30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

11 – 5. The Morning Star (1)

When I think of the hero Maximilian, there’s one memory that stands out vividly.

It’s the ‘Sky-splitting Contest.’

It began like this: Maximilian, as foolish-faced as ever, energetically rose and wielded his sword.

“Whoosh.”

“Whooosh…”

“Swish—”

“Screeech—!!”

Suddenly, as if he had some sort of epiphany, that rascal decisively cleaved the sky. Quite literally, the sky.

With one stroke, clouds were cleaved and scattered, a tempestuous roar shook the earth.

As I reminisced before, a party of heroes is fundamentally an ‘assassination squad.’

Waiting deep within enemy territory, biding time at the cost of the lives of soldiers who may still be falling on the front lines, aiming for the leader of the demon king’s army.

Therefore, such a disruptive act was out of the question.

“Is he really out of his mind?”

Enrique grumbled, hurling a dagger toward the hero. (The hero, wearing a sunny smile, effortlessly caught the dagger with his body. Naturally, the blade bounced off his bare skin.)

“Just shouting around, aren’t you? Saying the hope of the United Kingdoms is here. Quite the heroic act, huh? Huh?”

Veolgreen spoke coldly, swiftly completing a spell. He immediately assumed a defensive posture, sensing the approaching demons.

Meanwhile, Jill Verr, this knightly nobleman, swung his sword with a thoroughly provocative expression.

“Ssscaaare—!!”

“Right back at you!!”

The clouds the hero had sliced dispersed into fragments. Jill Verr laughed refreshingly and brushed his hair aside.

“Turns out I sliced more than expected. It was a good warm-up.”

“Umm… Your wrist seems too loose and might just break?”

“Sorry, Patricia. Can you apply a healing spell?”

“I find that expression slightly offensive….”

Watching this spectacle for a while, Ainar chuckled softly, rose, and raised his axe.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t do it.”

“I really hope you don’t….”

“Men of Dron always leave their mark on the world.”

“What nonsense is this all of a sudden? Put the axe down and speak.”

Despite Enrique’s cautious words, Ainarr paid no heed and forged ahead.

“No matter how well you cut through the sky, no trace remains. But what if here, we could eternally mark the presence of Ulric’s son, the great Ainarr?”

“No, wait, just listen—”

-Quaaang!!

With grand ambition revealed, Ainarr raised the axe and,

right then, cleaved through a mountain right before their eyes.

In the week that followed, spent evading the swarming dragon nests and demon armies, wasting time in escape like disturbing a beehive,

the hero.

A man named Maximilian said with a smile.

“I cut through the sky.”

“I cut through more.”

“Well, I cleaved a mountain! Isn’t shaping something formless a far loftier deed than shaping something already there?”

“Just prattling big words doesn’t make you smarter, kid.”

“Old man.”

“Keep it up, you’ll really get it.”

Why he was so fixated on the sky, I don’t know. But Ivan vividly recalls that bizarre escape.

That day, what he probably wanted while splitting the night sky was maybe not seeing.

Amidst the vile clouds surrounding the demon’s realm, unseen. Perhaps he just wanted to confirm that the evening star still shone in its place.

In this way, the hero party was a den of lunatics, madmen, and the delusional.

And among them, the one who was the craziest and shone the brightest.

Jill Ver, who hoped to excel beyond others, became a guardian of Tilles’ royal lands,

Ainarr, who sought great feats, conquered his homeland and built Draon’s first unified kingdom.

And the hero, Maximilian, perhaps just wanted to confirm that hope still lingered.

So, Ivan didn’t like the hero.

He simply admired him.

It’s been over four years since that cheerful lad vanished. The world still remembers the hero, but Maximilian was being forgotten.

Episode 5: Dawn Star

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. Ivan, feeling as if he hadn’t rested at all, watched the passing scenery outside the window, thinking it felt just like the end-of-year vacation that disappears without a trace.

It was the road leading to Tyles, and this time, he wasn’t alone.

He was accompanied by five men who were eyeing him cautiously.

“Wow, a real terrorist incident is happening! How did you know? Date, time, and place, all exactly right! Spill it!”

They were agents from the Krassilov Reconnaissance Headquarters, the annoying junior, Dmitry, having forced the information out of Ivan.

When Dmitry grabbed his hand, swinging it around with excitement upon Ivan’s return from thwarting Ecidis’s terror, there was an apologetic look in his eyes.

But his eyes were not laughing at all. It was only natural.

A guy who had been living quietly, almost like a retired vegetable, for four years suddenly predicting a national-level terrorist threat—of course, that raised eyebrows.

While others might have passed it off with a “Wow, that’s impressive!” Ivan, on the other hand, belonged to the Krassilov Reconnaissance Headquarters, holding a high rank even as a lieutenant colonel in the Investigation Department.

Therefore, his eyes were clearly saying this:

“You’ve got something hidden. Come on, be honest. I’m genuinely curious. How did you manage to create a spy network under our noses? Will you share your expertise?”

