SSS-Ranked Trash Hero: I Was Scammed Into Being Summoned-Chapter 42: The Cold Reflection

Marcus knelt in the chapel alone, his hands clasped before the altar of Soleth.

The candlelight flickered across the golden sun symbol. Prayer should have brought peace. It usually did. But tonight something felt different.

His prayers felt hollow. Empty words echoing in an empty space.

He’d been feeling it for days now. A weight pressing down on his thoughts. A voice that wasn’t quite his own whispering at the edges of his mind.

Marcus opened his eyes and stared at the altar.

"Grant me strength," he whispered. "Clarity. Purpose."

Nothing.

The divine warmth that usually filled him during prayer was absent.

He stood and turned away from the altar.

The chapel was empty. It was past midnight. Everyone else was asleep.

Marcus walked to the small pool of blessed water near the entrance. Used for purification rituals. He looked down at his reflection in the still surface.

His face stared back. Same as always.

But something in the eyes looked different tonight.

"You’re wasting your time with them."

Marcus jerked back from the pool. The voice had come from behind him. He spun around.

Nobody was there.

His heart hammered against his ribs. He turned back to the pool.

His reflection was still there, staring up at him.

But now it was smiling and Marcus wasn’t smiling.

"What..." His voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What is this?"

The reflection’s smile widened. Its lips moved, but Marcus’s lips didn’t. The voice came from the water, from the reflection, from inside his own head all at once.

"You know what this is. You’ve felt me for days now. Growing stronger. Growing tired of being ignored."

Marcus backed away from the pool. His hand went to the holy symbol hanging around his neck. Usually it pulsed with divine energy when he called upon it.

Now it was just metal.

"You’re not real," Marcus said.

"I’m as real as your doubts. As real as your anger. As real as every bitter thought you’ve been pushing down for weeks." The reflection stood in the water, no longer mimicking Marcus’s position. It crossed its arms. "I’m the part of you that sees the truth. The part you keep trying to pray away."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Liar." The reflection’s voice was sharp. "You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your party. The dead weight you’ve been carrying."

The name came unbidden. Hiroshi.

"He’s useless," the reflection continued. "Level nine after two dungeons. Barely capable of basic combat. You’ve watched Kenji and Aria grow stronger while he remains stagnant. A burden. A liability."

"He fought in the undead dungeon. He helped..."

"He got lucky. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it except maybe him." The reflection leaned forward. "And now you’re running dungeons without him and everything is better. Smoother. Faster. No one slowing you down. No one you have to protect because they can’t protect themselves."

Marcus clenched his jaw. "That’s not–we didn’t leave him behind because..."

"Because why? Because you suddenly decided three people was the optimal party size?" The reflection laughed. It sounded like Marcus’s laugh but wrong. It was devoid of any emotion."You left him behind because he’s worthless. And the worst part is you know it. You’ve known it since the first dungeon. But you kept pretending otherwise because that’s what good people do, right? They give chances. They hope for improvement."

"Stop."

"But there was no improvement. Just dead weight getting heavier. Just wasted potential dragging down everyone around him." The reflection’s eyes—Marcus’s eyes—were cold. "And you resent him for it. Don’t you?"

Marcus didn’t answer.

"Don’t you?" the reflection repeated, louder.

"Yes." The word came out before Marcus could stop it. Barely audible. But it was out there now. Floating in the air between him and his reflection.

"Finally. Honesty." The reflection’s smile returned. "You resent him. You resent having to slow your growth to accommodate his weakness. You resent the Church for forcing you to take expendable support in the first place. You resent the system that values quantity over quality, that summons dozens of heroes knowing most will fail."

Marcus’s hand tightened around his holy symbol. It remained cold.

"This isn’t divine guidance. This is corruption. Dark magic. Some kind of curse..."

"This is clarity." The reflection’s voice was calm now. Reasonable. "This is you finally admitting what you’ve felt for weeks. The prayers didn’t work because Soleth doesn’t care about your petty resentments. The gods have bigger concerns than one paladin’s frustration with an incompetent party member."

"Hiroshi isn’t incompetent."

"Then what is he? Capable? Useful? Valuable?" The reflection tilted its head. "He’s level nine, Marcus. You’re level Seventeen. The gap grows wider with every dungeon. Eventually he’ll be so far behind that even pretending he matters will be impossible."

Marcus wanted to argue. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because part of him agreed.

Part of him had been thinking these exact thoughts for days now. Watching Hiroshi struggle with basic combat while the rest of them advanced. Seeing the resource drain of keeping someone that weak alive in dangerous situations. Calculating how much faster they could move without him.

"You’re a leader," the reflection said softly. "Leaders make hard decisions. They cut loose the people who can’t keep up. They prioritize the strong over the weak because that’s how you survive. That’s how you win."

"That’s not..." Marcus’s voice was weak. "That’s not what Soleth teaches."

"Soleth teaches strength. Justice. Order." The reflection stepped closer to the surface of the water. "What justice is there in dragging down the capable to accommodate the incapable? What order is there in a system that treats all heroes as equal when they clearly aren’t?"

Marcus stared at his reflection. At himself. At the version of him that said the quiet thoughts out loud.

"What do you want from me?" he asked finally.

"Nothing you don’t already want. Permission to stop pretending. Permission to cut the dead weight and focus on your own advancement. Permission to be honest about who deserves your protection and who doesn’t."

The reflection reached up toward the surface of the water. Its hand broke through, became real, solid, reaching toward Marcus.

"Take my hand. Accept what you already know. Stop fighting against your own judgment."

Marcus looked at the offered hand.

His holy symbol was still cold against his chest.

The chapel was still empty.

The voice in his head–his voice, his thoughts, his reflection, waited patiently.

Marcus reached out slowly.

His fingers were inches from the reflection’s hand when footsteps echoed from the entrance.

He jerked back. Spun around.

Aria stood in the doorway, her silver hair catching the candlelight. She looked tired. Probably couldn’t sleep either.

"Talking to yourself?" she asked.

Marcus looked back at the pool.

His reflection was normal again. Mirroring his position exactly.

"Praying," he said. His voice was steady. Normal.

Aria studied him for a moment. "You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"I’m serious. You’ve been off lately. Since the E-rank dungeon. You feeling okay?"

"Fine. I’m Just tired."

She didn’t look convinced but didn’t push. "We’re heading out tomorrow. F-rank dungeon in the western district. You good to go?"

"Yes."

"Alright." She turned to leave, then paused. "Marcus...you know you can talk to us if something’s wrong, right? Me and Kenji. We’re party members. We look out for each other."

Marcus nodded. "I know."

She left.

He was alone again.

Marcus looked back at the pool. His reflection stared up at him.

But he could still feel it. That cold weight in his chest. That voice at the edge of his thoughts.

It wasn’t gone.

He left the chapel quickly, not looking back at the water.

Behind him, in the still surface of the blessed pool, his reflection smiled.