Chapter 8
Chapter 8
The meeting room was heavy with silence, an awkward atmosphere stretching across it.
The unease of returning to the hellish northern lands weighed on everyone. They had all experienced that inferno together, had all been thoroughly crushed, so it was only natural that the previous cheerful energy could not persist.
They had thought they had done their best, had given everything, and as a result, defeated five of the Seven Deadly Sins.
But the members of the hero party knew the truth.
There was never a moment they had truly fought as if their lives depended on it.
Why? Because there was Bell, the hero, and Ricardo. They had assumed any adversity could be overcome easily. Even the Demon King himself.
Yet, contrary to expectations, the Demon King and Lucifer were on an entirely different level. Even Bell, the party’s ultimate weapon, could not pierce the Demon King’s defenses.
For the rest of the members, who could not even defeat the Demon King’s right-hand man, there was literally nothing to say.
Perhaps sensing this tension, Bell broke the silence first.
“Let’s change our strategy.”
“Even if we’ve grown stronger with our weapons, they’ll be prepared too. We need to create a move they can’t predict.”
“Since we’re the ones going to them, we have to take risks. Let’s admit that what we’re lacking isn’t just strength.”
Everyone nodded at Bell’s words.
He waved the sword in his hand and continued.
“I’ll take on the Demon King this time. If we have enough time, I’m confident I can win.”
His words were true. During their first encounter with the Demon King, Bell had not fought with life-or-death resolve. In a fight where survival hung by a thread, Bell was unmatched—so this time, victory seemed certain.
Especially since the Demon King appeared surprisingly attached to his own life.
“…Then,” Ricardo finally spoke, quietly puffing smoke from his pipe.
“We’ll plan under the assumption that Bell will defeat the Demon King.”
“Bell, are you really sure you can win?”
Bell’s voice was brimming with certainty.
“I’ll win. No matter what happens.”
A soft exhale filled the room.
“I’ll tell you the strategy I’ve been thinking of. I’ll use all my magic for dispel, meaning I won’t attack at all.”
The hero spoke up.
“…Then how much of Lucifer’s magic can you block without attacking?”
Ricardo forced a small smile.
“At most… sixty percent. No more than that.”
“Even so,” he said, gripping his golden staff, “I can block a nine-star level spell this time.”
Maley, the party’s tank, visibly relaxed.
“That should be enough. Our previous defeat was because of that nine-star spell, wasn’t it?”
“…Of course, if Ricardo can’t support with firepower, breaking through Lucifer’s protective magic is uncertain. Even with my power and Maley’s, we can’t guarantee it.”
“It’s possible.”
Irina, the elf, lifted her Yggdrasil bow.
“No worries about firepower. I’ve got it covered.”
The saint raised her cross.
“You don’t need to protect me this time. My weapon has a strong shield.”
“…Me too.”
The guide, Claire, added her piece.
“This time, I’ll make sure we encounter as few monsters as possible.”
“…Honestly, I think we can avoid northern monsters. This compass points directly to the target. If we use it smartly, we can avoid unnecessary fights.”
Claire’s confidence, born from reading the demonic realm’s geography using only constellations, left the entire party with no choice but to trust her.
Bell looked at each of his companions and smiled lightly.
“It’s great to see you all so confident.”
The party visibly relaxed at Bell’s words.
“Shall we do a bit of training before we go?”
“Training?” the hero asked. Bell’s expression turned serious.
“…Even if you’ve regained your energy, they know we’ve brought weapons. They’ve had a month to prepare while we were clearing our trials.”
Bell held up one finger.
“So we can’t be late. We have to prepare as much as possible before leaving.”
Claire showed everyone her compass.
“The Demon King and Lucifer are definitely still in the north. I’ve set the target to the Demon King. See? The compass points there.”
Ricardo examined the compass quietly.
“Sure enough… they’re preparing for something.”
The atmosphere grew tense again.
Bell tried to ease the worry.
“They can’t become that strong in just a month. Don’t worry too much.”
“Follow my training plan, and we’ll be ready. Got it?”
For a moment, everyone felt reassured, then a question spread across the party’s faces.
“…What kind of training?”
Trials.
Gods bestow weapons to the hero party through their apostles, preparing them to face the Demon King.
The trials, crafted carefully by each god, are as difficult as the name suggests. Yet they never aim to kill or break the apostles. Gods only give challenges that can be overcome.
The purpose is to trigger complexes, allow growth, and provide lessons.
The hero party had survived all trials. Hard, but doable.
Yet…
“…Ugh… haaah…”
‘KWAANG!!’
“You’ll really die if you collapse now!”
According to Bell, this “training” was a brutal survival game.
“Run! Faster!!”
‘KWAANG!!’
Bell’s words to the hero and saint—rarely speaking casually and almost screaming on the ground—echoed:
“Hero, Saint! If you stop now, it’s not that you’ll almost die… you will die!”
This was worse than a survival game. It was torture. The strong dominating the weak, cruel and absolute.
‘ZZZZ’
Bell’s aura brushed across their backs.
“Run.”
“AHHH!!”
“NOOOO…”
Both began running again, seemingly caught in a runner’s high.
“Maley, you’re slowing down.”
“Ughhh!! Ricardo, casting spells while running, remember?”
‘UUUHHH!!’
Bell had been putting them through this “trial” for roughly two weeks.
The aim: push body and mind to extreme stress, simulating life-or-death situations.
For about six hours, they ran with all their might, jumped over obstacles.
Once exhausted, Bell had each fight one-on-one.
‘SIIING!’
“…I nearly died…”
‘SIIING!’
“AHHH! Saint! Your healing slowed again!”
Every strike was lethal if unguarded. It forced superhuman focus when bodies and minds no longer obeyed.
Bell’s method ingrained the notion that certain attacks could never be survived by chance. A concentrated, near-death experience would prevent collapse against nine-star spells later.
“…Saint, your healing slowed again.”
“Ugh… I’m exhausted too…”
Tears glistened at the saint’s eyes.
Bell glanced at their faces, scratched his cheek awkwardly.
“This training may seem cruel… but I want everyone to survive. Everyone. No one should die or get seriously hurt. If it’s too hard, I can ease it—but enduring this will help when real life-or-death situations come.”
Bell offered his shy smile.
“…Can you understand that?”
No one could speak.
It felt like watching a mother scold her child out of love.
“…Next is me. I’ll go.”
Maley, trembling from physical exhaustion, spoke hoarsely.
Bell smiled again.
“Show me what you’ve got, Maley.”
“Of course, Maley.”
‘ZZZZ!’
“AHHHHH!!”
“Saint, your healing slowed again…”
Even willpower alone could barely overcome this “training torture.”