Armin sat on the soft, warm grass of the Goddess's realm. The sky above was a perfect blend of sunlight and endless blue, untouched by storms, time, or sorrow.
Before him stood Herina, the radiant goddess whose golden hair shimmered like flowing starlight. Her white-and-gold robes framed a form both divine and maternal—an impossible combination of beauty and gravity. With a gentle gesture, she materialized a table and two chairs, porcelain tea cups already filled with steaming, fragrant liquid.
A small black wolf cub—Lupa—curled at Armin's feet, now bearing streaks of gray along his back, a sign he was growing. The white tiger cub beside him—Irina, delicate and graceful—ate silently from a bowl of nectar placed near the table.
They were home here.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
The Goddess poured tea with a serene smile. "You seem troubled, Arminius."
He took the cup but didn't drink. His eyes wandered to the sky, then to the cubs. "Dike and Eirene… Do you know where they came from?"
Herina's glow dimmed, if only slightly. "Yes. While much of my power has waned over the eons, I still possess knowledge of many things that exist in this world and beyond."
She closed her eyes. A pause. A breath.
"They were born peasants. Poor, unnoticed. But their light was too bright to remain hidden forever. Their parents... saw their blessings as profit. Sold them. Again and again. Passed from hand to hand like tools. Eventually... they were brought to the Demon Realm."
Armin's hands curled into fists. He looked away, jaw tight.
Herina continued, gently, "One of your missions is to eradicate slavery, Arminius."
He nodded. Quietly. A slow breath through his nose. "I will."
A silence stretched between them—peaceful, but heavy.
Then he asked, "Why did you pull me in?"
Herina's face turned somber. She opened her mouth, and then—
"#&#%#&*#%#@&—"
A flood of incomprehensible words poured from her mouth, like a divine error unraveling in sound.
Armin didn't flinch.
"The Veil is forbidding you," he said flatly.
"Yes," Herina whispered. "What I said was the name of a being... someone from my kin. Born directly from the Veil."
His gaze sharpened. "Is he dangerous?"
Her eyes flickered toward the sky. "Perhaps. Recently, I've felt... movement. A presence. He's trying to influence this world."
"Trying to take it over?" Armin asked.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "He finds this world... beneath him. He's not interested in control. He's interested in fun. Chaos, perhaps. I believe he's trying to replicate the Hero Process. Craft a champion of his own."
Armin let it settle in.
"Another Hero?" he asked. "Will he be good? Or evil?"
Herina smiled faintly, eyes following something distant. "Time… time will tell."
A shadow passed over them.
Not one.
Thousands.
Dragons soared above, their scales catching light like rivers of molten jewels. Wings beat like thunderclouds. The air trembled under their passing.
Neither of them reacted.
They had seen it before.
They would see it again.
And the world below kept spinning.
......
Romian.
A city of grandeur, carved from ambition and arrogance alike.
Massive canals crisscrossed the land like veins, bringing water to marble fountains and lush courtyards. Aqueducts stretched across the skyline, connecting districts like silver threads in a vast tapestry. Bridges of steel and stone arched over glittering water, and every corner echoed with the noise of life and legacy.
Among its greatest wonders stood one of the Seven Wonders of the Known World—
-TWIN WOLF CASTLE-
Not a castle. A temple. A monument to the pride of Romulus Duke, whose name was etched into the very marble of the city's foundations. Its towers kissed the clouds, and its massive wolf statues stared down at the city like silent guardians—or watchers.
Romian was famed not only for its architecture and aqueducts, but also for its bread.
Yes, bread. The kind that lingered in your mind long after the taste had faded from your tongue.
And right now, in a modest room at the edge of the city, three souls enjoyed it quietly.
Dike tore into a warm loaf with both hands, his small mouth chomping down with childlike glee. Crumbs scattered across his lap as his eyes gleamed.
"This is soooo good," he mumbled mid-bite.
Eirene dipped her own piece delicately into a bowl of golden honey, the sweet liquid dripping from the bread as she took a careful bite, savoring it.
Armin sat on the edge of the bed, watching them. His eyes weren't on the bread or the children—but the window.
Sunlight poured through the cracks in the wooden frame, casting gold across the floor like divine fingers reaching in.
He had already eaten.
He now thought.
'Another Hero of another being....' he whispered in his mind.
'Who will it be?' he asked himself.
Then he turned his attention to Fike and Eirene.
After a moment, he asked gently, "Are you two done?"
Both children nodded. Dike licked his fingers clean. Eirene gave a quiet hum of satisfaction.
Armin gathered the plates and set them neatly on the bedside table, intending to return them to the innkeeper later. When he turned back, he found Dike and Eirene giggling, pushing at each other playfully on the floor.
He sighed.
What would happen… if I brought them to the Goddess Realm? he wondered, eyes narrowing.
