Chapter 1: Prologue
The newly enthroned Emperor was in charge of the funeral procession.
"I… shall never forget."
A crowd filled the memorial site, yet no one dared to utter a word of dissent.
"It was a long war. He is the one who ended it. What reason is there not to call him a hero?"
Tears welled up and fell, drenching the coffin.
"I, and those who remain, have a duty to preserve the world the hero created."
The Emperor took a few steps back, clearing the way in front of the coffin. Many people wished for the deceased's peaceful rest before the coffin. His comrades-in-arms shed tears upon it.
"This place is his final battlefield, his tomb, and the symbol of the end of the war. It will be a memorial to be honored for all time."
The massive tomb, no less grand than an imperial mausoleum, was a symbol of the war's end.
At its entrance stood a gatekeeper handpicked by the Imperial Family, and the number of caretakers exceeded several dozen. All around, guard posts for security were lined up.
There were many mourners. They came regardless of weekdays or weekends, and on the anniversary of his death, the line would not disappear even if one stayed up all night.
…Even now, 15 years later. Still.
"It's big."
The boy.
He had to crane his neck way back. Only then could he take in the entire tomb with his eyes.
"Fucking huge. Very."
The boy was small, and the tomb was so immense it seemed to touch the sky. The boy did not like that one bit.
He lowered his head, which had been raised to the point of making his neck stiff. In front of the tomb stood a tombstone as large as the boy's body.
[Hero Exa Mectera.]
The owner of the tombstone, of this colossal tomb.
The boy furrowed his brow.
"Fuck."
The tombstone… was quite far.
It was partly due to the crowd of mourners, but the people occupying the space in front of the tombstone had yet to leave.
It had already been an hour since they stood before the tombstone, yet the other mourners, far from rushing them, were busy gazing at them with eyes full of admiration.
"It is His Majesty and the five heroes."
"All the heroes have gathered."
The boy scoffed at the tear-filled voices around him.
The Emperor and the five heroes.
But before the tombstone, there were five, not six.
And yet, the reason they chattered about 'all' being gathered was because they were including the owner of that tomb.
The surviving Emperor and the four heroes.
And the deceased Exa Mectera, making five.
Since the end of the war.
The world praised those six.
"I heard they come to pay their respects every year on the anniversary of his death."
'Bullshit.'
The boy's face contorted at the words of the group that followed.
The Emperor, and the four surviving heroes.
They visit this tomb on every anniversary of Exa Mectera's death. They say they shed tears in front of the tombstone, missing him.
'Look at them, pretending to bawl their eyes out.'
The Emperor and the four heroes raised their heads.
They turned to look at the countless mourners. The rims of the five's eyes were red. The boy let out a hollow laugh.
'Fucking shameless.'
The mourners hurriedly bowed their heads.
For they did not dare to meet the Emperor's gaze.
'Even though they were the ones who killed him.'
Only the boy stood with his back straight.
***
"Sir Simurtr."
"..."
"Young Master Simurtr Mectera."
"I'm listening."
"For someone who is listening, your eyes were closed."
"My ears were open, weren't they?"
The boy, Simurtr, wiped away the drool that had almost trickled down and looked around. A small room. A small blackboard and a cozy desk.
It was the study room that Simurtr found most boring.
"You're saying that among the Hero Families, the Mecteras are lagging behind the most."
"…It is not to that extent."
"It's the same thing."
"Do you know why we're lagging behind?"
"Because we're the only ones who croaked."
Hero Families.
It was a term referring to the families of the heroes of the Doom War.
Unlike the other Hero Families, the Ducal House of Mectera, to which Simurtr belonged, had lost its hero.
"…That is correct. A Hero Family without a hero. Mectera is sometimes called that. It is due to the absence of the hero, Lord Exa Mectera."
"Not absence, death."
"…Yes."
His teacher, Meram, let out a sigh but did not correct him. It was a daily occurrence.
"The Doom War. Lord Exa Mectera is the hero who ended that cruel war. Do you remember the memorial site you visited five years ago?"
"I do. Even got a warning from the main estate. Asking what an exiled brat was doing wandering around."
It wasn't a very stern warning.
After all, the subject of the memorial was the family's hero.
It was a justification that the Mecteras could not refuse.
"…Such a great hero was an orphan from an orphanage."
"That story again?"
"It is still my time. Just listen."
It was 7 years ago that Meram came to the estate of exile.
