The group of paladins, priests, and mercenaries walked down the slopes of the high mountains of Solania. From a distance, it should have looked triumphant, a holy expedition returning beneath banners of gold and white.

But up close, the illusion fell apart. Armor hung dented and split, priestly robes were stained with blood and mud, and the mercenaries at the rear dragged their feet like men who had forgotten what a proper road felt like.

The procession descending into Solania looked less like a triumphant return and more like survivors limping home from an unwinnable war.

His armor had been polished before entering the city, the scratches buffed away, the blood cleaned from the gilded edges until he gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. A golden tiara rested above his brow like an unnecessary reminder of status, and his posture radiated the kind of confidence only someone untouched by consequence could possess.

His chin high, and his smile bright enough to be mistaken for innocence by anyone willing to ignore the bodies missing from the returning column.

Bloodied, wounded, and injured, the many behind the man looked like they spent a few years in hell before they came back. Some had arms tied in crude slings, others had bandages wrapped around their heads and torsos, dark patches spreading through the cloth where the bleeding had not fully stopped. Several priests murmured prayers under their breaths, not for glory, but for their legs not to fail before they reached the city gates.

Unlike their exhausted appearance, their disgruntled and dissatisfied looks, the man at the front was beaming with joy. Happy even. Hiro sat atop his black steed as though the expedition had been a refreshing outing rather than a meat grinder that had swallowed half the force sent with him.

Next to him was a face covered person who rode on white war horse, and to his other side a young woman who looked like she was forced to be in this expedition than joined gladly. The masked rider kept a careful distance, posture rigid and unreadable, while the young woman carried herself differently. Her armor was marked by real battle, and exhaustion sat around her eyes with a weight sleep alone would not cure.

The group walked down and reached the city of Solania, where they were welcomed by a grand reception. The gates stood open beneath religious carvings of white stone and gold trim. Hundreds of high priests and bishops with even more armored paladins, imperial soldiers and citizen. The city had been dressed for celebration, banners hanging from windows, flower baskets placed along the streets, and holy sigils polished until they reflected the morning light.

They stood on both sides of the city of Solania. The petals floated down over bloodstained armor and wounded men, landing on cracked shields and bandages as if flowers could soften the smell of death. The cheers came unevenly, rising in patches rather than waves. Some voices were loud because they believed. Some were loud because a paladin stood close enough to hear.

But many, had worried looks on their faces. Scanning, looking, sometimes smiling when they recognized someone they knew, and sometimes falling on their knees crying when they realized that the one they knew didn’t come back.

A mother pushed forward until a soldier stopped her with an armored arm, her eyes flicking from face to face. An old man clutched a prayer cord so tightly his knuckles turned white, only to sag when the last rank of mercenaries passed and no familiar shoulder appeared among them.

The city cheered because it had been told to cheer, while grief moved quietly beneath the noise.

The hero kept moving forward, waving to people who didn’t feel like waving back with the rare exception of a few who did, the few that didn’t lose family, or those who worked with the Holy Order, or those who had an alternate agenda. Hiro’s smile never faltered as he lifted his hand again and again, spreading his attention across the crowd like a blessing being distributed to the ungrateful.

Mothers adjusted ribbons in their daughters’ hair. Minor noble families angled their girls toward the road, whispering reminders to smile, to lower their heads modestly, to appear devout but not desperate. It was ugly in a way that did not spill blood, which somehow made it more practiced.

Hiro. The name moved through the crowd in murmurs, sometimes reverent, sometimes bitter, sometimes repeated only because everyone else was saying it and silence had become dangerous.

The one who was leading this group of ragtag just arrived to the entrance of the Sacrosanctum. The holy structure rose ahead, white towers climbing toward the sky, their tips crowned in gold and sunlit crystal. At the top waited the current pope clementine himself.

Clementine’s robes were immaculate, layered in white and gold, every fold arranged as though even cloth obeyed doctrine in his presence. His smile was warm enough to comfort those who did not look too closely at the sharp intelligence behind his eyes.

With both hands opened, the pope spoke and the people listened, or had to listen.

"Our heroes have returned from a deadly journey, having slain many enforcers of the dark continent, having killed several of their army commanders, and having returned with glory and honor, cheer for our heroes, those who shine rays of light and hope onto our empire!"

Cheers erupted. Or more like felt like they should. The sound rose after a slight delay, too late to feel natural and too uneven to feel united. Only paladins clapped, and a few bishops nodded. The imperial soldiers joined after them, disciplined more than enthusiastic. But the people of Solania who were almost forced to be here had little to do with these joys.

This was not a day of celebration. The dead did not become less dead because a pope named their expedition glorious. Missing sons did not walk through the gates because petals had been thrown over the survivors. Too many had been conscripted, and far too many had died.

