A Hero Without Tragedy

After Videl was done telling her story to the powerful Fourth Hero, the person in question who was now called Niklaus looked at Videl curiously.

The underground chamber fell quiet.

The faint crackling of the candles mounted along the ancient stone walls echoed softly through the room. Golden light flickered across piles of forgotten treasures, illuminating rusted crowns, broken relics, shattered blades, and artifacts overflowing with mana so dense that even the air around them shimmered faintly.

Videl sat across from Niklaus in silence.

Her sapphire-blue eyes lowered slightly as she rested both hands on her lap beneath the table. After speaking for so long, she suddenly felt strangely embarrassed. Telling her entire life story to a being this ancient made her feel like a child recounting small adventures before a legend.

Meanwhile, Amura and Rika quietly stood nearby in their human forms.

Amura remained composed as always, her long steel-colored hair flowing over her silver robes while her sharp eyes occasionally glanced toward Niklaus with caution.

Rika, on the other hand, looked openly nervous.

Every instinct inside her spirit body screamed danger whenever she looked at the Fourth Hero. The pressure hidden beneath that calm expression felt endless. Ancient. Monstrous.

And yet—

Niklaus simply sat there with one arm resting against the chair, his crimson-golden eyes silently observing Videl.

The story was the standard story of a hero, but Niklaus found something strange.

There was little to no form of tragedy in this hero’s tale.

That alone made his gaze deepen slightly.

Over countless ages, Niklaus had met many heroes.

Chosen heroes.

Summoned heroes.

Reincarnated heroes.

Transmigrated heroes.

Blessed heroes.

Cursed heroes.

There were many kinds of heroes born beneath the heavens.

Yet every single one of them shared one thing in common.

Pain.

The opening Chapter of a hero’s life was almost always written in blood.

Niklaus slowly leaned back against his chair, his dragon-like wings folding behind him as old memories surfaced within his mind like ghosts clawing their way out of the abyss.

He had seen villages reduced to ashes.

Children crying beside the corpses of their parents.

Heroes forced to watch their lovers die in front of them.

Friends betraying friends.

Kings fearing the very people meant to save them.

The opening to a hero’s tale was usually tragic.

The hero’s village would be burned down.

The hero’s childhood friend would be captured, violated, or slaughtered before the hero’s eyes.

Sometimes the hero survived while everyone else died.

Sometimes the hero failed to protect the one person they loved most.

Sometimes fate simply crushed them for no reason other than to force them forward.

Cruelty.

Loss.

Helplessness.

Those were the things that shaped heroes.

Niklaus knew that better than anyone.

His fingers lightly tapped the table once.

A dull sound echoed through the chamber.

Yet here was a hero that didn’t have any kind of tragedy happen to her. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Actually, her story was already a bit different than most heroes.

There were several points that should’ve ended differently.

Niklaus narrowed his eyes slightly as he recalled one specific part of Videl’s story.

The Red Bear incident.

When Videl spoke about her childhood encounter with the Red Bear together with Victor, Niklaus had immediately noticed something strange.

Very strange.

Based on the natural flow of fate...

Victor should have died there.

That was the normal progression.

The death of the best friend.

The birth of regret.

The beginning of maturity.

That was how the "script" usually unfolded for heroes.

The loss of an important person would have given the hero a more mature understanding of the world. It would have taught the hero the cruel lesson that no matter how desperately they wished to save everyone...

They simply couldn’t.

A hero was not omnipotent.

And only after overcoming such tragedy would the hero grow.

That was how fate refined heroes.

Like steel hammered inside a furnace.

Yet Victor survived.

Not only that—

According to Videl’s story, Victor was the one who killed the adult Red Bear while Videl herself only managed to kill the younger one.

That alone was already absurd.

Niklaus’ fingers stopped tapping.

His gaze sharpened slightly.

Then came the next impossible detail.

Victor—the younger one by an entire year—was the person who taught Videl swordsmanship and magic.

A faint smile slowly appeared on Niklaus’ face.

Not amusement.

Interest.

Real interest.

The ancient hero quietly stared at the candlelight dancing across the table as countless thoughts moved through his mind.

’This best friend of hers called Victor is most probably a reincarnator...’

