2 - She can’t be the Hero because she’s an unemployed shut-in

The sword came out of the ground with barely any effort.

Again, the crowd was shocked; after the line of unsuccessful men earlier, they could only silently stare at Merle’s doing it.

Merle herself is just as speechless, stunned to find out that nothing was wrong.

“Good grief, I was wondering if it might ever happen,” said an old man in a white robe as he pushed through the crowd with his cane, then came before Merle. “It seems that the day has finally come.”

He was probably from the church, with the tall white hat that made him stand out from the rest. “What is your name?” he asks Merle.

“Merle,” she replies. “Merle Probe.”

“I am Arkham, the delegate of this church,” he said. “Ms. Merle, the enchanted sword you pulled out is said to have been put here decades ago by a legendary swordsman who once defeated the Demon King.”

“So it’s a real sword,” Merle said.

“Correct,” Arkham replied. “More importantly, the fact that it has chosen a new wielder means that a new Demon King is coming.”

“Ah, that’s terrifying,” Merle said.

“Ms. Merle, you have been chosen,” Arkham said, “With this sword, you will save the world from the clutches of evil once more.”

Merle couldn’t help but feel she was being recruited into a suspicious cult. Yes, she saw all those men trying and failing to pull it out, but maybe it was a real enchanted sword after all. If it was, then a Demon King would appear again and Merle would have to save the world.

She couldn’t imagine herself doing that. It seemed this whole thing was a hoax (especially with how quickly that old man had come out of nowhere).

“Ms. Merle, you have now inherited the legacy of the legendary swordsman,” Arkham said. “With it, you will save our world from peril.”

Arkham’s words shake the crowds. They’re mostly the type to keep their heads down and go about their day-to-day, extreme actions from their leaders aside, they wonder what this whole business means for them. Fear about the new Demon King starts to spread around as well.

Merle didn’t move from her spot. “It’s a long story, but I can’t do this,” she said. “My sincerest apologies, but I’ll just put the sword back.”

She couldn’t save the world, after all.

However, as Merle tried to stab it back into place, the sword would not leave her hand; it was as if it was glued to her palm.

“Ms. Merle, you have been chosen,” Arkham repeated.

“No, I really can’t do it!” Merle cried. “Oh, just come off already–!” she snapped as she tried to throw it.

Instead of flying off, however, the sword started moving of its own will.

“Someone stop–!” Arkham cried as he reached out.

The sword gleamed. Arkham’s hand flew through the air. The sword had cut it off as cleanly as a kitchen knife would an unpeeled banana.

The severed hand bounces on the ground. The blood splatters. Arkham staggers back.

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“Kyaaaa…!” a woman screams as the crowd scatters.

Those who ran, those who fell on the spot, those who stepped forward to help Arkham, those who tried to stop Merle: the sword slew all, regardless of her will.