The Rose and the Cat
On the outskirts of the Basil Region, two young women were passing through the ruins outside the barrier. Or rather, only one of them was truly a girl; the other merely possessed the appearance of one, her actual age far exceeding her youthful looks.
The one who was not a girl possessed hair of a striking crimson, reminiscent of a blooming rose. People called her the Hero of the Rose. Her name was Gwen Lidval.
"Sniff..." Walking a few paces behind her, sniffing softly, was a black-haired girl. She had sought Gwen out a year ago under Alan Flake's recommendation, and currently stood as her designated successor.
Gwen called out to her without even turning her head. "Hey, stray cat."
In truth, the girl's identity was not one that Gwen—who hailed from a noble knight family of the Reim Kingdom—should ever treat so casually. She was none other than Ersiala, the Third Princess of Reim. But right now, the princess was merely a stray cat with nowhere to go, and Gwen's sole disciple. And...
"What is it?" came the curt reply. Gwen didn't particularly care for Ersiala's attitude. Calling her a "stray cat" was actually a compromise; she had originally wanted to call her a "thief cat," but had shown a modicum of restraint out of respect for her royal lineage.
"I was just wondering if you've recovered." Despite their friction, Ersiala was still her official successor. Though they bickered without fail every single day, Gwen could at least offer this much concern as her master. For her part, Ersiala did hold a decent amount of respect for Gwen as her teacher.
"I am perfectly fine," Ersiala replied. "I was merely a little angry."
"Angry?" Gwen was currently leading Ersiala back from the Trial in the Basil Region. Yet, despite successfully passing it, Ersiala had emerged with a deathly pale face, doing nothing but sniffing back tears.
"That bastard of a god forced me to relive the memories of that day," Ersiala spat. Gwen's expression hardened. "That day" could only refer to the coup d'état that had recently ravaged the kingdom. A coup of that scale would undoubtedly affect the Lidval family as well, given their close ties to the royal court.
"So, what exactly made you so angry?"
"At myself. For being utterly powerless to do anything."
"Simply managing to escape that situation was you doing your absolute best," Gwen said, her voice softening with genuine sincerity. Evading the pursuers hired by the rebel faction and fleeing all the way to Basil was a feat bordering on the impossible—especially for a sheltered princess who had never once stepped foot outside the royal palace of Reim.
"The very fact that you made the decision to flee is commendable in itself." Ersiala came to a sudden halt. She spoke in a low, somber voice.
"It was not my decision. If it had not been for my Constellation, I would not have survived."
"But a Constellation's words carry no absolute coercion. In the end, choosing to run was your own decision."
"That is..." Gwen stopped as well, turning to face her. "And choosing to come to me instead of heading to Sack was your decision too, was it not?"
Ersiala could have given up and stopped at any point during her grueling journey here. Yet, she had not. Driven by sheer tenacity, she had pushed forward until she reached this very place.
"What truly matters is always your own choice. So, tell me—what is it that you want to do now?"
"I want to exact revenge on the knights who orchestrated the coup," Ersiala said, resuming her march. "That is the sole reason I am learning the sword from you."
A faint smile played on Gwen's lips. Ersiala was already absorbing her teachings at a remarkable pace. It was a starkly different experience from when she had mentored Alan. While Alan had also been exceptionally quick to learn, his swordsmanship had always felt somewhat fundamentally flawed. Ersiala, on the other hand, possessed a brilliant innate talent that, when paired with Gwen's instruction, allowed her to grow as if propelled by a powerful tailwind.
Come to think of it, I wonder what that boy is up to these days? Gwen mused.
"Actually, my Constellation also approved of me seeking you out," Ersiala added. Gwen hadn't known that. It seemed the boy had somehow managed to win over even a Constellation. She pictured Alan's characteristic, easygoing smirk.
He truly is a hard one to read, Gwen thought. She still didn't understand his true motives for wanting to become a hero, a goal he had pursued so doggedly. She had even inquired at the inn where he used to work, but the staff there seemed just as clueless.
Was her name Wyss? Gwen recalled the young woman with the translucent white hair, who hadn't been working at the inn during Gwen's previous visits. Wyss had mentioned that Alan wanted to prove something. Did that "proof" refer to ascending to the rank of a high-level hero? If so, perhaps he had already achieved his goal.
If so, what on earth is he doing now? A shocking piece of news had reached her ears not too long ago: a boy named Alan Flake, registered merely as a low-ranking Pathfinder, had slain three Demon Kings. As she had suspected, he was indeed the one who had defeated the 71st Demon King. Furthermore, he hadn't stopped there; he had gone on to slay both the 13th and 67th Demon Kings in Sack.
