Chapter 9
Chapter 9
A month had passed, and it was the final day of training.
It was 4 a.m. The sky was still dark, but the stars had already vanished, their light slowly giving way to the faint blue of dawn.
Dew from the previous night lightly covered the training ground, and the scent of grass and soil mixed in the crisp morning air, penetrating deep into the lungs.
Plop, plop.
The sound of footsteps echoed steadily across the ground.
Bell leaned against the wall on one side of the training field, arms crossed, watching the steps move rhythmically.
In the dim dawn, the one running was Aiden, the hero.
He hadn’t been ordered to come. He had come on his own, running silently.
Bell said nothing. He just watched.
When Aiden first appeared in the training field, his form was chaotic. His arms flailed, his breathing was uneven, and his knees splayed outward—the kind of body that had been trained only in swordsmanship, not running.
Now, it was different.
His footfalls were consistent. The sway of his arms had reduced. The sound of his breath was almost inaudible.
One month could change a person so much.
Plop, plop, plop.
Aiden passed in front of Bell, their eyes briefly meeting. Aiden said nothing, Bell said nothing. That was enough.
As the sun began to rise, the rest of the party gradually appeared on the field.
Claire was first, dark circles under her eyes betraying a sleepless night, yet her steps were light.
“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because it’s the last day,” she asked Bell.
“No,” he replied.
“I thought so.”
Claire exhaled. Behind her, Irina stepped onto the field silently, her blonde hair faintly glowing in the morning light. She gave Bell a brief nod, saying nothing—as she had done all month.
Next was the saint Lucia, followed by the burly Malley, and finally silver-haired Ricardo, who pulled out his cigarette and lit it as he walked in.
Fwoosh.
A thin trail of smoke drifted slowly in the morning air.
“Last day,” Bell said, scanning each of them. “So today…” He paused. “…we’ll double the usual workload.”
Silence.
Ricardo slowly removed the cigarette from his mouth, disbelief etched across his face.
“Bell… you didn’t just say that, right?”
“You heard me right.”
Ricardo’s eyes twitched slightly.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Another pause.
Claire glanced at the sky, closing her eyes briefly. Lucia began stretching silently. Malley already wore a resigned expression. Irina showed no expression at all from the start.
Aiden simply drew his sword.
Bell watched them all in order, a quiet smile crossing his face. This—that was the difference. A month ago, they would have fled, fearing for their lives.
The training went as expected.
Six hours of running, obstacle courses, then combat training with their weapons, and finally, one-on-one matches against Bell.
By the time the sun fully rose, Lucia was already panting heavily, Malley’s shirt drenched in sweat, and Ricardo had barely the strength to lift his cigarette, murmuring his incantations while half-collapsed on the ground.
Bell looked at him.
“Ricardo, if you stop your chanting, the real thing begins.”
“…Ugh.”
Teeth clenched, the sound echoed across the field.
By the afternoon, it was finally their turn for sparring.
Whether it was the final day or the cumulative weight of a month’s training, everyone was serious.
Claire went first.
Whoosh!
Armed only with a dagger instead of her golden compass, she struck at Bell’s flank with quick, unpredictable steps. A month ago, she could barely do anything beyond a straightforward charge. Now her movements were far harder to anticipate.
Bell deflected with his sword’s spine.
Clang.
“Good.” A short, approving word. Claire’s lips curved slightly.
Next was Irina.
Fwee!
The bow she had carried silently all month now shot arrows faster than ever, three in rapid succession, almost without pause.
Bell twisted his body, his feet barely moving, and deflected the final arrow with his sword.
“…Oh.”
He glanced down at the fragments of the arrows, muttering in low admiration. Irina said nothing, lowering her bow silently. Her gaze said enough.
Malley, Lucia, and Ricardo followed.
Malley’s defensive response had changed—he no longer raised his shield reactively but already positioned himself before the attack landed, a skill honed through countless near-death experiences.
Lucia’s healing speed under extreme stress had noticeably increased. Where her hands had previously stiffened when Bell attacked, now her divine power responded faster during those moments, having learned to fuel her body with fear.
Ricardo’s magic did not falter, even when drained.
That alone was enough for Bell.
Finally, Aiden.
“Come at me one more time,” Bell said.
