The Dawning Light

The Hero looked down at his trembling hands. He had killed two.

Two human beings, cut down by his own blade. And in return, he had died twice.

He no longer knew whom he could trust. A priest of God had turned on him, striking him with a betrayal so sudden and vicious that his mind still reeled from the impact. Now, the crimson stain of human blood clung to his fingers, impossible to wash clean.

A bitter, self-mocking sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. A Hero who had cut down more fellow men than monsters or demons—what a grotesque farce.

"Why did I ever..."

Why had he become the Hero in the first place? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He let out a weary sigh, surrendered to the quiet dark, and closed his eyes.

Morning arrived without fail, indifferent to his despair. The sun rose just as it had yesterday, just as it would tomorrow, generously pouring its warmth upon the earth. As the brilliant dawning light washed across the world, the Hero pulled himself from the cradle of dreams and sat up in bed.

Today was the day he was meant to learn the art of miracles from the Saintess. His companions had spoken of finding an archer to join their ranks, but her arrival had been delayed. He slipped his clothes on. Whatever doubts gnawed at his heart, he was still the Hero, bound by duty to act the part.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor. Dawn over the Holy Land was quiet, steeped in tranquil reverence.

"We practiced channeling Holy Power last time, didn't we?" Beatrice said, greeting him with a gentle smile. "Even if the Protection of the Hero allows you to manifest Holy Power externally, weaving formulas and invoking miracles remains a matter of pure talent and dedication, unlike the innate grace granted to a Saint. In other words, this is where the real work begins."

She folded her hands gracefully before continuing. "There are two fundamental ways to wield Holy Power: Consecration and Projection. Consecration means imbuing an object—such as a weapon—with divine power, while Projection is the act of casting that power outward from your body to command it."

Einzel gave a quiet nod.

"Furthermore, Holy Power carries three distinct attributes: Recovery, Protection, and Purification. While it is foolish to neglect any of them, you will almost always stand on the vanguard, so focusing your studies on Protection would be most ideal."

Beatrice reached out, lightly taking hold of Einzel's wrist. "Try releasing your Holy Power."

A faint, shimmering mote of light flickered to life at his fingertips.

"Yes, just like that. Now imagine spreading it wide... Yes, keep going..."

"There wasn't much to glean from that memory," Peria murmured, letting out a soft sigh.

Was that a blessing, or a curse? That nothing momentous had transpired meant they had spent precious time on uneventful memories. Yet none among them looked genuinely disappointed.

Sein saw right through their quiet relief. Not only herself, but all of them had become terrified—terrified of catching another glimpse of his deaths, of peering into his raw, unvarnished agony. Enduring the sight of his mental torment was painful enough, but it paled before the horror of watching him die over and over again.

Witnessing a person break apart piece by piece could only ever provoke sickening discomfort. How much worse was it when someone you thought you knew intimately—someone who had seemed entirely composed on the surface—had in truth been rotting away to the very bone? Even if that man had been an enemy, watching such ruin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would have been unbearable.

"Yes," Beatrice said softly. "Even if nothing critical surfaced this time, we must remain vigilant and comb through every detail, just in case."

Lena's voice broke in, sharp and sudden. "Wait a minute. Thinking about it, shouldn't the next memory show the day I arrived? If we're tracking the dates, that ought to be right around now."

"That sounds about right," Peria agreed. "It will likely cover your arrival."

Every woman in the room deliberately avoided voicing the darker possibility hanging over them: that in the intervening days, he might have suffered another horrific death.

Before their discussion could continue, grim news reached their ears.

"The Empire is assembling a pursuit force to hunt down the Hero!"

The savior of mankind had officially become prey.

"...Therefore, while We initially deemed it appropriate to conclude this matter with exile out of respect for the Hero's past contributions, We cannot turn a deaf ear to the nobility clamoring day after day for righteous justice. We hereby order that a pursuit force be dispatched to apprehend him. Count Serindel?"

"At your command, Your Imperial Majesty!"

"You shall take direct command of the imperial forces and bring the Hero to heel."

Count Serindel was crowned the hunter; the Hero was cast as the beast.

"To eliminate this menace threatening all mankind, We expect total cooperation from our neighboring states. Issue official dispatches warning them that anyone wishing to remain on peaceful terms with the Empire must assist in his capture."

The Hero's transformation into a treacherous villain was instantaneous. Commoners cursed the man who had supposedly marched their sons to the slaughterhouse, their anger stoked to a fever pitch. On his dais, the Emperor smiled faintly.

