The Otome Heroine's Fight for Survival: Volume 3 [Parts 1 to 2] by Harunohi Biyori

Author:Harunohi Biyori
Language: eng
Format: epub

Where It All Began

“Nostalgic,” I murmured quietly under my breath as I gazed upon the small town visible from the road.

I’d been wandering from place to place since my battle against the Assassins’ Guild and had finally returned to the town with the orphanage I’d grown up in, two and a half years after my departure. This didn’t really feel like coming home—to me, the Barony of Horus had never been a home. And though I was fairly certain I’d been born somewhere in this barony, I couldn’t even remember the town or house where I’d lived with my family as a young child.

A lot had happened to me in this town, and I didn’t have fond memories of any of it. I’d barely ever set foot outside of the orphanage, and I didn’t really know any locals either. So why was I passing through this town? I didn’t know. The only answer I had was “because.”

I made small talk at a stall selling baked goods (not very tasty ones, but filling, at least) and learned that after the old hag was gone, a priest of Krus ethnicity had taken over as manager of the orphanage. Improvements had also been made to both the environment and the lives of the children. That priest had retired several months ago, and while waiting for a new manager to be assigned by the local lord, the townspeople had been taking turns caring for the orphans.

“So y’see, lassie, the whole neighborhood’s good to the kids,” the man at the stall boasted, as though they were saints looking after the poor unfortunate orphans.

“Huh...” I said noncommittally. I knew all about how they’d once turned a blind eye to the abuse the children had gone through back in the day.

“Come again!” he chirped.

I didn’t respond.

It wasn’t that I was particularly concerned about the orphans. I was merely a little curious about the state of the orphanage since my departure, that was all.

My memories were vague, and so I got a bit lost but eventually did arrive at the not-at-all nostalgic orphanage without any issue. I still remembered vividly how very cold the earthen floors were on winter nights like tonight—despite the generally warm Claydale weather. We’d go to sleep with no decent meals and only thin blankets to cover ourselves with.

Peering into the orphanage from the street, I noticed the children now looked a bit cleaner and healthier. Their faces, however, were still listless as they did laundry and cleaned the yard. And then, from the alley leading to the orphanage’s back gate, I faintly heard the voices of a man and woman arguing.

“C’mon, gimme some food!” the man’s voice said.

“P-Please stop,” the woman’s voice replied.

Curious, I quietly looked over and saw a young man in dirty clothes, one who’d probably just reached adulthood. He had a knife at his waist and was harassing a girl from the orphanage.

“If I give you this, the little ones won’t have anything to eat—” the girl tried to plead.

“Say

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