In recognition of these unprecedented achievements, he had bypassed the usual cadet phase entirely and been appointed as an official hero. Not just any hero, but a high-level hero ranked 100th. Given that even elite, high-level heroes rarely had experience slaying a single Demon King, a rank of 100th might have seemed modest to some, but considering he had started as a mere Pathfinder, it was an astronomical leap.
The entire world had instantly focused its attention on this mysterious new powerhouse, eager to learn more about his true strength, yet the Holy Church had kept his personal information strictly classified. Many anticipated that he would continue his meteoric rise through the ranks, but instead, the rumors had suddenly gone cold. The moment Alan Flake was appointed as a high-level hero, he had vanished without a trace.
Speculation ran rampant. Some claimed he had retired, content with reaching the high-level tier. Others whispered that he lacked the actual strength of an elite hero and was merely being shielded by the Church. A few theorized that he was currently executing a top-secret mission for the papacy. Naturally, none of these rumors could be verified—not unless Alan himself stepped forward to clarify the truth.
He must have a plan, Gwen reasoned. She simply couldn't picture him idling away his time. He was undoubtedly busy with something, somewhere. To her, the theory that he was undertaking a covert operation for the Church seemed far more plausible.
Though, in my heart, I simply wish for his safety. She had no idea how powerful he had grown, but she was well aware of the immense pressure and scrutiny placed upon high-level heroes. Furthermore, Alan had slain three Demon Kings. The remaining forces of chaos would undoubtedly paint a massive target on his back.
Yes, keeping a low profile is a wise decision for now. Alan was clever enough to handle whatever came next. For now, Gwen had her own matters to attend to. Her immediate priority was training the successor walking behind her, and eventually, securing a suitable Holy Relic.
First... Gwen turned her head slightly to look back at Ersiala. Strands of brilliant gold were beginning to peek through the roots of her dyed black hair, and her eyes still held the striking, deep blue characteristic of the Reim royal bloodline.
"Stray cat."
"Yes?"
"I intend to send you to the Hero Academy this year." Over the past year, Ersiala's determination had never wavered, and Gwen had already taught her nearly everything she could. Keeping her by her side for another year would be highly inefficient.
"The Hero Academy?"
"It is an elite training institution directly run by the Holy Church."
"But I have no need to become an official hero..."
"You require the power to exact your revenge, do you not? At the academy, you will learn practical combat and forge connections that will serve as your future strength. Furthermore, receiving a Holy Relic upon graduation based on your performance will be of immense help."
While one might occasionally stumble upon a 1-star relic while scavenging outside the barriers, acquiring a 2-star or higher Holy Relic was an entirely different matter. Even if one did manage to obtain one, the chances of its attributes aligning with the wielder's compatibility were slim. The Holy Church, however, possessed a vast treasury of relics, allowing them to match and assign the most compatible weapons to their top graduates. Gwen's own 3-star relic sword, Ignis, had been awarded to her upon her graduation.
"If that is the case... I will go." Ersiala seemed to have made up her mind. However, there was still one glaring issue to address before she could enroll.
"But do you truly intend to keep dyeing your hair like that?" Gwen asked. The Hero Academy was a place of intense scrutiny, drawing the most talented young cadets from across the continent. No matter how much Ersiala's features had matured and changed, her signature, brilliant golden hair would immediately draw unwanted attention. Yet, constantly dyeing such long hair was not only a massive waste of time but also detrimental to her health. Even now, neglecting it for just a few days allowed the blonde roots to show. Gwen was actually about to suggest shaving her head completely.
"Ersiala, in my opinion, it would be best if—"
"I do not think I will need to dye it anymore."
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, the space around Ersiala's head began to warp. Her black hair bled into a vibrant crimson in an instant, and her facial features shifted into a strikingly familiar form.
"How is it? Quite a resemblance, isn't it? It is an ability I acquired through this Trial."
The face she had assumed was none other than Gwen's own. Though Gwen loathed to admit it, the likeness was uncanny. Of course, acknowledging the resemblance did not mean she was pleased. Watching Ersiala pull all sorts of ridiculous expressions with her face, Gwen spoke in a flat, dangerous tone.
"Hey, thief cat."
Now, she finally had a perfectly valid reason to call her a thief cat.
"Oh? Are you calling yourself a thief cat now?"
It seemed her successor was long overdue for another beating. Let's see, she last tasted my fist right before entering the Trial, so it has been at least four days. That afternoon, Ersiala found herself rolling on the dirt, bruised and battered to within an inch of her life, all while fondly recalling the day she had first met Alan.