"Clap, clap, clap."
The rhythmic sound of robust applause silenced the chatter among the soldiers on the training grounds.
Seated above, Raventa smiled and retracted his hands, looking down at Eleanor in the training field with approval. "Just one day of training and you're already this capable? Far stronger than I was when I first learned."
Arwin glanced at him with disdain. The usually taciturn man couldn't hide his irritation this time. "Comparing yourself to a hero? What are you but a fool?"
"Naughty words from a grouchy old man; I won't hold it against you," muttered Spencer before shouting to the soldiers, “Train hard! You shall surely fight alongside the hero one day!”
While traditionally only those in the hero's party gained recognition, undeniably, there had always been scenes where the hero led brave humans in a charge against demons. From this perspective, Raventa’s assertion could be seen as not an empty promise.
The soldiers, elated by the notion of fighting side-by-side with a legend—dreaming of becoming renowned supporting characters in new tales for generations—burst with joy. Most of them didn’t even have surnames...
Their resounding affirmation dispersed them to commence their next round of vigorous one-on-one training, while Eleanor hurried back to the two dukes, her steps light with progress.
Her training was never part of the dukes' immediate plans, or at least it wasn’t urgent. Perhaps the battlefield left a psychological shadow on the young hero, for after being well-fed and rested, Eleanor herself sought out the older men, eager to learn combat.
While Arwin pondered cautiously, Raventa heartily slapped the girl's shoulder and declared they’d start learning battle skills right away.
Thus, on the second day, Hero Eleanor could already knock a much heavier young soldier off his feet with just one punch—a feat both incredible and perfectly plausible.
The two elders watched from their elevated position, the little girl down below conjuring up the tales of heroism they were regaled with as children. Now, the legends seemed to unfold into reality before their eyes.
Arwin and Raventa knew they could keep the hero for a time— maybe even a year or two. But eventually, she would be bound for the capital for an official investiture and royal training, leveraging the full might of the kingdom. With less than a third of the kingdom's resources at their disposal, they couldn't adequately support her growth, especially in this era when leveling-up by slaying demons wasn't viable.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
To make the most of the hero’s potential, the day would come for her to leave. Whether to foster her growth, to contribute to humanity's cause, or to avoid future conflicts between them, the dukes did their utmost in their transient fellowship with the nascent hero.
Despite the grand declarations, training was still a necessity. Whether motivated by guilt from living off others' generosity or an inherent terror of war, Eleanor had begun to grasp the true meaning behind a hero's rigorous training.
Before her lay a longsword as tall as she was and a dark metallic half-plate armor. With one duke sporting a serious scowl and the other smirked with a jesting edge, their expectancy was undeniable.
The girl gritted her teeth; her early qualms vanished, replaced by the resolve of one preparing to face hardship.
---
The founding monarch of Heracles Kingdom once said, "If names exist to distinguish things, then that which is unique requires none." Hence, the capital was born—a nameless city admired by all sentient beings, its magnificence forever linked with the word "capital."
The heart of politics and economy, home to the Church of the Victory Goddess, host to the Mages’ Congress, and headquarters for the Adventurers’ Guild—everything central existed here, with any central absentees snickered at.
Such a city of hope for an entire race now awaited a most unprecedented visitor in centuries—the Demon Lord.
Mr. Murphy Ferrers, dressed in a simple but immaculately tailored suit, strolled leisurely through the urban splendor of the capital.
Rewinding memory's tape, no former demon lords had ever achieved such a feat, yet Murphy was far from jubilant. Instead, he scanned everything around him, capturing the city as if it were a panoramic map from a bygone life.
Easily shuffling between two working styles, Murphy either powered through tasks to blissfully slack off afterward or procrastinated anxiously until his hand was forced by looming deadlines. Yet, regardless of the approach, he always completed what had to be done.
This taxpayer-funded excursion offered him a rare convergence of work and relaxation.
Aspiring demon lord with lofty aims, Murphy may not have been certain of victory in the future, but his odds had improved significantly since his arrival in this world. Whether from advancing the demon realm's tech tree, uncovering the previous hero's truth, or forging a brief alliance with one of this world's mightiest, these developments fostered a burgeoning sense that perhaps this wasn't an unwinnable start after all.
So, before his next grand move, Murphy decided to canvass the city, dubbed the crystallization of human ingenuity, labor, and virtue. He recorded his surroundings diligently, pondering the potential changes should he one day rule the capital.
Then his wallet was pilfered.
By the time a certain crime syndicate in the outer city quarters had been thoroughly dismantled, Murphy left the shadowy alleyways with his coffers a hundredfold fuller.
Walking the outer city roads, an epiphany tickled Murphy's mind. He looked up to see a dark speck hurtling toward the inner city. No need to wonder; Melrose was already at work.
Murphy quickened his pace, feeling an immense pull of change. With negotiations becoming an incontestable reality, he could only hope the king His Majesty would appreciate the grand affair Murphy was orchestrating for his nearly foreseeable future.