Chapter 441
Chapter 441
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 441
Chapter Title: The Most Realistic Hero
"The operation is proceeding smoothly. At this rate, the Latenaill defense battle should be over soon. Excellent command, Hero."
The commander of the 1st Knight Order, Yorne.
She let out a short breath and smiled at the overall commander of this operation. It wasn't like her to acknowledge others easily, but even she couldn't help it this time.
A large-scale operation carried out without deploying humanity's key assets, 'Kyle Toven' and 'Raniel van Trias'.
The Battle of Latenaill Defense
The man seated as overall commander had turned this operation, which everyone believed would fail, into a success. He was usually overshadowed by Kyle Toven and Garahal, the most heroic of heroes...
'The man called the most realistic hero.'
Yorne thought he was more than worthy of sitting in humanity's representative hero seat. With that in mind, she spoke his name.
"Well done, Lord Destel."
The most realistic hero, Destel.
Destel returned Yorne's smile with one of his own.
"It's thanks to the 1st Knight Order holding strong. It was a reckless plan, but I'm grateful you followed."
"Wasn't it a request from the Hero himself? We knights merely did our duty."
Knights are humanity's sword and shield, and the Hero represents humanity's champion. So it was seen as natural for knights to move at the Hero's command...
"This is thanks between people, before Hero or knight. What use are titles? I'm grateful to you all for carrying out a plan that sent you into the jaws of death without complaint."
Destel said it deliberately.
He fiddled with the collar of his Hero's mantle, smiling bitterly, as if he felt it didn't suit him.
"Now I can finally catch my breath."
Destel exhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes. As the tension released, he felt cold sweat trickling down his back.
...A battlefield where one mistake could mean the deaths of dozens or hundreds. Being the overall commander was far too heavy a burden for a young man who had dreamed of acting in a small town's theater troupe.
'Still, somehow... we pulled it off.'
Standing atop the walls, Destel looked down at the knights. They had trusted and followed his command. Seeing their blood and sweat, Destel felt true relief that it hadn't been in vain.
"What a burdensome position."
"...Is it?"
"No matter how I look at it, it doesn't feel like my place."
Yorne tilted her head at Destel's mutter. Blinking, she asked,
"Then whose place should it be?"
"Who else? Noble people like you."
Destel leaned against the wall and pointed at Yorne.
"Someone who stands here solely for humanity's sake. Someone who picked up the sword from childhood, honing themselves for the battlefield... That's the kind of noble person who should sit here."
Destel smiled bitterly.
"Not some country bumpkin kid who lucked into power like me."
"I don't think that's true."
"Huh? What?"
"I said I don't think that's true."
Yorne stated it flatly.
"No need to downplay yourself like that. In my eyes, you fit the role perfectly."
"...Me?"
"Do I really have to say it?"
She smiled bitterly.
"I couldn't have commanded them like you did. I wouldn't have led this operation to success. It's thanks to you that we defended this key stronghold for humanity."
To begin with, she added,
"Isn't it more impressive that someone like you—who, in your words, was just an ordinary person from a small village, untrained as a knight—stands here?"
"...Does that make sense?"
"A flawed, weak human trembling in fear yet fulfilling their duty. Isn't that a great story? At least, that's what I think."
Destel couldn't meet the eyes of Yorne as she smiled. He turned his head away in embarrassment, clearing his throat awkwardly a couple of times.
"I'm honored. To hear such words from the commander of the 1st Knight Order."
"Yes, I too..."
It was at that moment, as Yorne tried to continue.
Yorne's body stiffened. Sensing the anomaly, Destel's head snapped around. What they saw beyond the walls...
...The horizon was turning black.
The blackened horizon rushed toward them at terrifying speed, like a wave. Swallowing the corpses of beasts littering the plains. The two realized what this black horizon was.
"Black... fog..."
Yorne muttered in a trembling voice.
