Deep night.
As if there had been no battle until dawn,
the village lay silent—so still even breath seemed to have sunk.
The wind washed away the traces of the battlefield,
and in the cold darkness, only the thin sound of insects spread out.
Rynel sat in the open yard outside the house,
staring up at the sky.
The moonlight was dim,
and the stars kept their distance, scattered as if pretending not to notice.
Then—
quiet footsteps approached.
It was Pyrug.
Without a word, he sat down beside Rynel.
“Mr. Pyrug…”
Rynel turned his head to look at him.
His voice was lower than usual, careful.
“Something on your mind?”
“Well… when we fought that dead-tree monster,
I blanked out for a moment.”
“…You blanked out?”
“Yes. And in that moment,
I heard a… voice in my head.”
Pyrug’s eyebrow twitched slightly.
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.
But… I’ve seen it a few times in my dreams.”
Rynel continued slowly.
“There was a black castle.
Everything was burning…
and people were running through the flames like they were lost.”
“In that chaos,
someone urgently called out a name.”
“A name… what was it?”
“···Orta.”
“……Orta?”
Pyrug’s gaze paused.
Rynel nodded and went on.
“When that name was called,
a woman in a white robe appeared, and then…
red light spread everywhere.”
When Rynel finished,
his face looked like someone who had witnessed it with his own eyes.
“And you think that… is connected to this fight?”
Pyrug stayed silent for a long moment,
as if he had something to say—then he spoke carefully.
“…There are a lot of things in this world that don’t make sense.”
“People call them ‘ridiculous.’
Most just ignore them.”
“But listen—
it could also be… someone’s intended plan.”
Rynel flinched and turned to him.
“I… don’t really understand what you mean.”
Pyrug gave a short laugh.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Let’s talk while we walk.”
So the two of them stood without another word
and began to walk slowly through the quiet village.
Under the moonlight,
their shadows stretched long side by side.
It was Pyrug who broke the silence.
“You.
That recurring dream, and the voice you heard inside.”
“That doesn’t feel like coincidence.”
Rynel turned his head slightly.
“Mr. Pyrug, have you ever…
heard the name ‘Orta’ before?”
After a brief pause,
Pyrug let out a small breath.
“Orta… yeah, I’ve heard it.”
“…Really?”
“Three hundred years ago, in the war against the heroes,
he’s known as the Demon King who was defeated.”
Rynel’s eyes widened.
“The Demon King…?”
A figure that had existed only in books
being tied to his dreams—
for a moment, his lips went stiff.
But Pyrug slowly shook his head.
“Still… he wasn’t actually the Demon King.”
“That’s just what common folk believe.”
“The real truth is…
he was one of the Demon King’s ‘retainers.’”
Rynel pressed his lips together, silent.
As they walked,
their steps naturally led them toward the sanctuary.
A place they hadn’t properly seen at dawn because of the fighting.
Now it was soaked in moonlight and wind, calm and damp.
Pyrug reached into his clothes
and took out a small magic device, pressing it lightly into a crack in the rock.
Click.
As it reacted,
a faint orange glow spread around them.
And under that light,
shadows eased back, revealing a single statue.
A sword raised,
poised as if it might leap forward at any moment.
A strong gaze.
A sharp, lean frame.
Rynel drew a quiet breath.
“…Who is he?”
Pyrug answered briefly.
“Harkpreyon.
The leader of the hero party who brought down the Demon King three hundred years ago.”
Rynel stared at the statue in silence,
as if searching for something within it.
For a long while, he didn’t look away.
The hand gripping the sword.
The eyes that felt like they could move.
Standing before it,
Rynel unknowingly clenched his own hand.
“……Have you seen him in your dream too?”
At Pyrug’s question,
Rynel quietly shook his head.
“No. Not at all.
But… for some reason, he feels familiar.”
Familiar.
And yet at the same time, an unknown unease brushed somewhere in his chest.
Rynel stared blankly, then shook his head.
“That makes no sense…”
Without taking his eyes off the statue, Pyrug continued.
“And that ‘Orta’ who spoke to you—
they say he was brought down by the hero party back then too.”
At the sound of that name again,
Rynel inhaled without meaning to.
‘Orta…’
Every time he rolled it on his tongue,
something deep inside his chest tugged, sharp and faint.
Rynel looked at Pyrug.
“Is this… the hero leader’s hometown?”
Pyrug leaned lightly against the sanctuary railing.
His expression was calm, his tone even.
“No. I heard his homeland was somewhere in the west of the continent.
Nothing precise was ever passed down.”
“But one thing is certain—
three hundred years ago, this village was right in the middle of that war.”
“When the war ended,
this village was built.”
“And to mark it,
they raised Harkpreyon’s statue.”
Rynel studied the statue, then frowned slightly.
“…But the upkeep is… not great.”
“Hm? Ah—right.”
Pyrug nodded.
“The villagers don’t care much.
