The nobles scrambled to get close to him, to flatter him, wrapping him in praise and adulation. In such an environment, anyone's head would be held high. Nestal continued to train—yes—but only as a formality. The trainers knew: a Hero's strength was not born of discipline or technique.
Will could not be taught.
A Hero who has never practiced combat, who has never read a single page of a grimoire, can still control Mana at will—so long as their resolve is strong enough to bring the world to its knees.
For that reason, the most common method of training is not to strengthen the body or the mind, but rather to build a single dangerous illusion: that the Hero is the most powerful and extraordinary being in existence.
The illusion is effective.
But, like all illusions…
it remains just that.
It all happened so fast.
At the time, only a few months had passed since Mujun killed his master and fled, before eventually being recaptured by the royal army. The death sentence that should have awaited him was delayed—not out of mercy, but because of his capability as a Tier 10 mage. His power was too valuable to discard, especially since the world war had just begun and the demon forces were on the move.
Although called a world war, the situation at the front lines still resembled small skirmishes between humans and demons. There was no certain word on when the main armies of both factions would be deployed. This was not only because the stance of the Elves and Demi-humans remained unclear, but also because the Hero and the Demon King were not yet ready to face each other. Both needed a "warm-up"—and that warm-up meant getting used to killing the slaves sent by both sides as cannon fodder.
Thus, the young Hero was dispatched to guard Mersyah Fortress. A fortress located near the front lines, yet shielded by high mountains behind it, safe enough from a major assault. There, Nestal could slaughter the slaves sent by the Demon faction without having to directly face the enemy's main force.
Mujun was also stationed at Mersyah Fortress. The assignment of a Tier 10 mage so far from the front line made one thing abundantly clear: just how vital the Hero's existence was to the human side.
In the beginning, the days passed with a dull monotony. Nestal grew increasingly arrogant after killing dozens of slaves—only after the guards had incapacitated them first. However, everything changed one night when the starlight was suddenly swallowed by dark clouds.
Before an alarm could even be sounded, the clouds unraveled into thousands of Demi-human troops riding wyverns, swarming from the air. On the ground, the thunderous footsteps of tens of thousands of drakes shook the earth. Their numbers and formation ensured one thing: this was the main army of the Demi-human Kingdom.
It was now clear that the Demi-humans had sided with the Demon faction in this war. No army of that scale comes merely for a social visit.
Nevertheless, this attack was a poor choice. Mersyah Fortress might not hold for long, but it could buy time. Its proximity to the front lines ensured that reinforcements from the Human Kingdom's main army would arrive within hours.
Therefore, Mujun quickly realized that the enemy's goal was not to occupy Mersyah Fortress. They were after something much larger—something that compelled the main army of the Demi-human Kingdom to descend upon this place in person.
Panic was inevitable. Yet those who panicked the most were not the slaves who had long made peace with death, nor the new soldiers who had yet to taste blood, and certainly not the veterans who welcomed the enemy's arrival with cold serenity.
The greatest panic came from the Hero—the figure meant to be the backbone of this army.
Seeing the enemy numbers seemingly blotting out the sky and the earth, Nestal's face turned ashen and his body trembled violently. Mujun, standing at his side, could feel it so clearly that a ridiculous thought entered his mind.
Should it not be the minister who is anxious, and the emperor who remains calm? Why is it now the emperor who trembles, while the minister stands the firmest?
Nestal screamed incoherently, ordering everyone to retreat and flee from Mersyah Fortress. His orders overlapped, shifted constantly, and were laced with a panicked tone he didn't even try to hide. Mujun could feel it vividly—the raw fear bleeding out of a Hero's chest.
The guards escorting Nestal looked at each other in confusion. However, like dogs trained for too long, they prepared to carry out the order. Until another voice cut through the chaos.
Princess Reina and Saint Pritty stepped forward.
The two were not merely "pretty vases" standing by the Hero's side. Quickly and firmly, they explained that this attack by the Demi-human main army would ultimately end in failure. Mersyah Fortress only needed to hold out for a short while. Its location near the front lines ensured reinforcements would arrive and push back this seemingly dominant enemy force.
Mujun joined in with his own arguments—cold, sequential, and full of logic. But his status as a slave caused his voice to evaporate into the air, regarded as nothing more than the buzzing of an insect. Nevertheless, the gaze of the two women shifted. Not toward Nestal, but toward him.
Mujun noticed it. And so did Nestal.
Perhaps because he didn't want to appear a coward in front of his fiancée and the Church, or perhaps because his pride had been stung, Nestal finally decided to hold Mersyah Fortress. Mujun could see it clearly: the decision was not born of courage, but of the fear of being perceived as weak.
Nestal convinced himself that his power as a Hero was enough to sweep the enemy away with a single strike.
A hollow conviction.
When the enemy force finally entered striking range, Nestal stood at the very front of the battlements. His back was straight, his chin held high. Yet Mujun, standing not far from him, could see the details that escaped the cheering soldiers: a grip that was too rigid, irregular breathing, and eyes that moved too fast.
With utter arrogance, Nestal pointed at the enemy and taunted them. This sight was familiar to Mujun. This was how he always acted before killing the slaves—loud shouting to cover the emptiness within himself.
Nestal raised his sword high and swung it with all his might. To anyone who understood the basics of swordsmanship, the swing clearly belonged to someone who didn't even understand footing or striking angles. Yet, a Hero's Will changed everything.
A devastating energy exploded from that swing, like a giant fissure intending to rend the earth. Its power was equivalent to a Tier 10 destruction spell.
This was the true horror of a Hero.
However, before the attack could reach the enemy lines, a wave of energy far denser struck it from the front and neutralized it in an instant.
Nestal's face froze.
A flash of blue light sped like lightning, closing the distance before Nestal could even think—even before his fear could turn into panic.
Simultaneously, the wind carried a cold and calm incantation:
"Tier 9 Spell: Divine Acceleration."
Nestal did not move.
He did not jump. He did not raise his sword. He made no attempt to defend.
A flaming sword appeared right above his head, ready to split his body in two. A Demi-human stood before him—sturdy-bodied with a golden mane spreading wildly, golden eyes as sharp as a beast's, and fierce fangs bared without hesitation. His gaze was not that of a challenger, but of a hunter who had already secured his prey.
And in that moment, Mujun moved.