While the real powerhouses of the empire never moved. The people had thought that once the tower masters arrived that the situation would resolve itself, little that they knew and realized that normal magic was almost useless against these creatures. All the power of the five tower masters was then used to simply harass and lock some of the monsters from getting too greedy and coming down in an endless wave toward Solania.

While they had to send their own family members to fight tooth and nail against creatures that knew not the feeling of fear or despair. The monsters from beyond the mountain did not break when wounded. They did not flee when outnumbered. They came on and on, and ordinary people, conscripts wearing armor too loose or too tight, had been placed between those creatures and the holy city.

"Tsk," Hiro muttered, lowering his hand. "You’d think they’d be more grateful." Hiro said. His voice was low enough that only those near him would hear, but irritation leaked through while his smile remained aimed at the crowd.

"Don’t be too crass now," the Pope replied while smiling, "They’ll have to cheer, after all you’re their only hope." Clementine barely moved his lips as he spoke. To the crowd, he looked benevolent. To Hiro, he sounded practical. Hope was not merely a virtue in his hands. It was a leash.

"You should have sent Titania or Mot if minimizing casualties was the goal," Hiro said casually as they began ascending the steps together. "This whole campaign turned into babysitting. Hard to fight properly when half my time is spent protecting fodder." Hiro said. A trace of real frustration entered his voice, though not out of concern for the dead. The expedition had been harder than he liked, and that wounded his pride far more than the list of names that would never return.

"Loss creates fear. Fear creates need. Need creates obedience."

Hiro glanced sideways at him, amused.

"And here people think I was the asshole."

Clementine smiled pleasantly.

"You are young. You still mistake honesty for vulgarity."

Clementine’s smile remained fixed toward the crowd, warm and radiant beneath the Sacrosanctum’s light. The sentence left his mouth like advice about weather. Death, to him, was not tragedy in this moment. It was pressure, and pressure could be guided.

"That’s what I’m doing," he said as he looked at the woman who was riding next to him, "But some people were too adamant on assisting the lesser... I couldn’t fight properly when I had to protect those filthy mercenaries." Hiro’s gaze slid toward the young woman.

"Don’t worry about it," Clementine said as he tapped the side of Hiro’s steed. "We’ll handle the people, all you need to do, is keep growing. And once you’re strong enough to stand up to Titania, then things will change."

The pope’s hand moved with gentle familiarity, as if blessing the horse, though the gesture was meant only for Hiro. Titania’s name caused the masked rider to shift slightly, almost imperceptibly, while the young woman beside Hiro looked ahead with colder eyes.

"I can’t wait to make that bitch submit, just a bit more," Hiro said as he looked toward the mountain. His smile changed when he said it, no longer the radiant mask for the people but something hungry and spiteful. He did not look at the mountains like a man grateful to have returned. He looked at them like a man counting how much power he still needed.

"By the way did you find out anything about that creature?" Clementine asked, lowering his voice further as the procession neared the great steps. His gaze flicked briefly toward the mountains, then back to the crowd.

"The lazy slob? Nothing much, he didn’t show up this time. Made the whole trip pointless, we did kill a couple of his underlings..." Hiro’s annoyance deepened. For him, the entire expedition had been reduced to whether or not the true target appeared. The dead behind him, the missing, the wounded, the mothers crying at the roadside, all of them became background noise to the simple fact that he had not gotten the fight he wanted.

"Then it is good, go inside, I’ll handle the matter with the dissatisfied people." Clementine’s tone returned to smooth confidence. Handling dissatisfied people was not a problem in Solania. It was a discipline. Priests would speak of sacrifice. Bishops would offer holy explanations. Paladins would stand where their armor could be seen. Families would be told that grief was proof of devotion and that devotion required obedience.

Hiro nodded to the pope and led his horse forward. The black steed climbed the first few steps toward the Sacrosanctum, hooves striking white stone polished by generations of worshippers. The crowd’s cheers followed him upward, thinner now, stretched by fatigue and uncertainty. Petals clung to blood on the returning soldiers’ boots. The masked rider moved after him, and the young woman followed with visible reluctance.

"By the way," the Pope said and Hiro stopped his horse.

"I received news this morning. Seems like your friend is out of the tower."

"I don’t have friends, all I have is underlings, you better make sure to remember that. Also," Hiro snorted, "Clearing a tower is shit that the powerless do, the strong fight monsters and beings that would destroy a city with a swing. Him doing that tower would barely account for progress I’ve killed entities that would make him shit his pants in fear. I can’t wait to meet him again, and return that humiliation a hundred times more!"

"Good, having a rival makes for good progress."

"Rival, as if, I almost hope he improved."

Clementine raised an eyebrow.

"Almost?"

Hiro smirked.

"If he stayed weak, crushing him won’t even be satisfying."

He kicked the horse forward and rode toward the inner sanctum, gold armor flashing beneath the fading light.

Far away, beyond mountains, roads, and imperial borders, Ludwig was already moving toward Solania.