"Recognize it, but do not speak of it. Do not convey it through words, nor leave it in writing. It is not permitted to anyone but you, and thus it is solely your duty. Your failure will be the first and last failure of your world. Your world has no more chances."
"When the gods first walked this land, they named it the Forge. It became a smithy for lost souls, a vortex for the souls of all things in this world."
"Time passed that could not be called short even to the gods. All mortals sought answers—the mortals of the distant sea buried their continent beneath the ocean, those beneath the earth called their creations gods, and those gathered at the world's end simply worshipped strength."
"And you created me. The last god born of this land declares: how pitiful. You are puppets who will enact different forms of the same tragedy even after passing through the lifetimes of gods once more."
"Therefore, I have pondered for ages. I hope for the day when this land is simply called land, the sky simply called sky. When you will call the celestial bodies you gaze upon simply the sun, moon, and stars."
"Now you are my last chance, and your success will be freedom for all of you, your failure will be your final failure."
"But I am just an ordinary person. How could I...?"
"Which hero in your land's ancient myths and legends was extraordinary from birth? Even if there truly was an extraordinary birth, could that truly prove the extraordinariness of that being? The success of an extraordinary person is rather commonplace—when the deeds of an ordinary person become extraordinary, we call this a great achievement. Only achievements not destined by fate can save a world created by fate."
"Your ordinariness is your extraordinariness. Strive to accomplish with the will of a mere mortal, a simple human. If one desires a world of humans, one should rejoice in the fulfillment of ordinariness rather than lament the absence of extraordinariness."
"Will you do it? Can you gain everything, lose everything again, and then rise once more to move forward? Not with the grand narratives of heroes from old myths, but with broken plows and rusted rakes, can you cultivate hope again on the land where everything you built has crumbled?"
"Yes, I will. I shall carry on that will with my own hands and complete it in my generation."
"Then from now on, all beings of this land shall call you Hero."
Not an official position requiring qualifications or recognition, nor a title granting rights or authority.
Just Hero. One called by gods, heaven, world, and fate to be a savior.
One who receives no reward, blessing, or comfort, but simply walks forward, representing all the ordinariness of the world, extending a sword toward the sky and illuminating hope.
A lamp in deep darkness, a lighthouse in the deep sea, and also.
The incarnation of the morning star.
So he was called. He acted as he was called. Until he finally reached the last page.
His story also passed 30 years. Perhaps a little more than that.
His story, too, was progressing toward its predetermined finale. But already knowing the contents of the final chapter from the beginning.
The blindfolded man waited with a dry smile. Having walked with all his might to the end of the narrative, to the very end of the end, what remained to be done at the finale was simply to wait.
He sat at the end of the darkened hall, slowly inhaling with pleasure. Though it had been long since he forgot the emotion of joy, he felt a vague anticipation. Now it would take no longer than this.
The epilogue took 40 years.
EP48. 48 Hours.
At this point, Ivan no longer spoke with anyone. He walked with an almost impatient feeling, lost in thought.
Puzzle.
That was the only word Ivan could think of now. Like a puzzle being pieced together bit by bit, as if there were a completed picture.
A breathless schedule that was precarious and tightly constrained. Connections that interlocked with unnatural precision. Each one assigned a role, with uses divided as if by design.
Every crisis was designed for appropriate yet intense overcoming, precariously engineered. Thinking back, they all were.
Even back then, during his time with the Annihilation Squad. No, even before that. One could say it had been that way since he was born as a tenant farmer's son and served his military duty as a conscript.
How many times had he been driven to the brink of death? How many crises had made him want to simply give up?
Yet he was still here. Victory achieved by twisting his entire body to barely reach it, then hardships thrown as if in jest, then victory seized again by painfully moving forward...
All crises were appropriately distributed at a level that was "difficult but surmountable." If this was fate. If it was someone's plan.
Alexandr had said it. The hand far above the sky.
"This time too, it must be so."
Ivan whispered softly as he looked up at the night sky. The vast night sky still spread out with countless stars floating in it.
Now fate is no more. Beolgrin had declared it so. The gods' mischief would no longer violate humans.
But even afterward, nothing had changed from before. He still had to continuously overcome crises and keep walking.
Was Beolgrin wrong? No, that's impossible. That great astronomer had eyes that could read even the gods' intentions.
Then there must be one more thing different from Beolgrin's prediction. Something that even celestial calculations couldn't predict. It means there was a variable that even the gods of heaven couldn't foresee.
And now Ivan knows the name of that existence. A word from his homeland's literature that no one in this world would know—the word "cliché."
The Hero who became the Demon King.
The only being who can twist the gravitational pull of fate and devise plans in a world where the flow of fate has disappeared. The only adversary who can act as proxy for all divine powers in a world where no god can interfere anymore.
Yes, this is once again a cliché. So, please.
This time too, it must be so.
If you wish for me to advance to your presence without collapsing, please.
You must arrange only hardships that cannot break me.
If this country falls, if my plan is wrong, if all my efforts are ultimately destined to become ruins. Then you will never, ever be able to turn my final "page."
Ivan walked along the railroad tracks, looking at the sky.
The soldiers of the 1st Corps followed behind him. Past the final boundary of the northern territory, toward what lay beyond.
"Fire!!"
BANG!! Ratatatatat!!
The soldiers in the front row all pulled their triggers at once. The iron cannons spewed fire. The acrid smell of gunpowder swept over the battlefield.
The bullets struck the monsters coming down the hill. Elizabeta was watching this intently with wide eyes.
Boom, boom, boom, boom!!
