"Okay, what do you mean by that?"
Hansel asked, voice hoarse, as he glared at the squad of armored soldiers standing before him.
His breath was ragged, the cold air catching in his throat.
The commander, hand steady as he raised his rifle, spoke with a bitter finality.
"Now that the demoness is gone, the emperor believes you're the next threat."
Hansel let out a laugh, a sound that was anything but amused. It cracked in the air like something broken.
His body trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion.
One of his arms was gone, severed in battle. An eyepatch covered the wound where darkness had claimed his sight.
And yet, he stood.
All of this, his pain, his sacrifice, the blood and tears had been for them.
For the people.
For a world that had prayed for peace.
And now, with the demoness finally vanquished, they pointed their blades at him.
A new threat. Just like that.
The soldiers' fingers trembled on their triggers. He could see the doubt in some eyes, the fear in others. But none hesitated.
They opened fire.
As bullets screamed through the air, Hansel—mid-laugh—lifted his head.
"Oi, oi, oi..."
His voice was laced with something feral.
And in a blink, he vanished.
In a single step, he reappeared behind them.
Steel gleamed.
One by one, the soldiers dropped, blood arcing like red ribbons through the air, painting the snow and stone.
He stood alone again.
"Sending one battalion to kill the hero who brought down the demoness?" he muttered, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek.
His voice was cold, biting.
"How stupid can this emperor be?"
He turned his gaze skyward, eyes filled with defiance and sorrow. Then, he roared.
"If I must, I'll cut down the heavens themselves!
But I will never bear the title of 'hero' again!"
For deep down, he had always known—
Being selfless wasn't about respect.
It wasn't about praise or parades.
It was about finding peace in doing what was right, even when no one saw it.
But peace…
Peace wasn't what he truly longed for.
No.
He wanted to be seen.
To be acknowledged.
To be thanked, even just once, for the price he paid.
He had dreamed of laughter, of shared meals under a warm sun.
Of walking among the people, not as a shadow or a weapon but as a man.
A man who had given everything for their future.
He wanted to be embraced, not just by history, but by hearts.
To be loved… for love.
To be held, not for what he could do, not for what he had destroyed but simply for who he was.
Even if it was just by one person.
One soul who truly understood.
But in two lifetimes, across blood and fire,
He had never felt that warmth.
Not once.
Hansel lowered his head, wind rustling the edges of his tattered cloak.
The snow did not judge him. The world did not pause.
"I'm an imperfect man..."
he whispered, voice low, almost trembling.
"And I'll embrace that… till the very end."
He then whispered, "If the empire wants my head..."
His eyes burned.
"...then they'll pay the price."
And so, the story of Hansel turned crimson.
The empire never saw peace again.
Citizens whispered in fear and confusion.
Why had the hero who saved them become a rogue?
Rumors spread, whispered from behind cathedral walls—
"He was corrupted by the demoness."
"He was never human."
"He betrayed the light."
The empire declared him an enemy.
A decree was issued: a bounty, a call for aid to remove the "devil" now stalking their lands.
And in his place?
They summoned another hero.
Hansel laughed again, a hollow, bitter sound echoing in the wind.
The irony was suffocating.
Once, he had been summoned to save this world.
He did.
And in return, they cast him aside with a single word:
"Farewell."
There was no gratitude for what he did.
Just the cold, sharp blade of betrayal.
Now, they lied to yet another soul.
Another innocent, fed the same dream.
Another "hero", summoned, celebrated, and doomed.
Hansel watched from the shadows and whispered:
"So it begins again."
And so, the story continued.
Hansel, the fallen hero, the so-called devil stood across from the new champion of light, Himmel, in a duel that spanned a thousand days.
Every strike was a question.
Every clash of steel, an answer.
Where one stood for innocence blessed by the divine,
The other moved with the weight of scars, of sacrifice unrecognized.
Himmel, though young and inexperienced, bore the blessings of the goddess.
Radiance pulsed through his veins. Strength came to him like sunlight.
Hansel, discarded by the very gods he once fought for, stood broken.
One eye hidden beneath a patch. One arm gone.
But in his stance, poised and sure lived the will of a thousand wars.
Experience honed sharper than any blade.
They fought.
Not as strangers.
But as reflections.
One rising.
The other falling.
And in the end… as stories always tell it…
Justice prevailed.
Himmel won.
Hansel dropped to one knee, breath shallow, his blade buried in the earth.
The sky above them wept rain.
And then, Himmel asked a single question.
One word. Quiet. Genuine.
"Why?"
Hansel raised his face to the wind, lips curved in something between sorrow and peace.
His voice was no more than a breath as he spoke:
"Freedom."
But before Himmel could respond—
A blade flashed.
Not Himmel's.
Hansel's head fell.
His body crumpled.
And standing behind him… was the emperor.
A child by age yet the fire in his gaze burned with ruthless ambition.
His eyes gleamed, not with justice, not with grief but with triumph.
Golden hair, meticulously kept, shimmered in the dying light.
Draped in imperial robes too grand for his size, he held the bloodied sword without flinching.
A boy born of power.
Raised in privilege.
Crowned not by virtue, but by vision.
The hero was dead.
The villain was crowned.
And the world turned blindly on.