Without a proper explanation, he would have to undergo numerous verifications and suspicions in the future. Dealing with the official processes of the Academy was a job that couldn’t be explained without information monopolies.

But.

“Annoying.”

There was no need to reveal it. Authority always emerged from mystery. Ivan didn’t feel the need to dispel the suspicion that he might have a secret extranational information organization.

So, here they were. He had ‘support’ from five inept agents.

Ivan let out a short sigh. Is this what it has come to? Should I play the role of a kindergarten teacher here?

The agents all flinched at his sigh.

“Petrovich, if there’s anything uncomfortable for you…?”

“All of you.”

Ivan decided to firmly establish his authority this time.

Although basic training wasn’t under his jurisdiction, how could he retire peacefully with agents of the motherland (his motherland being South Korea) being so lax?

Why were intelligence agents wearing the same clothes in the first place? What were they implying?

And with the place so empty, it was suspiciously crowded. Who could overlook that?

This was intolerable. Of course, their real purpose was probably gathering information about Ivan. But even that was not true intelligence work.

This couldn’t be ignored.

“Listen carefully.”

A speech from the director of the orphanage (from the Extermination Unit, served 18 years in the military, participated in the Dragon Party and operations, and has a record of defeating the Seven Dragons), now that the train journey was free!

It would take 18 hours to reach the capital of Tyles, San Matillenia.

The operatives’ time seemed to freeze in place.

*

“He’s not coming out after all…”

Isabel scanned the platform relentlessly until just before boarding the train bound for Krasyloph.

The higher the expectations, the greater the disappointment.

Yet, despite consistently facing disappointment, she still carried expectations, scanning people with anticipation, wondering if someone might be hiding among them.

-Chi-yi-yik-!

The person she was waiting for didn’t appear even as the train released a long puff of steam.

“Miss, don’t worry. He always thinks about you…”

“Is that so? Well, maybe.”

Isabel replied coldly, turning her head, dismissing the hand that had patted her shoulder.

The neat knight, provided by the Tilles royal family as a guard, retreated with an awkward smile.

Trash. Useless. A pathetic creature trying to mask its discomfort with a forced smile, pretending to be fine even when insulted.

For her, most people were animals—not in a biological sense, but merely beasts.

‘Father.’

Memories of the hero, Maximilian, were faint. The hero spent most of his time on the battlefield, while she remained in the palace with her mother.

As the hero’s fame grew, the expressions of those approaching her became simpler.

Only friendly smiles from those who wanted to win the favor of the future heroine.

It was natural. If you thought the hero could defeat even the Demon King right away.

After the Demon King’s death, everything would revolve around the hero. Individual strength may not overcome a group, but if you possessed strength and achievements that overwhelmed the group, even the nation would be subject to the individual.

Therefore, the Tilles royal family tried hard to win her favor. In a situation where they couldn’t contact the hero directly, this was the only way to impress him.

From Noble mtl dot com

No matter how much she ranted, no matter what insults she threw, she just smiled.

As if everyone visible had the same expression…

At least, it couldn’t positively influence the emotional education of a child.

“Go away. I don’t want to see your face.”

“But Miss, I…”

“Shut up.”

The knight faltered at Isabel’s words, bowed with a gentle smile, and left the room.

Finally alone in the room, Isabelle chuckled with a sly smile.

“Idiot.”

Just before closing the door, that is, when she turned her head and looked back.

Remembering the twisted expression of the knight, contorted like a demon.

Isabelle, the offspring of a hero, possessed a keen sense that set her apart from others. She could instantly detect even the slightest change in a person’s expression, in the blink of an eye.

So, this is how it is. She had learned too early that everyone around her always regarded her with a sense of unease.

Therefore.

“Fool….”

She mocked herself, sinking into her seat.

A child who knew no way of expressing herself other than getting angry and ridiculing others.

A self-destructive lunatic who found solace only in witnessing others get angry, a severe case of love deficiency where only the hatred of others seemed genuine.

Constantly waiting for a father whose memory had now faded, simultaneously resenting him. A separation anxiety patient.

That was her self-diagnosis.

*

“We’re going to leave now, Comrade Petrovich.”

“You still use the term ‘we.’ Are you going to boast that we all came together?”

“Uh… well… um….”

“Be clear in your expressions, firm in your actions, and always keep your intentions hidden deep within.”

“Uh-uh-guh… that’s right….”

The agents all inwardly screamed.

“Lieutenant Dmitri!! This gentleman is so quiet, they said!!”

“You’re a monster, Petrovich!!”

“I hate you, Ivan. Forever….”

As the threat of 18 hours of sermonizing, coupled with special duty incentive training, loomed over them, the agents, pale and fed up, roughly saluted and left.

Their mission: to protect Oscar, the son of the fallen knight, Berthel.

Ivan, who had put in half-hearted effort to remove the shackles Dmitri had attached and genuinely dedicated himself to education, watched Isabelle board the train from the historical platform.

“Lucky.”

Getting rid of the agents from the intelligence headquarters and protecting Oscar – it was like catching two birds with one stone.

Ivan lightly boarded the train, feeling as if he had thrown two burdens away.