walking anomaly?

Stop.

The sword laughed softly.

See? Angry hen.

Luther bit back the urge to physically grab the blade and throw it down the corridor.

He didn’t notice when the lead guard slowed.

He didn’t notice when the guard subtly gestured behind him.

He didn’t notice when the two flanking Elythra shifted their grip on their spears.

He was too busy mentally strangling a floating piece of ancient steel.

You’re avoiding the real issue, Luther snapped internally. Why are they separating us? Why the eerie hallway? Why the dramatic lighting?

Because this isn’t about her, the sword replied quietly.

Luther blinked.

That was when he heard it.

A sharp intake of breath behind him.

"—Sire!"

He spun.

Too late.

The two guards had crossed their spears in front of Elythra, stopping her mid-step. She staggered back slightly, surprise flashing across her face.

"What are you—?"

The lead guard in front of Luther stepped aside.

A massive door loomed ahead—carved from pale stone and etched with layered runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.

The sword’s voice sharpened.

Luther—

The door swung inward.

Two hands slammed into Luther’s back.

Hard.

He stumbled forward.

The door slammed shut in his face.

He heard Elythra shout his name—

"SIRE!"

—and then—

BOOM.

The sound reverberated through the chamber as the door sealed.

Locks engaged.

Runes flared.

Luther whirled around and lunged for the door just as the runes pulsed once—

And then the surface dissolved.

Mist swallowed the outline of the door.

The stone faded.

When the mist cleared—

There was nothing.

No door.

No guards.

No corridor.

Just smooth walls.

And silence.

Luther stood alone in the center of a wide chamber filled with faint green haze.

"...What," he said slowly, "the hell was that?"

His voice echoed.

No answer came.

He turned in a slow circle.

The room was circular, vast, the ceiling lost in shadow. Runes covered every surface, layered and overlapping in ways that made his eyes strain if he stared too long.

This wasn’t a prison cell.

This was something else.

"...You knew," he muttered.

The sword hovered near his shoulder.

Yes.

Luther glared at it.

"You could have warned me."

Would you have listened?

He hesitated.

"...No."

Exactly.

Luther exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"They separated us," he said quietly. "Why?"

Because this is about you, the sword replied.

The mist shifted.

The runes along the walls brightened.

Luther’s heart thudded once, hard.

"...Trial," he muttered.

Or confirmation, the sword corrected.

He turned slowly toward the center of the chamber.

The air thickened.

Magic gathered—not hostile, not attacking. Just watching.

Weighing.

Testing.

Luther swallowed.

If this is about whether I’m him, he thought quietly, what exactly are they expecting?

The sword didn’t answer.

Elsewhere.

In a high chamber bathed in pale light, the elven priest stood beside a semicircle of elders.

His golden eyes were fixed on the glowing surface of a circular scrying basin embedded into the floor. Within it, mist swirled—showing the chamber Luther now stood inside.

"He has been isolated," one elder said quietly.

"And the seal room has been activated," another added.

The priest’s expression was unreadable.

"If he is Yieli," he said softly, "the chamber will not harm him."

"And if he is not?" an elder asked.

The priest’s gaze darkened slightly.

"Then he will not survive it."

The elders fell silent.

Below, the mist within the basin shimmered, revealing Luther standing alone in the rune-covered chamber.

The priest watched him closely.

"If he is truly Yieli," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper—

"—he should be able to get out of this."