Chapter 11

Whenever Ivan thought of the Hero Maximilien, one memory always came to mind first.

The “Sky-Splitting Contest.”

It had begun like this.

As always, Maximilien sprang to his feet with that foolish look on his face and cheerfully swung his sword.

Whoosh.

Whoooosh.

Swiish—

Slaaaaaash—!!

No one knew what sudden enlightenment had struck him, but the idiot abruptly split the sky apart.

Literally.

With a single swing of his sword, the clouds were torn to pieces and shoved aside. Fierce winds surged in, and a tremendous roar shook the earth.

As Ivan had once reflected, the Hero’s Party was essentially an assassination squad.

They infiltrated deep into enemy territory and waited for an opportunity to strike at the leader of the Demon King’s army, buying time with the lives of the soldiers still dying on the front lines even now.

Which meant they absolutely could not afford to do anything so conspicuous.

Has he seriously gone insane?

Enrique shrieked in disbelief and hurled a dagger at the Hero.

(The Hero merely smiled brightly and took the dagger with his bare body. Naturally, the blade struck his skin and bounced away.)

Why not just run around shouting that the hope of the United Kingdom is right here? That would be very heroic of you, wouldn’t it?

Beolgrin spoke coldly as he rapidly completed a spell.

He immediately sat cross-legged and began detecting any demons approaching their position.

Meanwhile, Gilles Ver, the aristocratic knight, swung his own sword with an openly provocative expression.

Slaaaaaash—!!

There are two of them now?!

The clouds Maximilien had cut apart were shredded into even smaller fragments and scattered away.

Gilles Ver swept back his hair with a refreshing smile.

It seems I ended up cutting more than you. Not bad for a warm-up.

“Um... your wrist is so thoroughly warmed up that it appears to be broken.”

“Sorry, Patricia. Put some healing on it.”

“I find that phrasing somewhat insulting...”

After watching the absurd spectacle for a while, Einar gave a short laugh, stood up, and raised his axe.

Don’t.

“Do not.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t...”

“The men of Droan always live their lives leaving their mark upon the world.”

“What the hell are you talking about all of a sudden? Put the axe down before you speak.”

Despite Enrique’s wary warning, Einar paid her no attention and stepped forward.

“No matter how many times one cuts the sky, no mark remains. But what if I could leave eternal proof that Einar the Great, son of Ulrik, once stood here?”

“No, wait. Listen when people are—”

KABOOOOOM—!!

After proclaiming his grand ambition and raising his axe—

Einar split the mountain before him in two.

They wasted the following week fleeing from the Seven Demon Generals and the Demon King’s forces, who poured out as though someone had struck a hornet’s nest.

Even so, the Hero—

the man named Maximilien—

had laughed and said,

“I split the sky.”

“I split more of it.”

“Ahem! This king split a mountain! Surely cutting something with form is a far greater feat than cutting something without form?”

“Spouting difficult-sounding nonsense doesn’t make you intelligent, little boy.”

“Old hag.”

“You really want to die, don’t you?”

Ivan did not know why Maximilien had been so obsessed with the sky.

But he remembered that ridiculous escape with perfect clarity.

Perhaps what Maximilien had wanted to see when he split the night sky that day was—

that even behind the dreadful black clouds surrounding the Demon King’s territory, the morning star still shone in its place, merely hidden from view.

The Hero’s Party was a den of lunatics, madmen, psychopaths, and paranoiacs.

And among them all, the Hero was the maddest—

and the one who shone the brightest.

Gilles Ver, who had always wished to stand above others, was appointed Guardian Lord of the Royal House of thales.

Einar, who had longed to leave behind a great achievement, conquered his homeland and founded Droan’s first unified kingdom.

And the Hero, Maximilien, had probably wanted nothing more than to confirm that hope still remained.

That was why Ivan did not like the Hero.

He merely admired him.

Even after turning his back on the world and withdrawing into seclusion.

“Did he retire because he fulfilled that hope, or...”

Had he given up because even after cutting through the black clouds, he could no longer see the morning star?

More than four years had passed since that cheerful man disappeared.

The world still remembered the Hero.

But it was gradually forgetting the man named Maximilien.

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

Ivan gazed out at the scenery flowing past the window, thinking that the days had vanished like the final leave before discharge—gone before he had even felt rested.

He was on his way to thales.

And this time, he was not alone.

Five men sat with him, all cautiously watching his expression.

“Wow, the terrorist attack really happened! How did you know? You pinpointed the exact time, date, and location!”

They were agents of the Krasilov Counterintelligence Command.

They were the team Dmitri, that irritating junior of his, had practically forced upon him.

When Ivan returned after preventing the attack on Eshidis, Dmitri had grabbed his hand and shaken it wildly, making a tremendous fuss as though apologizing for doubting him.

Yet the man’s eyes had not been smiling in the slightest.

Naturally.

A man who had spent four years in retirement, living so quietly that he might as well have been half-vegetative, had suddenly predicted a terrorist attack against an important national figure.

That alone was suspicious enough.

Other people might have simply exclaimed, “That’s amazing!” and let the matter pass.

But Dmitri belonged to the Krasilov Counterintelligence Command.

More than that, he was a high-ranking officer who had risen to lieutenant colonel at the Investigation Headquarters.

Therefore, the look in his eyes had clearly said this:

You planted an informant, didn’t you? Be honest. I’m genuinely curious. How did you build an intelligence network without us noticing? Would you mind teaching me your methods?

Without a convincing explanation, Ivan would be subjected to endless verification and suspicion from then on.

