Legends spoke of heroes who carried the weight of the world on their backs.

They never spoke of what those heroes were forced to leave behind.

As the chains slackened and the mirrors realigned, the truth surfaced—quiet, corrosive, and impossible to ignore. The Blonde Hero had survived the war not by conquering his darkness…

…but by casting it away.

And now, that darkness stood before them.

Siegfried frowned, unease threading into his voice. “So what—you’re saying he’s always been like that? Carefree? Childish?”

“No.”
The boy’s expression hardened, something cold flickering behind his eyes. “That carefree nature is who he truly is. But during the war, he couldn’t afford to be himself. Expectations. Responsibility. Entire lives resting on his shoulders.” His gaze sharpened, glinting with quiet malice. “They crushed him.”

He stepped forward as the mirrors trembled in response.

“So he sealed that part of himself away,” he continued softly. “And became the hero the world demanded.”

His eyes swept over them, measuring.

“And do you know how I know this?”

The chamber fell into silence.

Behind him, the chains rattled once—then stilled.

“Because I carry what he abandoned,” the boy said, his voice thick with venom. “Every fear. Every doubt. Every shred of guilt he couldn’t bear. Everything he cast aside just to survive the war…” His smile sharpened. “It was all passed on to me.”

The words settled heavily in the air.

Friedrich’s hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. “So… you’re saying he dumped all his baggage on you and skipped off to pick flowers?”

The boy’s smirk returned—cruel, amused. “More or less.”

Star’s thoughts raced, disbelief clashing with instinct. It couldn’t be true. The boy they had met earlier—the one with the bright smile and careless laughter—was the same legendary hero she had revered since childhood?

Before she could speak, the boy’s gaze locked onto her.

“And you, Star,” he said quietly, his voice cutting. “You felt it too, didn’t you? That strange sense of familiarity when you saw him.”

Her breath caught. She clenched her fists and met his eyes. “How do you know that?”

The boy laughed softly, dark amusement curling at the edges. “Let’s just say I know him better than anyone.” He tilted his head, smile widening. “But if the Blonde Hero himself hasn’t told you why…” His eyes gleamed. “…then I suppose I shouldn’t ruin his little secret just yet.”

Klara, who had remained unusually quiet, stepped forward, curiosity breaking the tension. “Alright, then. If you’re not him… who are you? An evil twin or something?”

The boy laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally through the chamber. “Evil twin? How quaint.” His smile faded. “No. I’m not his twin. I’m not even human. I’m a creation—a shadow. I was made to mimic him, to steal his memories, and ultimately…” His voice dropped. “…to destroy him.”

Unease rippled through the group.

“Destroy him?” Friedrich snapped. “Who made you?”

The boy’s expression twisted with fury. “Who do you think?” he spat. “The Great Beelzebul.” The name burned on his tongue. “She gave me this body—but no freedom. I was forged for a single purpose: to kill Alioth Castor and take his place.”

Friedrich’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you still here? Why hasn’t she sent you after him?”

The boy’s restraint shattered.

“Because he sealed me here!” he roared, rage shaking the chamber. “Alioth imprisoned me in this cursed tower—along with my creator—and left us to rot!”

The group stiffened, weapons instinctively rising.

“But enough of this,” the boy said, his voice sinking into a dangerous calm. “I won’t let you leave this room. Not like the others. Not like those adventurers and so-called warriors who thought they could face me.”

Star’s eyes blazed. “So you’re the one who killed them.”

The boy smiled. “What did you think the name Heroes’ Slayer meant?”

Star raised her sword. “Not anymore.”

The chamber erupted.

Steel clashed. Light met shadow. Reflections fractured and reformed, multiplying the chaos as the Heroes’ Slayer struck—swift, precise, merciless.

And as Star met his blade head-on, one truth burned through her mind:

This was never a battle meant to be won.

It was a reckoning—
designed to break them.