Chapter 9: THE FIRST WAVE
The dimensional rift hung above the farmlands like a wound in the sky — raw red edges bleeding light that hurt to look at directly. The anime had depicted this moment as dramatic spectacle: sweeping camera angles, orchestral music swelling, Heroes striking poses of determination.
Reality was worse.
The smell hit first. Ozone and decay, dimensional rot seeping through a membrane that shouldn't have torn. Then the sound: not the screaming glass of the initial rupture, but something lower. A subsonic rumbling that Jiro felt in his teeth and chest and the base of his skull.
The teleportation deposited all four Heroes near the rift's epicenter. Jiro materialized beside Raphtalia — the party system kept them together — while Ren, Motoyasu, and Itsuki appeared in a loose cluster thirty meters away.
"Shield Hero." Ren's voice cut through the chaos, his sword already drawn. "Try to stay out of the way."
No coordination. No tactical discussion. The Sword Hero was already moving toward the rift, Motoyasu and Itsuki spreading to flank positions that served their individual kill counts rather than any collective strategy.
Same as the show, Jiro noted. They're competing for glory, not working together.
The monsters emerged in waves. Interdimensional horrors that the anime had rendered as manageable combat encounters — chitin-armored insects the size of horses, corrupted beasts with too many limbs, smaller swarming creatures that moved in coordinated packs. The reality was louder, faster, more overwhelming than any screen had conveyed.
"Raphtalia, left flank! Keep them off the soldiers!"
She was already moving, her sword cutting through the first wave of swarming creatures with efficiency that vindicated every hour of training. Jiro raised his shield and braced as a beetle-monster slammed into his position — the impact jarring his shoulder despite the Legendary Shield's damage mitigation.
Behind them, Melromarc's army formed defensive lines. Pikemen and archers, knights and mages, all struggling against enemies that ignored conventional military tactics. Soldiers screamed as monsters broke through gaps. Others fell back in organized retreats that dissolved into panicked flight.
Jiro tanked another charge, deflecting the beetle-monster's mandibles, then made a decision.
"I'm distributing supplies!" he shouted to Raphtalia. "Cover me!"
He pulled the first cache of Cauldron products from his inventory — healing potions, stamina compounds, the resistance mixture that would help against the monsters' acidic secretions. The nearest soldiers stared at him with confusion and desperation.
"Drink these! Healing and resistance! Pass them along the line!"
A sergeant grabbed the first vial, examined it for half a second, then downed the contents without question. His wounds — deep gouges from a creature's claws — began closing visibly. He grabbed three more vials and started passing them to his squad.
"Shield Hero's distributing potions! Take what he offers!"
The word spread faster than Jiro could physically distribute supplies. Soldiers fought their way toward his position, accepted vials with desperate gratitude, and returned to combat with renewed strength. The Cauldron products weren't miraculous — they were exactly what any competent alchemist could have produced — but they were distributed at the moment of need by the only Hero not chasing personal glory.
Goodwill investment, Jiro calculated even as he tanked another attack. These soldiers will remember who helped them when no one else did.
The Wave boss emerged two hours into the battle.
Jiro spotted it through the chaos: a massive chimera-type creature, easily three stories tall, with multiple heads and limbs that seemed to shift configuration as it moved. The anime had depicted this moment as a dramatic entrance — roar, earth-shaking footsteps, Heroes converging for the climax.
Reality was messier. The boss didn't announce itself. It simply appeared in the midst of the fighting, crushing soldiers who'd thought themselves behind safe lines, opening a new front that the army's formation couldn't adapt to quickly enough.
Ren reached it first, his sword blazing with skill enhancement. Motoyasu followed, spear techniques leaving trails of light. Itsuki positioned for ranged support, arrows streaking toward the chimera's multiple eyes.
Jiro watched the boss's movement patterns and recognized the setup from episodes he'd studied obsessively in another life. The creature was winding up for something — its primary heads orienting, its mass shifting to specific positions.
Phase transition, he identified. The transformation attack that caught the soldiers off-guard in the show.
"Back line, phase shift NOW!"
His shout cut through the combat noise. Raphtalia reacted instantly, diving away from her current engagement. The soldiers near his position — the ones he'd been supplying, the ones who'd learned to trust his strange potions — pulled back without question.
The chimera transformed.
Its body rippled, reconfigured, became something with more legs and fewer heads but vastly increased speed. The attack that followed swept through the space where the back line had been standing — would have killed a dozen soldiers, would have crippled Raphtalia's support position.
Instead, the transformed chimera struck empty ground.
Ren's head turned. His calculating eyes found Jiro across the battlefield, and Jiro saw the question forming: How did you know?
No time to address it. The chimera was already recovering, already turning toward the Heroes who'd survived its transformation surprise. Jiro charged into position, shield raised to draw its attention.
"I'll tank! Focus attacks on the left flank — it's weaker after transformation!"
The other Heroes didn't listen. They never listened to the Shield Hero. But Raphtalia was already moving, her sword finding the weak point Jiro had identified, driving a deep strike into the chimera's restructured side.
The creature screamed — a sound that harmonized with the dimensional rift's ongoing violation of reality — and turned toward the new threat. Jiro intercepted, his shield absorbing an impact that would have shattered normal equipment.
Trust the patterns, he reminded himself. The anime was accurate about combat mechanics. The boss has three phases. This is phase two.
