This World Needs a Hero

Chapter 8

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“I only have the truth to offer.”

The auditorium froze in an unexpected turn of events.

The audience, who had been looking at the stage with puzzled expressions, fell silent for a moment.

It was because of the Hero’s body, clearly visible under the bright lights.

“Oh my…”

“What is that…?”

It was a body covered in scars, excessively severed, torn, and mangled, a lifeless form.

What truly astonished them, however, wasn’t the scars.

“Tattoos?”

Characters smaller than grains of rice covered the Hero’s broad body without a single gap.

When seen from a distance, it looked as if someone had spilled pitch-black ink over him, the characters so densely packed.

People squint their eyes.

“Can you see what it says?”

“Looks like letters…”

Most of the people in this place were adept at handling magic, so having heightened senses was common. Despite the distance between the stage and the seats, deciphering the identity of the characters was not too difficult.

Someone spoke up first.

“It’s a name.”

Simultaneously, sighs echoed from various places. The commotion spread like ripples on a lake.

In the midst of the chaos, the Hero slowly nodded.

“…Yes. The names of my fallen comrades.”

Forgetfulness.

For swordsmen, indeed for those living in these brutal times, it was a necessary function. The dead must be forgotten.

Trying not to forget those who cannot return is the cruelest act one can do to oneself. Because the human psyche has a clear end, a limit.

If someone tries to remember every death that passed by, they would soon find themselves unable to wield a sword.

It was the fate and duty of a warrior to drink and make noise even if their comrades who shared laughter and sorrow with them died yesterday.

Even if they were children, they vaguely understood this fact.

However, there was a man who willingly bore all of that burden.

One student muttered absentmindedly.

“This is insane…”

Remembering fallen comrades eternally inscribed on one’s body. One could understand it intellectually.

It was about grasping oneself with a sense of loss and anger every time they faced their own body.

To keep the fire of vengeance against demons alive.

But was that something a person should do?

Amidst the shocking silence, the warrior’s low and calm voice continued.

“People rarely inquire about what lies beyond glory.”

“There, there is death.”

The audience listened in hushed silence.

“There are weeping widows and mothers. There are crows that devour the eyes of fallen comrades. There are hands that pull out the stench of nameless corpses and brush off the dust from their entrails before putting them in.”

The experiences of an ordinary soldier who had borne the weight of humanity’s salvation on his shoulders. Students who had dreamt naively were suddenly confronted with a cold reality.

The professors, too, wore serious expressions, except for President Yussi, who observed him with a profound gaze.

With a bow, the Hero slowly walked towards the front of the stage. The entire auditorium stared at him as if under a spell.

“Our adversaries are monsters.”

“Soon, you will face them. The Demon King, demons, and countless monsters. Terrifying entities lurking in the magical realm, nameless horrors.”

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“…Monsters that threaten our peace and take away what is most precious to us.”

For a moment, the warrior wondered if the ‘real’ one might dislike this presentation. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed drawing attention to himself, and perhaps he would have preferred not to make a spectacle of it.

He might have received a stern rebuke for acting out of line.

But he wanted to convey it. How he fought, protected, and died. He had an obligation to share that.

They, too, had an obligation to know.

“I want someone who desires to witness the end of those creatures as my disciple. For that, I am willing to offer anything to those who-”

He took a deep breath. His breath seemed to absorb the attention of the auditorium more than the air itself.

“‘Extreme’ is a lecture prepared for such individuals. So, I hope you consider it carefully before applying.”

With those words, the warrior exited the stage.

Until the lights on the stage went out, no one spoke. Someone started clapping, and it continued for a very long time.

* * *

“Huu…”

I slipped backstage and took a deep breath.

The applause, like an ear-shattering thunder, was still echoing from the other side.

The speech was satisfying. I never thought it would fail from the beginning.

I’ve lived my whole life performing. Life itself was a stage—a stage where a wrong move could cost you your life, an unforgiving stage.

“…It went well.”

The message I intended seemed to have effectively reached everyone.

‘Don’t apply for my class with half-hearted determination.’

In the process, I even paid my respects to the Hero, so the purpose of the performance had been sufficiently achieved.

However…

“Why am I not calming down?”

Thump! Thump!

My heart was fluctuating at an irregular pace.

I soon realized the cause.

‘…It’s the first time.’

I’ve stood in a similar position on stage many times. The Hero didn’t particularly like standing on official platforms.

Once familiar with the stage, I had done countless speeches like this.

But today was different. No scenario, no guide. My first step was taken entirely by myself.

‘….’

Closing my eyes and recalling the memory, my chest was neither tired nor uneasy.

Throughout my life, including the time on stage, I had never felt such fulfillment.

“Hoo. Anyway, I’ve taken a step forward.”

Satisfied, I was about to return to the auditorium.

However, just as I stopped the performance before stepping onto the stage, ‘The Iris of Laplace’ that I had deactivated began to interfere with my vision on its own.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

▼

The first condition was fulfilled.

▲

The view distorted rapidly.

An invisible giant seemed to be warping the clock wildly.