As if she couldn't believe her own words. Then, urgently, telepathic messages rang in their ears.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ ···Black fog is approaching. The fog is filled with countless beasts. Confirmed... five Armored Dragons. Beasts. Black fog.
Symbols of the Apostates.
Destel's eyes shook. Black fog? Apostates here? As Destel hurriedly tried to issue orders, in that split second of judgment...
Ku-gu-gu-gung.
The ground trembled.
The black fog approached. Destel couldn't even open his mouth—it lasted mere seconds. But for someone, those seconds were enough to decide.
Yorne grabbed Destel's wrist firmly.
"Flee, Lord Destel."
She made her choice.
"We'll handle this place."
She smiled.
"It was an honor to serve you, Lord Destel."
Destel stared blankly at her back as she leaped down from the walls. Moments later, the walls crumbled violently. Emerging from the collapsing stone were Armored Dragons.
————————!
With the Armored Dragons' roars, the fog surged into the fortress. Surging fog. The Armored Dragons burrowing into the ground with grating sounds. Shaking earth. Knights losing balance and falling. Black fog swallowing knights. Massive Armored Dragons bursting from the torn earth.
Blood.
Screams.
Flesh.
Death bloomed everywhere.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The Battle of Latenaill Defense failed.
Destel survived, at the cost of most of the personnel there. Nearly all the forces stationed at Latenaill perished. Only a tiny fraction returned to base.
When they returned, Destel left his tent and wandered aimlessly toward them.
"······."
Blood, screams, groans, wounded soldiers.
Destel walked among the dying. What right did he, the commander who abandoned them to flee, have to show his face here?
Destel felt disgust toward himself.
Yet, contrary to that disgust, no one blamed him. The moment they met his eyes, they simply bowed their heads silently. They only said they were glad he survived.
No one resented him. Not a single glance of bitterness. That fact tormented Destel even more.
His mouth burned dry.
Like a madman, Destel wandered between the tents of the wounded. Among them, he spotted familiar armor. The 1st Knight Order's.
"One."
To the knight who had lost an arm.
Who could no longer wield a sword, stand on the battlefield, or be a knight. Destel held him and continued.
"Just one, just one question."
"...Speak, Lord Destel."
"The commander of the 1st Knight Order, Yorne..."
"She fell in battle."
His mouth burned.
"...I'm sorry."
"...No need."
Releasing the knight, Destel left the tents. Walking among the knights, he gathered information. They said,
The commander of the 1st Knight Order, Yorne, had taken command in Destel's place. She resisted the Armored Dragons alongside Garahal's comrade and Seongchang.
The knights unanimously said she stayed until the end at Latenaill Fortress. The more he heard, the harder Destel's face grew.
-Kwaaaah!
-We have to tear it out. The wound's contaminated...
-Painkillers, pain relief spells...
Screams. Groans.
-...No.
-Contamination's too advanced...
-We were too late...
Death, absent breaths.
Knights stifling sobs before death. Mourning priests, uncontrollable wails bursting out.
Everywhere he looked, wherever his gaze fell.
There was only blood.
Countless had bled for him. Noble souls honed their whole lives, far better than him, had died spilling blood. Their blood clutched at Destel's ankles.
"······."
Destel stopped in place.
Amid the wounded, he looked at his feet. At the Hero's mantle draped over his shoulders. Symbols of the Hero. Things that made them gladly spill blood.
...The mantle weighed nothing.
Yet now it felt unbearably heavy. Silently, Destel removed it. With hollow eyes, he walked forward. Knights stood before him. Garahal was there.
Garahal was consoling the knights.
Despite losing a comrade, he encouraged them, promising to do better next time, forcing a smile.
Beside him was Knight Commander Heinkel van Zickhardt.
Heinkel too shouted of the future, declaring their sacrifices noble beyond measure, vowing to answer them.
"Ah, ah..."
Watching them.
Knowing he shouldn't, a hollow laugh formed on Destel's lips. He felt an alienating horror from them.
How can they do that?
