“Princess!”
Old York jerked his head up, his eyes wide.
Liya couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
She spoke in a mocking tone.
“Whoa! The honorary knight got rejected! How pitiful, boo hoo boo hoo~~~Friend, look! He looks like a dog!”
“Lily, don’t imitate succubi.”
Jon gently poked Liya’s perky little butt.
Margaret finally found a vent, and it was a vent she ran into herself.
The suffocating resentment in her chest turned into sharp, cutting words, pouring out like blades.
She lifted her chin with contempt, looking down on Old York, her small mouth firing venom without pause:
“Trash like a worm! Useless! Do you even know what you are? Protect me? You think you’re worthy? A Hero could kill you with a flick of a finger. What’s your use? To be slaughtered by the Hero for amusement?”
“I’ve seen plenty of lowlifes like you, dreaming of soaring overnight. Do you really think this princess is as stupid as you? That if you jump out and say a few nice words, I’ll take pity on you, keep you around, and give you a chance to use my Royal Family’s name for your own gain?”
“And besides… When did the Hero ever disgrace this princess? This is just me admiring the Hero’s character, willing to show a little kindness to the Local Disaster Victims for his sake;
and reflecting, as the Leader of Thousand Rivers Domain, on my poor governance that allowed a corrupt official like Lord Rossi to deceive and oppress. That’s all.”
Liya couldn’t help but exclaim.
“Yo! Friend! This princess isn’t stupid after all!”
Margaret blushed at the mocking, but stubbornly continued.
“In short—You rabble are only good at wild speculation, stirring up trouble between me and the Hero, and scheming for your own gain! Someone! Drag this filthy, old, ugly thing away and behead him!”
The wind blew her hair, and it was silent all around.
No one moved.
“Can’t you cooperate with me even a little?!”
Margaret fumed, her face red.
She looked at Jon, her tone carrying a hint of a pout, like a child complaining to an elder.
“Jon, I’m a girl with thin skin too, you know. Can’t you let me save a little face?”
Old York seemed to clutch at his last straw.
His eyes turned red, his heart hardened.
He tried to draw the princess’s sword, raving as he spoke.
“Princess! This old servant obeys! I’ll go behead myself now!”
“Scram!”
Margaret didn’t even look back.
She kicked Old York off the platform.
Finally, it was quiet.
She sighed.
People who are loyal and upright are plentiful in this world, but no matter how many there are, they’re still less important than a Hero.
Compared to these mediocre ones who come and go at a word, she’d rather have a noble and powerful Hero offer her that priceless loyalty.
However…
She had thoroughly learned her lesson now: brute force was no use.
But it didn’t matter.
To conquer someone—especially a man—required not just force, but softer methods as well.
Beyond the towering mountain, there are still valleys of silk, lands of tenderness, and rivers of beauty.
A weakness can become a strength, and a strength can become a weakness.
Kindness gives a Hero unwavering resolve, making him resist all temptations and threats.
But it can also be his greatest shackle, making him vulnerable to softer attacks.
Specifically…
Hmm…
Forget it! Better to ask Nanna!
Margaret never made things hard for herself.
If she couldn’t figure something out, she just asked someone skilled at it.
After all, she’s a princess—she’s never lacked Orderly eager to offer advice.
So why bother thinking too hard?
Raising a few brilliant “insiders” as advisers has always been a common fallback among nobles—Margaret was hardly alone in this.
The Evening deepened.
No one knew when Old York slipped away into the darkness.
Yuna used divine magic to create a shining orb, floating it into the sky to illuminate the entire Army camp like daylight.
Later, several more people came one by one to bid farewell to Jon.
Each came, each left. Jon seemed to regain his usual vitality, standing up to chat and show concern for their future.
Everyone who came marveled at the Hero’s generosity, felt guilt, shame, and—also found it easier to accept Gold Coins as they left.
Saints exist to be revered.
And the sword should be pointed at the good.
Only Liya noticed the subtle difference in Jon from usual, sensing the sorrow he tried to hide in his words and the strength he pretended to show in his smile.
The faith called “Hero” supported him, compressing his emotions and melting his desires, finally gathering into a sea—all locked within that armor like an Iron Coffin.
The tides rose and fell, vast as the sky and sea.
Liya knew she had to relieve some pressure for the Hero.
The thing children most often do is hold everything in, because they haven’t learned the meaning of crying out.
“Friend! Friend!”
Liya played with the Hero’s faceplate like a curtain, flipping it up and down, purposely blocking Jon’s view of the world and leaving only herself in his sight.
“What’s wrong? Liya?”
Jon immediately focused on Liya.
Unknowingly, he’d grown more and more concerned about Lily, and cared for her more deeply.
“I’m bored. Play with Lily outside!”
Liya sat atop Jon’s head, her slender, pink-white legs swinging lightly.
Her snow-white feet, delicate as fresh shoots, dangled in front of Jon’s eyes like black holes, pulling his gaze and momentarily sweeping away his sadness.
“Okay.” Jon nodded.
A Hero can’t run away.
But sometimes, he wanted someone to give him a reason, to help him rest—just for a while.
The rain still fell heavily, pouring from the heavens like rivers.
Stars wept.
But for Liya, it was good weather.
Jon watched silently as Liya splashed barefoot in the shallow puddles, sometimes hopping, sometimes swimming, lively and cute.
Suddenly, he felt—the sound of the rain tonight was beautiful.
Liya laughed with innocent joy, and Jon laughed with her.
“What should we play? Lily?”
He asked softly.
“Let’s see who can pee the farthest—”
Liya didn’t finish before Jon sternly poked her butt.