The battle lasted another hour.
Phase three involved an area attack that Jiro warned about seconds before activation — another prediction that drew Ren's attention, another data point in the growing file of the Shield Hero's impossible foreknowledge. Raphtalia pulled injured soldiers clear while Jiro tanked the blast, his shield's defensive abilities pushed to limits that left his arm numb and his vision blurred.
The kill credit went to all four Heroes simultaneously — a combined assault that landed during the chimera's recovery window. Motoyasu claimed the glory loudly, Itsuki accepted congratulations modestly, Ren stood apart analyzing what had happened. Jiro distributed his remaining healing supplies to the wounded and watched the dimensional rift seal itself with a sound like glass reforming from shards.
"Shield Hero-sama."
Raphtalia's voice pulled him from exhaustion-dulled observation. She stood beside him, her sword sheathed, her body marked with scratches and bruises that would heal within days. Her eyes held the question she'd been building toward since the battle began.
"The phase transition," she said quietly. "You warned about it three seconds before it happened. Three seconds exactly. Not a guess. Not instinct. You knew."
"The Shield showed me patterns—"
"Stop." Her voice wasn't angry. It was tired, and patient, and done accepting partial truths. "You promised. After the Wave."
She remembered, Jiro acknowledged. Of course she remembered. She catalogues everything.
"Not here. Not with the army watching. But yes — when we have privacy, I'll explain more than I have."
"That's not a yes to telling me everything."
"No. It's not. But it's more than I've offered anyone else."
She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded once.
"I'm holding you to that too."
A soldier approached before Jiro could respond — the sergeant who'd been first to accept his potions, now battered but standing. He pressed something into Jiro's hand without making eye contact.
A bread roll. Stale, slightly crushed, probably the man's personal ration.
"Thank you," the sergeant said. "For the supplies. For the warnings. For..." He trailed off, unable to articulate what the Shield Hero's support had meant during the chaos.
He walked away before Jiro could respond.
The bread roll was heavy in Jiro's palm. The first gift anyone had given the Shield Hero since his summoning — not a transaction, not a strategic investment, just gratitude from someone he'd helped survive.
Small victories, he noted. The anime showed Naofumi earning soldier loyalty eventually. This is faster. The Cauldron products made a difference.
Church knights moved through the battlefield as the army began organizing the aftermath. They collected reports, interviewed survivors, catalogued the battle's events with the precision of intelligence operatives rather than religious functionaries.
One knight circled a group of soldiers who'd received Jiro's potions, his quill scratching across a small ledger. Another examined empty vials that had been discarded during combat. A third watched the Shield Hero's party with attention that felt heavier than casual observation.
They're building a file, Jiro realized. Just like Raphtalia. But theirs will be used differently.
Somewhere in the intelligence network that connected the Church of Three Heroes to King Aultcray's court, a report was being compiled. The Shield Hero had distributed alchemical products of unknown origin. The Shield Hero had predicted combat events before they occurred. The Shield Hero had demonstrated capabilities that didn't match any documented Cardinal Weapon function.
The Church wouldn't act immediately. They'd gather evidence, build a case, wait for the right moment to apply pressure. But the seed was planted now — suspicion that would grow into investigation, investigation that might eventually expose secrets Jiro couldn't afford to reveal.
"Shield Hero!"
Motoyasu's voice cut through Jiro's analysis. The Spear Hero was approaching across the battlefield, Malty trailing behind him with an expression that managed to look both supportive and calculating. Her eyes tracked to Raphtalia — to Raphtalia's slave seal, visible where combat had torn her collar.
"Quite a performance today," Motoyasu said. His tone suggested the opposite of a compliment. "Hiding behind your shield while the rest of us did the real fighting."
"I was supporting the army with supplies."
"Supplies." Motoyasu's lip curled. "And that slave of yours — she did the fighting while you watched, didn't she? Making a girl do your work."
Malty leaned close to Motoyasu's ear, whispering something that made his expression darken further. Her eyes never left Raphtalia's slave seal.
"You know what I think, Shield Hero? I think you're not fit to have a party member. Especially not a woman you're clearly mistreating."
The duel, Jiro recognized. He's setting up the duel. Malty's pushing him toward it, just like the anime showed.
Raphtalia's hand moved to her sword. Her eyes had gone cold with an anger that Jiro hadn't seen since their first days together.
"I chose to be here," she said, her voice level and dangerous. "Don't pretend to care about my welfare when you're looking for an excuse to attack my master."
"Your master?" Motoyasu's laugh was theatrical. "He's brainwashed you with that seal. Made you think you want this. But don't worry — I'll free you from his control."
The challenge was coming. Jiro could see it building in Motoyasu's posture, in Malty's satisfied smile, in the crowd of soldiers and knights who'd stopped to watch the confrontation.
Canon proceeding on schedule, he noted. The duel is inevitable. The rigging is inevitable. But this time, I know it's coming.
Motoyasu's spear swung to point at Jiro's chest.
"I challenge you, Shield Hero! A duel for the freedom of this woman you've enslaved!"
The words echoed across the battlefield. Church knights turned to watch. Army officers murmured amongst themselves. And somewhere in the crowd, a quill scratched against parchment, adding another entry to the growing intelligence file on the Shield Hero who knew too much.
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