The hero and Saintess settled into the village, quickly becoming part of the community.

Each day, the hero would wake up early to train, practicing his sword swings beneath the golden morning light.

His strikes were sharp, precise, a reflection of his unwavering determination.

Yet, between his own training, he also took the time to teach Kenta, guiding the boy on how to hold a weapon properly, how to defend himself, and more importantly, how to protect others.

Kenta listened with bright eyes, absorbing every lesson with fierce dedication.

His small hands, though weak, gripped the wooden sword with determination.

Meanwhile, the Saintess spent her time helping in the village fields.

The villagers relied on farming to survive, and she eagerly joined them in tending to the crops, her hands covered in dirt as she worked beside them.

Despite the hard labor, she smiled warmly, her presence bringing comfort to those around her.

The villagers had quickly grown fond of them, treating them like family.

Meals were shared, stories were exchanged, and laughter filled the air as they sat around the fire at night.

Strangely, despite the usual threats of monsters, the village remained untouched.

It was an odd relief, but an unsettling one.

One evening, as the hero sat with the village chief by the warm glow of a lantern, he finally voiced his thoughts.

“May I ask you something?” the hero asked, his voice careful.

The village chief, an older man with kind yet tired eyes, nodded.

“Of course, lad. What’s on your mind?”

The hero hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“Why aren’t monsters attacking this village? I mean... don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing. But it just feels strange.”

The chief chuckled, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“I understand your concern. No need to feel awkward.”

The smile on his face faded slightly as he leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the distant mountain that loomed beyond the village.

“To be honest, even I don’t have a clear answer,” he admitted. “But according to some of our villagers, we’re safe because of a monster.”

The hero’s eyes narrowed. “A monster? What do you mean?”

The chief let out a long sigh before continuing.

“Just across the village, beyond the forest path where monsters usually roam, there’s a mountain. A few months ago, some villagers went there in search of herbs.”

His voice grew lower, more serious.

“They heard something. Shouts, roars, the screams of monsters. The sounds of a battle unlike anything they had ever witnessed.”

The hero listened intently, his grip on his sword tightening unconsciously.

“They cautiously moved closer and saw a horrifying sight.” The chief’s expression darkened.

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“The bodies of countless monsters, lying scattered across the ground. Every single one of them had been killed in the same brutal way—burnt, slashed apart as if by a single force.”

The flickering glow of the lantern cast shifting shadows on the wooden walls, filling the small hut with a quiet, almost eerie atmosphere.

The hero sat across from the village chief, his golden eyes reflecting the dim light as he listened intently.

“And no one saw what did it?” Asael asked, his voice low.

The chief shook his head.

“No one. But everyone believes that no monsters dare come near this village because they fear that creature.”

Silence stretched between them, the distant sounds of crickets and rustling leaves the only things filling the night air.

Hero exhaled slowly, his mind racing.

A single entity strong enough to wipe out hordes of monsters… without anyone even catching a glimpse of it?

That wasn’t normal.

It was terrifying.

And if such a being truly existed… was it friend or foe?

“Do you have any idea what kind of monster it could be?” Hero finally asked, his voice steady, though his grip on his sword had unconsciously tightened.

The village chief furrowed his brows, his fingers tracing the rim of the clay cup in his hands.

“Well… I’ve seen those bodies with my own eyes.” He paused as if recalling the gruesome sight.

“Judging by the burnt marks and the deep slashes, I’d say it could be hellhounds.”

Hero frowned. Hellhounds.

Vicious creatures born from darkness, wreathed in flames, known for their relentless brutality.

If it had been them, then this village should have been burned to the ground long ago.

“But there wasn’t any sound of howling,” the chief continued, shaking his head.

“And if it were truly hellhounds, they wouldn’t have stopped there. They aren’t the kind to protect anything. If anything, they would have slaughtered us all without hesitation.”

The old man sighed, leaning back.

“Whatever it is, we’re safe because of it. That’s all that matters.”

Hero remained silent.

A monster helping humans?

That went against everything he knew.

He muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “A monster… protecting a village?”

The chief smiled slightly. “Unbelievable, isn’t it, Hero?”

Hero’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes widened slightly as he turned toward the chief.

