On the outskirts of Eoliel, within a peaceful farmstead,

A young blonde girl tied on an apron and set off at dawn, her little wooden bucket in hand.

Her tiny footsteps went *pitter-patter*, huffing and puffing with cheerful energy.

Behind her, a handsome man and a beautiful woman exchanged glances, both reading "resignation" in each other’s eyes.

"It’s our child…"

"After Aisha declared her dream."

"To become the best milkmaid in the whole town."

The man shrugged. He’d chuckled when he first heard it.

But when he realized his precious Princess Aisha was dead serious—

His smile froze right there.

The woman beside him looped her arm through his, her gaze tender.

"What’s wrong with that?"

"All I wish for my daughters is to grow up safe and healthy, living joyful lives."

"If milking cows brings Aisha happiness…"

"Then I’ll gladly be known as ‘the mother of the town’s finest milkmaid.’"

"That title means far more to me than ‘Kingdom-Class Adventurer.’"

The man gazed deeply at his wife before pulling her into an embrace.

"You’re right."

"That’s always been our wish."

"Otherwise, we wouldn’t have retired from the frontlines to live here."

"Oh, and little Airi—your eyes are showing~"

His voice was gentle as he peered over his wife’s shoulder.

Behind a wall, a small girl peeked out, half her face hidden, only her clear blue eyes visible.

[Stealthy Observation.jpg]

Her name was Airi, their second daughter.

Unlike her elder sister Aisha, Airi was quieter.

She rarely spoke, obedient and gentle.

Unlike Aisha’s straightforward nature,

it was often hard to guess what thoughts swirled in her little head.

Realizing her father had spotted her, Airi instantly raised both hands to cover her eyes.

*He saw my eyes!*

*If I cover them… Papa won’t see me!*

"Pfft!"

What a "brand-new" version of "burying one’s head in the sand."

But she was so unbearably cute that both parents burst into laughter.

Airi peeked at them through her fingers, flustered and unsure.

Then her father knelt before her, gently taking her small hands.

He led her to her mother, who immediately scooped her up.

A soft, fragrant kiss landed on the little girl’s forehead.

"Come to think of it," the woman murmured, rocking Airi like a cradle, "we’ve never asked what *you* dream of becoming, Airi~"

"So my sweet Airi, my precious treasure~"

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Airi’s eyes widened slightly.

A thoughtful expression crossed her face.

Then her gaze brightened, cheeks flushing with excitement as she chirped in her tiny, earnest voice:

"I want to be… a Hero from the stories!"

The man and woman exchanged stunned, complex looks.

Heroes weren’t just fairy tales.

In truth, Heroes existed first—*then* came the stories.

Heroes were undeniably real.

Blessed by goddesses, they wielded immense, unique powers.

Wielding legendary divine artifacts, they could accomplish feats even the mightiest adventurers couldn’t.

Like slaying the Demon King!

But in reality, Demon Kings were common—a broad term for "leaders of the Demonfolk."

True Heroes were rare.

Their appearance always signaled a Demon King so powerful, the goddesses themselves sensed his threat.

Without their blessings,

no other race could possibly stand against him.

Left unchecked, such a Demon King might bring about the world’s end.

Thus, the Demon King was the *cause*; the Hero, the *consequence*.

Ordinary Demon Kings reigned without Heroes emerging.

But when the "Strongest Demon King" arose,

the goddesses would bestow blessings, creating Heroes.

These Heroes, united by purpose, would march to slay that generation’s Demon King, ushering in a new era of peace.

Such an era was called the "Age of Radiance."

And the Demon King born within it?

The "Monarch of This Age."

Yet the last "Age of Radiance" had ended centuries ago.

Time had blurred memories; many nations and races forgot the Demon King’s terror and the Heroes’ glory.

Only children’s storybooks still sang of those ancient legends.

"My daughter!" the handsome man praised, his own youthful dream of becoming a Hero echoing in his heart.

To see it live on in her filled him with such joy he leaned in to kiss her cheek—

only for Airi to scrunch her face and turn away.

*Daddy’s beard is scratchy.*

"Eh? Rejected again…"

He’d once saved a small nation from a Demon General as a Kingdom-Class Adventurer, hailed by countless citizens.

Yet at home, he was still just a dad with an unshaven chin.

Watching her husband’s crestfallen face, his wife giggled softly.

Airi smiled too—a demure, closed-lip smile.

Nearby, little Aisha wobbled toward them, both hands gripping a bucket of fresh milk.

"Papa! Mama! Airi~!"

Pride beamed on her face.

She *knew* she’d become the best milkmaid in town!

Perhaps even Kingdom-Class Adventurers like Aisha and Airi’s parents had once felt lost.

But in this moment, gazing at their happy family,

they understood: every pain, sorrow, and farewell they’d endured held meaning.

This warmth, this ordinary joy they truly possessed—

*This* was the meaning of their adventures.

They would fight with everything they had

to protect this peaceful, tender daily life.

To protect their daughters.

………………

Five years later, at dawn, the sky burned crimson.

A middle-aged man with ash-gray hair stared at the farm’s smoldering ruins.

Strength drained from his body; he collapsed to his knees.

Clutching his chest, he let out a guttural wail that tore through the heavens.

He was Enlil, former Kingdom-Class Adventurer and current Guildmaster of Eoliel’s Adventurer’s Guild.

Enlil refused to believe it.

Refused to believe his retired friends had died in this unexplained demon attack.

They’d been Kingdom-Class Adventurers too.

Having fought side by side through countless life-or-death battles, Enlil trusted their strength more than anyone’s.

"Azel! Lya…"

"Aisha! Little Airi!"

Denial drove him to dig frantically through the wreckage.

Embers still glowed, but as he passed, gale-force winds snuffed out every flame, snapping grass at the roots.

He found his friend Azel—a corpse propped upright by his own sword.

The man’s face, usually bright with laughter, was set in fierce resolve. His golden hair was dull, his body ravaged by wounds, blood nearly drained—yet he hadn’t retreated a single step.

Tears burst from Enlil’s eyes.

But he couldn’t pause to mourn. He rushed past Azel toward the ruined house!

*He died protecting what mattered most.*

Shoving aside charred doors, Enlil gasped as he searched every corner.

Then—a faint sob echoed from deep within.

A hidden basement.

The crying came from there!

A powerful Light magic circle guarded the entrance, repelling demons.

*Lya’s work.* Their team’s priestess, guardian and healer.

Hope flickered in Enlil’s chest.

"Lya! Aisha! Airi!"

He called out, channeling magic to verify his identity to the circle.

Lya’s magic recognized trusted allies.

This time was no exception. The circle yielded.

He pried open the floorboard leading to the stairs.

Inside the basement, he found Lya—lifeless, yet her arms still cradling two girls.

The apple-pie-loving angel who’d soothed every teammate with gentle words.

Aisha wept in her embrace.

Airi lay unconscious.

Tears blurred Enlil’s vision.

He understood instantly.

Lya *could* have healed herself.

But she’d poured every ounce of her magic into that barrier.

To protect her daughters.