It was a hard image to summon. Two small children—barely past their toddler years—roaming a divine battlefield, slaughtering monsters?
Absurd.
But then again... wasn't he just the same?
A demon. A slave. A nobody.
And yet he was The Hero.
Even if no one knew it. Even if they never would.
His mind drifted—inevitably—to the day of his freedom. To the other slaves who rose beside him. To Ciro.
Could he… also be tied to my fate?
And then... Azaran.
That day flashed in his mind like lightning over a dark field.
Two boys in a field of red dust flowers. Azaran running wild, his laughter carried by the breeze.
His eyes, glowing with crimson light. Just like Armin's.
A sign of shared blood.
A shared curse.
Back then, Azaran had a powerful Veil Art.
Armin had nothing.
Then was different.
Now—he had something.
With a flick of his fingers, a golden screen appeared before his eyes, unseen by anyone else.
Veil Art Unlocked: A.S.C.E.N.D
Type: Divine Blessing / Physical
Description: Ascend beyond and over the Veil. With this power, you can regenerate very quickly and check on your physical condition and skillset. The limit of your soul's strength no longer exists. Grow stronger by gaining [EXP] from fallen foes.
Additionally, by activating [ASCENSION MODE], you may temporarily (depending on soul integrity) massively boost your power.
Warning: Overuse of [ASCENSION MODE] may damage soul integrity.
[Skillset: Swordsmanship]
Description: Your potential in the art of swordsmanship is greatly enhanced. The basics are engraved into your body and senses. Your skill with a sword will grow sharper, allowing you to make the most out of training.
Back then I had no power, he thought. Now I do.
But still...
Could I beat him now?
A smirk crept onto his lips.
No.
He remembered that day clearly.
I may have given him that scar that looked like a birthmark... but I can't beat him.
It wasn't even a scar.
It was a seal. A strange mark on Azaran's eye—one that let him see when he should have been blind.
Red Sand Deserts –
Blood mixed with dust. The two were indistinguishable now.
Azaran, the once-proud prodigy of the Ruber Clan, lay broken on crimson sands.
His blue hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and blood. One eye closed—his cursed eye open, glowing faintly.
A thick mark stretched across it. Most would mistake it for a birthmark.
But it wasn't.
That eye could no longer see—
Yet it saw more than it ever had.
He looked around, panting. The sand was soaked in red.
Not dust.
Blood.
His clan's blood.
It had all gone wrong.
A tremor.
A whisper.
Then came the Glutton Worm.
Azaran had burned it to ash.
But that was only the beginning.
The Great Stampede.
Thousands.
No—millions of beasts. From every class. Every size. Every nightmare.
He had tried to evacuate.
But no plans worked.
No walls held.
No gods answered.
They were demons anyway. None prayed either.
He saw his father fall. His mother beside him. His kin crushed under endless hooves and claws and teeth.
The only reason he survived was because within the chaos,out of fear,he descended into the hole made by The Glutton Worm.
Running as fast as he could deeper so the tremors that are caused by The Great Stampede don't nake the earth fall on him.
He had to kill a lot of Glutton Worms.
That was the reason why was covered in red blood,both if monsters and of his kin.
The Ruber Clan—gone.
Nobody would mourn them. They were desert people. Lowborn.
Even if Azaran was a once-in-a-thousand-year genius... to a demon, a thousand years was nothing.
He screamed.
"I WANT POWER!!!" he shouted, throat torn raw.
His mind reached out—not in prayer, but in desperation.
He thought of Armin.
That weak boy with no Veil Art.
The boy who blinded him.
The boy he left behind.
He regretted it.
He regretted everything.
Then—a voice. A presence.
An unheard voice and an unfelt presence.
[A being from within The Veil has taken interest in you.]
A golden board shimmered before him.
But Azaran didn't see it.
He screamed again.
"I DON'T CARE IF I HAVE TO KNEEL TO THE GODS!.....I DON'T CARE IF I HAVE TO SUBMIT AND SELL MY SOUL FOR ETERNITY TO A DEMON....."
He paused before closing his eyes.
"I don't....care...if I have to die surrounded by a puddle of my blood. I don't care...if I have to die like a dog.
Give me the power to bring back....everything...."
[He finds you amusing.]
[He has granted you the Veil Art of…]
H.A.D.E.S
Golden letters etched across the void.
But they fell on deaf eyes.
[The being from within the Veil has made all notifications to the holder Azaran locked.]
[He won't be able to access them.]
And yet, something stirred within Azaran.
A fire he could not name.
A wrath with no leash.
The desert winds howled.
The blood soaked deeper.
A giant storm of blue,ethereal and haunting flames ripped through air. Surrounding Azaran in it's warm chaos.
He felt stronger.
His body became one with the flame.
His hair glowed like flames that surrounded him,like The Star of Hell.
End of Chapter-20