Eiran Vale stood at the city gate, trembling.
Not because of the weather. The sun was shining pleasantly, the birds were chirping, and the wind carried a faint scent of fresh bread from the nearby market.
Not because of fear. Well, not the normal kind of fear. Slimes, goblins, and even low-tier bandits hadn't been enough to make his knees wobble like this.
No, he was trembling because every single guard was kneeling. Every one. Their helmets gleamed under the morning sun, their armor polished to perfection, but their posture—heads bowed, spears lowered—screamed reverence bordering on terror.
"P-Please forgive us for not announcing your arrival in advance," the captain said, sweat dripping down his helmet. "We did not expect someone of your level to visit our city."
Eiran blinked. "…My level?"
The words felt foreign. He had no level that mattered. He was below average in every measurable way. He had tripped over his own feet more times than he could count, and just yesterday, a slime had given him the absolute worst chase of his life. And yet here, this city treated him as if he were a god descending from the heavens.
Behind him, the massive stone gates of Grayhaven slowly opened, revealing a bustling city already frozen in anticipation. Citizens peeked from the windows of tall, timber-framed houses. Whispers spread like wildfire, a chorus of awe and fear.
"That's him…"
"The one who erased the Ashen Legion…"
"He looks so calm."
Eiran's legs felt like jelly. He could barely keep standing.
I literally ran away from a slime yesterday.
And somehow, I'm the apocalypse now?
He swallowed. attempting to muster some dignity. "I—uh," he muttered, words failing him immediately.
The captain stiffened, eyes wide. "Did… did we offend you?"
"Did… did we offend you?"
Eiran panicked. "No! I mean—no offense taken. I'm just… passing through."
The guards gasped. as if he had just uttered the words of a supreme commander.
"Passing through…?" one guard whispered to another.
"To think someone of his status would even acknowledge us…"
The captain bowed lower than seemed physically possible. "Please accept this city's highest escort!"
Eiran screamed internally. Escort means attention. Attention means trouble. Trouble means I die.
"…That won't be necessary," he said quietly.
hoping the captain would understand the subtle panic dripping from every word.
The captain froze.
The captain froze. The air thickened. Silence fell, oppressive and heavy. It pressed down on Eiran's shoulders like a weight he couldn't lift.
"So… you intend to walk alone," the captain whispered. "As expected of someone who fears nothing."
Eiran nodded, because nodding was easier than trying to explain that he feared everything, all the time, and that he barely survived training yesterday without crying
The crowd parted as he walked through the city. Every step felt like a march toward execution. Children peeked around corners, wide-eyed. Merchants froze mid-sale, gold coins suspended in the air like they had forgotten gravity existed. Even the cats hissed, then darted away as if the presence of Eiran Vale alone was a natural predator of all things small and fragile.
Eiran's stomach twisted painfully. "I just want bread… I just want breakfast…" he muttered under his breath.
Elsewhere – The Demon Council
Far away, the Demon Council trembled as a crystal shattered with a resonating ting. A ripple of magical energy shot across the chamber, making even the normally stoic generals flinch.
"He has entered Grayhaven," a demon reported, voice trembling.
The chamber went silent. Every demon, every dark creature of significant standing, felt the weight of those words.
"The Silent Catastrophe…"
"The man who killed General Vorax without lifting a finger…"
The Demon King clenched his fist, knuckles whitening. "Recall all forces," he ordered, voice cutting through the tense air like a sword.
"But Your Majesty—we have an army of—"
"I SAID RECALL THEM!" The Demon King's voice trembled with a rare mixture of fear and disbelief.
"If he is here… this city is already lost."
In the corner, a young demon general trembled. His armor rattled slightly as he muttered to himself, "We are doomed. He doesn't even strike… and yet everything falls."
Back to Eiran
Eiran finally reached the marketplace. His knees were weak, his palms sweaty, and his heart thundering. He wanted nothing more than a loaf of bread, maybe some cheese, anything that could distract him from the constant whispers of fear and awe following him like a shadow.
