Find the Hero's Successor! (1)
“Hey, everyone doing okay...”
“Arreeeeen!”
“The savior of the Knight Class has arrived!”
“Aren! Aren! Aren!”
...What the hell? Déjà vu?
No sooner had I flung open the door to Class C than chants of my name erupted like some politician's election rally. Stunned and wondering what was going on, I stood there frozen until Trisi, stepping forward as the rep, grinned and spoke up.
“Aren! You're late, but thanks. We couldn't have won the department match without you...!”
“Won? Oh...”
Only then did it hit me why these guys were worshipping the ground I walked on. I'd totally forgotten about the inter-department competition amid all the massive chaos in the middle.
But a win? “Didn't we fall short by two points? They gave it to us anyway?”
“Not exactly a full win, but they ruled it a superior victory or something. We're still getting all the original prizes.”
“Oh, that's good news.”
The winning department wasn't just getting a break—they'd get permission to visit home. For these noble kids who'd been cooped up like greenhouse flowers, homesickness must've been brutal. Some of the rep students had been training like maniacs over it.
But the tournament got halted by the lady's incident, so there'd been a lot of talk about how it'd be handled afterward. I'd heard as much from the archduchess. Looks like the academy showed some flexibility.
Yeah, that made sense.
“I messaged Dad yesterday that I might swing by soon, and he was thrilled!”
“My old man was over the moon too. Mom was her usual stoic self, though.”
“Moms are like that mostly.”
“You say that, but she'll be happy when you actually show up.”
“Yeah. Dad let slip that at our place, the second I said I was coming home, Mom was secretly cracking the whip on the gardeners.”
Must've been decided yesterday, 'cause everyone had already called home. Seeing them bouncing around all excited made me feel oddly proud. Sure, I'd jumped in on a hot-headed whim to put Neriel in her place, but as the Knight Class rep, I had some sense of belonging and duty. Glad I delivered for my classmates.
“Anyway, you okay? What about your lady?”
“Suspended for a bit, from what I hear. But she can still leave the dorms. Thinking of stopping by later.”
“Tiabel Roze Tail, right? She's something else. Heard she even contracted a Spirit King, but it went berserk?”
“For real? That possible?”
“Well, not a full contract...”
After that, it was like they'd prepped a list of questions to bombard me with while I was in the hospital. They unleashed them all at once, so it took forever just to find my seat.
Good thing was, no one in class seemed to hold grudges or anger toward Lady Tiabel. The academy must've spun the story well—probably that she was just another victim. Lucky break.
“Oh, right. Someone came looking for you this morning.”
“Me?”
I was midway through unpacking my bag onto the desk when Kaia, the guy in front of me, swiveled around in his seat to relay the info.
Someone looking for me? Who? Lady Tiabel was still stuck in the dorms on suspension. The archduchess? Theo? Or maybe that nosy student council president dropped by personally? I was pondering that when—
“Yeah. The Saintess.”
“...?”
The name dropped out of nowhere, and question marks popped up over my head.
The Saintess? Why the hell was she popping up here?
＊
The Holy Kingdom of Libertan.
It was a nation of believers in the Church of Light, devoted to Belhar, the god of light and creation, sandwiched between the Varcardia Empire and the Kingdom of Ruendel.
The kingdom's territory was roughly the size of the imperial capital, small for a country but vast enough for a single church. At its heart was the supreme ruler, Holy King Marieta Vantriel, flanked by the seven cardinals known as the Apostles.
But separate from them was another figure, blessed with divine oracle from Belhar himself, wielding independent authority and power—the symbol of the Holy Kingdom.
“Saintess! Good day...!”
“Hello!”
“Good morning, Saintess!”
Her silver hair shimmered in the warm morning sun, blue eyes like a serene lake scanning her surroundings with quiet insight. Wherever she went, greetings poured from passersby.
“...”
But she offered no reply, slipping past in silence. Her name was Yubelia Euyril—the blessed woman closest to Belhar's grace, known far more as the Saintess than by name.
“Did the Saintess not hear us?”
