Chapter 2: The Hero's Reluctant Departure
The morning sun cast long shadows across the Alden farm, a stark contrast to the brilliant light that accompanied the arrival of the Church's escort. Four imposing **Paladins**, their polished silver armor gleaming, rode into Oakhaven on warhorses, their presence an immediate spectacle. Leading them was **Captain Valerius**, a man whose broad shoulders and stern, unyielding gaze spoke of countless battles and unshakeable faith. For them, this was a momentous occasion, an honor to escort the chosen **Hero** from his humble village to the very heart of the Church's power.
Ren watched them approach from the farmhouse doorway, a sigh escaping his lips. Despite his father's insightful words, the weight of his unwanted Gift pressed down on him. He understood the logic, the idea of using a tool for his own ends, but the sheer inconvenience of it all gnawed at him. He looked up at the vast, clear sky, then down at the rich, dark earth beneath his worn boots.
He thought of his past life, of the bustling labs and sprawling experimental fields at the **Advanced Agricultural Technology University**. He remembered the late nights spent poring over genetic sequences, the thrill of breakthroughs in sustainable farming, the camaraderie of the agriculture clubs, the vibrant energy of student events. Just thinking about the **hydroponic systems, the drought-resistant strains, the precision irrigation techniques** he could apply to *these* fields, *this* soil, made his chest ache with a profound sense of loss and abandonment.
*Why?* he silently raged. *Why would the Goddess grant me the Hero Gift? To defeat the Demon Lord? To become a plaything for the Church to order around? To be a 'hope for humanity'?* The thought was bitter. *Please, if humanity wants saving, men should do it themselves. I'm just a guy who wants to farm.* The urge to simply turn and run, to disappear into the familiar solace of the fields, was almost overwhelming. He was no protagonist. He just wanted to farm.
Yet, he couldn't let down his family. His mother's tearful pride, his father's quiet advice, Aeron's rare smiles—they were anchors in this chaotic, confusing new reality. He had to find a way. A way to farm.
Captain Valerius dismounted, his heavy boots thudding softly on the packed earth. "Young Ren Alden," he boomed, his voice resonating with authority, "we are here to escort you to the Grand Church Headquarters. Your training awaits."
The villagers of Oakhaven gathered, a mixture of awe and excitement on their faces. They were aware of the **Demon Lord**. They knew of the "demons" that sometimes strayed too close to human settlements, creatures of shadow and malice. They knew stories of past heroes and dark times. But the true, pervasive threat of the Demon Lord, the strategic devastation, the constant pressure on trade routes and resource—that was largely abstract to them, a distant worry whispered in taverns. They had never felt the *true* oppressive weight of his malice, only the occasional ripple of his campaigns far off. To them, the Hero was a shield, a symbol of hope against a known, but not directly experienced, danger. Their cheers were heartfelt, genuine.
"Be safe, Ren!" cried Martha, the baker, waving a flour-dusted hand.
"Bring glory to Oakhaven!" yelled Farmer Grimsby, holding his young son up for a better view.
Ren forced a weak smile and nodded. His parents hugged him tightly, Lyra openly weeping, Elara giving him a firm, reassuring nod. Aeron merely squeezed his shoulder, a silent promise of support.
As Ren mounted the horse offered by a paladin, he glanced back at his home, at the fields waiting to be cultivated. A resolve hardened within him. He *would* find a way.
Captain Valerius, leading the escort, remained vigilant. He knew the Demon Lord was unpredictable. "He might send a demon army to slaughter the hero and his villagers," he'd pondered, "or perhaps make their escort difficult, forcing them to face all kinds of challenges." He kept his hand near his sword hilt, his senses alert for any sign of ambush, any shift in the wind that might signal demonic presence. Every rustle of leaves, every distant bird cry, was scrutinized.
Unexpectedly, their journey was **smooth**. The roads were clear, the forests quiet. No demon patrols, no ambushes, no sudden monstrous appearances. It was almost eerily calm. Valerius, despite his relief, felt a prickle of unease. Such a crucial escort, and not a single challenge? It was highly unusual. He didn't know that the Demon Lord simply found this particular hero "strange" and wasn't yet inclined to interfere. He was oblivious to the fact that his charge was less a glorious champion and more a highly disgruntled future agricultural revolutionary.
As the spires of the Grand Church Headquarters finally rose on the horizon, gleaming white against the azure sky, Ren felt a fresh wave of despair. This imposing edifice was his new prison. But beneath the despair, a stubborn spark of defiance glowed. He wasn't here to be a hero. He was here to earn his farm. And he would use every bit of this absurd power to get it.