Chapter 76: The Hero Appears
Strekl, standing beside Marhal, swallowed hard. Marin, who had been listening intently to Marhal's voice from inside the carriage, and Bayola, who wanted to comfort her but couldn't find the words and thus stayed silent, both held their breath.
The man Marhal casually called "hyung"—big brother—was, as far as they knew, the only one in the world.
Marin leaned out from the carriage. She nearly tumbled out but caught her balance, and what she saw was a man's face unchanged from the last time she'd laid eyes on him.
"The Her…"
"Hey, hey, hey!"
Gasp! At Bayola's cry, Marin clamped a hand over her own mouth. Then she narrowed her eyes and glared at Bayola.
"No one's gonna believe you anyway."
"Don't you think at least two others might?"
In the direction Bayola pointed, Marina and Alasil were eyeing the newcomer with keen interest. Even to Bayola's eyes, the man didn't seem ordinary. His appearance was utterly commonplace, but instinct warned that one shouldn't approach him lightly or strike up a conversation. The two bearing the Hero Party's legacy seemed to feel the same, hesitating to wedge themselves between him and Marhal.
Basta stepped down from the carriage. He clapped Marhal hard on the shoulder— a light greeting to some, but not to the recipient.
"Ow, that hurts. You trying to kill me or something?"
"It's been a while, so this much is fine. How've you been?"
"Eh, getting by. But where's your wife? A guy with a daughter isn't wandering alone again, right?"
"She's probably minding the shop right now."
Marhal was stunned. Stunned more than when he'd witnessed his attendant Gaster turning into a demon in real time. The Hero Basta that Marhal knew was the incarnation of wandering—a man who couldn't settle in one place. For him to run a shop?
"Ah, it's not my shop, so don't get the wrong idea. The owner's laid up injured, so I'm just helping out temporarily."
"So normally you're still drifting around?"
"What else is there for me?"
Hero was a title that remained, monstrous strength remained, and anyway, he had more than enough to spare.
Basta's face grew serious. With the smile gone, he asked, "No troubles, right?"
"…That intuition again?"
"Just a feeling."
From the time Marhal had met him, Basta's intuition had been extraordinary. Mar had called it on the level of precognition or prophecy. A mage's future-sight magic seemed to show both good and bad futures visually. But not Basta's intuition. In most situations, it yielded only positive outcomes. A mystery more fearsome than directly seeing the future. He'd surely followed that mystery here.
"So, what happened?"
"I failed big time. After a long stretch without one."
This incident was Marhal's greatest failure in the past five years. Marhal judged failure differently from others. Money lost could be earned back. Honor followed power. Marhal was born under power's star. Even without flaunting his name, the history he carried was beloved by power, so he rarely failed when power was at stake. But people weren't so replaceable. People willing to bury their bones in the West weren't easy to find. If migration succeeded, everyone here would become Westerners. Folks who'd abandoned their roots in the Duchy to come. They'd settle in the West, grow old there, die there. And those people had died. A greater mistake to Marhal than anything else.
"Yeah, I get why I came now."
With that, Basta smacked Marhal on the head. A hero's fist. The brain-rattling impact made Marhal glare at him.
"You messed up every day when you were a kid. What, you gonna mope over one mistake?"
"Easy for you to say. Knowing and experiencing are different."
Back then, he was young, had nothing, and there were people to make up for his mistakes. Now, he had to handle every action and consequence himself.
"Then let me help?"
"You nuts? What kinda mess you trying to drag me into? I'll handle it."
A hero's presence couldn't be erased. Passersby might dismiss him as just special, but if he settled down, it'd be uncontrollable. A guy who punched first if something rubbed him wrong. A man who'd taken up the sword for a legendary heroic reason—to save people. And sliced iron on his first day wielding it. He wouldn't just sit by watching the West's mess. A short assist might be fine, but him settling here? Absolutely not.
"Knew you'd say that."
"Then don't say it."
"If you're gonna do it, do it right. Living alone's made you less independent, more of a kid?"
"…Spare me the lame pep talk and get lost."
"Can't do that after coming all this way."
Basta brushed past Marhal.
"What're you doing?"
"Yullan said it: a person's worth depends on who they hang with. As your big bro, I gotta check who my little bro's mixing with."
"You mad bastard…!"
Basta was basically a good, honest guy. But the man hailed as humanity's greatest genius was equally stubborn. Once decided, he did it. And delivered results. Marhal couldn't stop that.
As Basta walked past, a strange tension rippled through the air. Strekl, a few steps away, froze as the Hero approached. He'd suspected, but seeing the friendly chat with Marhal erased the last doubt.
The Hero. Humanity's strongest. The monster who'd crushed 30,000 troops without a scratch.
