The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?-Chapter 142: Ch141 Another Statue

Darkness.

Thicker than water.

An Absolute entity engulfed the room.

Luther stood still for several seconds after the door sealed behind him, letting his eyes adjust.

They didn’t.

"...You cannot be serious."

The demonic sword hovered lazily beside him.

You say that often.

"I mean it more each time."

His boots shifted against stone.

Enclosed. No wind. No visible ceiling. The air was dense, soaked in magic and something softer beneath it.

His gaze lifted.

And there it was.

He froze.

"...Oh, come on."

The sword followed his line of sight.

Ah.

A statue.

Tall, carved in flawless detail.

His face.

Yieli’s face.

Luther dragged a hand down his face slowly.

"They come in copies now?"

This makes three.

"I am aware it makes three."

Garden. Temple door. And now this.

He pointed upward in irritation.

"Do they not believe in variety?"

Perhaps you are simply very marketable.

"I am not a commemorative figurine."

You are clearly a collectible.

Luther shot it a flat look.

"Why are they never in normal places?"

Because nothing here is normal.

He gestured vaguely at the dark enclosure.

"One was hidden behind illusion magic in a sacred garden. One was guarding a temple door with a delusional angel attached to it. And now this one—"

He stepped closer.

"—is shoved into a pitch-black magic well."

The sword tilted slightly.

It does not appear shoved.

Luther stopped.

"...Don’t defend it."

He looked up properly now.

And his irritation faltered.

Because this statue—

Was different.

The others had stood tall.

Heroic.

Chin lifted, sword ready, eyes forward like some eternal defender carved for worship.

This one—

Was sitting.

Not upon a throne.

But upon stone shaped like intertwined roots.

One hand rested loosely at its side. The other held a small cluster of carved blossoms.

A flower crown rested atop his head.

And instead of solemn dignity—

He was smiling.

Not triumphant.

Not commanding.

Joyful.

Soft.

Almost—

Carefree.

Luther stared at it for a long moment.

"...What is this supposed to be?"

The sword hummed.

It appears... at peace.

Luther folded his arms.

"At peace?"

The statue’s expression held warmth.

The kind of warmth that felt terribly out of place in this suffocating dark.

"This is inaccurate," Luther muttered.

In what way?

"I do not look like that."

The sword drifted closer.

You did not always look as you do now.

His jaw tightened faintly.

"Don’t start."

I merely observe.

He looked away from the statue, irritation rising again because he didn’t like the direction of that thought.

"Of course they’d carve the cheerful version."

It is well-crafted.

"I did not ask for commentary."

He turned, intending to search the rest of the chamber—

And paused.

"...What is that?"

A faint white glow flickered several steps away.

Dim.

Soft.

Almost shy.

He narrowed his eyes.

"That was not there before."

It was.

"You’re unhelpful."

He walked toward it carefully.

The darkness shifted slightly as he moved.

The glow became clearer.

An enclosed white flower.

Its petals tightly folded.

Encased in a delicate ring of rune-carved stone.

Luther stopped in front of it.

"...That is suspicious."

It does not feel hostile.

"Neither did the smiling angel."

Fair point.

He crouched slightly.

The flower was beautiful, even in its closed state.

White as snow.

Edges faintly luminescent.

He hesitated.

Then extended his hand.

The moment his fingers brushed the air near it—

The flower bloomed.

Petals unfurling in a soft, silent ripple.

Light spilled outward instantly.

Luther jerked back slightly.

"...Oh."

The glow expanded rapidly from the blossom like ripples across water.

And then—

More lights flickered.

Around him.

Above him.

Along the unseen walls.

More flowers began to bloom.

One by one.

Then dozens.

Then hundreds.

White petals opening like stars igniting in a night sky.

The darkness peeled back in layers.

Revealing—

Not a cavern.

Not a magic well.

But a garden.

Enclosed, yes.

But alive.

Vines climbed along stone pillars.

Soft grass carpeted the ground beneath his boots.

Clusters of luminous white flowers spread outward in natural arcs. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Above him, faint light filtered through an unseen ceiling like moonlight through glass.

Golden motes drifted lazily in the air.

Luther straightened slowly.

"...You have got to be kidding me."

