When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!
Pinoy Isekai! " Only I can summon those!"
Side Story 1 – Peace
Two months after the fall.
The world had stopped shaking, but it hadn't started healing yet.
The skies were no longer burning. The screams had faded. But everywhere you looked, the land still bore the weight of what had happened. Blackened forests. Cracked cities. Graves.
A lone carriage moved down the half-fixed road to the capital. No guards. No banner. Just quiet wheels and the sound of hooves hitting dirt.
Antares sat at the front, holding the reins. His face was gaunt. The burn scars on the side of his neck peeked out from under his collar. His left pauldron was missing; his armor patched in places by mismatched plates. He didn't look like a commander anymore—just a man who survived something too big to explain.
Inside the carriage were the others.
Saint Lycana sat near the window, her posture straight but her eyes distant. Her silver hair, still immaculate, was tied loosely over one shoulder. She had all her limbs, and her body had recovered faster than the rest. But it was her spirit that carried the most bruises. She didn't pray as much now. Just... sat in silence.
Across from her sat Dern Riona. The warrior. Once a vanguard at the frontlines—now with one arm left. Her left sleeve was pinned up at the shoulder. She never talked about it. Didn't wince, didn't ask for help tying her cloak. She just carried on. That was who she was.
Next to her sat Cique.
The old wizard leaned back, both his legs gone from the thigh down. Wrapped in cloth and magic gauze. His staff rested on his lap, untouched. The battle had taken more from him than just his legs—it had drained his mana reserves to the bone. He couldn't cast anymore. Not even a light spell.
"Three more months," he muttered earlier that morning. "Three more months and I might be able to start casting again."
But for now, both he and Riona had to live with the emptiness where parts of them used to be.
And in the far corner of the carriage sat a girl, barely twelve.
Mina.
Wrapped in a dark cloak, her knees pulled to her chest, and her hands tightly clutching a worn-out gray scarf.
Kieth's scarf.
She hadn't let go of it in weeks. She didn't speak unless she had to. She just sat there, staring out the window at the world that kept moving—while hers had stopped.
Antares looked back at her through the small mirror.
"She doesn't cry," he said under his breath.
"She's already cried everything out," Lycana replied, voice low.
"She's with me now," Antares said. "I made a promise. If anything happened to him, I'd protect her."
"She calls him 'Dad' like he really was her father," Cique said quietly.
"He was," Dern Riona added. "Blood or not. He was."
Antares nodded. "Her clan is gone. Her king's gone. Everyone. She's the last of them. So now... she stays with me."
"You sure you're up for that?" Cique asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not exactly—"
"—fatherly?" Antares cut in. "Yeah. I know."
He tightened his grip on the reins. "But I'm not letting her be alone."
The capital came into view.
The walls were half-patched, scaffolding still clinging to the stone like bandages. People moved slowly, rebuilding, sweeping ash, planting flowers where rubble once lay. They looked up as the carriage passed, whispering.
"That's the Saint…"
"Is that Dern Riona? I heard she lost her arm during the last push…"
"That old man... Cique, right? The wizard who burned his core dry?"
"They say he'll never walk again…"
"And the one in front—Antares. He faced the Demon God head-on."
"And the girl… that's Kieth's…"
No one said anything inside the carriage. Mina didn't react. She just kept her head down, gripping the scarf tighter.
At the palace, the guards stood in silent salute. No cheers. No trumpets. Only the sound of boots and breath.
The First Emperor waited in the throne room. He didn't look like a ruler. Just an old man burdened with too much responsibility. His robe looked heavier than his sword. But his eyes still held respect.
"You saved this world," he said.
No one replied.
"There are rewards," he added. "Land. Titles. Whatever you need."
Antares looked at the ground.
Lycana gave a small nod.
Riona just bowed.
And Mina didn't move at all.
Because none of it mattered.
Because Kieth wasn't there.
The throne room had never been so quiet.
The First Emperor stood before them—not on the elevated platform where rulers typically looked down on heroes—but on the same level. Grounded. Human. There were no golden trumpets. No glowing relics. Just people.
"The war against the Demon God ended not with glory," the emperor began, voice echoing through the grand stone hall, "but with survival. We do not celebrate victory. We honor sacrifice."
His eyes scanned the room—pausing at Lycana, then Riona, then Cique. Then Mina.
"You all bled so that this world could breathe again. Your names will be carved into the walls of this palace. Your deeds will be sung long after we're gone. You didn't just fight for the empire... you fought for everyone."
Behind him, nobles and officials stood in silence. Many wore black bands on their sleeves—signs of mourning for those who didn't return.
The emperor stepped aside. "You don't owe us words, but if you have them... the floor is yours."
There was a pause.
Then Saint Lycana took a step forward.
"I used to believe faith alone could save us," she said. "That prayer would be enough. But when the skies burned and the earth cracked, I learned that people are the ones who carry the divine. Every scream I heard… every hand I held… that was the voice of a world refusing to die." She bowed her head. "Thank you… for letting us protect it."
A ripple of soft claps followed.
Dern Riona stepped forward next, one hand behind her back, the other still bandaged. She didn't speak right away. Then—
"I didn't come here to be thanked," she said flatly. "I came because someone had to hold the line. We lost too many. I lost good men. Good friends. We're standing here not because we were strong—but because someone else held on longer than we could."
