The Morning Star (1) Whenever Ivan thought of Hero Maximilian, one memory always came to mind first.
It was the “Cutting the Sky” contest.
It started like this.
As always, Maximilian got to his feet with that foolish grin on his face and casually swung his sword.
Whoosh.
Whoooosh…
Fwish— Sshhhrrraaaak—!!
As if he had suddenly attained some profound enlightenment, that idiot split the sky in two.
Literally.
The sky.
With a single swing, the clouds were cleaved apart and shoved aside.
A raging gale rushed in, and a deafening roar shook the earth itself.
As Ivan had once reflected, the Hero’s Party was, at its core, an Assassination Squad.
Their purpose was to infiltrate deep into the Demon King’s territory, lie in wait, and strike down the commander of the Demon King’s army—a mission that bought time with the lives of the countless soldiers still dying on the front lines.
Which meant…
They absolutely should not have been making such a spectacle.
“Has he finally gone completely insane?” Enrique cried out in disbelief as she hurled a dagger at the Hero.
(The Hero simply smiled brightly and accepted it with his body.
Naturally, the blade bounced harmlessly off his bare skin.) “Why don’t you just shout while you’re at it?
Tell the whole world that the hope of the Allied Kingdoms is standing right here.
Sounds heroic enough, doesn’t it?” Beolgrin spoke coldly as he rapidly completed a spell.
He immediately sat cross-legged and began sensing the demons converging on their location.
Meanwhile…
Gilles Vert.
The aristocratic knight wore an openly provocative smile as he swung his sword.
Sshhhraaaak—!!
“Oh, for the love of…” The cloud the Hero had split was sliced apart yet again into even smaller pieces.
Gilles brushed back his hair with a refreshed smile.
“Looks like I cut more than you.
A decent warm-up.” “Umm…
your wrist is currently so warmed up that it’s broken.” “Sorry, Patricia.
Heal me.” “I think calling it ‘putting on some healing’ is a little insulting…” After watching the spectacle for a while, Einar chuckled and rose to his feet, lifting his axe.
“Don’t.” “Don’t do it.” “I’d really rather you didn’t…” “The men of Droan live by leaving their mark upon the world.” “What kind of nonsense are you spouting?
Put the axe down before you talk.” Ignoring Enrique’s warning entirely, Einar strode forward.
“No matter how many times you split the sky, no trace remains.
But what if I could leave behind proof, forever, that the great Einar, son of Ulrik, stood here!” “No, wait!
Listen to peo—” BOOOOOOM!!
Declaring his grand ambition…
Einar swung his axe——and split the mountain before him clean in half.
Afterward, they wasted an entire week fleeing from the Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King’s army that came swarming out like angry hornets whose nest had been kicked.
And yet…
The Hero.
The man named Maximilian simply laughed and said, “I split the sky.” “I split more of it.” “Ahem!
I split a mountain!
Surely dividing something with form is a loftier accomplishment than cutting something formless?” “Stringing together words that sound difficult doesn’t magically make you smarter, kid.” “Old hag.” “You trying to die?” Ivan never knew why the Hero had been so obsessed with the sky.
But he remembered that absurd escape as vividly as ever.
Perhaps…
What Maximilian had wanted to see that night, as he cut through the heavens…was confirmation that, even beyond the oppressive black clouds blanketing the Demon King’s domain—though hidden from sight—the Morning Star was still shining in its rightful place.
That was what the Hero’s Party was like.
A den of lunatics, madmen, psychopaths, and paranoiacs.
And among them all…
The Hero was the craziest.
And the brightest.
Gilles Vert, who had always wished to surpass everyone else, was eventually appointed Guardian Duke of the Thyles Royal Family.
Einar, who dreamed of leaving behind a great legacy, conquered his homeland and founded Droan’s first unified kingdom.
And Hero Maximilian…had only wanted to know that hope still remained.
That was why Ivan disliked the Hero.
Not because he hated him.
Because he admired him.
Even after the Hero abandoned the world and disappeared into seclusion…
Ivan still admired him.
“Did you retire because you finally found the hope you were searching for…” “…Or…” “…Did you eventually stop cutting through the storm clouds because the Morning Star was no longer there to be found?” It had already been over four years since that cheerful man vanished.
The world still remembered the Hero.
But it was slowly forgetting the man named Maximilian.
*** Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.
It felt like he had barely rested before the time had already slipped away, reminding Ivan of terminal leave from military service.
He silently watched the scenery drift past outside the train window.
He was on his way to Thyles.
This time…
He wasn’t alone.
Five men sat with him, nervously watching his every move.
“Wow…
there really was a terrorist attack!
How did you know?
The exact date, time, and place!” They were agents from the Krasilof Counterintelligence Command.
Dmitry—that irritating junior of his—had practically forced this hand-picked team on him.
When Ivan returned after stopping Esidisi’s terrorist attack, Dmitry had enthusiastically grabbed his hand and shaken it as though apologizing for ever doubting him.
But his eyes hadn’t been smiling.
Naturally.
A man who had spent the past four years living quietly in retirement like a half-vegetative recluse suddenly predicting an assassination attempt on important state figures?
That was suspicious by any standard.
Most people would simply exclaim, “Amazing!” And leave it at that.
But Dmitry belonged to the Krasilof Counterintelligence Command.
Not only that—he was a lieutenant colonel in the Investigation Headquarters.
A senior officer.
His eyes clearly said, “Come on.
You planted someone, didn’t you?
Seriously, tell me.
I’m genuinely curious.
How did you build an intelligence network without us noticing?
Teach me your methods.” Without a convincing explanation, Ivan would be subjected to endless investigations and suspicion.