The sound of drums continued to echo from beyond the hill. Military flags were fluttering on all sides of the basin. Enemies still lurked in all directions, and they were surrounded.
There was nowhere to run. So they never hurried. From the beginning, the Seven Dragon Generals didn't step forward, but rather maintained a leisurely containment.
As if gauging their forces, unhurriedly.
"Northwest!! Line-of-Fire Detection shows five entities! Send the knights!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!!"
At her shout, the knights positioned in the rear all stepped forward. Unable to ride horses in the current battle conditions, the knights had dismounted and mixed in between the formations.
The vanguard of goblins and orcs collapsed amid the rain of bullets. But more goblins climbed over their corpses.
The barrier of demon corpses was getting closer and closer. The piled bodies of demons were instantly hidden under the footsteps of even more demons.
"Shoot!! Shoot!! Damn it, you! Your hands are shaking!!"
The shouts of the officers erupted from here and there. Now the distance to the creatures was close enough to see their eyes. Bang, bang. Bullets pierced through their foreheads.
The soldiers loaded bullets, shouldered their weapons, and pulled triggers almost as if in a trance. They even forgot that their hands were burning on the overheated gun barrels, and screams erupted as twisted gun barrels exploded.
And now a goblin jumped onto the defensive formation.
"Fix bayonets! Extend!!"
As the commander overlooking the formation shouted, the first engagement occurred. The goblin that had evaded the line of fire was instantly cut into five pieces and scattered. The knights who had drawn their swords quickly retreated behind the formation, waiting for the next order.
The same thing was happening on all sides. Even orcs that couldn't see the line of fire crashed into the barricades with howls.
The creatures' murky eyes and stench reached the infantry on the front line. A soldier pulled the trigger as if having a seizure. Click, the sound of an empty chamber hitting air was heard, and the soldier's fear intensified.
Then a spear flew to his side and pierced an orc's head. Soldiers gripping spears stepped forward in front of the gunners.
"Gunners back! Change barrels! Prepared gunners begin firing!! Shoot, shoot, shoot!!"
Ratatatatat!!
The spears thrust forward precariously as if about to bend, targeting the gaps between the barricades. Soldiers holding shields and swords looked at the barricades with a prayerful mindset. It was shaking. The barricade was shaking as if it might collapse at any moment.
Tauruses were charging forward with roars.
"Shoot!! Block them!!"
Ratatat, bullets hit their foreheads but many didn't penetrate. The red-eyed monsters charged across the battlefield with torn cloth, sometimes roughly pushing aside even allies as they rushed toward the barricades.
Boom, the barricade shook and then one stake broke and collapsed. The taurus impaled on the stake fell helplessly, but soon orcs poured in, trampling over its corpse.
"Your Majesty, the western barricade—"
"I have eyes, sir."
Elizabeta was still overlooking the battlefield. Her eyes were not on her troops' situation but on the enemy front line surging forward.
"Why on earth...?"
Elizabeta was lost in thought, analyzing the number and quality of the incoming troops, and inferring the enemy's battle plan.
If a Dragon General appeared directly, the battle would be over anyway. It was obvious they wouldn't last even half a day, let alone two days. With nowhere to run, annihilating them wouldn't be difficult.
But he was still standing at that distant place, just watching her.
For fun? For pleasure? The sadism unique to demons who want to watch humans struggle?
But no, that couldn't be. A commander at the level of a Dragon General must be competent. That's why he was able to track and follow her to the battlefield she had planned.
Therefore, he should be planning for minimal losses in this battle. If he wanted to invade the world, if he wanted to turn the entire United Kingdom against him, the accumulated losses here would certainly not be welcome.
Her request for reinforcements had already been sent throughout the United Kingdom. If timed well, they could gather enough forces at the rear defensive line. For the sake of that battle, there was no reason to endure losses now just for pleasure.
In the midst of these complex thoughts, Elizabeta suddenly muttered.
"He's afraid..."
"Pardon, Your Majesty?"
"He's afraid of the 2nd Corps' movements."
Lamerix died in the Southern Six Nations. The decisive reason for his death was of course Ivan, but the 2nd Corps was marching at the place where he died.
Looking at objective facts without information, it would almost seem as if Lamerix died as soon as the 2nd Corps appeared in the Southern Six Nations...
The same goes for when Olega's minions occupied Pritzenkaya. The chaos in Pritzenkaya ended simultaneously with the return of the 2nd Corps and Elizabeta.
'All Seven Dragon Generals fear death.'
They didn't prevent the Demon King's death even during the Great War. Because it was an era when death was certain just by revealing oneself before the Hero Party.
Then now, in the eyes of one who hasn't secured proper intelligence sources after Olega's death, the 2nd Corps led directly by Elizabeta might appear to be a Hero Party-level force that eliminated two Dragon Generals.
He plans to only contain us until he can gauge what forces might be hidden on our side.
He won't move until he's confident whether we can truly eliminate a Dragon General.
A dry smile appeared on Elizabeta's lips. She soon rose from her seat and shouted.
"Pull the knights back!! Retreat to the second defensive line!!"
"Y-Your Majesty!! The formation will fall into chaos!"
"We need to lure them in more! It needs to look like we're luring them in to anyone watching!! Pull back the defensive line. Any formation that gets pushed back even slightly is to retreat immediately to the second line!!"
With exaggerated movements that made it look like they were luring the enemy in, advertising that they were in crisis.
Making it look obviously like a trap, as if they had set bait until a Dragon General appeared.
So that, paradoxically, he would become more cautious and unable to move.
Yes, as long as the Dragon General doesn't personally step forward, the 2nd Corps can hold out. For about two days. It doesn't even require hoping for a miracle.