The grand bell of Cindralis echoed through the courtyard, drawing the attention of nobles and commoners alike. At its center stood Duke Caelan Cilandris, draped in formal robes, his usual proud demeanor replaced with sincere humility.
Beside him stood Tobin—clothes still battle-worn, eyes still red from sleepless nights. He looked out over the crowd, confused at the gathering.
Duke Caelan stepped forward.
"Citizens of Cindralis," his voice boomed with magical amplification. "For weeks, we were puppets—ensnared by darkness and deceit. Our minds were not our own. Our hearts were twisted by evil."
He turned to Tobin. "And yet… one young man, unblessed by gods or prophecies, dared to stand where no others could. He faced down a Demon General and emerged victorious."
Caelan raised Tobin's arm high. "I present to you… the one who saved us—Tobin, the Hero of Cindralis!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers. Flowers flew. People wept.
Tobin blinked. "Wh… what's happening?"
From the sidelines, Ryle leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed. "You're the emergency hero," he said with a grin.
Tobin turned, pale. "You made me… famous?"
Ryle shrugged. "Temporary fame. But heroes draw eyes, and eyes spread truth."
Back in the Velbrath Capital, the grand noble meeting commenced.
A wide, polished table sat at the heart of the chamber, with high-backed thrones for each attending noble. Tension clung to the air like fog.
Ryle stood in the center, dressed formally for once, holding his journalist's notebook like a holy relic.
"We need a hero," he declared.
Gasps and mutters followed.
"The Chosen Hero has yet to appear. We've lost cities, people, and trust. The public needs a figure—someone to rally behind."
Dravenith, King of Dragon Mountain, nodded once. His Golden eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom. "A temporary vessel for hope is better than silence."
Seraphina Elden, ever poised, added, "The boy saved a city. Even if he's no chosen one, he's earned respect."
Caelum Valtoria, the stern Duke of Valtoria, crossed his arms. "Temporary or not, it gives the people a symbol."
Then came the inevitable resistance.
"The New Order Church refuses to acknowledge a false prophet!" roared a priest. "A hero must be sacred—divinely chosen!"
Tobin stood.
Eyes bloodshot, voice firm.
"It's just a placeholder," he said. "I'm not divine. I'm no legend. I'm just here to hold the line until the real one is back."
Silence.
Then… slow nods. Reluctant agreements.
Ryle watched them all carefully and smirked. He's learning.
"Now," Caelum Valtoria asked, "where will he train?"
Seraphina stood.
"In Elden, as the Land of Warriors."
Tobin blinked. "Wait, wh—"
The three traveled through the skies on a winged drake carriage, the forests of Elden rushing beneath them.
Tobin sat awkwardly across from Seraphina and Ryle. "So, uh… who's training me?"
Seraphina sipped tea. "For manners and etiquette—Elden's Head Butler. He trains all our knights in courtly behavior."
Tobin groaned. "That sounds awful."
"For combat," she added, "It should be Ryle."
Tobin choked. "What?!"
Ryle grinned, legs crossed. "If that means I can take a break from article writing... sure."
From the front seat, Thea smirked. "Good luck surviving."
Two Months Later
The courtyard shook.
"Push harder!" Ryle barked, arms crossed as Tobin's knees buckled.
Fire thrusters ignited at his heels, launching him into the air—only for him to slam into a training dummy and fall flat on his face.
Groaning, he rolled over, smoke rising from his singed shirt. "I think I broke something…"
Thea leaned nearby, flipping a page of her book. "That's the fourth crash today."
Ryle sighed. "His body can't handle dragon techniques. He's not built like us."
Instead, Ryle had crafted something new.
Fire Claws—condensed flames shaped into claws for rapid close-range attacks.
Fire Thrusters—concentrated jets at his heels or palms, allowing Tobin to leap, dash, or hover mid-air.
It was a mess at first.
Lots of fire. Lots of falling. Even more screaming.
But slowly—slowly—Tobin adapted.
Swordsmanship training came next. Clumsy, but determined.
One evening, at a ceremony in the Elden training arena, Tobin stood before an audience of warriors and nobles.
"I'm no god-touched legend," he said. "But you don't need divine power to be a hero. You need resolve."
The crowd erupted with cheers.
Ryle clapped. "Not bad, kid."
Then he leaned in.
"Alright. Time to build your party."
Tobin blinked. "What!?"
Ryle pointed his pen. "Every hero needs a team. Preferably a harem. That's how it works."
"I'm loyal to Rina," Tobin muttered.
"It's just for formality," Ryle shrugged. "Besides, someone's gotta protect your reputation."
The next day, at the selection grounds, hopeful adventurers and warriors gathered. A line formed—but not a single woman stepped forward.
Some laughed. Others looked disappointed. Many shook their heads.
"Too green."
"Too serious."
"Still cries in his sleep, probably."
Tobin stood awkwardly under the sun, face flushed with embarrassment and mild heartbreak.
"…No one?" he muttered.
Then—
A sharp voice cut through the murmurs.
"Tch. I guess I'll join you."
A girl stepped forward. Teenaged. Lean frame. Cat ears twitching atop her head. Arms crossed. Bright eyes glaring.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she said. "It's not like I care about you or anything."
Tobin blinked. "What?"
"I'm just here so my village will stop nagging me. Idiot."
Ryle and Thea sat nearby sipping tea. Ryle devoured an entire cake in one sitting.
Thea raised an eyebrow. "A catgirl?"
Ryle smirked. "Classic."
The cat-eared girl rolled her eyes. "Name's Kessia. I bite. Try to touch me, I set you on fire."
Tobin just sighed.