After all, solving the Academy Formula could hardly be explained without monopolizing information.
But…
“How vulgar.” There was no need to explain anything.
Authority was born from mystery.
Ivan had no intention of dispelling the suspicion that he possessed some secret, transnational intelligence organization backing him.
And so…
Here he was.
“Receiving support.” From five painfully inexperienced agents.
Ivan let out a quiet sigh.
Do I really have to play orphanage teacher all the way out here?
The moment he sighed, every agent flinched.
“Sir Petrovich…
is something bothering you?” “All of you.” Ivan decided it was time to instill some discipline.
Recruit training wasn’t technically his responsibility.
But if the agents of his homeland—(his homeland being South Korea) —Were this incompetent, how was he ever supposed to retire with peace of mind?
To begin with…
Why were intelligence agents all wearing matching clothes?
What exactly were they trying to announce?
And despite the train being practically empty…
Why were they huddled together in one obvious little cluster that screamed suspicious to anyone looking?
This was intolerable.
Granted, their real mission was to gather information on Ivan.
But that still counted as intelligence work.
He simply couldn’t let this continue.
“Listen carefully.” Thus began the lecture of the Headmaster of the orphanage—(a former member of the Extermination Unit, with eighteen years of military service, who had once carried out operations alongside the Hero’s Party, and who held a record of personally killing one of the Seven Dragon Generals.) Time remaining until arrival at Saint Matilene, the capital of Thyles: Eighteen hours.
For the agents…
Time itself froze.
*** “So…
he’s not coming after all…” Until the very moment she boarded the train bound for Krasilof, Isabelle kept glancing around the platform.
The higher her expectations…
The harder the disappointment.
Even though she had always ended up disappointed, she still searched every face with quiet anticipation.
One by one.
Carefully.
Nervously wondering if he might somehow be hiding among them.
Hissss—!
Even after the train released a long burst of steam…
The person she had been waiting for never appeared.
“My lady, please don’t trouble yourself.
I’m sure he always thinks of—” “Thinks of me?
Perhaps.” Isabelle answered coldly as she turned away, sharply brushing aside the hand that had been patting her shoulder.
The polished knight assigned by the Thyles Royal Family as her escort awkwardly withdrew with a strained smile.
Idiot.
Moron.
Worthless fool.
Even after being insulted, he never once got angry.
Even when hurt, he merely forced a smile and pretended everything was fine.
A disgusting creature.
To Isabelle…
Most people were animals.
Not biologically.
Simply beasts.
Father.
Her memories of Hero Maximilian were faint.
The Hero spent most of his life on the battlefield, while she remained at court with her mother.
As his fame continued to rise…
The expressions of the people approaching her became simpler and simpler.
Nothing but kind smiles from people eager to curry favor with the future hero.
Naturally.
After all, if the Hero truly defeated the Demon King…
Once the Demon King fell, the entire political landscape would revolve around the Hero.
People often claimed that individuals could never defeat organizations.
But when one individual possessed overwhelming power and achievements…
Even nations eventually became subordinate to that individual.
That was why the Thyles Royal Family had desperately tried to win her favor.
Since they couldn’t approach the Hero directly…
Winning over his daughter was their next best option.
No matter how cruel her insults…
No matter how vicious her abuse…
They merely smiled.
As though attending some grand masquerade.
Everyone wore the exact same expression.
Needless to say…
That was hardly healthy for a child’s emotional development.
“Get out.
I don’t even want to look at you.” “But, my lady, I…” “Shut up.” The knight hesitated before quietly retreating.
Still smiling gently.
Still bowing politely.
Only after he left the compartment did Isabelle finally mutter with a bitter smile, “Idiot.” Because just before closing the door— Just before turning away— She had clearly seen it.
The knight’s face twisting like that of a vengeful demon.
Isabelle, the Hero’s own daughter, possessed remarkably sharp instincts.
Even the slightest flicker in someone’s expression could never escape her notice.
Which was exactly why she had become the way she was.
She had realized far too young…
That everyone around her found her unsettling.
And so…
“Moron…” She laughed at herself as she sank into her seat.
A girl incapable of expressing herself except through anger and ridicule.
A self-destructive madwoman who could only feel at ease after finally provoking others into genuine anger.
Someone suffering from severe affection deprivation, believing that only hatred was sincere.
A woman with separation anxiety…
Forever waiting for the father whose face she could barely remember.
Forever resenting him at the same time.
That…
Was the diagnosis she had given herself.
*** “We’re going to be taking our leave now, Sir Petrovich.” “You still insist on saying ‘we.’ Planning to boast that you all came together?” “Uhh…
well…
um…” “Be precise in your words.
Be decisive in your actions.
And always keep your true intentions buried as deeply as possible.
Didn’t I teach you that?” “Uuugh…
y-yes…” Every single agent was screaming internally.
“Lieutenant Colonel Dmitry!!
I thought you said this man hardly ever talked!!” “You’re a monster, Petrovich!!” “I hate you, Ivan…
forever…” After enduring eighteen straight hours of lectures—and facing the terrifying possibility of additional professional training—the agents fled with pale faces after offering hurried farewells.
Their mission was to protect Oscar, the son of the knight Gilles Vert.
Ivan had devoted half his effort to genuinely training them…
And the other half to shaking off the shackles Dmitry had attached to him.
Watching Isabelle board her train from the station platform, he quietly thought, Good.
He had managed to accomplish two goals at once: Throw off the Counterintelligence Command’s agents…
And ensure Oscar’s protection.
Feeling as though he had finally unloaded two heavy burdens, Ivan boarded his own train with a much lighter step.