"...If my memory serves me, Your Imperial Majesty previously declared that in light of the Hero's distinguished service, his exile would bring an end to the matter," Sein spoke up in the imperial council chamber. In an instant, every noble's gaze snapped toward her.

What had gotten into her? To question the Emperor so openly? Why would the head of the hardliners, who had been more furious than anyone over the Hero's supposed betrayal, suddenly speak out in his defense?

"Ah, indeed We did, Duchess Luderan. However, that Hero... no, that villain who once bore the mantle could strike at the Empire at any moment."

Sein's brow knitted into a sharp scowl. "No matter how formidable or cunning the Hero may be, an individual poses no existential threat to our realm. Grandis in the north remains our true peril. Squandering military assets across foreign borders should hardly take priority."

"Hmm... No, Duchess, the Hero is of the utmost priority. What should happen if he uses the prestige of his former title to bewitch the masses?"

Pure sophistry. However high the Hero's reputation stood, it could never hold a candle to the Empire itself—the suzerain power of the Goddess Religion and home to the Saintess.

"...At present, we are reviewing the records of the Hero's past to ascertain the reasons behind his actions," Sein began, but her voice failed to reach the Emperor's ears.

Peria had silently invoked a spatial ward with Blink magic, deadening the sound before it could travel.

"There is no need to advertise that we are probing his memories," Peria's voice whispered directly into Sein's mind. "Omit that from your argument."

Sein could not fathom her reasoning, but she deferred to Peria's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠judgment for the moment. "I believe our immediate priority should be determining what the Hero's true motives were."

The Emperor wore an untroubled, indulgent smile. "A fair point, Duchess. Yet while we sit idle contemplating his motives, the Hero may slip through our grasp, inviting further bloodshed. Apprehending him first remains our most urgent necessity."

In the face of the Emperor's resolute decree, even Sein—the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army—had no choice but to bow her head. A cold, nameless dread coiled tightly within her chest.

"The hour of glory is upon us at last! The chance to claim the fallen Hero's head and etch our names into legend!" Count Devos Serindel bellowed, stroking his manicured mustache as he addressed the assembly of imperial knights.

Second only to Duchess Sein Luderan in military standing, Count Serindel had been appointed supreme commander of the expeditionary pursuit force. Marshalling such overwhelming military might against a solitary man was an absurd overreaction, yet not a single soul raised an objection.

To them, the Hero was vile scum who had led the Empire's sons into butchery—a traitor who had offered imperial glory straight into the maw of a demon witch. The populace had swallowed the propaganda manufactured by the Imperial Intelligence Bureau hook, line, and sinker, and the rumors had only grown more grotesque with each telling.

Whispers claimed the Hero was nothing more than a degenerate kept pet catering to the witch's depraved pleasures. Others swore the witch and the Hero had formed an unholy alliance to conquer the demon realm for themselves.

A few months prior, Einzel Leonhardt had been celebrated as the sole savior capable of defying the Demon King. Now, his name was dragged through the mud. The Empire formally decreed that it was stripping him of the noble surname 'Leonhardt' granted by imperial favor, a measure hailed across the provinces as entirely just.

"We hereby notify you that our forces must unavoidably cross your sovereign borders to apprehend this vile traitor to mankind," Count Serindel announced flatly to the monarch of the Deltan Kingdom.

Theodore Deltan's face turned beet-red, his slight frame trembling with suppressed fury. "By what right does an imperial army presume to violate our borders?"

"Rights are irrelevant here, Your Majesty," Serindel sneered. "What matters is that should you refuse to cooperate, we will have no choice but to report to the Emperor that the Deltan Kingdom has allied itself with the enemy of humanity."

Submit, or face total war.

It was a crude, effortless, and utterly devastating threat. Count Serindel smiled inwardly. If he presented results that pleased His Imperial Majesty, crushing Duchess Luderan beneath his heel to claim the mantle of supreme commander would be well within his grasp.

The King of Deltan bowed his head in bitter humiliation, powerless to stop the boots of the imperial pursuit force from trampling his sovereign soil.

I stared down at my reflection in the pool of water.

Had the black patterns etched across my skin grown larger, or was it just my imagination? I tilted my head, examining the dark markings.

Well, even if the Demon King's residual mana ate away at me a little more, it wouldn't cause any world-ending catastrophe. The Demon King who owned that power was already dead, after all.

I splashed the cold water over my face and looked around. The clearing was an abattoir, littered with severed limbs and cooling corpses.

"Honestly... these dark mage bastards are an absolute pain in the ass."

Summoning a spark of fire, I began burning the bodies to ash.