When people dream, they dredge up things long buried, like dust swirling in moonlight.

Or things they only thought they had lost, shadows returning in the quiet.

…

I swept the Long Halberd Nandu; Stini folded like a willow and vaulted over me.

She spun and cut; I slid her sword aside with the halberd’s shaft, iron humming like a cold river.

Truth be told, the fight was anything but calm, more storm than still water.

Each swing tore the air; space screamed like a kettle at boil.

She cleaved the earth with her sword, and needled the sky with her spear, like lightning stitching clouds.

I pressed the physical limit of might into every stroke, steel grinding fate’s stones.

We kept clashing like the last war at the end of days; aftershocks gusted like a doomsday gale, turning touched things to silence.

I lost count of time’s drip; Stini finally flicked my halberd aside with her lance and drove her longsword into my chest.

I tried to block with my hand, but my left had been eaten clean by Raven’s Null Annihilation Cannon, a void like winter frost.

Hero Stini sealed my authority and form; Alchemist Raven locked my movement; Warrior Gloria held my blows like a mountain;

Archer Billmes pinned my position; Pavi kept shaving my state away, like salt on a wound.

It was a setup, a hunt in thickets, not a fair duel under open sun.

The Hero and her partners beat Vega, Dulan, and Berenz in turn, sealed them, then lay in wait for me, patience like snow.

I didn’t call it despicable; in their boots, I’d do the same, tactics sharp as knives.

Even with the odds stacked, we still fought level, scales tipping, tipping back.

I had nearly scooped Stini’s guts, a hand in fire, and she had finally driven the Holy Sword Galewind—slayer of many Demon Kings—straight into my heart, a cold star.

“Now! Pavi! Request divine descent!” Stini straddled me, voice tearing like cloth in wind.

Up in the highest sky, the light of the Divine Being thickened like storm milk, then fell; the God of Strength Bell’s relic plunged like a temple pillar.

Holy Sword magic flooded me, a tide of gold; I couldn’t move a finger.

Stini didn’t relax; she kept pouring mana, steady as rain.

I watched her face—sad and fierce together—and my past rose like smoke.

She’s forty‑plus now, mother of two, maybe three? I killed one, a stain that won’t wash.

Mortals age like leaves; her best youth spent crossing blades with me; I thought that season would never end.

Fair’s fair: I owe her; she owes me; our ledger, with interest, can’t ever close, like waves against cliffs.

The relic hit like a hall pillar; that was a Divine Being’s might, merciful only to Stini, cruel only to me—

It would knock me down into the Demon Realm and leave her untouched, judgment splitting night and day.

At my height, I could have swallowed divine descent like iron tea. Not now.

But at this range, I still could kill Stini, a last thorn.

Light doesn’t shine forever; a Hero can’t bind a Demon King forever either;

My right hand had just come back alive—I could crush her head, catch her soul, and fall with it into the Demon Realm.

There, she wouldn’t be my match; I could torment her soul forever, an endless winter.

But what’s the use? All I have is in the human world, left behind like a coat on a peg.

I set my palm to her face; her no‑longer‑young features were wet with tears, moonlit tracks.

She was stubborn still, like when she killed Augustus, whom I had turned into a dark knight; grief and hatred didn’t make her blink.

The relic slammed into me like thunder; I didn’t clench; instead, I wiped her tears, a useless kindness.

No reason—only because I lost; not every loser thrashes ugly and pointless, mud in a flooded street.

I fell, returning to the eternal abyss of night, that thought like a dim lantern in hand.

…

“What’s this? That familiar ceiling again.”

I woke from things I didn’t want to remember, breath fogging like winter glass.

White—pure white—like every other color had been erased, chalk over a world.

I’d been here a few times; not the same room, but the same style, a copy of a copy.

The Sanctuary of Life, or a hospital from the Silver Era, sterile as snow.

“By your usual habit, you’d say, ‘an unfamiliar ceiling’ now… cough, cough.”

Raven sat on a bed in white patient clothes, cheeks puffed like a sulking cat, her snark softer than usual.

“I remember… I died?”

“Yeah, that’s right, my useless master. You did die.” Her words fell like pebbles.

I noticed Vega beside me, quiet as a shadow behind a screen.

She placed her hand on the back of mine and spoke with proper gravity, voice smooth as ink.

“What happened? I was supposed to kill Catherine. What then?”

“Don’t rush. The crisis is real, but not in this heartbeat. Listen, and I’ll explain.”

Shadow ripples passed through Vega’s touch; she sent the message like reeds whispering:

“Liebich was held by me; sensing Catherine in danger, he self‑detonated, summoned the ‘Slaughter’ domain. Princess Anna teleported in, just as you predicted.”

“What about you and Berenz?” I sent my own Shadow ripple through skin, quiet as a fish.

Aloud, to veil the whisper, I said, “So what’s the situation now?”

“It’s simple,” Raven sighed, a thin mist. “Someone supposed to be dead is alive. You were revived. What else is it, dumb Andor?”

Vega nodded to Raven, a small bow like willow:

“Saint Mire immediately used the high‑tier Divine Art ‘Soul Return Prayer,’ returned our souls to our bodies, and then…”

We looked through the window along Vega’s hand; a platinum dragon wrestled darkness, scales like winter sun.

