The tale of The Hero and the Demon King has been passed down for generations in Aleria—told at festivals, carved into murals, and, most importantly, forced into textbooks that are way too thick for any sane child to read.
Aleria, the "Kingdom of Heroes," spent centuries locked in war against Managria, the "Kingdom of Demons." Over and over, the cycle continued: Aleria raised heroes, trained them to be walking symbols of hope, slapped a glowing Holy Weapon into their hands, and sent them to the front lines to cut evil in half.
Those Holy Weapons? Legendary relics blessed by spirits—super shiny, super strong, super "do not touch unless you want a lecture from an ancient ghost."
The history books summarize centuries of bloodshed with a neat little bow:
"And then the great hero Michael defeated the demons, Managria surrendered, and peace reigned."
Yeah… that's the sanitized version. The actual story? Messier. Confusing. Politically spicy. The kind of thing scholars argue over until someone throws a chair.
The teacher closed the book with a sigh.
"Welp. Any questions, kids?"
Silence.
Every single child in the classroom was asleep. Some drooling. Some snoring. One kid was sleep-eating his pencil.
Except for one boy.
Kirian.
He raised his hand like this was the most interesting documentary ever.
"Hey teach, why were they even fighting?"
She blinked. At least one student listened. A miracle.
"That's… honestly a very fair question, Kirian. At this point, no one fully knows. The war lasted so long that most records vanished. And this textbook—" she smacked it "—is basically propaganda wearing fancy clothes."
Kirian nodded thoughtfully.
"If each war ended with one side losing, how come defeating just one Demon King made the whole thing stop?"
"Because… uhhh…" She pinched her nose. "It's complicated, Kirian. Your mother could actually explain it better. She was there when the war ended."
Kirian's head dropped slightly.
"Mom doesn't like talking about it. She gets sad. So I stopped asking."
The teacher softened.
"That's considerate of you, Kirian. You're a good kid. UNLIKE THE REST OF YOU GREMLINS WHO ARE SLEEPING IN MY CLASS!!!"
Her roar blasted through the room like a thunder spell. Kids shot upright—some screamed, one kid headbutted his desk.
"Kirian!" a boy whined, rubbing drool off his face. "Why didn't you wake me up?!"
"Not my problem you sleep all the time."
"Aren't you supposed to be a hero? Don't heroes help people?"
"They don't help slackers."
The boy scoffed.
"What kind of hero can't use a sword and has zero powers?"
"HEY, I have powers!"
"Oh yeah? How many magic types can you use?"
Kirian puffed his chest proudly.
"NONE!"
The class exploded in laughter.
The teacher rubbed her temples. "Kirian… you shouldn't be proud of that."
"You're twelve already!" another kid added. "How are you gonna become a hero with zero abilities?!"
Kirian struck a triumphant pose.
"That just means I'm destined for greatness!"
More laughter—but he didn't care. Kirian slung his bag over his shoulder and marched out the door, wearing that big dumb confident grin of his.
One day, he'd be a hero too.
A real one.
Someone who protected people.
Someone who made others smile instead of cry.
Even if he had to start from zero.
Literally zero.