[The Body of the Hero – Rebuilding Progress: 74%]
[Good Morning, Master Arminius. Supervision Protocol: Online.]
Arminius groaned. The voice echoed in his skull like a hammer tapping against his dreams.
"Please, Maton… just five more minutes," he mumbled, dragging the covers over his head. The fabric felt like clouds stitched from sunbeams. The bed was unfairly soft—a divine trap, probably by design.
He had named the protocol Maton after waking up here for the first time. It sounded just human enough to feel like company.
[Request denied. Please get up.]
He sighed, knowing resistance was pointless. With the energy of a dying beetle, he rolled out of bed and planted his feet on the warm, smooth floor. The room shimmered with strange luminescence, its walls lined with golden patterns that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. The house was a masterpiece,the entire place was pristine—not a speck of dust, not a crack, not a sign of time.
He stretched until his bones popped and wandered through the home. Everything was perfectly organized, almost unnervingly so. As if the universe had tried its hand at minimalism and perfected it. The silence was peaceful, yet somehow too intentional.
Outside, the morning light poured across the garden like honey. Birds chirped with unnatural harmony, and the air smelled faintly of something floral and distant. There, amid the gentle rustling of leaves and the shimmer of magic in the air, sat Herina—the so-called goddess.
She was draped in flowing robes that glimmered like starlight, sipping tea with an ageless calm. Beside her, the small white tiger Irina meowed happily, tumbling through the grass. The tiny black wolf pup, Lupa, wagged his tail and barked at butterflies.
"Miss Goddess?" Arminius asked dryly, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Herina didn't open her eyes. "Sit, Arminius."
He slumped into the seat across from her and poured himself a cup of tea. The liquid shimmered like gold and tasted like sweet, warm sunlight. He blinked in surprise.
Irina tried to climb into his lap, but Herina intercepted her with a swift, mechanical motion. Despite her stone-cold expression, her hands moved with aggressive affection, almost shaking the poor cat as she petted her.
Arminius watched, one eyebrow raised. "You're weird."
"That is heresy," Herina replied without blinking. "Tread lightly, Son of Demon."
"Wow. You really go all in on the titles, huh?"
They sat in silence for a while, sipping tea. Birds passed overhead, too symmetrical to be real. The entire realm felt like a carefully crafted illusion. Heaven, they called it. He didn't know what he believed anymore.
He noticed her cup never emptied. "You know, I had some weird dreams before I died. Memories that didn't feel like mine. Visions, maybe. Visions that looked like your throne room and another one brimming with fire.Any reason for that?"
Herina opened her eyes. A soft glow radiated from them—not light, but something heavier. Something ancient.
"The Veil can do a lot of things," she said. "Sometimes it grants visions. Sometimes it plants thoughts. Sometimes it prepares people for what's to come. It probably did that to prepare you for your destiny."
"The Veil," he repeated.
Such an unknown and powerful force.
She nodded. "A force of balance. A wall and a bridge. It punishes those who tamper with fate. It kills. It births. Not a person, not a god, but an authority. A mechanism older than time itself. A set of rules etched into the bones of reality."
"The afterlife is in the Veil," he said, thinking aloud. "The Veil controls everything."
"Essentially."
"So it can kill people and create people. Sounds like God to me."
Herina chuckled softly. "That's a stretch. The Veil is not a god. It's more like a firewall. A judge, a prison warden, an executioner, and occasionally, a librarian."
He raised an eyebrow. "You just keep stacking titles."
"It deserves them," she said, sipping her tea again.
Arminius leaned back and stared at the sky. It was a perfect gradient of soft blue and white clouds. Unreal.
"So when demons die, they really go to hell?"
"Yes. No metaphor. No poetry. Actual hell. A prison constructed by the Veil for aberrant souls. And good souls go to Heaven. The real heaven. Both of them are in The Archive of Souls."
His face fell slightly. "Great."
"Don't worry. You were... special."
He blinked at her. "That's both comforting and unsettling."
