Chapter 9 — The Successor of the Southern Hero
"Ugh~"
Sare let out a sharp, pained groan and collapsed heavily onto the snow-dusted ground, the strength draining from his massive frame.
Just one strike.
One single blow, and the once-confident warrior, Sare, was rendered helpless.
"Sare!"
Anna's voice rang out in shock, her face immediately drained of color. She stumbled back a step, gripping her staff tighter, her wide eyes reflecting pure disbelief.
Lain's brows furrowed.
The demon had cast a standard offensive spell—but its speed, its sheer efficiency, was already approaching the threshold of someone like Freiren.
"Turning a corner, stumbling across a demon nearly on par with a Great Demon… this kind of luck is absurd," he muttered under his breath.
In his memory, aside from the legendary Seven Sages of destruction, a handful of Great Demons still posed a mortal threat to humanity. Solytir, for instance—an apex predator even among demons—came to mind.
And his instincts screamed that the demon in front of him, though not as monstrous as Solytir, would not be far behind in power.
"Such fragile, foolish creatures,"
The demon woman's cold, violet gaze swept over the trembling Anna. Her long, curved horns glinted under the faint winter sun as she slowly raised a finger.
"Now, it's your turn," she said, her voice silky, yet dripping with malice.
Anna stiffened, her hands shaking as she prepared to act.
"Damn it!"
At that precise moment, a calm and commanding voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Stay behind me!"
Veil, the priest, stepped forward with deliberate grace, holding a leather-bound Bible in her hands. Golden light radiated softly around her, warm and steady, forming a protective aura.
"Holy Wall Shield!" she intoned.
Instantly, a semi-transparent golden barrier materialized before Anna, shimmering like a living shield of sunlight caught in morning frost.
The demon woman tilted her head, lips curling in a mocking smirk. "Holy magic of the Goddess, is it? Pathetic light."
The black beam shot forth from her finger again. Faster than the eye could track, it collided with Veil's golden shield.
Boom!
The black energy dissipated along with the golden light in a flash of sparks. Both the attack and defense vanished simultaneously.
"Good. Opportunity," Lain murmured, taking advantage of the demon's distraction.
In one fluid motion, he drew his twin swords. The blades cut through the air like twin streaks of ice, tracing arcs sharp enough to chill the bone.
The target: the demon's neck.
The woman's body swayed slightly due to recoil, as if brushing off the attack casually—but the moment her eyes flicked to Lain's stance, her expression froze in recognition.
It was that technique.
The legendary Southern Hero's twin-sword opening stance—the combat style of the hero who, a century ago, had single-handedly slain three of the Seven Sages of destruction and countless Great Demons.
The demon's hesitation lasted barely 0.01 seconds—but to Lain, it was an eternity.
Pshhh!
The icy blades severed the demon's neck cleanly, slicing through flesh and sinew as though cutting air.
The head flew into the sky, frozen in a final expression of shock and disbelief.
The body wobbled briefly before collapsing with a thunderous crash, disintegrating into countless black particles that evaporated like smoke in the cold air.
Lain sheathed his swords with the fluid grace of a master, every movement precise and controlled.
The battlefield fell silent. The kind of silence that pressed into your chest and made it hard to breathe.
Anna's jaw hung open. Her staff slipped from her grasp as if weightless.
The demon, who had moments ago exuded overwhelming power, was gone.
Even Veil, usually reserved and impassive, now stared with wide, astonished eyes, her deep blue pupils reflecting both awe and disbelief.
Bart poked his head from behind the wagon wheel, letting out a long exhale. Seeing the demon dead, he slumped to the ground, hands on his knees, gasping heavily.
"Sare!" Veil called, rushing to the injured warrior's side. Hands glowing with gentle golden light, she chanted a healing spell.
Soft radiance wrapped around Sare's shoulder, sealing the wound and knitting the torn flesh back together.
Anna quickly regained her composure and moved closer to assist.
Lain remained where he was, silent, twin swords still at his side, deep in thought.
He replayed the demon woman's expression in his mind—her brief, unmistakable pause when she recognized the stance.
Demons lacked emotion, fear, and hesitation. That fraction of a second must have been genuine surprise, even awe.
It confirmed his suspicion: the demon had witnessed the Southern Hero in action. One of the few surviving witnesses from a century ago.
Sare, now stabilized, looked up at him with admiration burning in his eyes.
"You okay?" Lain asked.