It was daylight, yet a full moon hung there, cold as a coin.

“Rose Saintess, Saint Mire, and that moon is…”

“Mm. Our usually useless tutor, the old Hero—Alpha.” Raven coughed twice and said it flat, like chalk on slate.

“At that moment, Mr. Abigail, Raven, and my slow‑on‑the‑uptake master were concept‑killed by ‘Slaughter’ the instant the Demon King appeared.

Elina resisted somewhat thanks to a Divine Being’s blessing.”

“Berenz escaped because Anna rushed off to save Catherine,” Vega’s shadow whispered. “I took Liebich’s self‑detonation head‑on to shield Lady Light Jade.

You may not notice, but my maid outfit is all wounds inside.”

“You okay?” I patted Vega’s shoulder, a soft tap. “How bad is it?”

“I was evacuated when Demonfolk infiltrated the festival. I returned inside the academy before the Demon King’s descent, so I’m fine.”

“My ungentle master, showing your sadist side here won’t earn praise,” her whisper teased like a thin smile.

“What’s the point of flirting?” Raven snapped, not puffed now, truly nettled, like nettles on skin.

She used Instant Alchemy, shaped a few little helper Constructs, then stepped off the bed, legs shaky as reeds.

If it was jealousy, that would be perfect, a sweet pinch.

But sadly…

“Wait, Raven, what are you doing? Your body’s still weak.” Vega grabbed her, voice quick as sparrows.

“Don’t worry, Vega, I’m going to pick a flower—pick a flower.” Raven waved, a weak lie like paper armor.

“Oh, speaking of that.”

I snapped my fingers, a small spark, and stopped Raven.

“Don’t you think the battle looks bad?”

Outside, the platinum dragon had slipped away; the moon dulled, a coin rubbed flat.

Darkness swelled vast and strong, a sea without shore, a long night.

“Yeah, so what? We’re wrecked. We can’t go out and fight again. We just got revived.”

Raven spread her hands, helpless as empty sleeves.

“I think so too. We gave everything. I don’t want to move—”

But the girls I like don’t think that way. I pointed at the space ring clenched in Raven’s hand, silver like ice.

It was a lost research piece by the Sorcerer Emperor from the Golden Era, found in the Tower of Final Stars ruins, a pocket for clutter.

Thanks to it, Raven didn’t need to haul raw materials on her back like a pack mule.

It’s hard to start; only very high alchemy can use it; not ready for common hands.

“You’re not planning to fight, are you, Raven?”

I kept my tone casual, a leaf floating.

“…No. Look, I’ve got some Constructs in my magi‑workshop. Even prototypes can help a bit.

And also—if Saint Mire and Mentor Alpha lose, we’ll be killed by the Demon King anyway, so…”

She shook her hands in quick denial, a stuttering stream.

She isn’t good at lying; even I could see the fluster, blush like dawn.

“Don’t be so distant. You can ask me to go with you. Raven, help me up.”

If I’d said it gentler, I’d have scored more favor, petals instead of thorns.

I pushed off the bed; bad all over—inside and out felt ruined, like a house after flood.

My fight with Abigail hadn’t fully healed; resurrection left a weakness like winter in bones.

Facing the Demon King now looked unwinnable, a cliff without path.

But still… if I don’t act cool now, what kind of big Hero am I?

“No! Andor, I’m only going to deploy and control Constructs. You absolutely can’t.

You’re a warrior, and you lack what a warrior needs most—your body.” Raven’s words struck like a wooden mallet.

“Don’t overthink it. Trust your comrades. Think too much, you trip. Also, look at Abigail.”

I shouldered the Greatsword Valor, metal heavy as rain, glanced at Abigail still panting weakly, gave him a disdainful gesture like flicking ash, and headed for the door with Raven’s support.

“Beating him always feels good. It’s not my first wounded fight. One more won’t break me.”

“No, no—hey, wait! Andor, you jerk, wait!” Raven clutched my clothes, fingers like hooks.

Even sick, a warrior’s body isn’t something an alchemist can wrangle.

I dragged her into the hall of the Sanctuary of Life, white as bones.

“See? I told you. You can expect more from your teammates.”

I spread my arms and pointed at the two waiting across, lanterns in fog.

Elina’s dark circles were deep as wells; she looked drained, a burned wick.

Princess Golia moved slower than usual, the fluid warrior grace dulled like a blade.

But they waited. They expected us.

Resolve and battle intent sat on their faces like dawn and steel.

“Good. Everyone’s here. As the vice‑captain of the Hero Squad, I decide—”

“At a time like this, shouldn’t the stirring words come from the captain?” a voice chimed, bright as bells.

A green‑haired beauty in a big‑loli frame, dust‑covered yet full of energy, smiled like spring grass.

She wore the combat uniform from our fight at the Tower of Final Stars, stained and torn like old banners.

Our captain, the successor Hero—Stini Saya—had returned.

The Hero Squad assembled, with only Catherine absent, a chorus missing one note.

“Comrades! We go down. We fight for those who can’t fight, for the innocent, for kindness and light.

Comrades, let’s save this world together!”

“Oh!” The shout rose like a wave, voices hammering like drums.