30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

12 – 5. Morning Star (2)

*

The express train, starting from Matilène, Tilres’ capital, and arriving at the Frichenkaya of Krasilov, passes through a total of four military zones.

Once, passing through the Tilres 3rd Guards Division, and once crossing the northwest border.

Again, passing the Krasilov Border Defense Division once, and passing the Frichenkaya Defense Headquarters once.

The presence of intensely deployed forces, near the front lines with the demons, is indicative of the severity of the situation.

Therefore, if one were to use elimination tactics, the regions vulnerable to terrorism are confined to just three stations. Among the roughly 30 stations this train passes through, it means there are only three that lack support troops within a day’s distance, are sparsely populated, and have challenging terrain.

‘One.’

The train Ivan and Isabelle are on has passed the first ambush point.

There were no villains attempting to interfere with the tracks or spellcasters raining down magic or artillery from horseback.

‘Two.’

At the second ambush point, the train raced swiftly along the tracks.

Ivan, looking out the window, sighed and took his seat.

A few hours later, in the silence, the train passed the third ambush point.

‘What’s going on…?’

The train had now crossed the Krasilov border. If it continued straight, it would reach Frichenkaya in a day.

Now, after passing through the plains and crossing just one mountain, it would be Frichenkaya. Although there was a forest to traverse in the middle, there was only one division stationed nearby.

So, from now on, it might be impossible to attempt terrorism. Ivan nervously caressed his pistol.

‘Did I miscalculate?’

Wasn’t the tutorial unified as a train terrorism?

Was Ecidis just extremely unlucky? Or was it that in the ‘original’ game, tutorials were designed differently for each character?

He had considered that each would progress through their unique story, but the initial design was difficult. It’s because this is an ‘academy story.’

It had to be like that, but it had to be like that.

Ivan bit his lip. If he had misjudged again, what should he do?

If this wasn’t even an academy story, does this damn world even have an ending?

Should he commit suicide? Is there an answer other than suicide? Since the genre can’t be predicted, the ending cannot be determined.

The worst assumption is…

-If the ending belongs only to the protagonist.

If the essence of this world is the RPG of the Hero’s King.

Wouldn’t the Hero’s hiding place be decisive evidence? Why did the hero choose hiding? Was that the man’s ‘ending’?

Then, the remaining world.

We are.

No, I am.

What should I do?

Ivan’s thoughts became increasingly tangled. No, I hate it. I don’t want to remain in this damn world any longer.

I want to rest. I want to let go of everything and leave. I want to lie in a soft bed in a comfortable house, wrapped in a luxurious silk blanket, and sleep for a week.

I want to eat everything I crave until my stomach bursts, engage in conversations with people who use Hangul, discuss games, novels, movies, dramas, and variety shows.

Death, poverty, famine, and fear prevail.

Yet, I don’t want to live any longer in this damn fantasy world where the concepts of ‘welfare’ and ‘leisure’ are faint.

“Sob… Kku…!”

The man sitting next to him groaned palely, struggling for breath.

The sticky vitality flowing from Ivan’s body was spreading like poison. But Ivan, no. Kim Sunwoo was currently too preoccupied to pay attention to his own condition.

Sharper and more intense, to the point of actually harming people.

As Kim Sunwoo’s panic intensified.

The train, crossing a bridge over a valley after passing through a tunnel under a mountain, shook violently. It was an explosion.

-Quaaang!!!

-Kkiiiiiiik—!!

-Kuguguguguung-!!

Not stopping at just breaking the tracks, the explosion caused the entire bridge to collapse. The train helplessly slid down below, twisting and turning as it maintained its momentum.

In the midst of his body floating and the surroundings flipping, Ivan instinctively clenched the train’s shelf tightly to maintain balance, surveying his surroundings out of instinct.

He accurately grasped the situation amid the rapidly flipping space and the landscape sliding past the window.

The train is plummeting.

The train is plummeting.

A train terror has occurred.

The tutorial is not over.

I was not wrong.

There is still an ending.

Inside the falling train car, a smile spread across Ivan’s gaunt face. Slowly. And deeply.

Forcibly shoving the useless Kim Sunwoo beneath his consciousness, who is still trapped in panic. Now is the time to deal with the ‘things to be done.’

Fear, hatred, and confusion do not aid the mission. It’s often said that the head remains cold while the heart burns, but those words are wrong.

