One month had passed since the Holy War.

Leon and his party stayed in the capital, Calelum, only briefly. As soon as they had recovered enough to move, they headed for the Gateway City. They had already achieved their goal of defeating the Mad Emperor and the Evil Order, and lingering any longer would only invite suspicion about their relationship with the new emperor, Lyon.

Portroi had suffered a disastrous attack at the hands of Nekator, but it had already returned to a functioning state. No matter how long the night, the sun always rises in the end—so they said.

The bustling streets of Portroi looked even livelier than before the attack, as if proving those words true. The Gateway City mourned the dead and raised the fallen buildings once more.

“Leon.” Karen’s voice came from behind him just as he was looking out the window.

She appeared without a sound, but Leon turned with an expression that showed no surprise at all. “Hmm?”

“Master Grania just left. He must not have wanted to stay any longer now that he’s avenged his disciple.”

“I see. Well, it’s not like he came to Portroi because he wanted to, anyway,” Leon remarked.

Grania, the last remaining Archmage of Clyde, chose to return to his homeland rather than remain at the new emperor’s side. He had no intention of continuing his active work even back when the Mad Emperor first took the throne, and having been betrayed by his own disciple in this war had exhausted him even further.

The fact that he participated in the attack on the capital and helped rebuild the devastated Portroi with what little remained of his sense of duty was impressive enough.

I hope defeating Morse with the amulet he gave me helps ease that resentment even a little, Leon thought.

Nekator was the one who killed Edgar, but it had undoubtedly been Morse who corrupted him and pulled him into the Evil Order. He had likely poked at Edgar’s insecurities and the pressure of living up to his master’s name.

In the end, that chain of cause and effect circled back and ended with Morse dying by Leon’s hand, but in the end, it was all futile. El-Cid knew that.

He declared, —Hardly. Revenge feels empty for a reason. Once you’ve avenged someone, you realize what’s gone never comes back. Being betrayed by the disciple he’d considered his heir... that sort of wound hits you at the roots.

You don’t think...

—Well, he’s still an Archmage who’s set foot into the eighth tier. He won’t suddenly keel over from emotional shock. Not unless he stays like this for a long time, anyway.

As El-Cid had once explained, Masters were beings whose mind, energy, and body had unified; for them, the boundary between spirit and flesh no longer existed. Because of that, they could exceed the natural limits of a living creature, or even drive off death itself if their spirit and aura remained strong. But that unity came with its dangers. If the mind could heal the body, then the body could also manifest wounds of the mind.

—But that shouldn’t be your concern. Who knows? Maybe he’ll pick up a promising kid or two somewhere in the countryside and raise new disciples. Filling the empty space is the fastest way to heal a loss, after all.

Yeah, you’re probably right... Leon thought and nodded in agreement.

Then he turned to Karen, who was still in the room and called her. “Karen.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you bring Elahan? We’re all in better shape, so I think it’s about time we leave Portroi.”

“Got it! Where are we going next?”

“I think we should stop by Jugend first. Something came up.”

Karen nodded cheerfully and sank into her own shadow. In that world of shadows, free from air resistance and the laws of physics, her speed surpassed several times the speed of sound. She’d find Elahan anywhere in the city with ease.

“So,” Leon muttered and tapped the hilt of his sword, prompting the explanation he was owed. “Tell me before they get here. Why Jugend? Did we leave something behind there?”

—We did.

“What is it?”

—Remember when we finished the job in the desert and returned to Jugend? I told you there was someone who owes me one.

“Oh, right!” Leon’s mouth dropped open as the memory resurfaced.

El-Cid had said back then that he had left them alone last time because he didn’t think Leon would need the help. However, with the Evil Order moving faster than expected, he had decided that it was time to go all out to screw the Evil Order to the max.

Unfortunately, right after that discussion came Leon’s promotion to S-rank, the spar with Irexana, and the chaos that followed. Naturally, the topic had slipped Leon’s mind.

He asked, half scandalized, “I’ll admit that I forgot, but how did you? We went to Jugend specifically to use that power!”

—I didn’t forget. When we got to Jugend, he was asleep. It wasn’t urgent enough to wake him up and ruin his sleep cycle.

“Sleep cycle...?” Leon blinked, baffled by the unfamiliar term, but El-Cid ignored it and continued.

—He lives in a deep zone of the Jugend Kingdom that only a handful of people know about, a place called the ‘Out Area.’

“Out Area? I thought Area 0 was the most outskirt.”

—It’s effectively hidden. That’s how he wanted it, and the royal family of Jugend has honored the oath made during their founding for centuries.

“Oho.” Leon’s eyes widened at the intrigue, and rightfully so.

Who could it be? Someone who’s lived for centuries can’t be human. Maybe an elf or dwarf? A beastkin? No, probably not...

A helper who lived in a place more secret than the royal palace or treasure vault, hidden by oath? Whoever it was, they must have been extraordinary.

