Was I nine years old? There were words I heard from my drunken father one night.
He said my mom died giving birth to .
He apologized for not telling sooner.
Though I heard those words, as a nine-year-old child, I couldn’t find any trace of regret in my father.
All I felt was confusion.
Why was he knocking on my door in the middle of the night to pour out his grievances?
Looking back now, with a bit more maturity, maybe sothing upsetting had piled up outside, and he needed soone to vent to.
But back then, I was nine. Just a child with no room for understanding or excuses.
Seeing a grown man—soone far bigger than , my entire world—
Staring at with piercing eyes and saying, “Your mom died because of you,”
It left thinking, “Is it really my fault Mom died?”
A wound like that, one so deep it couldn’t fade, was engraved in my heart with ease.
However, I didn’t see that event as entirely tragic.
It answered so many questions that had lingered until then.
Though I’d never t my maternal grandmother because Mom was gone,
I finally understood why Dad’s mother, Grandma, disliked .
The child who turned her only son into a widower.
The burden that prevented him from remarrying as he grew more and more gaunt.
The subject of her self-deprecating grumbles about raising a kid in her old age.
But she wasn’t wholly evil; she never voiced such thoughts in front of .
Still, perhaps I was perceptive for my age; I could sense her true feelings through unintentional slips.
Even so,
What could I have done? I was just a kid. My personality began to grow increasingly abrasive after that day.
I beca soone people didn’t like.
I would snap over trivial things, mutter complaints, and throw harsh words at boys playing pranks.
Instead of moving on and apologizing, I would stay angry for days.
Unsurprisingly, I quickly beca a loner.
No one spoke to first. Adults treated as a problem child.
Family struggles I’d bottled up got exposed by so blown-away survey sheet.
Kids teased for not having a mom.
I would overhear badmouthing in the restroom.
The kind of bullying that naturally targeted a disagreeable, sharp-edged child.
Though my pride kept from crying in front of others, I bawled my eyes out at ho every day.
Grandma and Dad disliked . My few friends disappeared.
School beca a living hell I couldn’t avoid, and
every day felt suffocating, to the point where I wondered if I’d live like this until I died.
It was sumr.
A playful voice, no different from any other kid’s.
As I idled away in an empty lot, a boy approached .
“Don’t you have any friends?”
“…What?”
“I was just asking since you’re always alone. Don’t you get bored staying by yourself all the ti?”
“Get lost, ugly.”
My rough edges pushed the boy away, as usual.
But this kid was different.
“…My mom says I’m the most handso in the world, though.”
“Idiot.”
“What does ‘idiot’ an? I don’t know difficult words like that.”
Looking back, his face wasn’t unfamiliar.
The smile Hyun-jun showed back then—I’d written it off as the naive silliness of a child.
“…What even is that?”
As a child, I couldn’t fathom how hard it was to show such kindness.
Before crossing into the Demon Realm, it was natural to stop by the Dawn Castle.
To reach the Tower of Despair, where the 3rd Apostle resided, it was necessary to et with Freyen’s allies: Goldmund, the Keeper of Graves, and Keyhol, the Keeper of the Mountains.
However, despite such circumstances, Yuma and the residents of the Dawn Castle warmly welcod the group.
They prepared at separately since they didn’t eat it themselves, and they made every effort to serve a luxurious feast.
…That much was understandable. But,
what was the scene unfolding before his eyes supposed to be?
“Alright, let’s do this with energy! Let’s pray before the toast!”
“To the almighty Lord Shiron, we thank You for all the grace You have bestowed upon us. We gratefully partake in the food and drink given to us today.”
“An!”
“An.”
“…What the hell is this?”
Shiron couldn’t close his mouth as he stared at the bizarre phenonon before him.
As much as he tried to remain composed in light of the grand expedition ahead, the sight of thousands of people setting up tables on a snowfield and offering prayers of gratitude…
And to hear his na repeated in their blessings—it brought on a wave of indescribable embarrassnt.
“How does it feel, Young Master? Isn’t it incredible? Thousands of people offering prayers in your honor!”
“Dear Ophilia, the journey here was truly filled with hardships. Even if I spoke without pause for the entire ti you’re here, it wouldn’t be enough to cover everything…”
Encia and Ophilia turned to Shiron, their eyes sparkling.
“Young Master! Didn’t we do great?”
Were they not aware of his feelings? Or perhaps it was their lack of human empathy that kept them from understanding?
Psychopaths. Shiron genuinely thought of them as such.
“Who told you to do this?”
Still, he had to uncover the cause. In the past, he would have dismissed it as the maids’ boredom leading to mischief, but after that incident, every bizarre sight made chills run down his spine.
“Did you wake up and suddenly see strange writing flashing before your eyes?”
“Of course, this was entirely our idea!”
Encia proudly puffed out her chest.
