The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?-Chapter 138: Ch137 The Room That Judges

Elythra struggled.

The moment Luther went through that door, the guards stopped pretending to be polite.

Their grip tightened.

"Release me!" she snapped, twisting sharply to free her arm. "You have no right—!"

The guard on her left didn’t even look at her.

"Silence."

Her anger flared.

Mana surged within her. But as it tried to rise, the air pushed back.

Heavy.

Dense.

Wrong.

Her breath caught as her magic resisted her will.

She gritted her teeth.

"Let him go!" she shouted instead.

No response.

The corridor shifted. Another door appeared ahead—it was smaller than the one Luther had gone through, but just as covered in ancient runes.

It opened silently.

Before she could prepare—

They threw her.

Elythra stumbled into the chamber, her boots scraping against polished stone. She almost fell but caught herself, dropping to one knee and bracing her palm against the floor.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The impact echoed.

She jumped to her feet and spun around.

"Open this door!" she demanded, slamming her palm against it. "Release me at once!"

Silence answered her.

She drew back her fist—

"Striking it would be unwise."

The voice came from beside her.

Elythra froze.

She turned quickly.

The elven priest stood there.

He hadn’t been there before.

Tall. Composed. Radiating calm authority. His long pale hair flowed over layered ceremonial robes embroidered with faintly glowing symbols. His golden eyes regarded her with interest.

Elythra immediately got into a defensive stance.

Her hand lowered near her hip where her sword would normally rest.

Her breathing steadied.

Only then did she take in the room properly.

It was nothing like the corridor.

The chamber was almost... civilized.

Two elegant couches faced each other, separated by a large round table carved from pale wood that glimmered faintly with magic. The floor was smooth, patterned in concentric circles.

But what caught her attention—

Was the wall.

Or rather—

The mirror.

One entire side of the chamber shimmered like polished glass.

And inside it—

Luther.

He sat cross-legged on the floor of another chamber, mist swirling faintly around him. The demonic sword floated lazily before him.

Alive.

Untouched.

Alone.

Elythra’s breath caught.

She instinctively stepped in front of the mirror, as if she could shield him from whatever was watching.

The priest studied her reaction closely.

"You truly are elven," he said quietly. "Yet your aura... is not aligned with ours."

Elythra did not lower her guard.

"Who are you?"

"You stand in the sanctuary of the High Grove," he replied calmly. "I am its priest."

She did not relax.

He examined her more closely.

"Your aura suggests youth," he continued. "Yet your combat presence tells a different story. Which domain do you hail from?"

Silence.

Elythra did not answer.

Trust was not given easily.

Especially not here.

The priest tilted his head slightly.

"You do not trust us."

"You imprisoned him," she said sharply. "And separated us. We did not mean to trespass on your lands."

His expression remained unchanged.

"It no longer matters."

He turned his gaze to the mirror.

Elythra followed it.

Inside the mirror, Luther exhaled slowly, adjusting his posture. The demonic sword floated lazily before him.

The priest narrowed his eyes slightly.

"So," he murmured almost to himself, "that is where the demonic relic went."

Elythra focused back on him.

"You know about it?"

"It disappeared decades ago," he said. "It seems it has found a new master."

His gaze sharpened.

"How curious. A being so deeply aligned with magic... wielding a demonic artifact."

Elythra’s jaw tightened.

"It chose him."

"That," the priest replied softly, "is what concerns me."

She moved closer.

"Why are you holding Yieli captive?" she demanded. "If you truly are elven, then you know what he represents. You should protect him—not test him."

The priest laughed.

Not cruelly.

Not mockingly.

But with something almost... tired.

"Yieli," he repeated. "You speak the name so easily."

"He saved the world."

"Yes," the priest agreed. "He did."

His golden gaze returned to the mirror.

"But no matter what he accomplished... he was human."

Elythra stilled.

"Humans die."

The words hung heavily in the room.

"It has been a century," the priest continued quietly. "One hundred years since Yieli fell in the final battle. We buried him. We mourned him."

He lifted his hand slightly toward the mirror.

"And yet... there stands a human with his face."

Elythra looked again.

Luther sat calmly, the faint mist curling around him like cautious fingers. The demonic sword hovered before him, as if waiting.

"And magic responds to him," the priest added. "The same way it once responded to Yieli."

Elythra’s voice was firm.

"Then he is Yieli."

The priest’s eyes sharpened.

"Or," he said softly, "he is something else."

She stiffened.

"There are beings," the priest continued, "that take the shape of men. Creatures born from old malice. Monsters that mimic voices, memories... even emotions."

Elythra’s mind flicked unwillingly to a memory—

A duke’s face splitting into something grotesque.

A two-faced horror wearing a trusted identity.

The priest noticed her hesitation.

"You have encountered such a thing," he observed.

She said nothing.

He stepped closer to the mirror.

"If he is Yieli," the priest said, "then he will endure."

"And if he is not?" she demanded.

The priest’s gaze remained on Luther’s reflection.

"Then this room will reveal him."

Elythra frowned.

"What do you mean?"

The priest gestured subtly around them.

"This chamber was built to disrupt magic."

She blinked.

"Disrupt?"

"It destabilizes mana flow," he explained. "It fractures external channels. Any being that relies on a medium—be it relic, staff, divine conduit, or contracted spirit—will find their magic torn apart within this space."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"And humans?" she asked carefully.

"All humans need a medium," he replied. "Even saints. Even heroes. Magic does not obey mortals without structure."

Elythra’s gaze returned to Luther.

He sat cross-legged.

Calm.

The demonic sword hovered before him.

"He does not use a medium," she said quietly.

The priest’s lips curved faintly.

"Exactly."

Her pulse quickened.

"This chamber," the priest continued, "was created by Yieli himself. At the height of his power. As both sanctuary and safeguard."

Her breath caught.

"If he is truly Yieli," the priest said softly, "then the mana of that room will recognize him."

"And if he is a monster?"

"Then it will consume him."

Silence fell between them.

Elythra stared at the mirror.

Luther shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck in mild irritation. The demonic sword bobbed in front of him as if in conversation.

He looked... normal.

Annoyingly normal.

She swallowed.

"He is not a monster," she said firmly.

The priest turned his gaze to her.

"Can you prove it?"

The question hit harder than any blade.

She opened her mouth—

Nothing came out.

Monsters can mimic.

They can laugh.

They can form bonds.

They can protect.

She remembered the two-faced horror again.

Remembered how convincingly it had worn humanity.

Her fingers curled into fists.

The priest saw it.

"This chamber," he said quietly, "will answer what you cannot."

Elythra looked back at the mirror.

The mist in Luther’s chamber thickened slightly.

The runes along the walls began to glow brighter.

The demonic sword stilled midair.

And Luther—

He remained seated.

Watching.

Waiting.

Unaware of the eyes upon him.

The priest folded his hands behind his back.

"If he is Yieli," he murmured, voice low and measured—

"he will walk out of that room."