The Hero stared Strekl down. "Nice armor. If I'd had something like that, maybe fewer injuries."
"Sh-should I take it off now, sir?"
"I'm not a bandit. Why take it off? Anyway, deep in the West, it's just dead weight."
Strekl swallowed. Full plate was humanity's finest defense. Masterworks could withstand cannon fire. And it was dead weight? What kind of place was that?
"Keep at it, and you'll cut iron soon enough. Lots of folks can't make that last step, though. Work hard. Or take help from that guy. Take care of my weakling little bro."
"I'll give it my all."
"Forget that. Just help if it feels right, human to human."
The Hero passed Strekl and approached Bayola and Marin.
"Ladies, names?"
"Marin."
"Bayola Muesilrigo."
Bayola mumbled it almost inaudibly. Startled, Marin glanced aside. Bayola was staring straight at the Hero.
"Huh…?"
The Hero—who knew the Bachea Empire and Muet Empire's bad blood better than anyone—widened his eyes and looked to Marhal. Marhal gave a small nod. Even the great Hero seemed a bit flustered this time. He'd told him to quit pointless revenge, aim for the emperor's head if anything—but he hadn't expected him to be traveling with a Muesilrigo.
Bayola asked cautiously, "Are you really that person?"
"He even told you that? Must trust him a lot. Yeah, I'm that guy's big bro."
The Hero stood before her. An imperial most-wanted.
Whoever captures or kills the Hero will have any wish granted.
The Muet Empire's emperor had said it himself. No empty words—dead serious. And here he was.
But Bayola couldn't utter a word. She'd never imagined encountering the Hero. Who could've predicted he'd pop up like this?
Yet her mouth moved on its own.
"Do you know Soila Muesilrigo?"
"Yeah."
Bayola held her breath. One more step, and she couldn't turn back. Sweat slicked her palms; her breathing grew ragged.
"…Is she dead?"
In the end, she chose escape. She wasn't ready to accept Soila Muesilrigo as the Demon King.
"Dead. Clean cut."
"Thank you."
The answer was as expected. Over ten years since Soila vanished. No one thought she was alive somewhere. It was as good as confirmation, but Bayola rationalized it anyway. Soila Muesilrigo was dead. But whether she was the Demon King… who knew.
Basta glanced at Bayola's face for a brief moment. His wife rarely shared old tales. Probably trying to forget the past. So confirming her history like this was intriguing.
Basta turned to Marina and Alasil. His intuition said those two were worth talking to. Approaching Marina and asking her name, he could only look back at Marhal.
"Marina Silanatiell. And who might you be? You don't seem ordinary."
"Huh…? Silanatiell? For real?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Nah, just… Silanatiell. Anyway, where'd you gather all these folks?"
As Basta turned to go, Marina grabbed him.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Me? Basta."
"Basta?"
Not a rare name. But one special Basta existed. With Strekl showing extreme deference amid that odd aura, it was near certainty.
"No way…."
"Let's not tire each other out. Say it, and half these folks'll faint."
Marina shut her mouth. She looked to Marhal. He waved. Marina seriously considered blasting him with magic.
Basta approached Alasil last. He naturally spoke Holy Empire tongue.
"You're the Hero?"
"Yeah. Your name? Feels familiar."
"Alasil Egoman."
Basta nodded. Imperial princess, forbidden Silanatiell, thief successor—why not someone tied to the Saint too?
"Need help, ask that guy. He'll handle most things."
"He was about to die without catching a single demon."
At the mention of Marhal struggling against demons, Basta tilted his head. Fine against people or spirits, but demons? Shouldn't be an issue. Something he didn't know. Feigning nonchalance, Basta said, "He's weak in fights. Good at other stuff."
"Got it."
Basta returned to Marhal last. He draped an arm over Marhal's shoulder and leaned in. Marhal's body naturally tilted.
"Hey, you gone crazy? What's the big idea?"
"Didn't expect this either. Or you wanna fix it, bro?"
"Hell no. You think I'm nuts?"
Silanatiell and Egoman too. No clue what was happening. He had an idea, but thinking it through made his body itch to act—he avoided it.
"How's that great intuition?"
"Your road's paved with suffering."
"When wasn't it?"
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, you damn bastard."
Basta—the Hero—was always like this. When Marhal, or anyone in the party, got down, he'd pull some unexpected stunt to lift spirits.
Basta straightened. "Good. I'm off."
"I met Mar noona."
"…She contacted you first?"
"Nah, bumped into her. Massive history stirred—feel it?"
The Hero closed his eyes. Fragments of history flashed behind his lids.
"It's changed. The world's shifted to a higher plane. Guess I gotta circle it again."
With that, the Hero left. No one could bring themselves to stop him.