Rise of the F-Rank Hero-Chapter 147: ’Warning’

"Okay, okay, that’s enough glaring for today," Daniel interrupted, stepping between the simmering tensions. "Since everyone is here, let’s depart. We’re burning daylight."

No one argued. The heavy gates of the capital creaked open, and the expedition force rode out.

Unknowingly—or perhaps inevitably—the group naturally divided into three distinct clusters as they traveled down the Road.

At the front rode the Hero group, flanked by the elite Royal Guards. They rode with their chins high, capes fluttering, looking every bit the saviors of humanity.

In the middle was the support train—the mages, the supplies, and the bulk of the knights.

And at the very rear, maintaining a deliberate distance, was the oddest trio.

Oliver rode a sturdy black horse, his posture relaxed. Isolde rode beside him, radiating an aura that kept even the knights’ horses from getting too close. And sticking to Oliver’s other side like glue was Amy.

She wasn’t evading eyes anymore. Ever since the "incident" last night, something had awakened inside the Saintess. She was proactive, territorial, and surprisingly bold.

"Here, Oliver," Amy said, handing him a canteen of water while they trotted. "Stay hydrated."

"I’m fine, Amy," Oliver muttered.

"Drink," she insisted, uncorking it for him.

"My, how attentive," Isolde drawled from the other side, reaching over to wipe a speck of dust from Oliver’s shoulder. "But don’t smother him, Saintess. Men need room to breathe."

"I’m just taking care of my teammate," Amy shot back with a sweet smile. "Unlike some people who just treat him like a pillow."

Oliver stared straight ahead, feeling the death glares from William and the confused looks from the knights. Two beautiful women fighting over a masked mercenary was a man’s ultimate dream—but in reality, it was just a headache.

****

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange.

"We camp here!" the Knight Captain shouted.

The preparation began.

Oliver, used to surviving in the wild, had his tent pitched and a fire pit dug before the knights had even unstrapped their bedrolls. He moved with practiced efficiency, gathering wood and setting up a spit.

The Heroes, on the other hand, stood around waiting. They were used to servants or lower-ranked adventurers doing the manual labor.

"Why isn’t the fire ready yet?" Jason grumbled, kicking at a log.

"The knights are working on it, Sir Jason," a squire said nervously.

Within the hour, three separate campfires were crackling in the clearing.

At the rear camp, the smell of roasting meat wafted through the air. Oliver had hunted a boar nearby, dressed it, and was currently basting it with herbs from his pouch.

Isolde sat on a log, sipping wine she had brought in her spatial storage. Amy sat on the other side, watching the fire.

Rustle.

Lisa, the Mage of the Hero party, walked out of the darkness and approached their fire. She looked at the roasting boar, then at the trio.

"May I sit?" Lisa asked.

"Free country," Oliver said, turning the spit.

Lisa sat down beside Amy. For a while, she just watched the flames, listening to the crackle of fat dripping onto the coals.

"Why are you traveling with them, Amy?" Lisa asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Amy replied, poking the fire with a stick. "We are all in the same expedition, aren’t we? So why does it matter who I am with?"

"I know," Lisa sighed. "But those guys... William and Daniel... they have been grumbling ever since we left the city. They’re angry, Amy. I’m worried about you."

Amy laughed. It was a light sound, but there was steel underneath it.

"Don’t be. They can grumble all they want. What can they do about it?"

Lisa looked at her friend. She had changed. The timid girl was gone.

"Is there..." Lisa lowered her voice, glancing at Oliver who was focused on the meat. "Is there something going on between you and that guy?"

Amy’s face turned a bright shade of red. She fidgeted with her skirt.

Lisa didn’t need an answer. The blush said it all.

"So it’s true, huh," Lisa murmured, looking at Oliver’s masked profile. "Well... honestly, I’m glad. You’ve been grieving for Oliver for so long. I’m happy you finally found someone to help you move on."

Amy froze. She looked at Lisa, her expression conflicted.

"About that..." Amy whispered, hesitating. "Actually... he is Ol—"

"Watch what you speak, little girl."

The interruption was sharp as a blade.

Isolde hadn’t moved, but her crimson eyes were locked onto Amy. The playful atmosphere vanished instantly.

Amy swallowed. She looked at Isolde, then at Lisa.

"Don’t worry," Amy said to Isolde, her eyes firm. "Lisa is my best friend. You can trust her."

