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Out of the mist, a single silhouette emerged. Lightly equipped.

“Guards, fall back! Do not engage until I give the order!”

From the watchtower on the castle wall, I commanded the dragonkin soldiers who remained in the castle. The gate was opened.
Against someone who had cut down Division Commander Tiberit, the castle gates meant nothing. They’d only be smashed to pieces.
Still, letting him just walk in unopposed rubbed me the wrong way.

The man who had to be the Hero strode through the gates of Grünstadt Castle without a trace of fear.
As he drew closer, his strength became palpable. He wasn’t a mage, and yet the sheer magic he held was overwhelming. And like His Majesty, it surged from within.
There was no mistaking it. The real Hero.

The force radiating from him pushed back the surrounding fog. Around him alone, the magical mist was dispelled. His presence was overwhelming.

“Lord Veit…”

The soldiers who had gathered around me looked uneasy. They were not the elite guard, just ordinary troops.
But even these battle-hardened men could feel the Hero’s crushing aura.
I issued them a strict order.

“There is no doubt—he is the true Hero. Even if we all attacked together, we’d be slaughtered. Do not engage.”
“Y-yes, sir!”

The Hero entered the courtyard and made straight for the inner keep.
He wore the everyday clothes of a northern Miraldian citizen, over which he had strapped only the simple breastplate of a Miraldian city militiaman. A crest of Bachen was visible on the armor, but whether he was from Bachen or had just taken it off someone, I could not say.
At his waist, a standard-issue militia sword, a little lighter than most. No other baggage.
It didn’t seem he had any ranged weapons either. Perhaps an arrow or two could take him—
That was when it happened.

“That’s the one who killed the commander!”
“Protect His Majesty!”

Figures burst out from across the castle grounds. Perhaps several dozen.
Looking closer, they were survivors from the Second Division. Some hadn’t fled after all.
Among them were fresh recruits from the dragonkin.

“Stop! Don’t do it!”

I shouted, but they were already charging at the Hero.

The very next instant, the Hero drew his sword.
A cheap blade, swung in a horizontal slash.
But my eyes stayed on his hands, not the sword.
Magic surged from his grip into the blade, extending into an unseen edge. Incredibly long.

“Get down!”

I cried out in a panic. Only the dragonkin dropped at my warning.
The invisible blade passed just above their backs.
The rest soon realized their own fatal mistakes.
Their bodies cleanly cleaved in half.

The courtyard soldiers were annihilated in that single strike. Even the castle wall bore a deep scar.

“Run! Into the castle!”

At my shout, the surviving soldiers began to retreat, but the Hero did not let them.
With a single step, he leapt more than ten meters. By the time he landed before a dragonkin recruit, the poor lad was already a cloud of blood.
He wouldn’t let a single one escape.

When the massacre was done, the Hero looked at his sword. The raw force had snapped the cheap blade at the hilt.
He kicked aside a dragonkin corpse and picked up the dead man’s weapon. Dragonkin swords were balanced differently from human ones, but it hardly mattered to him. Any blade would do—as long as it served as a vessel for his magic.
Then he raised his eyes and glared at me. The dragonkin soldiers at my side shrank back.
I too was terrified, but as vice-commander I could not show it. I met his glare, determined that I wouldn’t lose.
Though to move closer would mean certain death.

Eventually, the Hero turned away and sprinted toward the inner keep.
As expected. He was not someone we could hope to stop.

“I’ll return to the castle. You check the courtyard for survivors. After that, flee.”

There were likely none alive, but without orders they might do something reckless.
I left the guards and ran through the corridors, heading for the audience chamber.
That was when I saw him coming toward me.

The Hero!
Damn it—right in front of the audience chamber.
He had navigated the castle without once losing his way. Like a hound on the scent.
I hid my fear and glared at him. Even if I were to die, I would do so without disgracing the First Division.
But the Hero stopped when he saw me. He did not strike.

“The Demon King is beyond that door, isn’t he?”

His voice was cold. Inhuman, despite belonging to a human. Anger, hatred, the will to kill—those were the only emotions I felt from him.
I froze under that inhuman aura. Yet he waited for my reply.
Very well. I would answer with dignity.

“Yes. Go on in, human.”

I’m terrified out of my skin, but I would not call him a Hero. The true Hero is His Majesty, a man who embodies greatness.
I opened the doors and let him through.

As he passed me, I felt a surge of killing intent. The magic around him gathered, ready to strike.
I shifted half a step back, bracing myself.
But he remained still. Testing me, perhaps?
Damn him. Scared the life out of me.

“You want me to fight you instead, human?”

Without a word, he turned his back and walked on.
I would’ve been dead if I’d let my guard down just now…

Inside the chamber, the royal guard stood arrayed in full arms and armor.
At the far end, on the throne, sat His Majesty in his war garb. The very air shook with his overwhelming presence.
The Hero ignored the guards completely and stepped before His Majesty. He had no more use for the rest of us.

With raw hatred in his voice, the Hero spoke to the Demon Lord.

“Aerschis.”

That was his name, it seemed. He did not call himself Hero.
His Majesty nodded calmly.

“Friedenrichter.”

He too did not call himself Demon Lord.

The Hero raised his blade in guard position and spat out his words.

“I’ve come to avenge Meltia.”

That was a name I had no recollection of. It wasn’t any territory name. Perhaps it’s the name of a woman.
His Majesty said nothing. He gazed at the Hero in silence, then rose.
Neither the Hero nor the Demon Lord spoke further. Exchanging any more words would serve nobody.

His Majesty took the spear that rested at his side. A short spear, built for maneuverability.
But its form was unusual. Near the butt end, the shaft widened into a flat plate. The design made it faintly resemble a firearm—an old hunting musket or infantry rifle.
Holding the spear low in his left stance, His Majesty spoke calmly.

“Then speak your grievances with this battle.”

At that instant, the Hero sprang at him.