Yuna certainly didn’t have the guts to oppose the Hero directly.
But to take advantage of the princess targeting the Hero, fanning the flames in secret and fishing in troubled waters—she not only had the guts for that, she had a lot.
“Men, you see, may not remember someone who adds to their glory, but they’ll never forget someone who helps them in desperate times. Since Her Highness is going to put on a show of righteous fury for the Hero, why don’t we make this snowstorm even bigger—and colder?”
“When the Hero is at his wit’s end, I’ll send a batch of emergency grain in my own name. That favor—he’ll remember for a lifetime.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“In the future, use your head more when things happen. Think a few layers deeper. Don’t rush to question. How could I possibly go so far as to curry favor with Her Highness by helping the wicked?”
The council chamber was dimly lit.
The curtain of night shrouded Yuna’s blue eyes, casting a shadow over her innocent, delicate face.
The young Priest being lectured by Yuna opened his mouth.
Suddenly, he felt that this “kind-hearted beauty closest to the Goddess of Light” was somewhat terrifying.
“Shouldn’t we step in?”
The Priest asked, futilely.
Yuna shook her head.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Because you’re afraid of Her Highness?”
Yuna laughed—a helpless, bitter smile, a fleeting mix of emotions, finally settling into resignation.
“Who isn’t afraid? Aren’t you? But that’s not the main reason.”
“Then what is the main reason?”
“Because those refugees are not Believers.”
“…That seems to go against the Goddess’ teachings of mercy and love.”
“Preaching is one thing, doing is another.”
Yuna, remembering the other’s prominent family, drew on extra patience.
“If even Heretics can receive the Goddess’ benevolence, then what are we Believers for? A god can lack mercy, but not purpose.”
The Priest fell silent.
The words of the Saint were like soft knives, piercing the shining lake in his mind.
He had thought that lake was the glory bestowed by the Goddess.
But as waves surged and the mirrored surface shattered, he felt a bitter truth—what remained was only the afterglow of childish innocence.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. Recently, I found two boys who yearn for the light. Their eyes are as clear and beautiful as Saint Lake, and their skin as luminous and pale as Divine Radiance.”
“Dean Duren would definitely be interested in teaching them. Old friend, can you help me send them back to the Imperial Capital—to your grandfather?”
Yuna lifted her hair behind her ear, revealing her most beautiful side profile.
Her slender hand traced over the curves bound by gauzy fabric, brushing away strands that hid the fullness beneath—under the moonlight, the arc glowed as warm and soft as a kiss.
“I understand.”
The Priest glanced over, gaze slightly unfocused, and sighed.
Though he knew the ugliness within, it was his grandfather—so he could say nothing.
Leaving the council chamber, he suddenly stopped, a chilling suspicion flashing through his mind:
Was Yuna really collecting handsome boys for his grandfather, only out of obligation to their families’ friendship?
“Rumble—rumble—”
Thunder roared.
A rainy day in Rosy City was as fickle as a woman’s heart.
At times, dark clouds loomed; at others, the moon spat thunder; sometimes, only desolate winds swept between heaven and earth.
Those without power could do nothing.
Those with only power—could do nothing still.
On the seventeenth rejection, Jon could endure no longer.
He drew his sword and smashed open the Grain Merchant’s magic-reinforced door, his eyes red and filled with killing intent—seeking an answer.
Lights flared in the night.
Screams echoed.
Women and servants scattered through the manor as if the Demon Clan was attacking.
“Don’t kill me, baba”
When a four-year-old girl blocked his path, standing in front of the fat Grain Merchant, Jon finally calmed.
The Holy Sword in his hand fell to the ground, rusty and stained.
Its gleam faded further.
The world suddenly seemed absurd to him.
In the next moment, he realized—the world wasn’t absurd.
He was.
The Grain Merchant knelt and begged, repeating the same words:
“Lord Hero, it’s no use seeking me. I have elders above and children below. Please, spare us—give us a way to live.”
Jon’s mouth twisted into a strange expression—neither a smile nor a cry.
The refugees wanted to live.
The Grain Merchant wanted to live.
It seemed everyone was powerless, except him.
He possessed the most useless freedom.
“Then can you tell me—who should I go to for help?”
Jon’s voice was as dry as a withered stream.
“Find Her Highness the Princess. Only she can help you.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“……”
The Grain Merchant stammered.
[Because the City Lord wanted us to delay a few more days.]
The truth was simple—but he dared not betray his master.
Jon saw this and knew he wouldn’t get an answer.
He turned and left in silence.
For once, he had erupted—yet had killed no one, solved nothing.
—
In the rear garden of the City Lord’s mansion, Jon met Margaret, who looked as proud as a rooster in victory—tail feathers invisible but practically pointing at the sky.
“What are you trying to do?”
Jon stopped three paces from Margaret, eyes fixed on the princess’s elaborate skirts, the dazzling jewels on her body, and her composed elegance.
Margaret did not answer.
Instead, she slowly removed a jeweled Flower Ring from her pinky and tossed it to Jon.
He caught it by reflex, face uncertain.
“This was my birthday gift from Father two years ago—a ninth-tier magic crystal and a rare piece of Whiteflame Red Gold. The Kingdom’s finest Master Engraver carved the magic crystal into a main flower with seven companions. The Grand Tutor himself inscribed Magical Enchantments onto each petal.”
“Take it to any expert—you can trade it for forty or fifty thousand gold krones. With that, you could support thousands of refugees—or thousands of soldiers, just as easily.”
Margaret did not look up at Jon.
She leisurely groomed her bright red nails.
Her tone was calm, but every word drummed in Jon’s ears before sinking deep.
Jon lowered his head, studying the ring.
Even a man who knew nothing of jewelry, design, or aesthetics could see its flawless beauty.
After a moment, he tossed the ring back.
“So what?”
He was growing warier.
“You’re just a country bumpkin favored by Heavenly Blessing. You have no idea what it means to marry into the royal family.”
Margaret’s gaze was as sharp as a blade carving a magic flower.
“Listen—”
“I can make you bathe in glory, a hero showered with praise, or I can destroy you, turn you into a disgrace!”
Before Jon could retort, she stood.
Regal, imposing.
“Men like you, new to the world, always think a bit of strength makes you invincible. You could kill a thousand, ten thousand—but could you wipe out the Empire’s two million soldiers?”
“Even if you could, the blood grudges of two million broken families would flood this land for a thousand, ten thousand years—until the next Hero came to slay the ‘Demon King’ you’ve become!”
“Is that the life you want?”
“Is that your Ideal?”
“Don’t be a fool. Don’t chase that ridiculous dream. If you charge ahead and break yourself, you’ll find there’s no way back!”
“Jon, remember—I’m not trying to harm you. I’m saving you!”
“You could have everything—wealth, power, beauty, Happiness, family—yet you’re throwing it away for some childish pride. Is it worth it?”
“Hero Jon, answer me—”
“Is all of this really worth it?”