She periodically told Simurtr the life story of the hero, Exa.
Because their circumstances were similar… Meram hoped that the young master would find hope through the hero's life story.
"Sir Exa was only 9 years old when he caught the eye of Duke Medeoban. He said it was an unparalleled talent. And so, he became his adopted son..."
"And was kicked out at 17."
Then why is the name Mectera attached to my name?
Simurtr replied indifferently. He had never returned, nor had he ever intended to.
"…That is correct. But in the end, he made a great mark on history. By overcoming his unfortunate circumstances and flaws with his own strength."
"His own strength? I doubt it. He must have had a master."
"The Doom War broke out 30 years ago. Invaders called the Doom Species appeared through dimensional rifts."
Meram ignored Simurtr's words. She intended to naturally proceed with today's lesson.
"Here, a rift refers to a passage connecting the dimension of the Doom Species and this place."
Today was the first time they were covering the Doom War.
War. To cover that topic, the student shouldn't be too young. Meram thought that now, with Simurtr having turned 16, was the right time.
"The war lasted for 10 years."
Those terrible years. Meram explained those years in detail, stealing glances at Simurtr.
It was a litany of cruel and detailed descriptions, but Simurtr's expression did not change one bit.
"10 years. It ended in just 10 years. It has only been 7 years since you and I met, Young Master. Can you not feel how long that is?"
"It was excruciatingly long."
"Tsk."
10 years. But for Exa, it was 8 years.
He had joined the war two years after it broke out. Those excruciatingly annoying Doom Species bastards. Simurtr still remembered them clearly.
"Sensing that they would be defeated at this rate, Sir Exa made a decision."
It was called a decision, but it wasn't that grand.
He had simply raided the castle where the king of the Doom Species resided, all by himself.
There had been considerable prior preparation and help, but anyway. He fought alone.
"He fought for ten days and ten nights. However, it is said that the king of the Doom Species surpassed Sir Exa."
That bastard did?
Simurtr raised his head and looked at Meram.
"It means that he failed to do it alone."
I did?
"The success of the assault was thanks to the other four heroes joining Exa Mectera."
Who? With whom?
"However, in the process, Sir Exa perished along with the king of the Doom Species. It is said that not even a corpse was left. Therefore, the memorial site was built on that battleground..."
"What?"
There was no corpse of mine in my tomb?
"There are quite a few critics who are connoisseurs of criticism. They say it was too reckless an operation. In a war where we were already at a disadvantage, we nearly lost a hero who was a deterrent."
Who on earth were they?
"The king of the Doom Species died. The Doom Species lost their morale and retreated. Not long after, the hero of the Mage Tower succeeded in closing the rifts."
She said it was the moment the war ended in victory.
All the rifts torn open by the Doom Species were closed. Remnants remained, but not in great numbers.
Peace had begun.
Ever since the Doom War ended. To this day. For 20 years.
"Why?"
Victory. An era of peace.
Simurtr could not understand the reality after his reincarnation. Why? The war should have continued. Or ended in defeat.
"A good question. I am also from the war generation. I was only 5 years old when the war ended, but I still remember the day Sir Exa died."
"So?"
"The other heroes remain, do they not? Of course, for commoners like myself, the presence of Sir Exa feels greater."
"The Emperor and the four heroes?"
"Yes. That is why the allied forces could be maintained. Thanks to His Majesty the Emperor, Sir Exa's unit also did not desert the front lines. The grieving heroes were said to be hell-bent on avenging Sir Exa."
'Bullshit.'
Simurtr furrowed his brow.
There was no reason for those five to grieve.
They worked hard for revenge? That was something he had to do from now on.
'They've gone mad.'
A pathetic fabrication.
They didn't even participate in the assault because they were scared of the enemy lines.
The Emperor and the four heroes just showed up when it was all over, snatched the credit, and distorted history.
Never imagining that the person whose neck was cut would be reborn.
***
The Hero Family Mectera.
The sacred ground of the sword and the home of swordsmen.
A ducal house that shared its history with the thousand-year Melken Empire.
'I never thought I'd bear this name again.'
It was ironic. Simurtr let out a hollow laugh.
In his past life, Exa was also an adopted son of Mectera. An adopted child. Though he was kicked out after 8 years, still.
'An adopted son this time, too.'
The situation was quite different. No, it was ambiguous.
Simurtr Mectera had no Mectera blood mixed in him.