“Don’t learn strange things from Magic King Jokes… Really, really… Pfft~~”
Jon tried to lecture her with a straight face, but couldn’t hold it, covering his face and laughing.
“Why! Is seeing who pees farther weird?”
“It’s not just weird… You’re a Poopoo, you don’t have a little ‘Chiu-chiu.'”
“Eh~! Lily doesn’t have one?”
Liya feigned exaggerated shock, her face a mix of disappointment and confusion.
She looked down, peeked quickly, then flopped to the ground with a “pa-dump.”
“Lily? Lily?”
Jon reached out and poked her gently.
“Don’t mind me~~~boohoo~~~Lily doesn’t want to live anymore~~~Lily doesn’t have a little chiu-chiu~~~boohoo~~~”
Liya pretended to cry.
Honestly, Poopoo’s fake crying was almost unbeatable—the tears poured down even harder than the rain.
“It’s okay, we can play something else, something else.”
Jon hurried to comfort her.
“What should we play?”
Liya sat up again.
“Hmm… stone skipping?”
Jon recalled childhood games.
“Okay! Okay!”
Liya followed Jon to the riverbank.
“This is a stone, this is water.”
Jon pointed to the stone in his left hand, then at the river, holding the stone flat before flicking it lightly.
“Whoosh—”
The stone skidded across the water in a perfectly straight line, then smashed into the opposite bank dozens of meters away, exploding in a cloud of dust.
“Alright, now you can challenge nine hundred skips.”
“…”
Liya’s mouth twitched.
Come to think of it, this was her first time playing, even after two lives.
In her previous life she grew up in a northern city—no rivers, and swimming pools were crowded.
No chance for games like this.
This life… even less so in the Demon Realm.
Liya grabbed a “giant stone” with both hands.
Perfectly normal for a person, but huge for her.
She walked to the water’s edge and, bowling style, tossed it forward.
“Plop.”
Zero skips.
“Not fun! Not fun! Not fun!”
Liya blushed, stomping her feet in frustration.
Jon, who’d been waiting for this, burst out laughing.
“Let’s play mine! Let’s play mine!”
Liya suggested.
“Alright, what should we play?”
“Gomoku!”
“Gomoku?”
“It’s a game from Magic King Jokes. It’s fun, I’ll teach you!”
No surprise, Jon, who was bad at strategy games, lost completely—until he upgraded Gomoku to a new level: secretly using magic to change Liya’s piece colors.
Liya finally noticed, and laughed angrily.
“How can you play Skill Five-in-a-Row like this!”
“You never said magic wasn’t allowed.”
Jon shrugged innocently.
“Cheater! Cheater!”
Liya shouted, hands on her hips.
“Cheaters must be punished!”
“Alright, alright, what’s the punishment? You decide.”
Jon tilted his head, going along with Liya’s antics.
“Hmm… cry?”
Liya traced her finger along her lips, thoughtful.
“Cry?”
“Lily’s never seen her friend cry~”
Liya deliberately pouted, trying to coax Jon into letting out the feelings he’d bottled up.
But Jon struggled for a while, then laughed and shook his head.
“No good, I can’t cry. It’s hard. Since I was eight, I’ve hardly ever cried.”
“Then… okay.”
Liya pouted, disappointed.
She hung her head, thinking for a long while, then perked up.
“Then let’s play something else, like… Tic-Tac-Toe?”
“Can we not play chess games?”
Jon rubbed his nose, smiling wryly.
“Hey! This one’s easy! This one’s easy!”
Liya grabbed Jon and began drawing lines on the riverbank.
Before they knew it, the moon blinked seven or eight times.
Before they knew it, crooked Tic-Tac-Toe grids covered the riverside.
At last, Liya grew tired and lay down on Jon, sleeping.
The resilient Hero took off his helmet, shedding his armor piece by piece, leaving his warmest spot open for the little one.
The little one curled up quietly on the bend of his knee, sleeping peacefully.
Settling down, Jon leaned back against a river rock, letting his thoughts drift.
He thought of his Home Town, of hardships in the Army, of the nervousness and excitement when he first became a Hero.
He remembered raising his right fist before a campaign, swearing with his comrades:
“Bravery and loyalty! Serve the nation!”
He remembered riding on horseback, looking back at the distant sunset, feeling his spirit soar.
He remembered vowing to bring happiness to every person in the world.
But then he also recalled things he shouldn’t have—the heads bowed, the fleeing backs, their words, their avoidance.
He remembered accusations, persuasion, the helplessness of the unspoken, the greed gone out of control.
He shouldn’t blame anyone.
He knew.
He understood.
He really understood.
He thought finding a reason would be enough, but in the end, disappointment was still disappointment, and frustration was still frustration.
Jon looked down at Lily.
He suddenly recalled how she tried so hard to make him smile earlier.
He remembered her playing sand drawings, skipping stones, Tic-Tac-Toe… remembered her nestling by his ear, saying “Lily will stay with you, forever and ever.”
The brave, fearless Hero couldn’t help but laugh, like a boy in love for the first time.
He covered his face, his shoulders shaking, a “kuku” sound escaping his throat.
Slowly, the sound choked, the “kuku” turning into suppressed “wu wu,” droplets leaking through his fingers.
Maybe it was rain, maybe it was something else.
Only the wind knew.
Drip, drip.
Raindrops fell on Liya’s head, only to be absorbed in an instant, vanishing as if they’d never flowed in this world.
A surge of Heroic magic, many times greater than before, poured into Liya’s body.
But Liya didn’t feel happy—instead, she felt a little hurt, only wishing this was the last time she’d taste the Hero’s tears.
After all…
[This magic… is so bitter.]
Liya’s lashes trembled.
She lowered her gaze, sighing quietly.