They continued their brief conversation, confirming Ronan's identity as the true Hero. The elder, though puzzled by Ronan's apparent reluctance to accept the title, didn't press the issue. Instead, he warmly invited Ronan into the village, eager to offer him hospitality, given the dire situation the village faced.
As they walked through the village outskirts, Ronan noticed Frieren's skeptical gaze. She was frowning, her sharp eyes questioning him with a silent intensity. She clearly had more to say, but held her tongue until the right moment came.
"Are you really the Hero?" she whispered, finally catching his eye. Her voice was filled with doubt, her brow furrowed with genuine confusion. "Shouldn't the Hero be righteous, brave, kind, and dedicated to defeating the Demon Lord? Why are you so resistant? Tell me."
Ronan had expected this. She had the typical image of a Hero, one shaped by stories, legends, and the expectations of those around her. Despite their short acquaintance, she knew enough to recognize that Ronan wasn't cowardly. He was confident, powerful, as evidenced by his unnatural speed and strength. If he wasn't afraid of the Demon Lord, then why did he act as though defeating it wasn't his responsibility?
"You've misunderstood something," Ronan said calmly, his gaze downcast as he spoke in a tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. "'Hero' originally meant someone brave, decisive, courageous. But 'defeating the Demon Lord'—that's a later, imposed expectation. It's like how people believe all elves are immortal, pure, and have pointed ears. In truth, other races have pointed ears too." He looked at her with a subtle smile, as if to emphasize the point. "Defeating the Demon Lord… if the opportunity arises, I'll act. But it's not a job. It's not something I go looking for. It's just another task, like any other challenge."
Ronan felt an odd sort of detachment from the title. In both his previous life and this one, he had never enjoyed the idea of work, especially not work that was imposed on him by others. With his infinite wealth, why should he bother to toil away fighting some Demon Lord? If the Demon Lord came for him, then that would be the Lord's mistake, not his. Otherwise, he had other priorities, and they certainly didn't involve saving the world just because of some legend.
Ronan fell silent after speaking, his gaze drifting around the village as the cool evening air settled around them. The lush, green landscape stretched out before him, the faint sound of birds chirping softly in the distance, the peaceful rhythm of the world contrasting against the weight of their conversation. His eyes closed for a moment, relishing the long-absent peace that filled his chest. In that moment, the thought of adventure or grand battles seemed far away—like someone else's problem.
Frieren nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, though her mind seemed lost in the depths of the confusion that Ronan had created. She didn't fully grasp his meaning, but she understood one thing: he wasn't a typical Hero. He didn't care about the Demon Lord, at least not in the way everyone else seemed to. To him, it seemed like just another obstacle, one that he would address when the time came, if it came at all.
But even as she processed his words, she felt her mind drifting into confusion. Before the Demon Lord became an immediate threat, the term "Hero" had meant someone who was brave and willing to take on great challenges—someone who could make a stand for the good of the people. Yet now, it seemed that Ronan viewed his role in the world very differently. Wait… no…
She almost got lost in the logic, trying to follow the thread of what Ronan had said. But as she thought about it, she realized that he didn't see the Demon Lord as the singular focus of his purpose. He viewed the Demon Lord as just another demon, someone to deal with if the opportunity arose, but not something that needed to dominate his life. She couldn't quite grasp it. The Demon Lord wasn't just any demon—he was the king of demons, a creature who had been alive for over a thousand years, far surpassing any human emperor in power and influence. How could Ronan be so… indifferent?
It was too complicated for her to fully understand. She was young, and the layers of meaning were hard to unravel. Her mind drifted, the logic too overwhelming for her to grasp in the moment.
Eventually, they arrived at Frieren's doorstep. To her surprise, Ronan had already left the elder's side, the village chief. He was behind her, walking with a steady pace, still deep in thought. The village was quiet as evening descended, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. The crisp air of dusk mixed with the scents of the forest, calming the mind after a long day.
"Are you staying here tonight?" Frieren asked, her voice quiet, but not without the hint of curiosity. She was still processing everything that had happened, everything she had learned about Ronan, the Hero. She didn't know what to make of him yet, but something about him intrigued her—something beyond the title, beyond the sword.
Ronan, still somewhat distracted by his own thoughts, paused for a moment before looking up at her. The village was small, and as the sun set, the quiet night began to settle in. He hadn't planned on staying, but it seemed like the elder might want to speak with him more, and the village was far enough from any immediate danger that he didn't feel an urgent need to leave.