When the current Duke took Simurtr's mother as a concubine, she was already carrying Simurtr.
'How much did he love her?'
The current Duke of Mectera accepted her even after knowing that fact. He made Simurtr his adopted son.
"The weather is cold."
A voice was heard. Meram approached Simurtr, who was swinging his sword, and let out a sigh.
"Why did you take your shirt off? Winter isn't over yet."
"What's so new about it? Aren't you embarrassed anymore? You used to blush like crazy back in the day."
"…What old story are you talking about?"
"Last year, maybe?"
"You'll catch a cold."
Meram cleared her throat and pulled out clothes from thin air. That subspace. It was by Meram's magic, not a magical tool.
She had graduated top of her class from the Imperial Capital Academy. The Mage Tower had offered her a private research lab, and the Sage's Castle had offered her a position as a disciple.
'Though I don't know why such a promising spellcaster would devote herself to Mectera.'
"I don't need the clothes. It'll just add to the laundry."
"Why are you concerned about that, Young Master?"
"It's a habit."
After being kicked out, Exa in his past life lived with his master until he joined the war.
Naturally, the chores were Exa's share.
"Let's go inside now."
"You go, Meram. No… you just stay here, Meram."
"Pardon?"
Simurtr furrowed his brow.
At the same time, he sniffed, focusing his sense of smell.
"Don't you smell something?"
"Pardon? Ah. It is almost dinner time."
"What's for dinner today?"
"It will probably be roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad."
"Not a wild animal?"
The scent of blood. The blood of allies that he had experienced to the point of being sick of it in his past life.
Simurtr instinctively recognized the fishy smell mixed in the air. It was not an animal.
This was human.
"Meram, just stay here for a moment."
"Pardon? Where are you go..."
"To Gabi. It's his turn for dinner duty today. I have something to ask him."
There were three servants in the estate of exile.
And the current scent of blood… might not belong to just one person.
"Let's go together."
"No. I'll be right back."
Meram was a typical closeted magician.
Her magical achievements were high, but she was terrible at combat. She would get teary-eyed at the sight of a single drop of blood.
"Stay here. You must."
Over the past 7 years, Meram had taken up a larger place in Simurtr's heart than he thought. He didn't want any harm to come to Meram.
***
'Which bastard...'
Simurtr walked, following the trail of blood.
As he entered the mansion and headed towards the main gate, the scent of blood grew increasingly distinct. Two people. Yes, with this concentration, it was about that amount.
'…Now three.'
If he turned the corner twice down the hallway, he would see the main gate of the mansion.
As he turned the first corner, the scent of blood thickened drastically.
It meant that new blood had just been spilled. At the same time, Simurtr drew his sword.
"Sir Simurtr?"
A person popped out from around the last corner.
A face he had never seen before. Everyday clothes that didn't consider warmth despite it still being winter. And… blood dripping from a sword that hadn't been sheathed in time.
"Are you Sir Simurtr?"
"I am."
Simurtr looked into the man's eyes.
There was no sign of excitement. Proof that he was quite accustomed to killing.
"This is baffling. So suddenly. Ah, is it because I'm getting to that age?"
His eyes resembled his own, the ones Meram pointed out during every lesson. The man was annoyed.
"Ah. I am from the main estate. My orders..."
"Did you kill them all?"
"Pardon?"
For a moment, the man did not understand Simurtr's question.
"The three of them. Did you kill them all?"
A bright smile hung on his face. His voice was gentle. The man only understood after Simurtr asked a second time.
"Yes. Now I just need to kill two more."
"Weren't they on the same side?"
"Isn't 'underlings' the correct expression?"
"Was it good?"
"…I do not have a hobby of tormenting the weak."
The man's expression soured. As if he had at least a minimum of pride left.
"Bullshit."
A bastard who came sneaking in like an assassin.
In the first place, if he had any pride left as a swordsman, he wouldn't have accepted such an order.
"The Mectera I see again is truly strange."
This kind of shady behavior, trying to kill a potential rival, was not the Mectera that Simurtr knew.
"I will send the remaining two off comfortably as well."
"It'll be one."
"No. It is two. All the humans in this mansion..."
"No. It's enough if only you die."
"What..."
The man's mocking face fell to the floor. Thud. Simurtr sheathed his sword as he looked at the head.
The pure white mana that had sliced the man's neck scattered into the air. Thud. The man's torso hit the floor again.