The Day the Hero Died
On the day the Hero died, it was a day like any other in the past when a renowned magician left behind a single prophecy. Five years from now, the Demon King would return once more. No human in this world would be able to withstand it.
In five years, the Demon King shall return once more.
No human of this world shall be able to withstand it.
The one who had spoken the prophecy suddenly drew his last breath only days later. Because of that, the words gained an aura of mystery and spread like wildfire across the world.
Reactions varied. Farmers dismissed it as baseless rumor. Merchants caught the scent of profit and began to stir. Priests gathered to seriously discuss countermeasures. And so on.
Amid the chaos, one idea drew the attention of every nation.
If the humans of this world could not defeat the Demon King, why not summon humans from another world?
They never bothered worrying that the prophecy might be wrong. If the summoned heroes actually slew the Demon King, that would be ideal. If not, they could simply prop them up as a political symbol—the Hero from another world. Elevating someone and using them as a figurehead was second nature to nobles and royalty alike.
And so, countless otherworlders were summoned under the title of Hero. Among them was a young man named Suh Hwian, who had been nineteen years old.
The moment he was summoned, everything was pure bewilderment. A marble basement gleaming under magical lights. Soldiers encircling him. And at the center, a girl who called herself a princess, smiling in welcome.
It took a long time to calm the chaos. Accepting reality took even longer.
Yet time flows on regardless.
He met many people. He formed many bonds. He saw new things and learned new things. In a future he could not see even an inch ahead, he walked forward as best he could.
There were efforts that carved away at his very flesh. There were hopes he clung to with desperate longing.
If I kill the Demon King, I can go home.
Relying on that single promise from the royal family, he endured with everything he had.
Time continued to pass.
Six years since his summoning. Three years since the Demon King’s resurrection, exactly as the prophecy had foretold.
Suh Hwian stared blankly at the sky churning with darkness and thought—
“...Cough.”
A violent cough brought a thick clot of blood surging from his mouth. His left arm, shredded to ribbons, dangled uselessly. With every step, the mangled flesh that had once been his leg left dark, viscous fluid staining the ground.
Why had it come to this? Why? How? Just why?
Why? Why!!
He had worked so hard. He had lived with everything he possessed. Among those dog-like nobles and worthless mages, he had desperately chased after a future.
He had only wanted to live. To kill the Demon King and return to the world where he belonged. That was all.
“Cough… cough…”
Darkness settled over the snowfield. In that desolate landscape, the only traces of life were the bloody footprints he left behind.
The world had ended. Only despair remained.
If I kill the Demon King, I can go home. Even if those words were a lie, he had believed that if he held on until the end, a way would appear. He thought that once the Demon King was dead—whether by hounding the mages or wringing the royal family dry—everything could somehow be fixed.
He never imagined the world would fall before the Demon King could be slain.
“Cough! Cough… Hack, haa…”
Each cough came laced with blood. His body was ruined inside and out; every movement sent fresh agony scraping across his nerves.
In the lightless dark where not even a single rat stirred, he forced out a ragged breath.
He missed home. He missed his hometown. He missed the world he had known.
He hated the toxic air that sickened him with every inhale. He hated the bitter cold that froze all things. He hated the cursed merfolk that would lunge at any exposed flesh.
He wanted to fall asleep without a single worry in his mother’s arms, a mother whose face he could no longer remember. In truth, she would probably have shoved him away the moment he tried, calling him disgusting. Yet even that imagined rejection felt unbearably precious now.
“…Cough!”
But his dying body would not even grant him that final comfort.
The fresh spurt of blood painted another vivid red across the pure white snow. In a vision blurred and reddened by pain, he glared up at the sky and clenched his teeth. Rage surged through him.
Humanity had proven itself far more pathetic than he had ever imagined.
The border count who should have been the kingdom’s strongest pillar had died absurdly of old age, unable to find even one successor. The empire that boasted the continent’s greatest technology had crumbled from within, sabotaged by its own people. The mages who had swaggered about solving everything were literally crushed beneath the Demon King’s feet. And the very royalty who had summoned him had fallen into civil war over power, destroying their own nation with their own hands.
