It had been three days since Ketron settled in at the inn.
The festival had also entered its third day, and the inn was relatively quiet during the afternoon. Unless someone had drunk too much the night before and was groaning until noon, most people were out enjoying the festivities.
Right now, thanks to the influx of tourists, revenue was decent—but after this? They’d need not only tourists but regular patrons coming and going.
Hmm. In the end, activating the dining hall and pub really is the only way forward.
After dropping off the ingredients in the kitchen, Eddie set them aside and instead began reheating the porridge he’d brought in a pot.
Although Ketron had accepted banana milk from Eddie, that had been the extent of it. Since then, he hadn’t stepped out of the room even once.
In other words, he hadn’t eaten a single proper meal.
In <The Hero Doesn’t Even Bother to Hide His Power>, Ketron had once gone over a week without sleeping, drinking water, or eating, relentlessly pushing forward.
Even while going through that excruciating march that tormented the readers just to read, he managed to defeat one of the Demon King’s generals. Though, to be fair, he’d fought alongside Augustine, who wielded divine power.
It might have been the most agonizing part of the novel to read. To make it worse, the setting was a desert.
Arthur had gone full troll mode there. Despite his companions’ protests, he chased after mirages claiming they were oases and ended up getting lost, or dropped the only water flask and wasted their drinking supply...
Usually, whenever something went wrong in that group, Arthur was the reason.
Well, it made sense. He was a typical cliché character—jealous and resentful of Ketron, but eventually accepted as a comrade.
He didn’t have much actual skill, but he was quick-witted and filled the comic relief slot in the party.
Maybe all that trolling was part of the author’s grand plan for the ending.
Of course, that doesn’t mean the ending was forgiven.
[WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I TOLD YOU TO DROP ARTHUR AGES AGO!!!]
That dying scream left in the review section still stuck with him, hmm.
While Eddie was lost in those thoughts, all the different porridges had finished warming up. Carefully placing them on a tray, he headed toward Ketron’s room.
Perhaps due to the savory and unfamiliar scent, a few guests on the first floor sniffed the air and looked Eddie’s way, but since this wasn’t a dish for the menu just yet, Eddie ignored their stares and climbed the stairs.
Technically, it was the room next to Eddie’s own, so he passed by it frequently—but the tightly shut door felt as though it had become its own isolated world, completely sealed off from the hallway.
As a formality, Eddie knocked on the door first.
Then, without waiting for a response, he opened it right away. That was the extent of his manners.
Ketron, still in the exact same posture as two days ago, his head tilted toward the bed, suddenly snapped his eyes open.
“Did you sleep well?”
Eddie greeted cheerfully.
“……”
Though he was technically indebted to Eddie, Ketron looked baffled at the blatant intrusion of his space.
What Eddie didn’t know was that, every time Ketron’s consciousness began to drift into the abyss, Eddie would appear with ghostly timing to yank him back. Just like now.
Of course, Eddie had no idea. He simply picked up the tray again and entered the room naturally.
“Ugh, it’s heavy.”
It really wasn’t, but Eddie exaggerated anyway as he set the tray down in front of Ketron. From the three bowls of steaming porridge, a delicious savory scent wafted up.
Not sure what you’d like, so I brought one of each, or something like that?
If only there had been a small table. But since there wasn’t, Eddie carefully lifted one hot bowl and scooped out a spoonful, bringing it near Ketron’s mouth.
“This is called porridge. The rice grains are ground really fine, so it’s easy to eat. Try it.”
Even after days without food, porridge should be easy to handle. But despite the aromatic abalone gut porridge right in front of him, Ketron merely twitched his brow without opening his mouth.
“You don’t like it? It may look like this, but it tastes really nutty and rich.”
Eddie knew the problem wasn’t taste. From Ketron’s point of view, this innkeeper’s behavior must seem inexplicable.
But Eddie had already learned that acting shamelessly like this worked best on Ketron.
“Hm, if you don’t like that, how about this?”
This time he brought a spoonful of beef porridge instead of abalone, holding it up to Ketron’s lips. But still, his mouth didn’t open.
Beef porridge was usually a safer bet for most people’s tastes... Eddie tried a few more times in vain, but Ketron's lips remained firmly sealed, denying entry.
“Hmph.”
Eventually, the beef porridge returned to the tray. Ketron stared at Eddie with wary eyes—his expression made it look like he was outright glaring.
But Eddie understood. That expression had led to countless misunderstandings and awkward moments for Ketron throughout the novel.
