Chapter 53: The Truth

Damir saw everything with perfect clarity.

Anastasia had changed far too much.

Damir once believed that every Hero was incomplete, each missing some crucial part of life to varying degrees.

The Spear lacked responsibility, the Shield lacked courage, the Staff lacked empathy, and he himself lacked justice…

But what Anastasia lacked was the ability to love.

She didn’t know how to love others, nor even how to cherish herself. She always saw herself as a sword that would never rust, never caring if that sword was damaged. In the end, she broke beneath the Demon King’s castle.

Yet now, it seemed that part of her that was missing had been filled to overflowing.

This was the first time Damir saw fear in her for something.

What was she afraid of? Was she afraid of parting? Afraid of forgetting?

Or was she terrified that the hard-won love she finally had would slip through her fingers, utterly powerless to stop it?

You really have changed too much, Anastasia.

Damir sneered inwardly.

He’d always thought that the strong changed the world around them, while only the weak changed themselves. Yet it was this very Anastasia, changed beyond recognition, who had easily defeated him.

She trampled his justice, and crushed his soul.

He tried to reflect, to consider if what he had done was truly wrong, but no matter what he did, he could not understand Anastasia.

She had clearly suffered the most among them all.

Logically, after experiencing such misery, she ought to hate this world.

After all, it was not them who were wrong, but the world itself.

He could not forgive Anastasia, yet he was utterly helpless.

So, in the end, only one choice remained.

A metallic taste of blood seeped from between his lips and teeth. Wedged between his teeth was something soft and elastic; all it would take was a firm bite… and everything would end.

All those things in the past—humble, painful, once glorious—were nothing more than a little wind and frost compared to death.

After all, he was someone who had already died once… even if he had long since forgotten what happened on the other side.

It was time for it all to end.

That way, he would no longer be tormented by the pain in his heart.

He wanted to bring everything to a close, to put a final period to this forcibly imposed Hero’s Epic.

Dying was the easiest thing; what was hard was to bear suffering and keep living on, fully aware of it.

Damir knew he had always been a coward.

He no longer had the courage to fight against the unfairness of fate. He had lost his way, and he couldn’t go back, nor did he wish to.

“Anastasia.”

His only wish was to reveal a glimpse of the truth he had glimpsed to the youngest of them all.

“Now that you’ve found your happiness… don’t get involved in this War anymore.”

He wanted to pour all the memories he had left into his gaze. His eyes locked tightly onto Anastasia’s face, his expression twisted, almost about to cry.

But in the end, he could not shed tears—only two streams of red blood flowed from his eyes.

This former Hero now looked like a demon nailed to a cross.

“Damir…”

It was as if a cold wind blew through Anastasia’s heart, stirring up the dead branches and leaves piled on the ground.

“Anastasia, if one day you forget everything… then the one sitting on that throne will be you.”

Damir had nearly exhausted all his strength. He felt as though a pair of invisible giant hands had gripped his heart tightly in their grasp—perhaps in the next instant, his heart would burst apart.

Blood seeped from his ears and nostrils; he bit down hard on his lip, holding back the blood in his throat.

His skin gradually turned a bluish-purple. The iron shackles binding his wrists snapped open in an instant. His hands turned into sharp claws, his face twisted and grim, and he ruthlessly stabbed them into his own chest.

He pulled out a deep purple heart, already transformed into a Crystal Cluster Heart.

“Anastasia… watch closely, this…”

Thud. His words were forever stuck in his throat.

His body exploded in an instant, vanishing without a trace.

Only that dark purple Crystal Cluster Heart remained.

The Bow Hero Damir, dead.

Anastasia stood dazedly in place. She staggered two steps, her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground.

A cold sweat drenched her back.

“Anna.”

Ophelia wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to drape her cloak over Anastasia. But Anastasia stood frozen, unmoving like a malfunctioning magical puppet.

Her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on that Crystal Cluster Heart, as if staring into an endless abyss.

She stretched out her hand, and her fingertips lightly touched the crystal cluster—smooth, scorching hot, as if it still held a will that refused to be extinguished.

That crystal cluster seemed almost sentient. The instant Anastasia touched it, it shot toward the sword at her waist. Atop the sword guard, a dark purple gem appeared out of nowhere, now set side by side with the azure one.

It was as if guided, Anastasia gripped the sword tightly, stepped out of the tent, and drew the blade with a ringing sound.

She swung it lightly. A Wind Slash shot from the sword tip like an arrow, piercing through the thick trunk of an old tree in an instant.

It felt as though a surging ocean of magic dwelled within that gem.

The sapphire flashed with a sudden gleam.

In a split second, azure magic bound Anastasia’s right hand like silken threads, seeping into her skin and merging with her blood.

Anastasia’s heart became as clear as a mirror, countless unfamiliar sword techniques carving themselves into her mind.

With just a gentle swing, the sword’s wind nearly snapped a huge tree.

With no warning or reason, a power she had never known—the power that truly belonged to a Hero—was revealed before her eyes.

No longer an empty title or a mere Holy Sword. Now, within the sword dwelled a might truly capable of standing against the Demon King.

This power came as suddenly and irrationally as the wind—abrupt, unpredictable.

Wild and willful, just like a certain ill-tempered young lady.

“Anna.”

Ophelia had seen it all.

Compared to this sudden power, what mattered more to her were Damir’s final confessions.

“Do you still remember… anything from before you came here?”

She pressed her lips together, weighing her words carefully, afraid she might touch on the scars Anastasia avoided.

“…”

Only silence answered her.

Anastasia said nothing, just bowed her head, the answer all too clear.

She could not recall anything about that so-called other world. If no one deliberately reminded her, she would hardly realize that she did not truly belong here.

By the time she became aware, she was already living in the royal capital. She knelt before the King and the Cardinal, received her sword from the Sanctum, and swore to defend humanity with her life and passion.

But why was she in the royal capital? Why did she make such a vow?

Anastasia could remember nothing.

Her memories felt like fish scales scraped away—half clinging to her flesh, bloody and raw; half drifting in the water, trailing red threads behind them.

A chill ran down her spine.