Isolde stared at Lisa for a long, uncomfortable moment. She was assessing her soul, weighing the risk.

"Whatever," Isolde scoffed, standing up. "If I find anyone of you having ill intent, your heads will be rolling on the ground."

She brushed off her dress and walked over to Oliver. "Master, the meat is burning. Pay attention."

Lisa watched Isolde go, shivers running down her spine. "That woman... she’s terrifying. What is going on here, Amy?"

Amy exhaled a long breath. "Sigh... I wanted to tell you earlier. But I didn’t get the chance."

She leaned in close to Lisa’s ear.

"Actually... this Oliver... is our Oliver."

"WHAT?!!"

Lisa screamed, jumping to her feet.

"Shh! SHHH!" Amy lunged forward, clamping her hand over Lisa’s mouth and dragging her back down to the log. "Keep it down! Do you want Daniel to hear?"

Lisa’s eyes were wide as saucers. She pried Amy’s hand away, whispering frantically. "Are you crazy? Are you sure? Oliver is dead! We saw him fall!"

"Do you think I would mistake him for someone else?" Amy asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "You are the only one I shared all my secrets with. You know how much I loved him. Do you think I could mistake his voice? His habits? His soul?"

Lisa fell silent, contemplating. She looked at the masked man roasting the boar. The way he sat... the way he moved...

"Yeah," Lisa whispered. "You really did love him. You wouldn’t make this up."

She turned back to Amy. "But what happened? How did he escape? Why didn’t he return to the palace? Why become an adventurer?"

Amy took a deep breath. She recounted the story Oliver had told her (with the fake parts about being saved by adventurers).

She told Lisa how William had kicked him out of the circle. How he was betrayed by his own classmate. How he survived in hell, was saved by Isolde’s group, and decided to leave the Empire behind to escape the people who tried to murder him.

As Lisa listened, her face twisted in horror.

"William...?" Lisa muttered. "He... he kicked him?"

She felt sick. They had become killing machines since arriving in this world—slaughtering monsters, demons, sometimes even bandits. But to kill a classmate? To murder one of their own out of petty jealousy?

"That’s... that’s disgusting," Lisa whispered. "I knew William hated him, but I never thought..."

She looked toward the Hero camp, where William was laughing loudly at something Jason said. A wave of revulsion washed over her.

Then, a thought occurred to her. She looked back at Amy, concern etched on her face.

"Amy... you said Oliver and Isolde are in a relationship. And from what I saw..." She glanced at Isolde, who was currently feeding Oliver a piece of meat with her fingers. "They seem pretty close. What are you going to do about it? Will you be okay with that?"

Amy followed her gaze. She watched Isolde and Oliver. The jealousy pricked at her heart, but underneath it was resolve.

"Don’t worry," Amy said, clenching her fist. "I can live with it. I will win Oliver’s affection back. I’m not giving up."

"Dinner is ready," Oliver’s voice cut through the air.

He walked over, carrying two wooden plates loaded with roast boar and root vegetables.

"Here," he said, handing one to Amy and offering the other to Lisa. "Courtesy of the wild."

The girls stopped talking abruptly.

Lisa took the plate, but she didn’t look at the food. She stared at Oliver. really stared at him. She looked at the mask, the scars on his hands, the weary slump of his shoulders.

Oliver felt the weight of her gaze. He shifted awkwardly.

He looked at Amy, who was giggling nervously behind her hand.

Ah, Oliver realized. The cat’s out of the bag again.

"She told you," Oliver stated flatly.

Lisa didn’t hide it. "Yes."

She stood up, holding her plate. She looked him in the eye—or where his eyes would be behind the mask.

"It is understandable that you didn’t want to associate with us after what you experienced," Lisa said, her voice serious. "And I... I am so sorry for what happened to you."

Oliver shrugged. "Water under the bridge."

"Maybe," Lisa said. "But listen to me, Oliver Shaw."

She stepped closer, her protective instinct flaring.

"Don’t ever make Amy sad. She has cried enough for you. If I find her crying again because of you... I don’t care if you’re strong. I will go to the ends of hell to fight you."

Oliver blinked. Then, he let out a short, awkward laugh.

"Ha... ah. Okay. Noted."

Amy buried her face in her hands, utterly embarrassed but secretly happy.

"Lisaaaa..." she whined.

"I mean it!" Lisa huffed, sitting back down and aggressively stabbing a piece of pork. "Now, let’s eat. This smells delicious."