The Morning Star (2) The express train departing from Saint Matilene in Thyles and bound for Prizhenkaya, Krasilof, passed through a total of four military zones.
Once by the 3rd Thyles Guards Division, once while crossing the northwestern border.
Then once by the Krasilof Border Defense Division, and once more past Prizhenkaya Defense Headquarters.
It meant that, being so close to the front against the Demon race, the region was covered by an almost obsessive military presence.
Therefore, by process of elimination, there were only three stations where a terrorist attack was realistically possible.
Out of the roughly thirty stations along the route, only those three were more than a day’s march from reinforcements, sparsely populated, and surrounded by rugged terrain.
One.
The train carrying Ivan and Isabelle passed the first ambush point.
No saboteurs attempted to tamper with the tracks, nor did mounted bandits appear, hurling magic or artillery fire.
Two.
The train sped through the second ambush point just as smoothly.
After staring out the window for a while, Ivan let out a sigh and sat back down.
Several hours later, in complete silence, the train passed the third ambush point.
What…?
The train had already crossed into Krasilof.
At this rate, it would reach Prizhenkaya in less than a day.
Once it crossed the plains and passed a single mountain, Prizhenkaya would be right ahead.
There was a forest along the way, but a division-sized force was stationed nearby.
Which meant that, from this point onward, staging a terrorist attack should have been impossible.
Ivan anxiously stroked the grip of his pistol.
Was my prediction wrong?
Hadn’t the tutorial always been unified around a train terrorist attack?
Then had Esidisi simply been unbelievably unlucky?
Or…
in the “original” game, had each character’s tutorial actually been designed differently?
He had expected every character to follow their own unique story eventually, but not this early.
This was supposed to be an academy story.
It had to be.
It had to be.
Ivan bit his lip.
If I’ve misjudged things again…
what do I do?
If this wasn’t even an academy story…then did this damned other world even have an ending?
Should I just kill myself?
Was there any answer besides suicide?
If he couldn’t even identify the genre, he couldn’t predict the ending.
The absolute worst possibility was…that the ending belonged only to the protagonist.
If the previous war—the Hero’s Capital RPG—had truly been the essence of this world…
Then wasn’t the Hero’s retirement the decisive proof?
Why had the Hero secluded himself?
Was that man’s…
ending?
If so…
Then what about those left behind in this world?
What about us?
No…
What about me?
What am I supposed to do?
Ivan’s thoughts became hopelessly tangled.
No.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want to remain in this godforsaken world any longer.
I want to rest.
I want to throw everything away and leave.
I wanted to lie on a soft bed in a comfortable home with central heating, wrapped in a fluffy microfiber blanket, and sleep for an entire week.
I wanted to order every food I craved until I couldn’t eat another bite.
I wanted to speak with people who used Korean, talking about games, novels, movies, dramas, and variety shows.
Death, poverty, hunger, and fear were everywhere.
And yet…
The very concepts of welfare and leisure barely existed in this damned pre-industrial fantasy world.
He didn’t want to live here anymore.
“Hhk…
ngh…!” The man sitting beside him suddenly turned deathly pale and let out a strangled gasp.
A thick, sticky killing intent was pouring from Ivan’s body like poison.
But Ivan— No.
Kim Seonwoo no longer had the presence of mind to control himself.
The murderous aura grew sharper and sharper.
Dense enough that it seemed capable of physically injuring those nearby.
Just as Kim Seonwoo’s panic reached its peak— The train, passing through a tunnel beneath a mountain before crossing a bridge over a valley…
THUD!
…Lurched violently.
It was the warning.
BOOOOOOOOM!!
SCREEEEEECH—!!
RRRRUMBLE—!!
The explosion did not merely destroy the tracks.
It obliterated the entire bridge.
The train helplessly slid into the collapsing structure below.
The cars twisted.
Still carrying their tremendous momentum, the entire train spun violently end over end.
As his body floated weightlessly and the world flipped upside down, Ivan instinctively grabbed the luggage rack, anchoring himself while his eyes scanned the surroundings.
Between the spinning compartment and the rapidly shifting scenery beyond the windows, he grasped the situation with perfect clarity.
The train was falling.
They were passing through the mountains west of Prizhenkaya.
The train was falling.
The train terrorist attack had happened.
The tutorial wasn’t over.
I wasn’t wrong.
There’s still…an ending waiting.
Inside the plunging railcar, a smile slowly spread across Ivan’s dry face.
Slowly.
Deeply.
He forcibly shoved the useless, panicking Kim Seonwoo back into the depths of his consciousness.
Now…
It was time to do what needed to be done.
Fear.
Hatred.
Confusion.
None of them helped accomplish the mission.
People often said to keep your head cold and your heart hot.
But that was wrong.
The Extermination Unit taught something different.
Keep your head cold.
Keep your heart cold.