She looked toward Mina. Then stepped back without another word.
Cique was next. The old wizard leaned on his staff, eyes tired but clear.
"I don't have magic anymore. Maybe in a few months. Maybe never. But I'll say this—" He looked at the emperor. "If you ever build a monument, don't put my name on it. Put Kieth's. Because without him, none of us would be standing here at all."
Then came Antares.
He took his time. Every step to the center of the room felt heavier than the last. When he stopped, he looked at the crowd—soldiers, nobles, servants. And then, finally, at Mina.
"I've been called a hero," Antares said. "Commander. Champion. Dragon-slayer. Demon God-slayer." He shook his head. "But all of that... wouldn't have happened without one man."
He took a breath.
"Kieth."
The room went still.
"He didn't have a title. He wasn't royalty. He didn't have divine blood or a sacred blade. But he had something stronger—heart. When everyone else was breaking, he stood back up. When I was about to fall, he was there. When we lost hope… he reminded us why we couldn't give up."
He turned toward the emperor.
"You may call this our victory. But it was Kieth who bought it. We all owe him this win."
A pause.
Then—clap.
One. Then another.
Soon the whole hall was clapping.
Someone near the front shouted, "Thanks to you, Sir Kieth!!"
And then more joined in.
"Kieth!! Kieth!! Kieth!!"
The name echoed across the hall. Over and over. Gaining strength. From nobles, soldiers, knights, scholars, all standing. Chanting. Mourning. Thanking.
Mina looked up, eyes wide, hands still clutching the scarf. Her lower lip trembled—but for the first time in weeks, a tear slid down her cheek. Not from pain.
From pride.
Antares stepped back to her side. No words. Just a hand on her shoulder.
She didn't pull away.
And outside the tall stained-glass windows, the morning sun finally broke through the clouds.
A few weeks had passed since the palace honored them.
The Court Mage—one of the empire's finest, second only to Cique in his prime—had finally restored what the war had taken. Dern Riona flexed her newly regenerated arm, quietly rolling her shoulder like she was testing a blade. Cique, now with two sturdy, magically grown legs, leaned on his staff with a soft grunt but no trace of pain.
His mana had returned. Not all of it, but enough.
They were whole again. Or close enough.
And now it was time to go home.
At the main gate of the capital, a crowd had gathered. Banners waved, children held up hand-painted signs, and petals rained from baskets as the heroes approached in their traveling carriage. It wasn't a grand sendoff with trumpets and gold—it was something better. Real people. Real thanks.
"Lady Riona, thank you for holding the northern wall!"
"Saint Lycana! You saved my son!"
"To the old wizard! You gave us time to run! We're alive because of you!"
Antares stepped down from the front of the carriage and helped Mina down. She was standing taller now, chin raised even as she kept clutching the scarf. Her eyes wandered the crowd—not searching for anything—just absorbing.
"They look happy," she whispered.
"They look free," Antares answered. "Because of you guys."
The townspeople clapped, whistled, waved.
Cique awkwardly nodded and gave a tired smile. "Gods, I forgot what it's like to be treated like I'm not just a walking pile of wrinkles."
"You still are a walking pile of wrinkles," Riona muttered.
He snorted. "Well, at least I'm walking."
Saint Lycana gave a rare soft laugh.
Antares looked around at them, smiling faintly as the cheers continued.
And then his expression dimmed, just a little.
"Man," he murmured, eyes fixed ahead. "I wish he was here."
The others fell silent.
He scratched the back of his head. "That bastard would've stood on the roof of the carriage and yelled—'Come on! Worship me, peasants!'"
The group chuckled, soft at first. Then Lycana laughed louder.
Riona smirked. "He would've, too."
"Oh gods—remember that time he stood on that chair in the inn," Antares said, chuckling, "doing that stupid 'T' pose like he was some divine savior?"
"I am the light that came before the dawn!" Cique mimicked dramatically, arms outstretched in full Jesus mode.
"Yeah," Antares said, grinning. "Until I kicked the chair."
The others burst out laughing.
"I'll never forget the sound he made when he face-planted," Riona said, wiping a tear. "'BAK!' Like a dying bird."
"Oh gods, and he just lay there groaning like he'd been assassinated…"
"...then still had the nerve to mumble, 'Peasants shall pay for this treason…' from the floor," Lycana finished.
The group was doubled over, clutching their sides, laughing harder than they had in months. Even Mina let out a soft giggle, muffled into Kieth's scarf.
Then the laughter slowly quieted.
But no one looked sad.
Just... full.
"Yeah," Antares said quietly. "He should've been here."
A breeze passed through, soft and warm.
Mina looked up. "He is."
Antares looked down at her, surprised. But she didn't say anything else. Just smiled.
The crowd continued to cheer, calling their names, waving farewell.
But even above all that, if someone had listened closely, they might've sworn they heard a distant, joking voice on the wind:
"I said worship me, peasants!!"
Antares chuckled, shaking his head.
"Idiot."
He turned to the others.
"Come on, heroes. Let's take the long road home."
---
End of Side Story 1