It had been a successful operation. Controlling every variable, using every resource to minimize sacrifices... a perfect plan. One no better could be devised.
The operation succeeded. Victory was in sight.
What ruined it all?
Disaster. The Apostates' horde. Humanity was powerless before disaster. No matter how meticulously built, effort poured, sacrifices made—before disaster, it held no value.
...The discomfort he'd always felt.
...The doubts he'd ignored forever.
Now filled Destel's mind completely. Unerasably. He knew he shouldn't, but his voice leaked out.
"It's just whims."
Destel muttered weakly.
"Just whims."
Once his mouth opened, the poison he'd harbored poured out. The swallowed grudges. Pent-up words flooded.
"It's all useless. Plans, tactics—nothing matters. They push, and it's over."
The commander of the 1st Knight Order, Yorne.
Even in Destel's eyes, she was capable. Far nobler than him. A shining human. Even such a shining soul bled and died for him, the Hero.
Then, did their blood, their lives, have value?
If I live.
If I survive in their place.
Can I achieve something?
"Whims. A battlefield sustained only by disaster's whims..."
Destel groaned.
No. He couldn't achieve anything.
"What meaning is there in a war like this..."
Destel slowly raised his head.
Garahal stared at him. The knight commander stared. Countless knights stared. Under their cold gazes, Destel let out a hollow laugh.
He knew he shouldn't.
But his voice leaked.
"What meaning is there at all?"
They're all mad.
That day, Destel thought.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 1.
Forgotten ancient gods swarmed. The land's cursed lord, Abaddon, writhed. The overwhelming enemy horde filling his vision... made Destel recall that day's scene.
"······."
Destel's gaze wavered.
Instinctively, Destel took a step back. But only one step. Unable to retreat further or advance, he slowly turned his head.
"Bel, Belnoa...!"
"Kuh, urk..."
There stood Belnoa, vomiting blood and rising. But Belnoa couldn't steady himself. The youth who had charged ahead of Destel now stood behind him.
...Destel looked forward again.
Behind him were his juniors.
Ahead loomed massive enemies. Could he hold them off, even briefly? He didn't think so. Not really.
"Mo..."
Destel muttered in a trembling voice.
"Mimicry. Immortal..."
The coward resorted to mimicking others to hide himself again. But his fluttering mantle settled silently. It didn't respond to Destel's call.
Because he lacked conviction. Because Destel couldn't impersonate Immortal Tritan. Right now, even he was certain he couldn't do it as himself.
Thus, the mantle ignored its master's call. Destel's hands trembled. Without mimicking someone's power... he'd be just a pathetic coward here.
A coward who could do nothing alone. Too craven to flee or advance.
"Ah, please, why..."
Destel clutched his mantle tightly.
His eyes quivered. His heart pounded madly; his teeth chattered.
Isn't it my turn?
Shouldn't I step up heroically for my juniors?
You're the Hero; isn't that what you must do?
Destel wished to overcome fear and advance like fairy tale heroes. But a lifelong coward couldn't shake off terror easily.
Death terrified him.
Those massive foes terrified him.
The fear was unbearable.
...Fairy tale, story, epic heroes charge at death so easily. Most don't describe their fear, or just a line or two if they do.
But not for Destel.
'Please...!'
Describing one man's inner world here: fear alone could fill dozens of pages. Thoughts overwhelmed him, breath short.
"That's not a blessing—it's a curse."
Echoing in his ears: a story he'd heard once.
"Poor child."
An Apostate he'd met one day.
Stroking the terrified Destel's cheek, she whispered,
"That power you have is a curse."
"A terrible curse for a coward, a child who can't become a hero, who can't shine."
There, the Apostate prophesied.
"You'll run until the very last moment."
"And you'll hate it."
"This curse you call a blessing."
Destel looked ahead with trembling eyes.
A colossal statue raised its foot.
"···Ah."
The colossus stomped down.
Boom. The earth shook violently.