Keep even your fingertips cold.
Like the merciless winter of Krasilof.
Like its endless nights.
Cold.
Silent.
Meticulous.
Without drawing a single trace of attention, the Extermination Unit officer quietly disappeared into the chaos engulfing the train.
Stepping onto the handrails.
Climbing the luggage racks.
Kicking aside the tangled piles of baggage.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
*** The last thing Isabelle remembered came only as scattered fragments.
Her body being thrown through the air.
Her vision shaking uncontrollably.
Overwhelming pain.
Shattered windows.
A torrent of earth pouring inside.
The train’s frame crushing and tearing apart.
And…
One more thing.
“Gasp!” Isabelle awoke in a cold sweat.
Darkness surrounded her.
The accident had occurred just as she had been admiring the conifer forests of Krasilof glowing beneath the evening sky.
Groaning from searing pain, she forced herself upright.
The passenger car had been buried beneath a landslide.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the mound of dirt that had poured in through the shattered windows.
Then…
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of water falling.
No.
Someone breathing.
Harsh.
Weak.
“…A-are…
huff…
are you…
conscious…
Miss…?” “Sir…
August…?” A man stood before her.
No.
He was pinned in place.
One arm was buried beneath the dirt.
A long steel reinforcing bar protruded through his side.
The droplets falling one after another came from his mouth…
His nose…
And the blood flowing steadily from his waist.
“Why…?” He had thrown himself in front of her.
He had shielded her from the falling boulders with his own body.
He had taken the crashing wreckage of the train across his back.
She stared at the knight in horror.
As always…
He wore the same kind-hearted smile.
“Miss…
run…
ngh…!
You must…
run…
The attackers…
will come.
This…
was aimed…
at you…
ngh…!” “Stop…
stop talking!
A-answer me!
Why?
Why would you do something like this?
Are you actually an idiot?!” Her trembling eyes glared at him.
“Do you think my father would fly into a rage if I died?
No!
That man doesn’t care about anyone!” “I know.” The knight smiled weakly.
Who in Thyles didn’t know?
The strange man who had abandoned his wife and daughter and secluded himself deep in the mountains, refusing to see anyone.
At first…
People believed he had gone away to recover after killing the Demon King.
Later…
They whispered that the Demon King had broken the Hero’s mind.
Before even four years had passed…
They had already begun forgetting the Hero.
From the moment he slew the Demon King— Perhaps even before that— The Hero had never been an individual.
The man named Maximilian had long since faded beneath the title of Hero.
Only his legends and achievements remained.
“You hate me.” “I do.” “Then…
why?” “Because you’re the Hero’s daughter.” Even as he lay dying, the man’s eyes remained impossibly clear.
Despite everything, Isabelle laughed in disbelief.
“So what?
Do you really think my father would spare even a single thought for that ‘daughter’ of his?” “No, Miss.
I’ve never once expected anything from Maximilian.” But…
The Hero’s daughter.
“Because a single man once planted hope in the hearts of all humanity.
Because we lived through those days together.
And because…Even a great man like him left behind descendants before time carried him away.
It means he was human.” Maximilian was human.
Anyone could agree with that statement.
Yet almost no one truly understood it.
But Isabelle was different.
She was human.
She became angry.
She grew jealous.
She felt sorrow.
She was simply a young girl starved for affection.
Her very existence proved that the Hero was ultimately just another human being.
And if that were true…
Then any human— Simply by being human— Could become a Hero.
That was what he believed.
He could despise Isabelle the person…
Yet he could never deny Isabelle’s existence.
She was hope.
The final seed left behind by the Hero.
The mere fact that it could sprout symbolized hope.
In this era, after the great war had ended…
When those left behind struggled to rebuild the world from ruins…
She was proof that hope could still bloom.
Not hope for conscripts fighting the Demon King.
Hope for ordinary people trying to survive one more day.
If the Hero himself had become the symbol of victory…
Then the Hero’s bloodline was the symbol of reconstruction.
The symbol of a new beginning.
That was why…
Even while hating her…
He threw himself in front of her.
Because he was a knight of Thyles.
A man capable of sacrificing the individual for the greater good.
A common man who sincerely wished to see humanity rebuilt.
“Excellent.” The instant he finished speaking— Thud.
An arm suddenly burst out of the mound of dirt that had spilled through the shattered window.
The arm groped around inside the debris for several moments…
Then slowly pulled free.
The cold air of a late winter night flowed into the compartment.
Through the opening…
Pale moonlight streamed inside.
“Knight.
What is your name?” “Dian August.
And yours?” “Ivan Petrovich.” The mound of dirt collapsed inward.
A man stepped into the compartment.
With the moon at his back…
Casting a long black shadow.
“Do you want to live?” “If possible.” “It’s going to hurt.” Ivan uncorked a healing potion.