The baker, a small, plump woman with flour on her apron, approached him, eyes wide. "Please… don't destroy the city," she whispered, holding a loaf of bread out to him like a peace offering.
Eiran stared at the bread. "…I just wanted breakfast."
He picked it up gingerly, as though it were made of glass.
The baker lowered her voice even further. "The rumors… they are true, aren't they? You… you truly killed General Vorax?"
Eiran blinked. "…No. I… I didn't do anything. He… kind of… died on his own, actually."
Her eyes widened in terror. "On his own?
"Yes! I tripped, and then the lever fell, and—"
She shrieked. "The lever! That's what they're saying!"
Wait! No! That was an accident! I didn't even know it would—"
Too late. The words had already solidified into legend in her mind.
Meanwhile, the crowd continued to murmur, and somewhere, a bard in the distance started composing an epic ballad mid-step, lyrics not even complete but already filled with Eiran's "terrifying aura" and "unfathomable power."
Eiran cradled the bread to his chest, stepping carefully through the streets. Every corner seemed to whisper his name. Every shadow seemed to grow taller, darker, more ominous, simply because he passed beneath it.
He had survived bandits, slimes, and training disasters, but this… this was a war of perception. And perception, it seemed, had already declared him unbeatable.
Eiran's internal monologue raced faster than his feet could carry him. Okay, okay… think, Eiran. They're just scared. Totally normal. You're… just… lucky. Right? Right?
He stopped at a fountain to catch his breath. The water reflected his pale, nervous face. You are not a hero. You are not a cataclysm. You are… a man who trips over everything.
A pigeon landed nearby, staring at him with judgment. Eiran sighed. Even the birds are judging me
He took a small bite of the bread. Relief. It was warm. Crunchy. A moment of normalcy in a world gone mad.
Then the crowd gasped.
"…What now?" he muttered.
A guard had fainted. Another had accidentally knocked over a cart of apples in his rush to pay homage. Somewhere, a child was crying, saying, "The Silent Catastrophe will judge me if I don't behave!"
Eiran groaned. "…I just wanted breakfast."
By mid-morning, the rumor mill had done its work. Stories of Eiran's "silent destruction" spread across Grayhaven like wildfire. Every citizen had a slightly different version: some said he could crush mountains with a glance. Others swore he had stopped a demon general without even touching him.
Eiran tried to correct them. Tried. Every time he opened his mouth, the words morphed into legend. "I… I'm not strong…" became "He humbles himself before mortals, showing mercy beyond comprehension."
By noon, he had a personal space of ten meters around him, maintained purely by fear and awe. No one dared approach him. Dogs howled in his presence. Cats fled for weeks in advance. A squirrel froze mid-jump and slowly retreated to the nearest tree.
Eiran Vale sighed, resting against a wall. Bread in hand, legs shaking, heart racing. "I… I can't… I just… want to eat quietly."
A shadow fell over him. A nobleman, bowing so low he nearly kissed the ground, whispered, "Lord Vale… your presence blesses this city. Please… accept this token of our gratitude."
It was a crystal orb. It shimmered faintly. He stared at it. "…I don't want this."
The nobleman gasped. "You… refuse? Such humility… such power contained…"
Eiran buried his face in his hands. "…I just wanted breakfast."
Far beyond the city, the Demon Council shivered. The crystal that shattered at Eiran's approach continued to pulse with faint, ominous light.
The man… he is not fighting…" a demon whispered. "And yet… everything bends before him."
The Demon King's eyes narrowed. "Prepare the armies. Do not underestimate him. Even his weakness is deadly."
Back in Grayhaven, Eiran bit into the bread again. Crunch. Warm. Safe.
"…I just wanted breakfast," he repeated for the fifth time, louder this time, as if saying it enough might convince the world—and maybe himself—that he wasn't terrifying.
The city did not listen.