All the while, he had fought with nothing but a single sword, surviving with desperate fury. He had become the hero those wretched nobles wanted. Yet by the time he did, humanity was already dying.
Bloody tears slid down his face.
If he could, he would have overturned everything. He would have thrown away the title of hero, smashed it all to pieces.
It was unfair. Curses slipped between his teeth. Unimaginable pain flared from his shattered limbs.
“Cough! Ha… ah…!”
Would it have been better to kill them all from the start? To cut down every noble and royal, seize control himself? Should he never have trusted anyone? He no longer knew.
He simply hated them. Detested them. Everything. Every last thing in this world filled him with loathing.
He had never wanted to come to a world like this. He had dreams he wanted to fulfill.
In the end, it was all garbage. This world was garbage. All that remained was regret.
A world this rotten deserved to be destroyed. Yes, exactly—
“—Ah.”
Shunk.
At the end of his bitter monologue came the sound of a blade slicing through flesh.
“…I’m sorry.”
A woman’s voice followed.
It was a fragile, familiar timbre coming from directly behind him.
“I’m so sorry…”
He felt a small, trembling presence right at his back. A glimpse of white hair brushed the edge of his vision.
…In the fury that had consumed his mind, a sudden wave of bittersweet emotion rose.
He knew exactly who stood behind him.
Strength drained from his shoulders. The fist he had clenched so tightly loosened.
“Carmen.”
Slowly, with cracked and dried lips, he spoke her name. He felt her flinch, and the corner of his mouth curled into a faint, wry smile.
Carmen.
One of the few noble souls among a thoroughly incompetent humanity. One of the handful of heroes who had given everything for a dying world.
One of the few people he had called comrade.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hero.”
“Me? Um… I’m just a humble merchant.”
“Yes, a merchant. I sell my wares in this broken world.”
“Would you like to buy something? Oh, you don’t need to pay.”
“If my goods can bring you even the slightest comfort, that is enough for me.”
She was eccentric.
She was a comrade-in-arms.
In this collapsing world, she was the reason he had been able to keep living. In the depths of crushing loneliness, she had been the one who spoke with him again and again.
An unidentified traveling merchant who wandered the ruined lands. One of the few women he held in genuine affection.
They had not met for over half a year. He had assumed she was long dead.
Had she been well? Had she been hurt?
A warm longing bloomed in his chest.
“…I’m sorry.”
But the moment of warmth did not last.
Her voice, once bright with resolve, now shook violently. As the apologies continued, he let out a weak laugh and looked down at himself.
There it was—a dagger shaped like a clock needle, buried in his chest. Blood pulsed out in steady, heavy spurts.
She had stabbed him through the heart from behind. Since he knew better than anyone that his body had no hope of survival, he felt no resentment.
“Thank you.”
“S-sorry…!!”
His strength gave out. His body crumpled forward.
In his fading sight, the snowfield drank the pouring blood and turned crimson.
Quiet gratitude filled his final breaths. Gratitude for ending the long agony. So this was the end.
He had many regrets. He carried much anger. …And he still yearned for so many things.
He had struggled and fought with everything he had, yet achieved nothing in the end.
But before death, what did any of it matter?
His vision grew steadily blurrier. The pain faded. His breathing slowed.
“…You’re crying. For someone like me, on a day like this.”
In his last moment, he looked at Carmen and offered a faint smile. He smiled for the woman who had granted him an ending in this ruined world.
White hair. A white robe.
Tears fell steadily from beneath the large mask that hid her face. The stubborn woman who had never once shown him her true face until the very end.
If he could be born again, he hoped he might see that face with his own eyes. He wanted to sit with her in a peaceful age and talk slowly, gently, without hurry.
Chewing on those small regrets and wishes, Suh Hwian slowly closed his eyes.
The Hero of the Adonia Kingdom, Suh Hwian. His life of pain and regret came to its end.
…Or so he believed.