"No major injuries. Thanks, Lain… I misjudged you. Didn't expect you, Lain… cough… to be this formidable," Sare admitted, still winded.
"You flatter me," Lain said calmly.
Veil, who had been silent until now, fixed him with a piercing gaze. "The stance you just used… the twin-sword opening technique. I've seen it in old records."
Lain's eyes lifted. He waited for her to continue.
"It belongs exclusively to the Southern Hero's combat style," she said solemnly. "The Southern Hero was a warrior of unmatched skill, the only one who dared to challenge the Seven Sages of destruction before Hero Himmel rose to prominence. That hesitation… that demon recognized your technique instantly."
Lain did not speak.
He had not expected Veil, the seemingly cold cleric, to know so much about the legendary hero.
"You are… the successor of the Southern Hero?" she asked, her voice soft, yet tinged with awe.
"You could say that," Lain replied evenly, neither confirming nor denying more than necessary.
The shift in the wagon's atmosphere was immediate.
Sare's shock transformed into fervent admiration. Anna's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"So you're the hero's successor! No wonder you're so strong!" she exclaimed.
Bart fumbled over his words, overwhelmed. "Sir… it's truly an honor for our caravan to have you traveling with us!"
Lain offered a small, polite smile before turning to Veil. "You seem to know quite a lot about the Southern Hero."
"My hometown is near his birthplace," Veil said, nostalgia softening her voice. "The legend lives on there. My family library holds extensive records of heroes throughout history."
"I see," Lain nodded, unwilling to linger on the topic. "The demon is gone. Let's keep moving."
"Yes, yes, yes!" Bart clapped his hands together, brimming with excitement. He ordered his men to clear the path.
As the wagon rolled on, the atmosphere transformed completely.
Sare sat tall, frequently glancing at Lain with reverence. Anna turned into an unrelenting chatterbox, peppering him with questions.
"Lord Lain—what was that move called? It was incredible!"
"Lord Lain, are you truly the Southern Hero's disciple? He passed away so long ago!"
"Lord Lain, can we recruit you into our team?"
Lain closed his eyes and leaned against the wagon wall, letting them chatter as he rested.
Veil gently tugged Anna's sleeve. "Anna, let him rest. You'll have your turn to ask questions later."
Anna pouted but relented, though her curious gaze kept flicking toward Lain.
Even with his eyes closed, Lain could not shake the memory of the demon woman's face, frozen in that brief instant of recognition. That moment had been the key to victory. Without it, the battle might have gone far differently.
And yet, a lingering concern remained: his Future Sight still wavered unpredictably.
A statue of the Southern Hero awaited in a town near Golden Village, a landmark he would have to reach someday. If his Future Sight failed at a critical moment, he could easily end up as lifeless as a golden statue, awaiting Frieren's arrival.
He would need to accelerate the unlocking of his abilities. Reaching at least half the peak strength of the Southern Hero would make facing Mahart far less risky. Inheriting the hero's skills and techniques was one thing—cultivating them independently through discipline and combat experience was another.
The caravan continued for two more days without incident. No monsters harassed them, and the icy winds carried only the scent of snow and distant pines.
By the evening of the third day, the outline of a town emerged, framed against the pale glow of a setting sun and flurries of snow.
Glayate. They had arrived.
---
The town was unmistakably northern.
Massive black stone walls, coated with thick layers of ice and snow, enclosed the settlement. Buildings within were low and squat, designed to withstand heavy snowfall, and the streets were sparsely populated. Every passerby was bundled in furs, moving briskly against the biting wind.
The air was thick with the scent of firewood, roasted meat, and the sharp tang of strong spirits.
Upon entering the town, Bart split off to deliver goods to the merchant guild, though not without handing Lain a heavy pouch.
"Lord Lain, this is your due! No amount of gold could repay your help today!"
Inside the pouch were two gold coins, along with a collection of silver and bronze. Lain accepted it without protest; practical matters first.
Sare, Anna, and Veil made their way toward the Adventurer's Guild, eager to rest and scout for potential quests.
"Lord Lain, what will you do next?" Anna asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
"I'll stay in town for a while," he said simply. His gaze turned toward the town square—toward the statue of the Southern Hero.
"Then let's find a place to rest first," Sare suggested.
"Goodbye," Lain said, parting from the three.
He walked alone through Glayate's streets, snow crunching beneath his boots, wind tugging at his cloak, and the figure of the Southern Hero awaiting him in the town square.