The sword was quiet for once.

He turned in a slow circle.

It was beautiful.

Not the intimidating sacred kind.

Not the overwhelming divine kind.

Gentle.

Peaceful.

Like a place meant for breathing.

"...They hid this behind a magic corridor and a dramatic door?"

Of course they did.

He exhaled slowly.

The statue now stood illuminated properly in the garden’s glow.

The flower crown glimmered faintly.

The joyful expression seemed more alive in this light.

"This is absurd," Luther muttered.

He stepped closer to the statue again, this time noticing details he couldn’t see before.

The carved flowers weren’t random.

They were the same species as the ones blooming around him.

You see it now.

"I see that someone committed fully to a theme."

You are deflecting.

"I am not."

You are uncomfortable.

He glared at the sword.

"Silence."

Soft giggling interrupted them.

Luther froze.

"...Did you hear that?"

Yes.

It was not threatening.

It was—

Playful.

More golden lights drifted closer.

They weren’t random motes.

They pulsed.

Glowed brighter when near him.

And then—

One brushed against his shoulder.

Luther’s breath caught.

"...You."

The sword tilted.

You recognize them?

"Yes."

The lights swirled gently around him.

The same golden motes that had guided him through corridors before.

That had hovered at crossroads.

That had lingered when he stood uncertain.

"You little traitors."

The lights flickered.

If they were capable of offense, they showed none.

"They led you."

"Yes, I noticed."

They did not mislead.

He exhaled slowly.

"...Is this where you rest?"

The fireflies drifted upward toward the flowers.

Settling briefly before lifting again in lazy arcs.

Like children returning home.

The giggling echoed faintly again.

And for the first time—

Luther didn’t feel watched.

He felt—

Welcomed.

He scowled immediately.

"I do not accept this."

The sword hummed faintly.

You are smiling.

"I am not."

You are.

He straightened sharply.

"I am evaluating."

He glanced once more at the statue.

The flower crown.

The relaxed posture.

The absence of battle.

"...Why carve this version?"

Because it mattered.

His jaw tightened.

"...To who?"

The garden did not answer.

But the fireflies circled him once more.

And the statue’s joyful expression seemed almost—

Proud.

He stepped back.

"This is ridiculous."

You have faced demons, angels, monsters.

"Yes."

And this unsettles you more.

"Yes."

He folded his arms.

"I do not appreciate emotional architecture."

It appreciates you.

He gave the sword a long look.

"I will throw you in a pond."

You will miss.

A deep rumble interrupted them.

Luther stiffened instantly.

The garden lights flickered softly.

He turned sharply.

The massive door behind him—

Was opening.

Stone grinding low and heavy.

Golden light spilled through the widening gap.

He narrowed his eyes.

"...Finally."

The fireflies drifted aside.

The door opened fully.

And there—

Standing just beyond the threshold—

Elythra.

Eyes wide.

Breathing uneven.

Relief and awe colliding across her expression.

Behind her stood the priest.

Older than most.

White robes embroidered with ancient silver patterns.

Calm gaze.

Measured posture.

He stepped forward first.

The garden light illuminated his features.

He regarded Luther not with shock—

But with quiet understanding.

Luther crossed his arms.

"...Took you long enough."

The priest’s lips curved faintly.

"You walk a path few are permitted to tread."

"I did not apply."

A flicker of amusement passed through the priest’s eyes.

Elythra stepped forward slightly.

"You... you reached it."

"So it seems."

The priest inclined his head respectfully.

"Few have ever stood within the Inner Bloom."

Luther glanced around once.

"...You named it that?"

The priest nodded.

"It is where the forest remembers."

Luther looked back at the statue.

Then at the flowers.

Then at the fireflies drifting lazily overhead.

"...Of course it is."

The priest stepped fully into the garden.

The fireflies did not retreat from him.

They simply shimmered brighter.

He stopped several paces from Luther.

Then placed one hand over his chest in formal greeting.

"My name," he said calmly,

"is High Priest Caelith Arvandor."

Silence settled gently in the blooming garden.

Caelith smirked.

"And it seems we have a lot to talk about...."

"Sir... Yieli."

Luther frowned.

He hated that name.