After all, there was no way to explain how he kept resolving the academy formula unless he possessed a monopoly on information.

However—

How tedious.

There was no need to explain himself.

Authority, after all, was born from mystery. Ivan had no intention of dispelling the suspicion that he was backed by some secret transnational intelligence organization.

And that was how he had ended up in this situation.

He had been “assigned” five incompetent agents.

Ivan let out a short sigh.

Have I really come all this way just to play orphanage teacher again?

At the sound of his sigh, all five agents flinched in unison.

“Sir Petrovich, is something making you uncomfortable...?”

“All of you.”

Ivan decided this was as good a time as any to instill some proper discipline in them.

Training recruits was not his responsibility, but how could he retire in peace when the agents of his homeland—though his true homeland was the Republic of Korea—were this careless?

Why were intelligence agents wearing matching outfits in the first place?

What exactly were they trying to imply?

And with so many empty seats available, why were they all huddled together in one place so conspicuously?

It was unbearable.

Of course, their real objective was to gather information on Ivan.

But that was still intelligence work, was it not?

He could not simply stand by and watch them behave like this.

“Listen carefully.”

Thus began a lecture from an orphanage director bored by the train journey—

a former member of the Extermination Corps, a veteran of eighteen years of military service, a man who had conducted operations alongside the Hero’s Party and had a confirmed record of killing one of the Seven Demon Generals.

There were eighteen hours left before they reached Saint Matilene, the capital of thales.

For the agents, time itself came to a standstill.

***

“So he really isn’t coming...”

Until the very moment she boarded the train bound for Krasilov, Isabel kept glancing repeatedly across the platform.

The higher her expectations rose, the greater the fall into disappointment.

Yet even though she had been disappointed every single time, she still searched the crowd with lingering hope.

She examined each person carefully, anxiously wondering whether he might be hiding among them.

Hissssss—!

Even as the train released a long burst of steam, the person she had been waiting for never appeared.

“My lady, please do not worry. He has always...”

“Been thinking of me? Yes, perhaps.”

Isabel answered coldly and turned her head away, sharply knocking aside the hand that had been patting her shoulder.

The neatly dressed knight assigned to her by the royal family of thales as a supposed escort officer stepped back with an awkward smile.

Idiot.

Moron.

Useless fool.

A repulsive creature who could not even become angry when insulted and who covered up his wounded pride with a forced smile.

To Isabel, most people were animals.

Not in the biological sense.

She simply regarded them as beasts.

“Father.”

Her memories of the Hero Maximilien were faint.

The Hero had spent most of his time on the battlefield, while she had remained at court with her mother.

As the Hero’s fame grew, the expressions of the people who approached her became increasingly simple.

They all wore pleasant smiles, hoping to earn favor with someone destined to become important.

It was only natural.

Suppose the Hero truly defeated the Demon King.

Once the Demon King was dead, every political current would begin revolving around the Hero.

They said individual strength could not defeat a collective, but when an individual possessed both power and achievements capable of overwhelming entire groups, even nations would inevitably come to belong to that individual.

Therefore, the royal family of thales had tried desperately to win Isabel’s favor.

Since they could not approach the Hero directly, currying favor with his daughter was the only method available to them.

No matter how viciously she spoke or how harshly she insulted them, they merely smiled.

Everyone around her wore the same expression, as though they were attending a masquerade ball.

That was not exactly beneficial for a child’s emotional development.

“Get out of my sight. I can’t stand looking at you.”

“But, my lady, I—”

“Shut your mouth.”

At Isabel’s words, the knight hesitated and stepped back.

He bowed with a gentle smile and left the compartment.

Once she was finally alone, Isabel muttered with a bitter smile.

“Idiot.”

Just before he had closed the door—

when he had turned his head and shown her his back—

she had clearly seen his expression twist like that of an enraged demon.

As the Hero’s daughter, Isabel possessed senses far sharper than those of ordinary people.

Even a fleeting change in someone’s expression was enough for her to notice it immediately.

That was why she had become like this.

She had realized far too young that everyone around her always found her unsettling.

Therefore—

“Moron...”

She sank into her seat, mocking herself.

A little girl who knew no way to express herself except through anger and ridicule.

A self-destructive lunatic who could only feel reassured after provoking others into genuine rage.

Someone so starved for affection that she believed only another person’s hatred could be sincere.

A patient suffering from separation anxiety, endlessly waiting for and resenting a father whose face she could barely remember.

That was the diagnosis she had given herself.

***

“We will be taking our leave now, Sir Petrovich.”

“You are still using the word ‘we.’ Are you planning to advertise that you all arrived together?”

“Well... uh... um...”

“Did I not tell you? Your words must be precise, your actions decisive, and your true intentions always hidden in the deepest place.”

“Uuugh... what I mean is...”

Every one of the agents was screaming inwardly.

Lieutenant Colonel Dmitri! You said this man barely spoke!

You’re a monster, Petrovich!

I hate you, Ivan. I will hate you forever...

As the threat of another round of specialized remedial training loomed on top of the eighteen-hour lecture, the agents turned deathly pale, offered hurried farewells, and fled.

Their assigned mission was to protect Oskar, the son of the knight Gilles Ver.

Half to shake off the shackles Dmitri had attached to him, and half out of genuine dedication, Ivan had trained the agents thoroughly.

Now, standing on the station platform and watching Isabel board the train, he thought,

How fortunate.

He had managed to accomplish two things at once—

shake off the Counterintelligence Command agents and ensure Oskar’s protection.

Feeling as though he had discarded two cumbersome pieces of luggage, Ivan lightly boarded the train.