Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 11
>Chapter Title: The Morning Star (1)
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When I think of the Hero, Maximilian, one memory comes to mind first.
The ‘sky-splitting bet.’
It started like this. Maximilian, wearing his usual foolish expression, woke up with his typical vigor and swung his sword.
-Swoosh.
>-Swoooosh…
>-Whish—
-SCHRRRIIIIING—!!
As if struck by a sudden epiphany, that blockhead decided to split the sky. Literally, the sky.
A single swing of his sword shredded the clouds, sending them scattering, as a gale-force wind swept in and a tremendous roar shook the earth.
As I’ve recalled before, the Hero's Party was, fundamentally, an assassination squad.
The kind that infiltrated deep into enemy territory to target the head of the Demon King's army, biding our time, buying it with the lives of soldiers who were even now falling on the front lines.
Which meant we weren't supposed to pull such a conspicuous stunt.
“Is he really insane?”
Enrique, aghast, threw a dagger at the Hero. (The Hero caught the dagger with his body, a bright smile on his face. Naturally, the blade bounced off his bare skin.)
“Why don't you just run around screaming? 'The hope of the Allied Kingdoms is here!' Sounds very heroic, doesn't it? Huh?”
Veolgrin said coldly as he quickly completed a spell. He immediately sat cross-legged and began to sense for any approaching demons.
Meanwhile, Gilles Vert, the aristocratic knight, wore a deliberately provocative expression as he swung his sword.
-SCHRIIIIIIICK—!!
“The two of you!!”
The clouds sliced by the Hero shattered into pieces and dispersed. Gilles Vert swept his hair back with a refreshing smile.
“It seems I ended up cutting more. A good way to warm up.”
“Umm… it looks like your wrist is so warmed up it’s broken?”
“Sorry, Patricia. Heal it for me.”
“I find that expression a bit insulting….”
Einar, who had been watching the scene for a while, stood up with a smirk and raised his axe.
“Don't.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t….”
“The men of Droan always live to leave their mark on the world.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? Put the axe down and talk.”
Einar didn't even spare a glance at Enrique’s wary words and stepped forward.
“No matter how many times you slice the sky, you leave no trace. But what if I could leave an eternal mark, proof that the great Einar, son of Ulrik, was here!”
“No, no, wait a minute. Listen to me—”
-KRA-BOOOOOOM!!
Having declared his grand ambition, Einar raised his axe,
>and split the mountain before him in two.
We wasted a week fleeing from the Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King's army, who swarmed out like we’d kicked a hornet’s nest, but,
The Hero.
That man named Maximilian just smiled and said this.
“I split the sky.”
“I split more.”
“Ahem, I have split a mountain! Is it not a greater feat to split that which has form than that which is formless?”
“Spouting difficult-sounding words doesn't make you smart, kid.”
“Old hag.”
“You wanna die?”
I don't know why he was so obsessed with the sky. But Ivan remembered that absurd escape vividly.
That day, what he wanted to see by splitting the night sky was probably…
…to confirm that even through the suffocating dark clouds shrouding the Demon King's domain, the morning star was still shining in its place, hidden but not gone.
Thus, the Hero's Party was a den of madmen, lunatics, psychopaths, and paranoids.
And the Hero was the maddest of them all, and the one who shone the brightest.
Gilles Vert, who wanted to be more outstanding than anyone else, was appointed the Guardian Lord of the Tilles royal family.
Einar, who longed to leave behind a great achievement, conquered his homeland and founded the first unified kingdom of Droan.
And the Hero, Maximilian, likely just wanted to confirm that hope still remained.
That is why Ivan does not like the Hero.
He merely admired him.
Even after he turned his back on the world and went into seclusion, he still did.
“Did he retire because he had achieved his hope, or…”
…did he give up because he could no longer see the morning star, no matter how many dark clouds he cut away?
It had been over four years since that cheerful man disappeared. The world still remembered the Hero, but it was forgetting the man named Maximilian.
Two weeks passed in a flash. It didn't feel like he'd rested at all, yet the time had vanished just like terminal leave, Ivan thought, watching the scenery fly by the window.
He was on his way to Tilles. And this time, he wasn't alone.
He was accompanied by five men who were cautiously watching his every move.
-Wow, a real terror attack! How did you know? You pinpointed the exact time, date, and place!
They were agents from the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command. A hand forced upon him by that annoying junior of his, Dmitry.
When he returned after stopping the attack on Esidis, Dmitry had grabbed his hands and swung them around effusively, as if to apologize for his suspicion.
But the man's eyes weren't smiling at all. Of course not.
A man who had lived quietly in retirement for four years, practically a vegetable, suddenly predicting a terrorist attack on a national figure—that in itself was a problem.
Others might have let it go with a ‘Wow, that’s amazing!’, but this guy was from the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command. Not just that, but a high-ranking officer, a lieutenant colonel in the investigation headquarters.
So, his eyes were clearly saying this:
-You planted someone, didn't you? Be honest. I'm genuinely curious. How did you build an intelligence network without us knowing? Care to share your know-how?
Without a proper explanation, he would face endless scrutiny and suspicion. After all, solving the academy's formulas was something that couldn't be explained without a monopoly on information.
However.
‘Trivial.’