Herina smiled, and for the first time, it seemed a little sad.
"And this place…people just call it Heaven,right?"
She shrugged. "Yes.That's just what people started calling it. Easier than explaining. The Veil's domain is vast and complicated. Heaven is a simple word for a difficult truth."
Another pause.
"When I go back," Arminius asked, "will I return to the exact place I died?"
Herina nodded. "Yes. Though the place you died is now… gone."
He narrowed his eyes. "Gone?"
"Destroyed. The Great Stampede swept through it not long after your death. Nothing remains."
His stomach twisted. "Why did it happen so early anyway?"
Herina sighed. Her smile turned wry.
Then she said something—words that didn't sound like words. "##%#@@!"* Her mouth moved, but her voice fractured into static. Her face blurred, and the air around her shimmered like broken glass.
Arminius flinched. "What the hell?"
"The Veil forbids me from interfering with events outside the permissible timeline," she said flatly. "Especially ones that involve spoilers."
He gawked at her. "So it censors you? Even here?"
"It censors everything, if it must. That's the kind of power it holds. It will erase any and all and create anew if need be."
He shook his head. "And me becoming a Hero doesn't break its rules?"
"Not at all," she replied. "The Veil itself led me to you. Or rather, allowed me to look into you. I have holy mana, yes, but I'm not omniscient. Not even close. I'm just someone with access and intent."
Arminius narrowed his eyes. "Intent to do what?"
She looked up again, eyes lost in the clouds. "To give you a chance."
That sat between them for a long time. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and Irina's purring.
He finally said, "Those are some weird rules."
Herina chuckled again—quieter, older.
"I've lived under those rules longer than humanity has existed. You learn not to question the cage. Just how to decorate it."
And with that, silence returned.
But something in Arminius stirred—a quiet flame, a sense that the Veil was far more than just a set of rules. It watched. It chose. And somehow, it had chosen him.
"By the way," Armin began, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms, "how exactly am I supposed to become both the Hero and the Demon Lord?"
Herina took a slow sip of her tea, the porcelain clinking gently as she lowered the cup. "First, extinguish the ongoing civil war that erupts every century in the Demon Realm. That war determines who becomes the next Demon Lord." She paused. "As for the Hero… you already are one. But I recommend assuming a false identity as a human."
Armin blinked. "As the Hero?"
"No."
That answer made him stiffen. He stared at her. "Wait… why not?"
Herina's expression didn't change. "Because they've already elected a Hero."
"What?!" Armin's voice rose, disbelief lacing every syllable. "How?!"
Herina looked out over the garden, her gaze distant. "You really think they're not corrupt? Typically, the Hero manifests sometime around the middle of the century. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. The Demon Realm doesn't make any moves before the Hero's arrival—they only operate at full strength when a Demon Lord is crowned. But this time... someone intervened. They artificially created a false Hero."
Armin stared, stunned. "You can create a Hero?"
Herina shook her head. "Not exactly. They didn't make a Hero. They took the child with the most potential and trained him relentlessly. That's all."
Armin exhaled slowly. "Guess that means I'm going to end up in conflict with him."
"Yes," Herina said simply. "You will."
Meanwhile,
In the deserts of The Romulus Duchy-
A large group of people were sitting.
They were formed into groups that each huddled around a campfire.
This was The Rubee Clan.
The minor clan that Armin formerly belonged to.
The clan that abandoned him.
Azaran sat alone.
A tendency of his really.
He slowly touched the insignia on his face,feeling it.
He remembered the pain,the humiliation.
And everything else.
His fire was burning out as it didn't have as much as firewood as the other ones. He had given away his share.
With a sigh he flicked his finger and a small ember of flame shot out,reigniting the flame.
"Armin...that damn bastard." he cursed that idiotic fools name.
If he had just made it a bit earlier they wouldn't have had to leave without him.
No. Maybe,they left early because they wanted to leave him.
That was also a possibility.
End of Chapter-09