# Hero
When I think of Maximillian, there's one memory that comes to mind first.
The "Sky Splitting Contest."
It started like this. Maximillian, with his usual foolish face, energetically stood up and swung his sword.
"Whoosh."
"Whoooosh..."
"Swish—"
"SLASH—!!"
Suddenly, as if he'd gained some enlightenment, that idiot went and split the sky.
Literally, the sky.
With a single sword stroke, clouds were sliced apart and pushed away, fierce winds rushed in, and a tremendous roar shook the earth.
As I've reminisced before, the Hero Party is fundamentally an "assassination squad."
The kind that sneaks deep into enemy territory to target the Demon King's leader, biding their time—buying time at the cost of soldiers' lives who are falling on the frontlines even now.
Which means they shouldn't be causing such noisy disturbances.
"Is he actually insane?"
Enrique exclaimed in shock and threw a dagger at the Hero. (The Hero caught it with his body, smiling brightly. Naturally, the blade bounced off his bare skin.)
"Why don't you just shout it out loud? 'The hope of the United Kingdom is right here!' Very Hero-like, isn't it?"
Beolgrin said coldly while quickly completing his spell. He immediately sat cross-legged and began detecting approaching demons.
Meanwhile, Gil Ber. This aristocratic knight wore a distinctly provocative expression as he swung his sword.
"SLASH—!!"
"A matching pair!!"
The clouds cut by the Hero shattered into pieces and scattered. Gil Ber swept back his hair with a refreshing laugh.
"Somehow I cut more than you. Good for warming up."
"Um... your wrist is so warmed up it's broken right now?"
"Sorry, Patricia. Apply some healing, would you?"
"I find that expression somewhat insulting..."
After watching this spectacle for a while, Einarr stood up with a smirk, raising his axe.
"Don't do it."
"Please don't."
"I really wish you wouldn't..."
"Men of Droan always live by leaving their mark on the world."
"What nonsense are you suddenly spouting? Put down the axe and talk."
Despite Enrique's wary words, Einarr paid no attention and stepped forward.
"No matter how well you cut the sky, it leaves no trace. But what if I could eternally mark that Einarr, the great son of Ulik, was here!"
"No, wait a minute. Listen to me—"
"CRASH!!"
After declaring his grand ambition and raising his axe,
Einarr went and split an entire mountain in half.
We wasted a week fleeing from the Seven Dragon Generals and Demon King's forces that swarmed out like disturbed hornets afterward,
But the Hero.
The man called Maximillian smiled and said:
"I split the sky."
"I split more of it."
"Ahem, I split a mountain! Surely splitting something with form is a greater achievement than splitting something formless?"
"Just babbling complicated-sounding words doesn't make you smart, little one."
"Old hag."
"I'll kill you, seriously."
I don't know why he was so obsessed with the sky. But Ivan clearly remembers that ridiculous escape.
That night, what he wanted to see by splitting the night sky was probably...
To confirm that even amidst the terrible dark clouds surrounding the Demon King's territory, though invisible, the morning star was still shining in its place.
As you can see, the Hero Party was a den of lunatics, madmen, psychopaths, and paranoids.
The Hero was the craziest among them, and also the one who shone the brightest.
Gil Ber, who wanted to stand out from others, was appointed as the Guardian Knight of the Tilles royal family.
Einarr, who wanted to leave behind great achievements, conquered his homeland and created the first unified kingdom of Droan.
And the Hero, Maximillian, probably just wanted to confirm that hope still remained.
That's why Ivan doesn't like the Hero.
He simply admired him.
Even after he turned his back on the world and went into seclusion, still.
"Did he retire because he fulfilled his hope, or..."
Because he could no longer see the morning star even after cutting through the dark clouds, so he gave up?
It's been over four years since that cheerful man disappeared. The world still remembers the Hero, but is gradually forgetting the person named Maximillian.
ep5. Morning Star
Two weeks passed in an instant. Ivan was looking out the window at the passing scenery, thinking it felt just like end-of-service leave—gone before you knew what you'd done with it.
He was on his way to Tilles. And this time, he wasn't alone.
Five men were watching him nervously.
"Wow, there really was a terrorist attack! How did you know? The time, date, and place—exactly right!"
They were agents from the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command. That annoying junior, Dmitri Cherkatov, had forced them on him.
When he returned after preventing Asidis's terrorist attack, Dmitri had grabbed his hand and shaken it enthusiastically, as if apologizing for doubting him.
But his eyes weren't smiling at all. Understandably so.
It would be problematic from the start that a man who had been living quietly in semi-retirement for four years suddenly predicted a high-profile terrorist attack.
Others might have just said "Wow, that's amazing!" and moved on, but this guy belonged to the Krasilov Counter-Intelligence Command. He was even a high-ranking officer—a lieutenant colonel in the investigation bureau.
Therefore, his eyes clearly said:
"You've planted someone, haven't you? Tell me honestly. I'm really curious. How did you create an intelligence network without us knowing? Care to share your know-how?"