In the Annihilation Division, they teach differently. Keep your head, your heart, and your fingertips cold.

Like the harsh winter of Krasilov. Like that endless night. Cold, silent, meticulous.

The officer of the Annihilation Division disappeared quietly, engulfed in chaos within the vehicle.

Stepping over railings, treading on shelves, pushing aside tangled heaps of baggage, upward, upward, upward.

*

The last moment Isabelle remembers is a fragmented list of words.

A body thrown out, a wildly shaking view, overwhelming pain.

Broken car windows and pouring soil.

And, contorting as it tears apart, the vehicle.

And one more.

“Gasp!”

Isabelle awoke with cold sweat streaming down her face. Darkness surrounded her on all sides. A moment passed as she glimpsed the fir tree forest of Krasilov, illuminated by the evening glow.

She rose, feeling a piercing pain.

The room was buried in soil. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, she could discern the pile of dirt spilled through the broken window.

And, drip, drop, the sound of water droplets.

Huff, sigh. Labored breathing. A feeble sound.

“Are you… coming to your senses… Miss?”

“Captain August…?”

A man stood before her.

No, impaled.

One arm buried in the soil, and a long piece of rebar sticking out from his side.

The dripping sound came from his mouth and nose. And drops of blood fell from his waist.

“Why…?”

He threw himself to protect her. Blocking rocks falling on her with his entire body, taking the fragments of the crashing train on his back.

She looked at the knight with astonished eyes. As always, he wore a friendly smile.

“Miss, you must escape… huff…! You must run away… The flood will come. It’s after you… huff…!”

“Stop, stop it! Answer me! Why…? Why did you do such a thing? You, are you really insane?”

Isabelle glared at the knight with trembling eyes.

“Surely, if I die, my father will be angry, don’t you think? No! He cares about no one!!”

“I understand.”

The knight chuckled softly. Who wouldn’t know Tilless? The mysterious man who had abandoned all ties, secluding himself deep in the mountains, allowing no one to approach.

Initially, those who thought he had left to heal the wounds inflicted after defeating the Demon King.

Later, murmurs began about the corruption of the hero’s heart by the Demon King.

Before four years had passed, they started to forget about the hero.

From the moment he killed the Demon King, or perhaps even before that, the hero was no longer an individual. Maximilian, under the name of a hero, had become insignificant. Now, only his achievements and myths echoed emptily.

“You hate me.”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re the daughter of the hero.”

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Even as the man’s eyes shone strangely clear in the midst of death, Isabelle laughed as if finding the situation absurd.

“So what? Do you really think our father would spare a penny of attention for that ‘daughter’ of his?”

“No, Miss. I’ve never thought about Maxsimilian’s interest.”

Yet, he was the daughter of a hero.

“He, as an individual, could instill hope in the hearts of all humanity. We spent those times together. And even… even such a great man is dwindling away in time, becoming just another ‘person’ leaving descendants.”

Maximilian is also a person.

A proposition anyone can agree with, yet a sentence no one truly understands.

But Isabelle is different. She is a person. Angry, jealous, sad. A young girl suffering from a lack of affection.

So, the existence of Isabelle itself signifies that the hero is ultimately human.

In turn, if one is human, they can become a hero.

He believed that. Even if Isabelle hated him, she couldn’t help but affirm the existence of Isabelle. She was hope.

The last seed left by the hero, its germination symbolized hope. In this era, where people rebuild the fallen ground left after the war of the past.

It is not the hope of the conscripts fighting against the Demon King, but the hope for the individual living each day.

If the hero was called the symbol of victory, the hero’s offspring is the symbol of reconstruction. The symbol of a new era.

Therefore, he despised Isabelle while sacrificing himself.

Because he was a knight of Tilless. A man who could abandon the individual for the greater good. Also, a commoner who did not seek the reconstruction of humanity.

“Excellent.”

When his words came to an end, a thud resonated, and amidst the pile of dirt that poured into the car window, an arm shot out.

The arm fumbled around in the dirt for a while before smoothly pulling itself out.

The cold air of the late winter night coolly infiltrated the room as the open window allowed the azure moonlight to seep through.

“Knight, what is your name?”

“Dian August. And you?”

“Ivan Petrovich.”

As the pile of dirt crumbled, a man entered the room.

Bathed in moonlight, casting long shadows of darkness.

“Do you want to live?”

“If possible.”

“It will hurt.”

Ivan opened the cap of a healing potion.