His expression remained composed, but inside, his heart pounded.

“Hero?” He forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “What do you mean? I’m just a simple soldier. Nothing more.”

The chief merely gave him an amused look.

“What was the name you told me?”

“…Asael.”

Hero said.

The old man nodded.

“Asael… If you truly want to hide yourself, you should hide your golden eyes.” His tone was gentle, not accusing, but firm.

“Hardly anyone has them anymore.”

Hero's, no, Asael’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“And that girl, Anne…” The chief’s eyes glimmered with knowing. “She must be the Saintess, correct?”

Asael clenched his jaw.

The warm, rustic atmosphere of the village suddenly felt heavy.

His secret—one he had tried to keep buried—was no secret at all.

The village chief watched him carefully, his expression kind yet firm.

"Don't worry," the old man finally spoke, his voice gentle. "I won’t tell anyone. I just want you to be more careful."

Before he could finish, Asael interrupted, his voice strained.

"Don’t you hate me?"

The chief blinked. "Why would I?"

Asael’s fingers curled into his palms, his jaw tightening.

"Because I failed," he said bitterly.

"I couldn't defeat the Demon King. Because of that, all these monsters are running loose, destroying homes, taking lives… And all I’ve been doing is hiding like a coward."

The words hung heavy in the air.

The weight of regret pressed on Asael’s shoulders.

The chief sighed, shaking his head.

"It wasn’t your fault," he said, his voice steady.

"At the end of the day, you're also human. You don’t need to carry the weight of the world alone."

"But—!" Asael tried to protest, but the old man cut him off.

"It’s okay," the chief said firmly.

"Don’t waste your life regretting what has already happened. Think about what you can still do. You’re alive, aren’t you? As long as you live, you can still fight. You can still stop the Demon King."

Asael’s hands trembled slightly, but he said nothing.

The village chief exhaled deeply before continuing.

"You know, when my son-in-law went to fight against the monsters, I was there with him. I saw everything." His voice wavered for the first time, old pain surfacing.

Asael looked up, his gaze meeting the old man’s for the first time since the conversation started.

"When the monsters killed him, I was there," the chief whispered.

"I couldn’t do anything. I still regret that. Every single day, I wonder if I could’ve saved him." He paused, the sadness in his eyes deepening.

"But I also know he wouldn’t want me to waste my life drowning in guilt."

He looked at Asael intently.

"I moved forward because that’s what he would’ve wanted. And you… you must have someone like that too. Someone who would want you to keep living."

Asael swallowed hard.

His throat felt dry, as if the words he wanted to say were trapped inside him.

After a long silence, the chief gently asked, "Do you have family, Asael?"

Asael took a slow breath, then exhaled.

"I did," he murmured.

"My family… they died when our village was attacked by monsters. I was just a child."

The chief said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"The Holy Temple took me in after that. They trained me, raised me, told me I was chosen to be the hero." His voice grew heavy.

"They told me I was meant to save the world. But from that day until now… I haven’t saved anyone. Not my family. Not the villagers. No one."

He lowered his head again, his hands clenching into fists.

"What kind of hero am I?"

The chief let out a quiet sigh.

"I already told you—it’s not your fault," he said.

"And you did save someone. You saved my grandson, didn't you?"

Asael remained silent.

The chief studied him for a moment before deciding to change the subject.

He reached into a small wooden chest and pulled out a tiny glass vial filled with dark liquid.

"Here," he said, holding it out.

Asael blinked, his brows furrowing. "What is it?"

The chief smirked slightly.

"An old trick from my younger days. I was an alchemist, you know."

He chuckled before explaining, "Put two drops of this in your eyes, and the color will change to brown for twenty-four hours."

Asael’s eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

The old man nodded.

"I’ll also give you the recipe. Keep making it, and you won’t have to worry about being recognized."

Asael stared at the vial for a moment before hesitantly reaching for it.

His fingers closed around the glass, its cool surface grounding him.

"...Thank you," he finally said, his voice softer this time.

The chief smiled.

"It’s nothing. Consider it a small gift for saving my grandson’s life."

Asael looked down at the vial in his hand.

Maybe he wasn’t the hero the world needed.

Maybe he had failed countless times.

But maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t too late to start over.