As if reading his curiosity, El-Cid continued, —‘Out Area’ is just what the people of Jugend call it. In truth, that deep zone is where Jugend began. In the founding records, it’s called...

After a brief pause, El-Cid added with his voice deepened. —Ground Zero.

The land where everything began. That was the name that became the cornerstone of the Kingdom of Jugend.

***

Meanwhile, after suffering grievous wounds in the bloody fight against the Devourer at Calelum, Irexana had returned to Jugend’s Area 1.

As he sat at his desk as always, looking over the mountain of documents piled high, a sudden, bone-piercing pain shot through every part of his body. His willpower, which was harder than mithril, forced down the groan rising in his throat as several wounds he’d sustained in the battle with the Devourer a month ago still tormented him.

“Tch. This is why fighting transcendents is such a nuisance,” he muttered.

With a bitter smile, Irexana examined the cuts carved into his spirit and flesh. Because he had not so much as lifted a hammer and instead focused entirely on recovery, he had somehow returned to the point where daily life was manageable.

And that was with Cardinal-level Holy Power. To move as he once had, he would need at least half a year.

Objectively assessing his own condition, Irexana let out a long, unconscious sigh and said, “I feel as though I’d been chased behind the stage when the Holy War was about to finally open its curtains.”

Leon’s defeat of the Death King, and everything he heard from Nex, had been relayed to the Holy Church’s upper ranks. The Cardinals knew, as did the veteran knights of the Holy Iron Inquisitors, that the leader of the Evil Order, the Archbishop, belonged to a race whose very existence was now doubted.

A dragon, one who should have defended the world’s balance, had for some reason fallen and become the ruler of malice. It had become an Evil Dragon.

“What a disgrace. If only I hadn’t been so incompetent... wounded by the likes of a Devourer...!”

If the Devourer, which had been banished back to its realm by Irexana, had heard that, it would probably clutch its neck and cough blood from the shame. Each individual of that exodimensional transcendent species was catastrophe-class.

Had the Devourer consumed even part of the Revolutionary Army or Ferma forces and accumulated more power, it might even have become more dangerous than the Death King. Yet here Irexana was, berating himself that he alone defeated such a transcendent but should not have been injured.

Just then, a dwarf burst into the room, shouting as he flung open the door. “Grand Meister!”

Reading the urgency on the dwarf’s face, Irexana made a small gesture so that the dwarf would get to the point quickly.

“A Tier-1 dispatch has arrived. Seems to be from the royal family. They said to deliver this letter to you immediately and confirm the contents yourself,” the dwarf reported.

“Tier-1, hm. It has been a long time.”

“Right?! I think the last time I delivered one was a hundred years ago! Ugh, the memory’s fuzzy.”

Even the announcement of Jugend Steel selection had never gone above Tier-2. Receiving a Tier-1 dispatch in broad daylight was unheard of. When Irexana unrolled the scroll, he immediately understood why it was priority one.

From the very first lines, the message contained words only a handful of people outside the royal family would know.

Ground Zero...! Does this mean that ‘he’ has awakened?

Jugend was not founded simply because dwarves had gathered there, nor were the nearby ore veins and natural formations so conveniently placed by coincidence. This was knowledge passed down from Grand Meister to Grand Meister, and it was such an absurdly massive truth that most who heard it could not believe it.

However, Irexana was both a blacksmith and a warrior seeking the realm of Grandmastery. The moment he became Grand Meister and set his first foot onto Ground Zero, he realized that the unbelievable words were all true.

After delivering the message, the dwarf asked, “Grand Meister? Can I go now? Or is there something else you want me to do? Just say the word!”

Irexana replied, “There’s nothing immediate. We can only proceed once the Hero returns, so for now, tell the Areas to locate the Hero’s current position—”

But before he could finish, Irexana’s eyes widened. The dwarf standing with his back to the window had no idea why. The emotions flickering in Irexana’s eyes shifted in an instant, from shock to joy, from joy to serene calm.

“Forget what I just said. Prepare to receive guests in Area 1’s VIP chamber. The Hero and his companions have arrived.”

“What?! We were never told—"

Following Irexana’s gaze, the dwarf turned and trailed off mid-shout. His reaction was natural.

At some point, the sun had passed beyond the western horizon. The sky had grown dim, yet beyond the darkening heavens, a new dawn was breaking. A brilliant golden light was streaking toward them, faster than an arrow shot from a bow.

Only Irexana could clearly see the figures wrapped in gold from several kilometers away. He naturally brought his hands together and smiled faintly.

“Perfect timing, Hero.”

A pair of golden wings cut across the night sky, carrying Leon’s party. It was the blinding speed of the Icarus Wing, far surpassing any carriage. In just a few minutes since they entered Irexana’s line of sight, the Hero’s party crossed the horizon and descended before him.