The moment that thought surfaced, Niklaus’ eyes narrowed slightly.

A reincarnator.

A soul carrying memories from another life.

Such existences were rare, but not impossible.

In ancient times, Niklaus had encountered several of them.

Some became kings.

Some became monsters.

Some became heroes.

Some became disasters that nearly shattered entire continents.

But Victor...

Niklaus slowly exhaled.

Based on Videl’s description, Victor didn’t sound like a hero.

At least—not in the traditional sense.

Heroes usually carried a certain purity.

A straightforward righteousness.

A willingness to sacrifice themselves without hesitation.

But the Victor described by Videl felt different.

Too calm.

Too intelligent.

Too practical.

Too experienced.

Almost as if he viewed the world from a completely different perspective.

Niklaus’ crimson-golden eyes flickered faintly.

’A reincarnator could also be a hero... but based on Videl’s description of the guy, he isn’t actual hero material.’

The Fourth Hero quietly rested his chin against his hand.

He replayed every detail Videl mentioned about Victor.

The way he trained her.

The way he analyzed danger.

The way he handled situations calmly despite his age.

The way he always seemed prepared.

The way he apparently knew things he shouldn’t know.

And then—

Niklaus suddenly froze for a brief moment.

A strange feeling surfaced within him.

Familiarity.

The way Videl described Victor felt vaguely familiar.

Like he had already met the person somewhere before.

Somewhere very far away.

Somewhere buried beneath countless years of memories.

Niklaus frowned slightly.

For beings who lived as long as him, memories became complicated things.

Entire centuries blurred together.

Faces faded.

Names disappeared.

Wars became fragments.

Yet somehow...

The image of Victor forming inside his mind carried an irritating sense of recognition.

Like a half-forgotten dream.

’It’s possible...’

Niklaus’ eyes slowly darkened.

’If he is truly a reincarnator... that means I met him in his previous incarnation.’

The air inside the room grew quieter.

Even the candle flames seemed to dim slightly.

Across from him, Videl shifted nervously beneath his intense stare.

Her long blonde hair swayed softly over her shoulders as she carefully spoke.

"Sir Niklaus... is something wrong?"

Niklaus blinked once.

The pressure in the room vanished instantly.

Then the ancient hero gave a small smile.

"No," he answered calmly.

His deep voice echoed gently through the chamber.

"I was merely thinking."

Videl nodded slowly, though confusion remained in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Amura silently observed Niklaus.

Her instincts as a spirit weapon were extremely sharp.

And just now...

For a split second...

She felt something terrifying move behind the Fourth Hero’s eyes.

Not killing intent.

Not hostility.

Something worse.

Recognition.

As if an ancient monster sleeping beneath the ocean had suddenly opened one eye.

Rika quietly moved closer toward Videl without even realizing it.

Niklaus noticed the subtle movement.

A faint chuckle escaped him.

"You spirits are quite cautious around me."

Rika stiffened immediately.

Amura bowed slightly.

"It is only natural, Sir Niklaus."

Niklaus smiled faintly at her respectful response.

Then he slowly stood up from his chair.

His massive dragon-like wings unfolded slightly behind him, causing shadows to dance across the ancient walls.

Even after all these years, his mere presence still felt overwhelming.

Videl unconsciously straightened her posture.

Niklaus walked toward one of the ancient relics mounted along the wall.

His fingers lightly brushed across a cracked sword covered in age.

"There are many kinds of heroes in this world, little hero," he said quietly.

His voice carried an odd heaviness.

"Some are shaped by tragedy."

His eyes reflected old memories.

"Some are shaped by hatred."

Then he glanced back toward Videl.

"And some..."

For the first time since meeting him, Niklaus’ expression softened slightly.

"Some are shaped by the people beside them."

Videl’s eyes widened faintly.

Victor’s face unconsciously appeared inside her mind.

The handsome young man with black hair and golden eyes.

The person who always stood ahead of her.

The person who taught her how to fight.

The person she trusted more than anyone else.

A faint warmth appeared inside her chest.

Niklaus quietly watched her reaction.

Then inwardly, the ancient hero smiled.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Perhaps fate had finally decided to entertain him again after countless empty years buried beneath silence and ruin.

Or perhaps...

Something far bigger had already begun moving once more.