Chapter 347: Aftermath and Whispers

The Demon Realm did not occupy the Human Realm.

Despite obliterating every stronghold in the three main countries of the Human Realm, strongholds that were supposed to be humanity’s last stand, they pulled out of the Human Realm without leaving a single troop behind.

Humanity, hunkered down and on edge in the face of this incomprehensible situation, cautiously peeked out when time passed without incident. Soon, they understood why.

It was infighting.

“Heard the legion commanders were dropping like flies?”

“Yeah. The wounds apparently weren’t the kind you’d get from fighting humans.”

“Huh, demons fighting amongst themselves. Figures.”

Outside the bar, two men leaned against a nearby tree, exchanging words over tilted bottles. Their conversation, a snack for the mind, ranged from the state of the world to the Demon Realm and Deon Hart.

They’d been happily chewing on their mental snacks and chatting away, but one of them, mid-bottle tilt, suddenly paused, a frown creasing his brow. The other man turned to him, gaze questioning.

“Already finished?”

“Tch… Yeah.”

“I told you to pace yourself. Gotta be sober enough to get back home, you know?”

“Being sober is a disadvantage in this crazy world. Quit the nagging, I’ll go grab more booze, just wait here.”

If they’d just stayed at the bar, they wouldn’t have to keep making trips back and forth—

A frustrated mumble, laced with liquor, escaped his lips. Seeing the resentful glint in his friend’s eyes as he glared at the bar, the other man sighed, shaking his head slowly as he tipped his bottle.

“Bar’s packed, what can you do?”

“Exactly! Packed bars, that’s the problem! Not a single empty spot anywhere!”

Since some point, bars had started overflowing with people.

It wasn’t like this particular bar was special. Every bar in town was bursting at the seams.

So they were forced to buy booze and drink it at home or find a spot outdoors nearby. But even then, every decent outdoor spot was already taken. Nowhere to go.

Even the spot under this tree they were currently occupying had been a hard-won victory. What more needed to be said?

Clearly drunk, the guy who’d been raising his voice finally exploded.

“Why is everyone just drowning themselves in booze, I’m saying!”

“Well… isn’t it the same reason you’re drinking?”

……

“Calmed down a bit now?”

……Yeah.

Just moments before, he’d boldly declared to his friend, who’d advised him to lay off the heavy drinking, the very reason he sought solace in alcohol. Being sane in this insane world was a losing game, he’d insisted.

People are all pretty much the same, so those cramming the bars must be there for the same reason.

A sigh escaped him, laced with faint embers of anger and a heavy dose of resignation.

“Damn war… no idea when it’ll end. Or if I’ll even live to see it end.”

……Tell me about it.

Everyone was worn down by the endless wars.

It wasn’t just those directly caught in the war that were exhausted. The worry for family and friends on the front lines, the uncertainty of when the war’s fallout might reach them—it was all weighing heavily on everyone.

Living on edge, day in and day out, it wears you down. The longer it went on, the more people just crumbled under the strain.

In that kind of situation, what else was there to turn to but drink?

“It’s all Deon Hart’s fault.”

Everyone’s favorite scapegoat was back on the menu.

Because he’d sided with the Demon Realm, attacked the Human Realm, turned everything upside down, and even after the Demon Realm pulled out, peace hadn’t returned. Now, another war was brewing.

Spitting out the name that humanity now loathed, his face twisted in disgust, as if he’d just tasted something foul.

“The bastard deserves to rot in hell.”

“Yeah, he’s a problem, but… Duke’s the bigger problem. If that trash hadn’t been so greedy, none of this would’ve happened.”

With Deon Hart brought up, the other person who was constantly being dragged through the mud also came into the conversation. Starbe Illuster, the man who’d fallen from paragon of loyalty to utter scum.

The man who’d mentioned him also swigged some alcohol to cleanse his mouth as if it had been sullied, spitting out his next words.

“‘Cause of that bastard, Deon Hart went to the Demon Realm, and now we’re in this mess.”

“Yeah, Duke’s trash alright, but why are you bending over backwards to defend Deon Hart with all these pointless hypotheticals? Everything Deon Hart did after going to the Demon Realm was his own choice. He’s not a kid; if he’s an adult, he should know right from wrong and stop when he’s gone too far. Why are you making excuses for him?”

“Wasn’t defending him. I clearly said he’s a problem too.”

“Ah, right, right. Fine, they’re both trash. Crazy bastards history could do without.”

Ptooey.

Spitting as if to ward off bad luck, the man staggered off to fetch more booze. The one left behind shook his bottle, gauging the remaining alcohol, his eyes following the retreating back. Undeniable unease and distrust clouded his gaze.

‘That guy, he’s properly plastered, no doubt about it…’

Should I just knock him out and drag him home right now?

His liquor-logged steps wobbled precariously, balance completely shot. Any moment now, he’d bump into someone—

Thump.

Worry turned into reality.

The person he bumped into stumbled, and a book, titleless, tumbled to the ground. Turning to check on the victim of his friend’s drunken clumsiness, the man reflexively raised a hand to shield his eyes. A deep sigh escaped him.

‘Of all people to bump into, it had to be an old man…’

What if the old guy got hurt?

That old man looked spry enough… but still, better not to get mixed up in anything, just in case. Avoid trouble if you can.

He remembered the old man next door who’d broken a hip just from a fall and then just withered away. He subtly averted his gaze.