There was no need to reveal anything. Authority, after all, is born from mystery. Ivan made no effort to dispel the suspicion that he had a secret, transnational intelligence organization at his back.
Which led to the current situation. He had been ‘supported’ with five clumsy agents.
Ivan let out a short sigh. *Did I come all this way just to play kindergarten teacher?*
At his sigh, the agents flinched in unison.
“Sir Petrovich, is something… troubling you?”
“All of you.”
Ivan decided to take this opportunity to whip them into shape.
Training new recruits wasn't his responsibility, but if agents of his homeland (his homeland was the Republic of Korea) were this sloppy, how could he retire in peace?
First of all, why were intelligence agents wearing matching clothes? What was that supposed to imply?
And with all these empty seats, they were huddled together so conspicuously?
This was intolerable. Of course, their real objective was to gather information on Ivan. But wasn't that also an intelligence activity?
He couldn't just stand by and watch this.
“Listen carefully.”
And so began the lecture from the bored orphanage director (formerly of the Annihilation Squad, 18 years of military service, has conducted operations with the Hero's Party, has a record of eliminating one of the Seven Dragon Generals)!
Eighteen hours until arrival in Saint-Matilène, the capital of Tilles.
For the agents, time froze.
***
“I suppose he isn't coming….”
Isabelle scanned the platform repeatedly until the very last moment before boarding the train to Krasilov.
The higher the expectation, the greater the fall of disappointment.
But even though she was always disappointed, she still searched the crowd with a sliver of hope.
Meticulously, one by one, anxiously checking if he might be hiding among them.
-Chiiiiish—!
Even as the train let out a long hiss of steam, the person she was waiting for did not appear.
“My lady, do not worry. He is always… thinking of you.”
“Thinking of me? Yes, perhaps he is.”
Isabelle answered coldly and turned her head away, swatting the hand that was patting her shoulder.
The dapper knight assigned as her escort by the Tilles royal family retreated with an awkward smile.
*Idiot. Imbecile. Useless fool.*
A contemptible animal who couldn't even get angry when insulted, who tried to smooth things over with a smile even when his feelings were hurt.
To her, most people were animals. Not in a biological sense, but in that they were no better than beasts.
‘Father.’
Her memories of the Hero, Maximilian, were faint. He had spent most of his time on the battlefield, while she had remained at the palace with her mother.
As the Hero's fame grew, the expressions of the people who approached her became simpler.
Nothing but the good-natured smiles of those wanting to curry favor with a future key figure.
It was only natural. If they thought the Hero might defeat the Demon King at any moment.
After the Demon King’s death, the entire political landscape would revolve around the Hero. The power of an individual couldn't defeat a group, but if an individual possessed power and achievements that overwhelmed the group, even nations would eventually submit to them.
Therefore, the Tilles royal family did everything they could to win her favor. It was the only way to get on the Hero's good side when they couldn't contact him directly.
No matter what venom she spat, no matter what insults she hurled, they would just smile.
It was as if she were at a masquerade ball, where everyone she saw wore the same expression….
At the very least, it did not have a positive effect on a child's emotional development.
“Get lost. I can't stand the sight of you.”
“But my lady, I must…”
“Shut your mouth.”
At Isabelle's words, the knight flinched and stepped back. He gave a gentle smile, bowed, and left the cabin.
Finally alone in the compartment, Isabelle muttered with a bitter smile.
“Idiot.”
She clearly remembered the knight's face twisting into a demonic scowl just before the door closed, the moment he turned his back.
Isabelle, the Hero's flesh and blood, possessed a perception far superior to others. She could instantly recognize a change in someone's expression, even if it was only visible for a fleeting moment.
And that was the problem. She had realized far too early that everyone around her was always wary of her.
Therefore.
“Imbecile…”
She mocked herself as she sank into her seat.
*A girl who knew no expression other than anger and ridicule.*
>*A self-destructive psychopath who could only feel at ease after seeing others finally get angry.*
>*Someone with a severe affection-seeking disorder who believed only others' hatred was genuine.*
>*A patient with separation anxiety, endlessly waiting for a father whose memory was fading, and resenting him all the same.*
That was her self-diagnosis.
***
“We should be on our way now, Sir Petrovich.”
“Still using ‘we,’ are you? Are you trying to boast that you all came together?”
“Th-that… uh… umm…”
“Speak clearly, act decisively, and always keep your true intentions hidden in the deepest place. Did I not tell you that?”
“Ughhh… so…”
The agents were all screaming internally.
‘Lieutenant Colonel Dmitry!! You said this man was the quiet type!!’
‘You're a monster, Petrovich!!’
‘I hate you, Ivan. Forever….’
Faced with the crisis of an extended special duty re-education on top of the 18-hour lecture, the agents turned pale, offered a hasty farewell, and departed.
Their mission was to protect Oskar, the son of the knight Gilles Vert.
Ivan, who had devoted himself to their education—half to get rid of the shackles Dmitry had placed on him, and half out of genuine concern—watched Isabelle board her train from the station platform and thought.
‘Lucky me.’
He had killed two birds with one stone: shaking off the agents from the Counter-Intelligence Command and ensuring Oskar’s protection.
Ivan boarded the train lightly, feeling as if he’d just thrown off two heavy burdens.