Without a proper explanation, he would have to go through countless verifications and suspicions. After all, solving the Academy formula couldn't be explained without information monopoly.
But.
'How troublesome.'
There was no need to clarify. Authority comes from mystery, after all. Ivan didn't try to dispel the suspicion that he had some secret transnational intelligence organization backing him.
Hence his current situation. He had "received" five awkward agents as "support."
Ivan sighed briefly. Do I have to play babysitter even after coming this far?
The agents all flinched at his sigh.
"Sir Petrovich, is something bothering you...?"
"All of you."
Ivan decided to firmly establish discipline while he was at it.
Though training new recruits wasn't his responsibility, how could he retire in peace when his country's agents (his country is the Republic of Korea) were this sloppy?
Why were intelligence agents wearing matching clothes in the first place? What were they trying to imply?
And with so many empty seats available, they were huddled together suspiciously?
This was simply unacceptable. Of course, these guys' real purpose was to gather information about Ivan. But still, that's espionage work too.
He couldn't just let this slide.
"Listen carefully."
And thus began the instructional lecture from the orphanage director (former Annihilation Squad member, 18 years of military service, conducted operations with the Hero Party, has records of defeating Seven Dragon Generals)!
18 hours until they reached San Matilenne, the capital of Tilles.
The agents' time froze solid.
"So he's really not coming out..."
Isabelle repeatedly scanned the platform right up until boarding the train bound for Krasilov.
The higher the expectations, the greater the disappointment.
But despite always being disappointed, she still looked at people with anticipation.
Carefully, one by one, anxiously wondering if he might be hiding among them.
"Chiiiiik—!"
Even as the train let out a long puff of steam, the person she was waiting for didn't appear.
"My lady, please don't worry. He always..."
"Thinks of me? Yes, perhaps."
Isabelle replied coldly, turning her head and slapping away the hand that was patting her shoulder.
The neat-looking knight, assigned as a guard officer by the Tilles royal family, stepped back with an awkward smile.
Idiot. Moron. Useless fellow.
A detestable creature who doesn't even know how to get angry when insulted, who tries to smooth things over with a forced smile when upset.
To her, most people were animals. Not in the biological sense, but meaning they were no better than beasts.
'Father.'
Her memories of the Hero, Maximillian, were only vague. The Hero spent most of his time on the battlefield, while she stayed at court with her mother.
As the Hero's fame grew, the expressions of people approaching her became simpler.
Just friendly smiles from those wanting to curry favor with a future key figure.
It was natural. If they thought the Hero might defeat the Demon King at any moment.
After the Demon King's death, all political situations would revolve around the Hero. They say individual power can't defeat a group, but when someone possesses power and achievements that overwhelm groups, even nations tend to become subordinate to individuals.
Therefore, the Tilles royal family tried hard to win her favor. In a situation where they couldn't contact the Hero directly, that was the only way to look good to him.
No matter what harsh words she spoke or what insults she hurled, they just smiled.
As if at a masquerade ball, everyone wearing the same expression...
At least, it doesn't have a very positive effect on a child's emotional development.
"Get lost. I can't stand the sight of you."
"But my lady, I..."
"Shut up."
At Isabelle's words, the knight hesitated and stepped back. He bowed with a gentle smile and left the compartment.
Finally alone in the compartment, Isabelle muttered with a bitter smile:
"Idiot."
Just before the door closed, when he turned his head and turned around.
She clearly remembered the knight's expression, distorted like a demon's.
Isabelle, the Hero's blood relative, possessed an exceptional sense. She could instantly recognize even the briefest changes in people's expressions.
So this is how it is. She learned too early that everyone around her was always wary of her.
Therefore.
"Moron..."
She buried herself in her seat, mocking herself.
A girl who knows no way to express herself except through anger and ridicule.
A self-destructive psychopath who only feels reassured when seeing others get angry.
A severe case of affection deficiency who believes only others' hatred is sincere.
A separation anxiety patient who constantly waits for and simultaneously resents her father, whose memory is now faint.
That was her self-diagnosis.
"We'll be taking our leave now, Sir Petrovich."
"Still using 'we' as an expression.
Are you planning to boast about coming all together?"
"Uh... um... hmm..."
"Didn't I tell you that expressions should be clear, actions decisive, and intentions always hidden in the deepest place?"
"Ugh... well..."
The agents were all inwardly screaming:
'Lieutenant Colonel Dmitri!! You said this man was extremely taciturn!!'
'You're a monster, Petrovich!!'
'I hate you, Ivan. Forever...'
Facing the crisis of additional special duty training on top of 18 hours of lecturing, the agents turned pale, hastily said goodbye, and left.
Their mission was to protect Oskar de Satieon, the son of Knight Gil Ber.
Ivan, who had devoted himself to the training—half to shake off those shackles Dmitri had attached to him and half in genuine sincerity—watched Isabelle boarding the train at the station platform and thought:
'Lucky.'
He had killed two birds with one stone: getting rid of the counter-intelligence agents and protecting Oskar.
Ivan boarded the train lightly, feeling as if he'd thrown off two bundles of baggage.