“Idiot, haven't you heard? She's forbidden from interacting with outsiders. She wants to respond, but the rules won't let her.”
“Yeah, our compassionate Saintess wouldn't ignore us on purpose...”
A few raised eyebrows at her demeanor, but they quickly rationalized it. Strict, pure rules and limited conduct—surely that was it.
Yubelia, overhearing their murmurs, hurried on until—
“I missed the greeting again... I gotta fix this personality of mine...”
—she crouched behind a massive pillar, out of sight, clutching her head. It was hard to believe this woman, radiating a gloomy aura, was the Light God's proxy.
It couldn't be helped. Chosen as Saintess at just eight years old, she'd been barred from all contact with people ever since. Women were tolerable for brief talk, but men? Strictly off-limits. Even then, the kingdom's elite were all old enough to be her mom or grandma—no real conversation partners there.
Confined to her private annex, Yubelia naturally struggled with social graces. Especially around major believers like the Holy King and cardinals.
'God, why this trial for me?!'
So why had she come to the academy of her own accord?
It traced back to a conversation with the Holy King in Libertan, right before enrollment.
— “Saintess, have you received the call of light?”
— “How did Your Holiness know...?”
The call of light—a euphemism for Belhar's oracle.
— “This morning, I received one too. 'Seek the one pursuing the forgotten light.'”
— “Just like the oracle I got. But what is this 'forgotten light'?”
— “It must refer to Lady Iferia, the first and last to bear the title of Hero in continental history.”
— “Lady Iferia...”
— “Yes. The hero who felled Nemesis the Black Heaven, who blackened the skies across the continent.”
Nemesis—the empire's most heinous criminal, a black mage who built a legion of followers and creations to devour the world. Among the three heroes who opposed him, Iferia alone earned the Hero's title as a swordswoman. No one on the continent didn't know their names.
— “So the one pursuing the forgotten light...”
— “My guess? The Hero's successor has appeared.”
— “What? Rumors say Lady Iferia passed without heirs...”
— “That's the public story. But perhaps not. With her followers still lurking...”
She'd hidden her lineage to protect her descendants from harm, dying in secrecy. It was a plausible theory—Yubelia's face grew grave.
— “Then God wishes us to find this successor soon.”
If the Hero's bloodline existed, it was huge news. Not just for symbolism—the Holy Kingdom and beyond buzzed with fears of Nemesis's revival, her cult scheming to resurrect her. Securing the Hero's heir was insurance.
— “That's why I have a request for you, Saintess.”
— “A request...?”
— “It was just rumor, so I dismissed it. But whispers say the successor is emerging.”
— “Oh.”
— “And I suspect the academy. The timing fits.”
Iferia was class of '77—around thirty years ago for marriage and kids. A successor would wield fitting power, noble or not, clearing the academy's bar easily.
— “Could you go to the academy and identify them?”
— “Me? With so many others...”
— “The academy distrusts our people. But you? They'd admit the Saintess for the symbolism. And you're of age this year.”
— “Urk...”
Irrefutable logic soured Yubelia's expression. The empire and Ruendel weren't close to the kingdom—prejudices made Holy Kingdom folk seem aloof, fueled by their insular policies.
— “Fine. But once I find a suspect, I can come back? Crowds aren't my thing.”
— “Of course. No more burden on you. But keep this secret.”
— “Yes. Don't worry.”
If true, whoever found the successor first—kingdom or otherwise—had to beat Nemesis's cult. Secrecy was obvious.
“But now it's like finding a needle in a desert...”
Tasked by God and king, she'd vowed to wrap it up fast and return. Yet at the academy, hopelessness set in.
Top-tier talents abounded, as expected from the empire's best school. But no Hero successor suspects—everyone had clear pedigrees and origins. A hidden heir wouldn't.
'It's okay. I found a suspect.'
A ray of light pierced the gloom. Yubelia steeled herself, picturing the man at the center of every rumor since enrollment.
No certainty yet, but the pieces fit. Above all, the divine grace—Belhar's guidance—screamed it: he was the one.
'Struck out this morning, but I'll meet him soon.'
She resolved to find the Hero's successor ASAP and escape this place.