Chapter 27 _ The Name That Was Inherited, or the Man Once Called “Roger”
On every other day when my waste-collection job was off,
I kept returning to the slums.
But no matter how many times I went,
I failed to persuade Wilfred.
“No matter how often you come, it’s pointless.”
“Can you at least tell me why?”
“…Go home.”
That exchange repeated endlessly.
Defeated, I made my way back.
“I’m back.”
“Welcome home. …Judging by your face, it didn’t go well again,” Frey said.
“I can’t find any opening,” I replied.
“I don’t even know why he refuses to join us.”
Frey crossed her arms and closed her eyes, thinking.
“Hmmm… I see…”
After a long pause, she opened them and looked straight at me.
“But is there not only one way left for you?”
“One way?”
“When it was me, and when it was Iris,” she said gently,
“you did not calculate anything, did you?”
“You simply acted—clumsy, stubborn, muddy, even.”
“But it was precisely because you cried for us,
because you struggled so earnestly,
that our hearts were moved.”
I closed my eyes and reflected on everything so far.
“…You’re right.”
“My way has always been like that.”
“Then go,” Frey said with a small nod.
“Since you cannot hear the answer from Wilfred himself,
you must hear it from others.”
“I will.”
I stood up.
“It’s still early.
I’ll gather information.”
“By the way,” I asked,
“aren’t you going to the Guild with Iris today?”
“She said it was her mother’s death anniversary,” Frey replied.
“She went to visit the grave and report many things.”
“…I didn’t know.”
“You did not ask,” Frey said with a soft smile.
“And that was wise.”
“For girls, timing is everything.”
The person who came to mind first
was someone I had met before.
So I waited for him at the Adventurers’ Guild.
And as evening approached—
there he was.
A slender man with a sharp gaze,
his posture betraying inner strength.
“Ah—Hans! Do you have a moment?”
“Hm? Oh, you’re the one who was looking for Wilfred.”
I bowed slightly.
“Thank you for the information last time.
Because of you, I was able to meet Roger.”
Hans stroked his chin, impressed.
“Roger!?
Well I’ll be damned.
You don’t look it, but you’re something else.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Roger—no, Wilfred,” Hans corrected.
“He rarely reveals that name himself.”
“He’s the man called the Sword Saint.
Of course adventurers try to recruit him constantly.”
“That’s why he uses an alias.”
“I’ve had dozens come asking about Wilfred,
but you might be the first to reach ‘Roger.’”
“…So you knew Roger was Wilfred?”
“Of course. He’s my boyfriend.”
“…Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.
Standing around is boring—come have a drink.”
We sat down at the Guild’s bar.
“I’ll at least cover the ale,” I said.
“Oh? Then I’ll take you up on that.”
Hans downed the mug in one go.
Then another.
And another.
It was like his stomach had no bottom.
After three mugs, his cheeks flushed slightly—
perfect timing.
“So… since you’re his partner,” I said carefully,
“could you tell me why he won’t join a party anymore?”
Hans leaned back, relaxed.
“Hmm… depends how much you already know.”
“Do you know what Wilfred did before he was recruited
as captain of the royal guard?”
“No… nothing.”
“He was one of the most famous treasure hunters in this Guild.”
“Then one day, he quit.”
“Any idea why?”
I shook my head.
“…Me neither,” Hans said with a grin.
“He never told me.
Looks like he wants to forget it.”
“So I don’t force him to talk.”
Then Hans tilted his head.
“But how did you figure out Roger was Wilfred?”
“I followed your advice and asked around the black market,” I replied.
“After a job, Roger showed up and said it himself.”
“‘I’m Wilfred.’”
Hans blinked in surprise.
“…Huh.
That does happen sometimes.”
He studied my face.
“Come to think of it… you remind me of Roger.”
“…Me?”
“Not Wilfred.
The original Roger.”
“I don’t follow.”
Hans sighed, his expression darkening.
“The man who used to party with Wilfred.
His name was Roger.
Roger Brown, I think.”
“What happened to him?”
Hans stared at his empty mug.
“He died.”
“And right after that,
Wilfred quit treasure hunting.”
“He stopped coming to the Guild entirely.”
It hit me then.
Why that huge man called himself “Roger.”
Why he worked in the shadows, hauling corpses—
a job no one wanted.
It wasn’t escape.
It was mourning.
And punishment.
“One more thing,” I asked.
“You met Wilfred in the royal guard, right?
How did you know about his past?”
“He was famous,” Hans replied.
“Roger was, I mean.”
“Wilfred’s treasure-hunting party
was the strongest in the country.”
“Everyone knew the name,
even if they didn’t know the face.”
“…Then why do you think he uses the name Roger?”
“Ask him yourself,” Hans said flatly.
“That’s none of my business.”
As I stood to leave,
a strange sensation crept up my spine.
“…By the way,” I added,
“are you only interested in men?”
Hans laughed.
“Relax. I’m a bottom.”
“And I like strong men—
men like Fred—no, Wilfred.”
“I’m not interested in you.”
His laughter echoed behind me
as I left the bar.
The past Wilfred had discarded.
And the pride he continued to protect
under the name “Roger.”
If I could touch that core—
then surely,
he would become the shield we needed.
