In the twilight, the highway turned into a greyish-white ribbon. The wild grass on both sides was frozen to the soil by frost, no longer making any sound when stepped on.
The scent of burning firewood, mingled with the sweet steam unique to cooked grain, drifted in waves from behind a patch of low shrubs to the left of the highway.
Lonia's footsteps stopped. Her gaze fell upon a wooden cottage about two hundred paces away.
Human farmers.
Lonia stood on the highway, looking down at herself.
Her coat was covered in dust and frost stains, and her boots were caked with mud and bits of dry grass.
She looked like a refugee.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Magic flowed slowly through her body, running along the circuits she was deliberately suppressing. In the darkness behind her closed eyelids, her red eyes slowly changed.
Her pupils rounded out from vertical slits, and the color of her irises shifted from deep red to dark brown.
Her fangs retracted into her gums, enveloped by soft tissue, until they looked like nothing more than slightly pointed canines from the outside.
Her pale skin could not be changed, but she managed to coax a faint flush of color into her cheeks.
Just as she had been doing for the past few days.
Lonia opened her eyes. Exhausted, they looked just like those of any human girl.
She left the highway, stepping onto the frozen earth as she walked toward the cottage.
There was no knocker on the wooden door, only a rough piece of iron nailed to the plank to serve as a handle.
Lonia raised her hand and knocked three times.
From inside came the scraping of chair legs against the floorboards, followed by footsteps.
The door opened.
A face lined with deep wrinkles from wind and weather appeared in the crack of the door.
He was a man in his forties, his short brown hair streaked with grey, and the stubble on his chin looked two or three days unshaven.
His eyes sized Lonia up through the gap, scanning from her messy black hair down to her dusty coat, then from her empty waist to her muddy boots.
“...Who is it?”
Lonia's lips parted.
Her throat was incredibly dry. She hadn't had a single drop of water since last night.
The sound that came out was much softer than she expected, raspy as sandpaper.
“Could I... stay the night?”
The man's brow furrowed.
“You're alone?”
“Yes...”
“Where are you from?”
Lonia's fingers clenched at her sides.
“...The east. I've been walking all day.”
In the context of the Plains of Holy Remains, “the east” meant the direction of the Demon Realm's border. The man's expression shifted from curiosity to scrutiny, his gaze lingering on Lonia's face for a couple of seconds.
“What's your name?”
Lonia opened her mouth.
The name caught in her throat.
Lonia Catori.
No. That name, along with her shortsword and transit token, had been left behind on the desk in the vampire territory.
“I... My name is...”
The wind blew from behind her, stirring the red maple leaf copper hairpin in the hair on the right side of her head. The copper leaf swayed in the twilight, reflecting a dull gleam.
“...Esper.”
Rafina had once told her the meaning of Esperfite.
A rough, troubled destiny.
Many names flashed through her mind, but in the end, she chose this one.
...Because she was just so tired.
The man stared at her for a few seconds.
Then, he opened the door a bit wider.
“Come in. It's cold out there.”
...
It was much warmer inside than out, the air thick with the sweet aroma of grain porridge and the smoke of burning firewood.
A rough wooden table sat in the center of the room, with three bowls of porridge laid out simply on its surface.
The man's name was Gerd. His wife, Martha, was a middle-aged woman wearing a grey apron, her brown hair pinned up at the back of her head. He also had a son of about twelve or thirteen who had the exact same short brown hair as his father. The boy sat across the table, stirring his porridge with a spoon and occasionally stealing glances at Lonia.
Martha ladled out another bowl of porridge and placed it in front of Esper.
“Eat. It's nothing fancy, but it'll fill your stomach.”
Esper picked up the bowl and took a sip.
The wheat porridge was bland, carrying only the natural sweetness of the grain and the saltiness of some pickled vegetables. The coarse grains weren't fully cooked through, leaving a gritty texture on her tongue.
But it was hot.
Esper's fingers tightened slightly around the earthenware bowl, her fingertips pressed against its sides, absorbing the warmth radiating from the rough clay.
“Drink slowly, there's more in the pot.”
Martha sat down across from her, propping her elbows on the table and studying her with a look of pure curiosity.
“What's a young girl like you doing walking all alone on the highway?”
“...I'm traveling. I was in a hurry, so I didn't have time to bring anything.”
“Where are you headed?”
Lonia's spoon paused in her porridge.
“...West.”
“West? Toward Avalon?”
“Yes.”
Martha and Gerd exchanged a look. Gerd's brow twitched slightly, but he said nothing, lowering his head to continue eating his porridge.
The twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy, however, couldn't contain himself.
“Are you an adventurer?”
Esper raised her eyes.
“...No.”
“Then why are you going to Avalon? A lot of people have been heading that way lately.”
“Tom,” Gerd's voice came muffled from behind the rim of his bowl, carrying a note of warning.
“I was just asking!”
Tom tossed his spoon into his bowl and leaned over the table, looking at Esper expectantly.
“Have you heard? About the Holy Sword!”
Esper's spoon stopped.
“...The Holy Sword?”
“A sword that no one can pull out has appeared in Avalon! It's stuck right in the plaza in front of the royal palace! The Church of Radiance says it's the Hero's sword, and only the chosen one can draw it!”
Tom's voice grew louder and louder, his cheeks flushing with excitement as he gestured wildly with his hands.
“Hundreds of people have already tried! Knights, adventurers, nobles—no matter who they are, none of them can budge it! The Church says whoever pulls out the Holy Sword is the Hero, destined to defeat the Demon King!”