“I heard sowhere that heroes beco more powerful the more faith is gathered. It worked 500 years ago, so why wouldn’t it work now?”
“…You think sothing like this makes stronger?”
“Exactly! By gathering everyone’s wishes, we can power you up! So? Do you feel any stronger now?”
“I feel like dying of embarrassnt.”
Shiron’s words weren’t an exaggeration but the truth. From the mont the thousands of settlers began their mass, his heart pounded, blood rushed to his head, and dizziness overtook him.
His hands trembled uncontrollably, curling so tightly that he couldn’t even straighten them. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to hold or wield a sword.
Seeing Shiron’s condition, Ophilia patted her chest with confidence.
“Don’t worry! We’ll do everything we can to help you adjust quickly!”
“…How exactly?”
“You said you were heading to the Demon Realm, right? Until then, we’ll have you recite prayer verses daily and even create hymns! Every morning, a choir composed entirely of young boys and girls will serenade you awake, brightening your day…”
It sounded like the most horrifying morning imaginable. Even imagining what lay ahead was enough to deal him greater psychological damage than he was currently enduring.
Was this so kind of demonic mischief? These two had been demons who followed the Demon God 500 years ago. Reflecting on what had happened in Lucerne, it wouldn’t have been surprising if so divine being had suddenly bestowed revelations upon them.
[Hero.]
As he thought that, a foreboding voice echoed in his mind.
[When thousands of people were chanting the hero’s na just now, your points…]
‘Don’t say it.’
[What?]
‘I don’t want to hear about it. Stuff like that.’
“…I appreciate the preparation, but I don’t think it’s necessary. We need to head to the graveyard right now.”
“Hmm, if that’s the case, it can’t be helped.”
“Young Master, stay strong!”
“…Yeah, you’ve been working hard as always. Good job.”
Shiron dismissed them curtly and left the manor behind.
Thud. Thud. His steps were brisk. Unlike Lucia, Seira, or even Yoru, who seed to enjoy being revered, Shiron didn’t have the thick skin for such attention.
[Lady Lucia and Lady Seira would probably love a scene like this.]
“That’s just them being ridiculous. Feeling embarrassed and stepping away is the normal reaction.”
—And you’re sothing else. While I, ranked first, stay quiet, why is a seventh-ranked person acting so flashy?
Shiron could lie without hesitation, but he was utterly unprepared to handle blatant complints.
—You’re going to break my wrist in the next test? Again with the bravado!
He couldn’t blindly accept praise from others. He believed such excessive adoration required either an inflated ego or an environnt so overwhelmingly supportive that it dulled the senses.
—How unfair. Why the sudden violin? You know my family’s situation… It’s so unfair…
Thud!
“…Ah.”
Shiron suddenly plunged his head into a snowbank. The heat that had been building up in his head quickly dissipated, along with the mories of his immature past.
“Why are you suddenly hurting yourself…?”
“Just cooling my head.”
Seira, who had been following behind, asked him worriedly.
Lucia, on the other hand, said nothing. Or rather, she couldn’t. A gag was tied over her mouth, as the person they were about to et harbored a grudge toward her previous incarnation, Kyrie.
‘It’s best to avoid unnecessary conflict.’
“We’re almost there.”
The territory of the Dawn Castle.
From here, there was a peculiar place untouched by darkness.
Freyen’s Grave.
In the sinister Makal Mountain Range, where malevolent energy lingered, this was the only spot where starlight never ceased year-round. Its divine aura created an opposing force to the darkness.
However, that alone wasn’t enough to completely prevent corpses from becoming undead.
The strength of those inheriting Freyen’s power was designed with the assumption that each individual could face the Demon God. If even one were to beco undead, it would lead to a catastrophic disaster.
That was why the Keeper of the Grave was essential.
[Goldmund, the Keeper of the Grave.]
A demon who dedicated their life to ensuring eternal rest for those who fought.
The fallen dwarf straightened their hunched back. Clang—they threw aside their golden shovel that had been buried in the ground and turned to face them.
“…You’re not Glen Prient.”
“I’m Shiron Prient. I’ve co to inherit the power of prophecy.”
“…The power of prophecy cannot be obtained without the title of Family Head.”
Goldmund spoke as they gazed in the direction of the starlight. Lucia blinked with her gagged mouth.
“If it’s not for you but for Lucia Prient behind you, I’d gladly perform the ritual.”
“Don’t you want revenge against the Demon God?”
Shiron drew his holy sword as he spoke. A demon who had endured the Great War 500 years ago wouldn’t fail to grasp its aning.
“Between a Family Head who has failed dozens of tis and a hero who’s appeared for the first ti in 500 years, who do you think will kill the Demon God faster?”
“…”
“Isn’t it obviously ?”
“Mmph! Mm-mmph!”
Lucia nodded vigorously in agreent.
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