The mana lamp on the nightstand bathed Lena’s bedroom in golden light, casting a warm glow into the night.
She knew a Hero resided in Vedona—someone who could withstand pressure from the Fiona Clan.
But…
*Silver Blossom Sword Maiden?*
She’d died over twenty years ago. Now, she was merely a florist, an ordinary commoner.
Did she truly have to invoke this identity she’d buried to keep Celia?
After a long silence, she dispelled the magic masking her face.
Silver hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her crimson eyes shifted to a gentle gold. The lamplight brushed her cheeks, revealing not just lazy warmth but a trace of noble elegance.
Her white nightgown bloomed like a flower as she rose. She pinched the hem and spun slowly before the full-length mirror, fair feet peeking out beneath the fluttering fabric.
Staring at her reflection, Lena felt a flicker of unfamiliarity.
Ever since fleeing the Demon King’s palace, she’d hidden her true face, settling in her hometown of Vedona under a new name—Lena—determined to bury the past and start anew.
She hadn’t seen this version of herself in over a decade.
Now, memories surged: comrades met too late, near-death trials, vows under the starry sky…
All buried with the Silver Blossom Sword Maiden.
After her defeat, she was no longer a Hero.
Mana gathered in her palm, unused for years. Silvery light swirled with pale petals across the room. From this sea of blossoms emerged a slender longsword, its blade etched with intricate patterns.
*Holy Sword Megaphis.*
Gripping it, Lena’s gaze darkened. Her arm felt a familiar weight.
The moment she’d released it before the Demon King to save her comrades, its radiance vanished. Now, it was no different from an ordinary iron blade.
In truth, Megaphis no longer recognized her as its wielder.
Her strength, too, had fallen—from the peak of Eighth Rank twenty years ago to Seventh Rank. She was no longer humanity’s strongest Hero.
But none of that mattered most.
What mattered was the identity of the Silver Blossom Sword Maiden.
A failed Hero. One who’d surrendered to the Demon King. She’d never found the courage to face old friends again. And those five years of humiliation under the Demon King’s thumb haunted her like a nightmare—a secret she’d die to keep hidden.
So… should she wield this identity to keep Celia?
*‘I’ve long grown used to such things. It’s nothing.’*
The sword’s icy chill bit into Lena’s palm. Celia’s earlier words sliced through her heart like blades, leaving a dull ache.
She wasn’t just a failed Hero.
She was a failed mother.
If she hadn’t fled the palace alone—if she’d taken her daughter with her—would Celia’s childhood have been happier?
Guilt deepened. She owed Celia too much.
She remembered the eager light in her daughter’s eyes when she’d declared her dream: *to become a Hero.*
Perhaps… she could make amends here.
Decision made, she reopened her communicator and messaged Sharin.
【Tomorrow, someone will become their instructor.】
…
“What does this mean?”
In the Heroes Guild office, Sharin frowned at Lena’s message.
*Someone would become Celia’s instructor tomorrow?* Guild veterans actively avoided Celia. Who’d willingly train her?
Unless… Lena knew some powerful Hero?
Heroes were ranked. Those reaching Sixth Rank earned unique titles from the Hero Council—renowned pillars against evil across human empires.
Seventh Rank Heroes were called Sages, honored guests of emperors.
Eighth Rank? Council members of the Hero Council—powers beyond imperial reach.
Ninth and Tenth Ranks remained theoretical; no human had ever reached them.
To defy the Fiona Clan, you’d need at least a titled Sixth Rank Hero.
How could Lena know such a figure?
Sharin typed several replies. No response came.
With a sigh, she knew Lena had stopped reading.
Setting down the mana communicator, Sharin propped her cheek on her palm. *I’m overthinking it.*
She’d known Lena nearly ten years. The woman ran a flower shop—a powerless commoner. The strongest Hero she knew was Sharin herself.
What could she possibly do to secure Celia an instructor?
Shaking her head, Sharin dismissed Lena’s final words. Just then, the office door opened.
“Working late, Guildmaster Sharin?”
An elderly man in a suit entered, white gloves gripping a waist-high cane. His face was expressionless.
He strode to the sofa and sat without invitation, radiating arrogance.
Sharin narrowed her eyes but stayed silent.
She couldn’t afford to offend him.
This was Aul—the Fiona Clan’s steward. His word could end her tenure as Guildmaster.
“She’s signed the withdrawal papers. She’ll return with you tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Your efforts are appreciated.”
Satisfied, Aul’s aged face finally softened into a faint smile.
Sharin let out a soft snort. Aul’s smugness made her recall Lena’s message.
“One condition,” she added sharply. “If she ever wishes to become a Hero again, I cannot refuse her.”
“The Heroes under your command are sensible people. I trust she won’t desire such a path again.”
Aul rose, cane tapping the floor. He shot her a faint, ambiguous smile before turning toward the door.
With Celia secured for tomorrow, lingering here was pointless.
Sharin adjusted her glasses, a cold snort escaping her lips at his veiled threat.
As Aul reached the doorway, she called out: “Before you go—why does your clan so fiercely oppose her becoming a Hero?”
“As the heir, she cannot afford the slightest risk.”
Aul didn’t pause. He vanished through the door.
Sharin believed only half that explanation.
*There’s more to it,* her instincts whispered. Something decisive lurked beneath their actions.
But she wouldn’t dig deeper. She was just a minor Guildmaster. She had no desire to uncover the Fiona Clan’s secrets—or get entangled in their schemes.
Not unless she craved a short life.