‘Play dumb. That’s the plan.’

Friendship at its finest—feigning complete ignorance.

His foolish friend, realizing he’d bumped into an old man, looked flustered, his drunken haze momentarily lifting. He scrambled to pick up the book and offered it with a frantic, belated apology.

“So sorry, sir. Are you hurt anywhere…?”

“No, no. I’m quite alright.”

“Really? You’re not gonna, like, keel over on me, are you?”

…Guess the booze hadn’t completely worn off yet, judging by the unfiltered thoughts spilling out of his mouth.

Good, in this moment, we are perfect strangers. The man turned his head completely away.

But instead of exploding in anger at the carelessly mentioned death, the old man, who exuded an air of dignity and refinement, simply smiled gently with his silver-blue eyes, reassuring the drunk man instead.

“Yes, really, I’m fine. Didn’t even fall, and the book’s alright, see? No need to worry.”

***

Leaving the drunk man’s apologies behind, Rememver walked quietly out of the village, mulling over the voices cursing Deon Hart and Starbe Illuster. More accurately, it was the unsettling detail he picked up in their words.

‘…No curses about Cruel Hart, huh.’

It was the bizarre absence of any mention of Cruel Hart.

Yeah. They cursed Deon Hart, Starbe Illuster, the heroes who’d failed them, the country—but Cruel Hart’s name never once crossed their lips.

‘Surely everyone knows Cruel Hart sent Deon Hart to the Demon Realm.’

Dan had publicly announced it on screens across the Human Realm, after all. No one could be that clueless. Unless they were complete idiots, they’d know a Hero had sided with the Demon Realm like that.

Humans were the type to curse even gods if they felt like it. The fact that no one was cursing Cruel Hart, who was definitely another culprit, was still odd.

‘But… yeah. Guess it’s for the best, whatever the reason.’

But Rememver decided to let it slide, to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

He knew Cruel Hart’s story to some extent, even if not as well as Deon Hart’s. The man had lived such a miserable life; it would be a shame if he was cursed even in death.

…Deon Hart alone was enough to feel sorry for.

Before he knew it, the path ended and a familiar mountain loomed ahead. It might have been a struggle for other old folks, but Rememver started striding up the mountain without a second thought.

Following the familiar terrain, he walked and walked until two graves, side-by-side, came into view. And standing before them, a demon with hair like sunbeams.

……

……?

As if sensing someone, the demon turned around. Sky-blue eyes met silver-blue eyes.

Ah…….

Familiar gazes met, no surprise in either. The demon, used to only hierarchical relationships or hostile standoffs, hesitated, seemingly unsure how to start a conversation. As if to ease the awkwardness, Rememver calmly offered a greeting.

“Greetings. How have you been?”

……Yeah.

“Pulling weeds, I see.”

Yeah.

Humans have a tradition of building graves after death.

Ed had built Deon Hart’s grave out of consideration for the human, and then, not wanting to favor just the Hero, he’d built the Demon King’s grave elsewhere too.

And so, as naturally as flowing water, he became the caretaker of the last Hero’s and the last Demon King’s graves. Rememver, who often visited this place, had no reason to be surprised seeing the demon tending the graves again.

“Getting used to the job?”

……Not too bad.

Even if it was a tough, grueling job, Ed wouldn’t complain. He’d volunteered for this, after all, no one had ordered him to do it.

‘Guess you could call it atonement for not picking a side.’

He’d cried so much back then.

The reason he hadn’t picked a side was because he hadn’t wanted to lose either of them, not to lose them both. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined it would end like this.

Ed brushed a hand over the neatly trimmed grass on the grave, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

‘Back then, I was too out of it to even think about making graves.’

That old human had made cleaning up the mess afterwards so much easier. He’d been completely floored when the old man suddenly showed up, guided by Hien, saying he knew the perfect gravesite for Deon Hart.

Back then, Ben had been clinging to the body, muttering about treatment, looking completely out of his mind, like he couldn’t grasp that his patient was actually dead. If it hadn’t been for this old man, it would’ve taken far longer for them to come to their senses and take care of the bodies.

……Say,

His gaze shifted from the graves to Rememver.

“What’s with the book?”

“It’s proof I kept my promise to the dead.”

…….

The titleless book tucked under his arm.

It wasn’t exactly a page-turner, so instead of pressing about the book, Ed changed the subject.

“Which dead guy?”

“This one’s for Deon Hart.”

Deon Hart’s grave was right next to Cruel Hart’s.

Rememver gestured with his eyes towards the newly made grave in front of Ed, offering a soft smile as if to ask for a moment alone.

“Mind giving me a moment alone?”

……Yeah.

Ed readily stepped away, and Rememver, left alone, quietly gazed down at Deon’s grave.

As the fragile silence stretched thin, a voice, softer than usual, slowly drifted out, aimed at an absent listener.

“I kept my promise.”

I’d hoped you could receive it in person… but I guess this is how it has to be.

Muttering with a touch of bitterness, he placed the book before the tombstone.

“It’s a novelized account of the past. Naturally, you’re the main character. I’ve also compiled proper history books up to the present day, and I’ll keep adding to them, keep recording everything… but you wouldn’t be interested in those, would you?”

Rememver chuckled softly, a faint smile, as ephemeral as mist, gracing his lips.

He settled down in front of the grave.

“Instead, let me tell you about what’s happened since you left. A lot’s changed, might be interesting.”