Only oddballs like me bother with it at all.”
“Even if someone was a hero of the world…
time passes, and they’re forgotten.”
Rynel said quietly,
“……That’s a shame.”
But Pyrug answered, a little differently.
“Not necessarily.”
Rynel tilted his head.
“…What do you mean?”
Pyrug smiled faintly.
“A hero being forgotten isn’t only a bad thing.”
“If they’re remembered forever,
those who come after can’t escape that shadow.”
“But if time blurs the name,
they stop comparing—and find their own path.”
“That’s how new heroes are born…
at least, that’s what I believe.”
“…Heroes.”
Rynel fell silent, thinking.
“In a world this peaceful,
the word ‘hero’ feels… like it doesn’t quite fit.”
Pyrug chuckled softly and shook his head.
“On the surface, sure.”
“But… only on the surface.”
“Three hundred years ago, they fought to drive out evil,
and the world was saved.”
“But not long after,
people appeared who started making ‘evil’ again from within.”
“Peace between races is barely holding…
but humans are eating themselves alive.”
The last words dropped heavily.
“…Was that too heavy?”
Rynel shook his head.
“No.
It’s interesting.”
Pyrug nodded,
then returned to the point.
“Anyway—
that voice you heard inside.”
“…Orta?”
“Yeah. Orta.”
“Three hundred years later,
for something like that to speak to you…”
“Honestly, it’s hard to believe.”
“But… at this point, it changes things.”
Pyrug looked straight at Rynel.
“You.”
“…That blue mana.
How much do you actually know about it?”
Rynel silently opened his hand.
Moonlight laid thin across his palm.
“…Power…”
He hesitated for a long time, then said,
“I don’t know when it started exactly.”
“But…
I do remember being used as ‘test material’ by some religious group.”
“So I figured…
maybe that’s where the power took root.”
Pyrug’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“That group—what was it called?”
“…The Altar of the Black Sun.”
Pyrug narrowed his eyes.
“Black Sun…? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Rynel nodded.
“I heard Arzen personally uncovered their existence.
But… not long after, they were wiped out in an unexplained incident.”
“…Strange.”
Pyrug murmured, rubbing his chin.
“If they were doing experiments on that scale,
they would’ve needed serious money and connections.”
“And if there’s almost no record…
someone may have erased their traces on purpose.”
For a while, Pyrug said nothing.
Then he spoke quietly.
“…Don’t take what I’m about to say lightly.”
Carefully—yet firmly—
“The mana you use.
I think it’s outside the ‘human range.’”
“…Outside the human range?”
Rynel asked, startled.
Pyrug paused, choosing his words.
“It’s not exactly the same as demons…
but it feels similar in certain ways.”
“According to old texts,
Orta was called ‘the Chain of Blue Mana.’”
“And your mana…
very likely carries a similar nature.”
Rynel didn’t respond.
His lips were pressed tight
as he stared into the darkness beyond the statue.
Then he asked,
“Then…
when we get to the capital, should I hide this power as much as possible?”
Pyrug looked at him in surprise—
then laughed.
“Haha, no.
Not to that extent.”
He shrugged.
“Using blue mana doesn’t automatically make you a demon.”
“The current magic system itself
has all kinds of attributes, and spell colors vary too.”
“…Even so, I should still be cautious.”
Pyrug nodded slowly.
“Right.
The capital is extremely sensitive to ‘unfamiliar powers.’”
“And if it might be connected to demons…
they won’t look on it kindly.”
Rynel lowered his gaze.
Worry settled lightly over his face.
Not knowing who he truly was,
and having to live while hiding something—
That idea was, somehow, frightening.
“…Alright. It’s late.”
Pyrug stood, brushing off dust.
“You should get some sleep.”
Rynel followed, rising slowly.
A few steps behind, he watched Pyrug’s back,
then looked up at the sky and murmured,
“……In the capital,
maybe it’s better not to stand out…”
Pyrug answered without turning, almost casually.
“Don’t worry.
There are concealment-type magic tools and things like that.”
“Stop overthinking it.”
Rynel smiled on the outside,
but a trace of unease lingered at the edge of his expression.
‘Don’t stand out.’
The phrase repeated in his mind, again and again.
As they walked quietly,
Pyrug glanced back.
“…Don’t carry it all by yourself.”
Rynel’s eyes widened for a moment,
then he nodded.
“Yes.”
And so the two of them
walked on in silence.
Rynel placed each step carefully,
following just behind Pyrug.
The dirt road, soaked in moonlight, was calm,
and the cold wind brushed the grass, leaving a small sound behind.
His mind was still tangled.
A nameless organization, missing memories, a presence waking inside him.
And the power rooted within him.
‘Who am I, really.’
The question
shone far away and quiet—like a star in the night sky.
But for now, bury it.
Thinking can wait until tomorrow.
Beyond Pyrug’s back,
the village’s faint lights began to come into view again.