Though everyone else had nearly collapsed, Aiden called out first, his dark-circled eyes and cracked lips showing fresh marks of injury.
Yet his gaze was different from the first day.
“…Alright.”
Clang.
The moment their swords met, Bell immediately noticed.
He had gotten faster. Not just reaction speed—timing, angle, flow into the next move, everything had changed.
Aiden had always been talented, but talent and engraving the sense of death into one’s body were entirely different.
A month ago, Aiden was an excellent swordsman.
Now, he was a swordsman who did not waver even in the face of death.
Swish.
Bell sheathed his sword. Aiden stopped as well.
The training field was filled only with the sound of their breaths.
“How was it?”
“Enough.”
Aiden smiled brightly for the first time—truly the first. A smile formed by someone who had clenched their teeth for a month.
Ricardo, lying on the ground nearby, muttered:
“…I never thought I’d say this to you, Bell, but this was insane.”
“…Agreed,” Claire immediately added, face downcast.
“I thought at least one or two of us would die, but everyone’s alive, against all odds.”
At Bell’s joke, the whole party exhaled a collective sigh of relief.
The sunset painted the training field in orange. Bell glanced over his weary companions.
They were a mess—sweaty, hair tangled, bruises and scratches scattered across them—but it looked good to him.
The next morning, the entire party gathered in front of the papal palace.
The sky was clear, a deep blue stretching endlessly, sunlight reflecting off their weapons.
Golden sword, blue cross, silver staff, heavy shield, wooden bow, golden compass, and a sword radiating dark energy.
“Compass.”
Claire set it to track the Demon King.
Click.
The needle pointed unwaveringly north.
“Still the North.”
A brief silence.
“…As expected.”
Ricardo exhaled cigarette smoke, which mingled with the morning air.
Everyone gripped their weapons tightly. No words were spoken.
Bell knew the weight of the silence. They were all afraid. Returning to that hellish North, where they had suffered near-total defeat for the first time, was terrifying.
But now it was different.
“…Let’s go.”
Bell took the first step.
No one replied.
But everyone followed.
The seven of them stepped out into the sunlight, their footsteps echoing evenly along the avenue. That alone was enough.
“Are you okay? Can you handle it?”
It was the third day since crossing the boundary between the human world and the demon realm.
The air was different. Every breath stung slightly in their lungs. The dense demonic energy was invisible and scentless, but their bodies sensed it immediately—this was not a place humans should linger.
“…Alive,” Claire said shortly. A month ago, that answer would have been strained, as if forcing herself to endure. Now it was simply factual, with no hint of fatigue.
“The saint?”
“I’m fine.” Lucia’s brief reply carried calm determination. Bell remembered that exposure to the demon realm even for an hour used her divine power rapidly. Now, her expression was unchanged. Using her power felt as natural as breathing.
“Malley?”
“Completely fine.”
Bell hesitated at the firmness of his answer.
“…Really?”
“Compared to Bell’s training, this air is just like outside.”
Claire snorted.
“I completely agree.”
Irina lightly plucked her bowstring, signaling she was unharmed.
Bell looked at Ricardo last.
He exhaled smoke, walking as if indifferent, the tendrils vanishing into the demonic air.
“You?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Ricardo inhaled deeply and spoke.
“Honestly, the demonic concentration seems stronger than last time.”
“…Yeah. True.”
Bell nodded.
“But that’s not really a problem.”
Ricardo chuckled lightly.
“Compared to week four of Bell’s training, this level of demonic energy is just… air. Air.”
The party silently agreed.
Aiden nodded. Claire smiled faintly. Malley added a heavy comment.
“After surviving the last day of week three training, I honestly felt like we could endure anything.”
Lucia quietly closed and reopened her eyes.
“Me too.”
Bell said nothing.
He just walked forward.
It was remarkable—these were the same people who had cried on the training field a month ago, pleading for their lives. Now, saying they were fine came naturally.
He gave no outward reaction.
“Then let’s keep moving.”
Their footsteps echoed over the blackened ground soaked in demonic energy, the seven moving steadily north.
Through the mist, the towering Taesan mountains of the North slowly came into view, black peaks touching the clouds. Somewhere beneath them, the Demon King awaited.
Bell lightly gripped and released the hilt of his sword, a silent vow: this time, it would be finished.