In the sudden dizziness that came rushing in, I tried not to stagger and opened my eyes.

‘What is this…?’

In front of me, neat and solid, writing was being inscribed.

▼

The debtor is dead.

O strange one from a forgotten era,

O one living in falsehood,

Are you prepared to bear

The glory and trials of the debtor entirely?

▲

At that moment when the meaning was not quite understood.

‘When you reach a certain level, there will be changes in the Iris of Laplace.’

Suddenly, that statement came to mind.

I chuckled wryly.

‘…Are you prepared to bear the glory and trials of the debtor?’

I made that determination a long time ago.

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“I am.”

As if waiting, the Iris of Laplace wrote the next characters.

▼

The beginning of redemption.

Become the firewood for the winter humanity will face.

Memory – ‘Zero Requiem’s Treasure Map’ has been restored.

The coordinates will be stored in the information collective.

Access permissions for the indicated location have been renewed.

▲

Numerous notification windows.

However, the gaze was irresistibly drawn to one word.

Zero Requiem’s Treasure Map.

A shiver ran down my spine.

A few centuries ago, the founding chancellor who suddenly disappeared and established the Rosenstark Academy, a great sorcerer named Zero.

Why would comments related to Zero appear in the Iris of Laplace now?

I read and reread the notifications.

“The beginning of redemption, like firewood for winter….”

An unstoppable, enormous something.

Like fate starting to roll down a slope.

* * *

Numerous comments followed.

▼

Current location is a terrain-compatible area

Confirmed to be ‘Rosenstark Academy’

– ‘Exploration Mode’ is automatically initiated

– Loading saved coordinates

Searching for a route…

– Beginning route guidance

▲

One of the functions of the Iris of Laplace, exploration, was automatically activated.

I quickly pulled aside the curtain in the waiting room.

In my field of view was the expansive central garden and…

Thuhuhuhud!

Distinct lines of light resembling fireflies gathered together.

Rays cutting across the dark night sky of the academy.

Stretching straight as if guiding towards something.

“…”

I removed the monocle and placed it in my front pocket.

Simultaneously, the bright guidelines that emitted light disappeared like illusions.

‘…What exactly is this artifact?’

I didn’t have detailed information about the Iris of Laplace.

I only knew of its existence because the warrior mentioned it occasionally.

In fact, the Hero didn’t seem to know the detailed origins either.

‘What’s the connection between the Iris of Laplace and Zero Requiem? Could the warrior be the creator?’

In the center of the central garden.

I gazed at the towering statue. It was the statue of Zero Requiem.

Between deep wrinkles resembling ravines, wise eyes stared back at me.

I recalled every piece of information I knew about him.

The only sorcerer who survived the destruction of the First Era.

The greatest achievements in history were left by this great sorcerer.

The resurgence of humans, who were expelled to the western continent by demons, was solely due to him.

If Ted Redymer was a legendary figure among martial artists, Zero Requiem was a similar figure among magicians.

‘If he hadn’t suddenly disappeared, history might have been rewritten.’

However, Zero vanished shortly after founding Rosenstark.

It was precisely two centuries ago.

He disappeared with a depleted strength, entering a state of half-transcendence, leaving the mortal realm.

There were rumors but no one knew the truth.

Yet, even long after his disappearance, Zero’s name was occasionally mentioned.

It was because of his final achievement, the ‘Gaho.’

…Gaho.

An unknown ability created by Zero. Except for two facts—that it could be obtained through a medium and that it was hidden in Rosenstark—almost all information about it was veiled in mystery. However, one thing was clear: it made the owner extremely powerful.

‘A powerful force without a cost.’

That phrase was undoubtedly appealing, and it didn’t need further explanation.

According to records, Zero left a total of eight Gahos.

People spent the past two centuries fervently searching Rosenstark’s vast grounds for these Gahos, as they became obsessed with them. However, only seven were discovered, no matter how many searches were conducted.

Even using underwater magic to thoroughly explore the bottoms of lakes and rivers yielded no trace of the eighth Gaho.

Eventually, people dismissed the last one as a fantasy and gave up the search.

Some speculated that since it couldn’t be found easily, the eighth might be the strongest Gaho, but there was no way to confirm it.

…That was the situation until now.

I gazed at the pocket containing the Iris of Laplace.

‘It seems like I’ve obtained a clue about the eighth Gaho….’

▼

Memory:

– ‘Zero Requiem’s Treasure Map’ has been restored.

It’s ‘Zero Requiem’s treasure hidden in Rosenstark.’ You can expect whatever its identity might be.

▲

Images of those who once possessed the seven Gahos briefly flashed in my mind. They all had one thing in common—they had achieved immense fame, leaving a mark in history.

That’s how powerful the abilities were.

‘For someone like me, precariously walking the tightrope, this desperate need for power couldn’t be more relevant.’

Regardless of who it belonged to, I needed to obtain it as soon as possible. However, sadly, it seemed like I couldn’t go searching immediately.

“Heavens….”

The beam of light from the guidelines was extending unexpectedly to an unforeseen place.

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