When she opened her eyes, she was already surrounded by knights and people sporting ridiculous attire that was twice as colorful as peacocks, making her vision spiral with painful shades of colors. A glowing symbol glows from the floor where she wakened herself in, and a similar symbol glows at the back of her left hand extending throughout her elbow.

A voice rang out which snapped her out of her confusion.

“Greetings O Great Hero! I am King Vasa, of House Alvalar, we summoned you…” the burly man on top of a throne-like stage continued to say something but she’s too preoccupied with the assault on all of her senses. Her hearing, her sense of touch—even her eyesight was still adjusting. It can’t be helped since before this, she only knew numbness and nothingness. Then a blinding light consumed her, shredded her soul, and pieced her together in this place.

She died.

She was sure of that, but her memories were clouded with different kinds of deaths that her soul has gone through that she finds it hard to identify which was the most recent.

Then she suddenly stopped hearing anything. She looked around. With unsteady knees, she stood up.

The man stared at her as if expecting her to say anything, and with a voice, she could only identify as hers, asked “y-yes?” what was it again?

Joyful cheers erupted before she could finish her question and she was ushered out of the room and into a wide balcony. The sun blinded her and on the balcony, she saw hundreds upon thousands of people at a square in front of where she was standing.

They roared in jubilation when they saw her and started chanting, "Yuusha! Yuusha! Yuusha!"

Hero?

She was still unable to understand what was happening when a group of frilly dressed women dragged her in the adjacent room. The old man took her place and started to address the crowd. “Greetings people of Alvalar! I, your king, King Vasa, of House Alvalar, successfully summoned Lady Yuusha as a champion for…”

She could still hear the man saying the same speech he made in front of her, only to be stopped by deafening applause and cheers whenever he finishes a sentence. The three-minute speech lengthened to almost half an hour. She could hear them as she was getting bathed and dressed by these strangers and she’s too shocked to feel ashamed. The women would whisper to themselves as if she wasn’t there. “How pretty.” “Her skin is so smooth.” “Look at this hair! How envious!” “A goddess, I tell you, a goddess!”

When they were finished, they looked longingly at her and picked some strands of hair cluttered at the carpet and brushes and wrapped it in a handkerchief. Holding it as if a priceless relic just fell from their hands, they bid their goodbyes and left her alone.

The girl was still dazed when she heard a click at the door. She felt her hands grow cold and ran towards the double-knobbed door of the room and tried opening it but just as she feared, it was locked. She banged on the door and shouted for help finally finding her voice to do so. She only stopped when she heard a gruff voice from the outside. It came from the guards saying she was not allowed to go out in fear she might get attacked. She was still weak, too weak that even the men guarding her door can kill her with just a stab in her vitals. They apologized but it was for her good, they said.

She cried that night. And as days go by, a realization dawned on her.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

She was nothing but a slave, a privileged slave with the title of Hero, who's the only purpose was to kill. She was dressed in the most exquisite dresses, served the most expensive food, gifted with lands, and treasures—all the material things she wanted to claim but she had no freedom. If she became weak, she’ll be useless to the ones who forcibly summoned her and who knows what fate might come to her. If she ran away, all races on the surface of Inner and Outer Frear will hunt her and her end would be inevitable. Even if she committed suicide she would only be reincarnated with the Hero’s Blessing marked to her hand. All she could do was smile and face her benefactor as if she was thankful for the opportunity to be the Good-Incarnate and vanquish the evil of this world.

She needed to be strong. And as long as the Demon Lord was alive, she would continue to be in this curse. So she shut her emotions and became a murderer.

She knew they were waging war to the Demons. They commenced with the one-sided genocide, ravaged their lands, and became stronger by taking their essence. Women, children, elderly, as long as they were unfortunate enough to have the accursed blood, they have to die. She swung her sword indiscriminately, no prisoners. Because she knew the prisoners would face a fate worse than death or of her own.

Seeing how the nobles find torture as a common specialty sent shivers to her spine. And she's protecting these bastards.

And whenever her forces pass by a rural village, she could feel fear from the civilians. Her advisor, Sir Caile of House Elindor, under the flag of Runsaer, would demand resources from the war-ridden villages in the name of the Hero’s Crusade. Her men would settle for a night, drinking and having ‘pleasantries’ with the women while she turned a blind eye her advisors demanded it to keep the morale of the corrupt.

The first time she killed her general trying to bed a motherless girl, she realized that she was not as dead as she thought she was. She was already damned so what was there to fear?

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Little by little, the officers under her died nobly while under the siege of the Demon Kingdom. The moment she surpassed the best of her knights, the order of her circle of knights changed dramatically with the onslaught of demons on their camp. A month later, Sir Caile was killed with the ambush of the Valley of Mirdain together with his punitive force. It was such a loss, but with no other choice, those deemed worthy raised in the ranks, taking the titles left by Higher Bloods who bravely lost their lives for the sake of peace.

When she defeated even the best of all known races, she became the leader—not just by name, but by the entire human army. Even the other summoned champions of each race gave their respect and followed her as she led them under the Banner of Red—her color, her blood, swearing death to the demon king.

Some nobles vowed fealty to her name and commoners who would blindly follow her, knowing her cause. In the Kingdom, younger nobles were sent to her forces. The others, blinded by the glory of war came to her. In her campaign, she started disciplining and instilling the valor of knights to these greenhorns, and hopefully, they would return and lead their houses and territory befitting their titles as nobles. Those who came under her strict command were given high regards in the kingdom, inspiring more to enlist in her army.

Sixteen years had passed and there was no sign of aging in her body. She still looked the same the day she was summoned. She shouldered the deaths of her comrades and the deaths of those they slain, but she continued to march forward.

“What is your name?” A gentle voice asked her. She stared at the Demon Lord splayed on the floor at her feet, spurting black blood with each utterance. Black wings tattered, his horns mangled beyond use. He was dying with her sword piercing the jewel embedded on his neck.

She never answered, releasing her power. She let it flow to her blade. A crack formed on the blood-red gem and finally shattered into million tiny pieces. She can’t answer with something she already has forgotten.

The day she killed the Demon Lord, she only felt pity for both of them—pity for her, the Yuusha, and to him, the only person who ever asked for her name.

Did I bore you? You should be, her actions, after all, were nothing but to follow a predetermined path carved by those who already paved the way to this madness. Still, her feet kept on moving.

Her fight was never with the Demon Lord or the Demon Kingdom. The moment she was summoned as the hero, she already swore evil as her enemy. And to that, she would continue wielding her sword. Even 'til the bitter end, her fight has always been and will always be with the human race.

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