Defeating the Demon King.
Her fingers tightened around the bowl.
“...The Hero.”
“Yes! The Hero! You know about them, right? The legendary Hero! The Church says that whenever a new Demon King is born and the demons threaten the continent, a Hero will be chosen to draw the Holy Sword and lead humanity...”
“Tom, eat your porridge.”
Martha reached out and smacked the back of her son's head. Tom muttered something and shrank back to continue stirring his porridge, though his eyes remained bright as he stole glances at Esper.
Gerd set down his bowl and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“The boy is just getting overly excited. But it is true. The Church released an official announcement last month saying the Holy Sword has manifested, calling upon warriors from all over to go to Avalon and try their hand at drawing the blade. The highway has been much busier these past few days with everyone heading over there.”
Esper held her bowl, the steam rising from the rim blurring half of her vision.
The Hero. The Holy Sword. Slaying the Demon King.
Rafina had never told her stories of the Hero because Lonia hadn't wanted to hear them.
Such things had once been irrelevant to her, but after it was confirmed that Rafina would inherit the throne of the Demon King, she had harbored a bit of interest in the subject. Thus, she had heard the Demon King mention the Hero.
Every generation of the Hero was destined to kill the Demon King.
The first Hero, a youth known to posterity as the Spear of Radiance, had killed the Ancestor of Demons. Every generation after that had been the same.
The Holy Sword would vanish after the Hero's death, only to reappear when the next Demon King was born.
The world cycled in this manner. The Church purged the demons, the Demon King kept the Church in check, the Hero killed the Demon King, and then the Hero vanished without a trace, leaving the Church to resume purging the demons.
It was only after Gloom killed the Hero that this cycle was broken.
The Hero had not appeared for a very long time.
...
All of this was what Gloom himself had said.
...
“...Can that sword really be pulled out?”
Esper's voice was very soft.
“Who knows? The last time a Hero appeared was hundreds of years ago.”
Gerd leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The Church says it can. But no one has managed it yet. Maybe it's just a gimmick to give those hot-headed young folks somewhere to direct their energy.”
“It is not a gimmick!”
Tom chimed in again, mumbling through a mouthful of porridge.
“His Holiness the Pope certified it himself! The Holy Spirit Knights were even permitted to guard the plaza in Avalon day and night! If it were a gimmick, the Kingdom would never have allowed the Church to...”
“You have porridge in your mouth. Swallow first, then speak.”
Martha smacked him again.
Esper lowered her head, gazing at the wheat porridge in her bowl.
Defeating the Demon King.
The Demon King.
Rafina was not the Demon King yet. But she would be.
The Holy Sword had already appeared. Soon, she would take that seat, inherit that curse, and become the new ruler of the demons.
Then, a Hero would emerge from humanity, draw the Holy Sword, and set out to slay her.
Esper set her bowl down, the earthenware making a soft clink against the rough wooden table.
“...Thank you. The porridge was delicious.”
“You're welcome. There's straw in the woodshed, so you can make do there for the night. If you continue heading west tomorrow, there's a post station along the highway. It's only half a day's walk away.”
Tom leaned on the table, his brown eyes still stealing glances at Lonia.
“Esper.”
Hearing that name from someone else's mouth felt even stranger to Esper than speaking it herself. She didn't even realize he was addressing her at first.
“...Yes?”
“If you go to Avalon, could you look at the sword and tell me what it looks like?”
Esper looked into the boy's bright eyes.
“...Alright.”
The woodshed was on the side of the house, piled with chopped firewood and a few bundles of straw.
Martha had given her an old blanket.
Esper wrapped the blanket around herself, leaning her back against the woodpile with her knees pulled to her chest.
The wooden walls of the shed were thin. The voices from inside the house drifted through the planks, muffled but intelligible.
Gerd and Martha were clearing the dishes—the clinking of earthenware bowls, the sound of water splashing into a wooden basin. Tom was still chattering away about the Holy Sword, only quietening down after his mother urged him to go to bed three times.
Then, the house fell quiet.
A moment later, very low voices drifted out.
They were deliberately hushed, but Esper could still catch them.
“I told you, don't let Tom read so many strange books,” Martha said with a touch of gentle reproach.
“...He's at the age where he should be reading more.”
“But those books talk about the past, about old-fashioned ideas.”
Gerd sighed.
“...I know.”
“...Since the Holy Sword has appeared, does that mean the Demon King is nearing his end?”
“...Yeah.”
“Will the next Demon King be like him?”
“I don't know. But he must have chosen a successor long ago. A few hundred years is more than enough time for him to prepare everything.”
“Is even the emergence of the Hero part of his preparations?”
“I don't know. But if it's him, perhaps he really could manage it.”
“Gerd.”
“Yes?”
“There hasn't been any major war on the border for a long time. Aside from those branches outside the Demon King's jurisdiction, a few bad apples, and the death marchers caused by the Black Tide's corruption, the Royal Court demons have barely initiated any invasions against us.”
“...I know.”
“But a Hero will incite a new war, just like what was written in the diary you inherited from your ancestors.”
“I know.”
The two fell silent for a moment. The only sounds reaching Esper's ears were the occasional crackle of wood in the fireplace and the howling of the wind whistling through the gaps in the wooden planks.
“What will we do when the time comes?”
“I trust the Demon King's choice.”
“...You always say that.”
“And I'm always right.”
“Fine, fine. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The voices stopped.
Esper buried her face in her knees.
The void in her chest howled in the darkness.
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