To Eddie, Ketron looked just like—
A cautious cat.
Of course, if someone said, “What kind of cat is this big?” he wouldn’t have had much of a rebuttal.
A leopard, a jaguar, a tiger... Sure, those came to mind, too. But somehow, this wounded beast just looked like a cat to Eddie.
“Guess you’re a baby who only likes sweet things.”
The last bowl was pumpkin porridge. Unlike the previous ones, it was a vivid orange and had a sweet aroma. As soon as Eddie brought it up close, Ketron—unable to resist—finally opened his mouth.
“...What do you think you’re doing.”
“Hm? I’m feeding you.”
Eddie tilted his head like he was the normal one here, as if Ketron was the weird one.
“You keep refusing food, so I had no choice.”
But this time, Ketron wasn’t fazed. Sure, a few days ago he’d accidentally drunk the banana milk out of surprise, but this time he had no intention of letting this man control the pace.
“I never said I wanted it.”
Ketron said this with extreme caution, his eyes darting at the spoon near his mouth, clearly afraid it would just be shoved in like the banana milk had been. Eddie chuckled at that glance.
“You stink.”
“…!”
At the unexpected jab, Ketron’s black eyes widened. Before he could recover from the shock, Eddie continued.
“I like things clean. My inn’s guests have to be clean. I’m feeding you because I’m afraid you’ll faint if you bathe on an empty stomach. Eat this, then go wash up.”
After you wash, let me take a look at your wounds too, okay?
With that, Eddie brought the spoon of porridge back up to Ketron’s mouth.
You stink. Go wash. Eat, then wash.
The shocking triple attack left Ketron mentally shredded.
To be fair, his appearance was rough. “Disheveled” would’ve been an understatement—he could’ve gone shoulder to shoulder with a hobo and no one would blink.
Unable to believe his comrades’ betrayal until he saw it with his own eyes, he had crossed the desert, sold everything valuable he owned, and repeatedly used teleportation just to reach the Empire.
He hadn’t had the time or presence of mind to clean up. Even though it had been three days since arriving at the inn, he hadn’t budged from the same spot, sitting like a statue.
Of course, Ketron wasn’t normally unhygienic. In fact, for the time period, he was unusually clean. But given the circumstances, he had no choice but to look like this—and no amount of explanation would make that sound like anything but an excuse.
Which felt... unfair.
Once again, the pumpkin porridge hovered in front of his mouth.
“Eat up so you can go wash.”
As Eddie landed the final blow with another wash-up reminder, Ketron’s lips finally opened, defeated.
The porridge was still hot, so Eddie carefully fed him a small spoonful. Ketron mechanically accepted it, then reflexively chewed—and suddenly widened his eyes again.
“How is it?”
The reaction was exactly the same as with the banana milk. But unlike before, Ketron quickly regained his composure and didn’t utter the word “sweet.”
It was a shame not to hear that adorably innocent word, but the way he nibbled the pumpkin porridge like a baby bird had its own kind of charm, and Eddie smiled to himself.
Honestly, after one or two spoonfuls, he could’ve just taken the bowl and fed himself. His hands weren’t injured or anything. But for some reason, neither of them considered that option.
It wasn’t a large portion, so the bowl emptied quickly.
“Now go wash up, baby.”
At those words, Ketron sprang to his feet, as if he’d been waiting for the signal. The “you stink” comment had lingered in his mind, and he’d been distracted while scarfing the food down.
Until just moments ago, he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed how gross he felt. But now his unwashed body, unbathed for weeks, felt unbearably itchy. Eddie’s comment had been an exaggeration, but in this moment, that didn’t really matter.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the annoying nickname.
“I’m not a baby.”
“Oh? Then what should I call you?”
Eddie’s face remained relaxed, clearly expecting Ketron to provide a new name to use.
“……”
Ever since he’d become famous, Ketron had made every effort to keep his identity as the Hero of the Sacred Sword a secret. He wore his hood low and avoided giving his name whenever possible.
Of course, his massive sword, height, muscular build, and natural intimidation made it hard to hide.
He instinctively almost stayed silent again—but then realized most people had already forgotten his name. Slowly, he opened his mouth.
“...Ketron.”
“Aha. That’s a pretty name.”
Eddie genuinely sounded like he’d never heard it before. Most people would probably react that way now. As that reality settled in again, Ketron’s face darkened slightly.
“Then go wash up, Ket.”
At the strange nickname, Ketron’s eyebrow twitched.