After walking for quite a while and reaching a secluded area, I took the crystal out from inside my coat.
When I whispered a few words only I knew to the crystal, I was no longer in the forest.
It was a dark room, dimly lit by scattered crystal orbs.
The faint glow was just enough to distinguish objects, but overall it wasn't a very efficient environment.
Still, considering who the original owner of the room was, perhaps it wasn't so unreasonable after all.
Lich Denatel, the right hand of Demon King Thanatos and a great archmage.
A skeleton head wreathed in green flames—someone like him wouldn't have needed lighting to read books.
At any rate, this room existing in the rift between dimensions, and the only key to enter it, became mine after that final battle.
Of course, none of my companions, not even Lowell, knows this fact.
"What, you just got here?"
Well, none of my companions, that is.
"I actually got here earlier than usual."
I replied toward the woman's voice coming from the darkness, and with a flare of crimson flame, she revealed herself.
"You did? You know, it's hard to tell time properly in here."
A short-haired woman with red hair, wearing dark crimson armor.
This alluring woman was Ropena, one of the five generals of the Demon King's army—the Flame Legion Commander.
"Speaking of which, would you mind if I went for a little walk? I feel like it might help me regain my sense of time."
"I can't fault the idea itself, but you've already tried that several times, haven't you?"
She had stood in our way multiple times.
But after repeated defeats, she was stripped of her title and sealed in this space.
"And…"
Tap, tap.
My outstretched hand was blocked by something invisible in front of her.
"I don't have the power to remove this."
She was trapped inside a transparent barrier.
The small circular space barely two meters in diameter was all that had been granted to her.
"Liar."
Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp.
And rightly so.
It had already been several years since she was sealed here and I became the sole master of this space.
It wasn't a short time.
On top of that—
"The Strategist of the Second Best Path, the Nightmare of Orsia Hill, the Deceiver of Summons—you wouldn't not know, would you?"
"Yes, it was a lie."
I admitted it.
I did know how to remove the seal.
Of course, it was a powerful spell—enough to trap the Flame Legion Commander.
If I were the one trapped inside, there'd be no hope of escape.
But from the outside, it was surprisingly easy to break.
To maintain a spell of this level, you need a core medium and an energy source.
"That beast ornament over there is the medium, and that fifth crystal orb disguised as a light source is the power source. Destroy either one, and you'd be free."
I figured that out precisely three days after arriving here.
Even though she was now imprisoned, her strength matched the weight of her title.
If we were to face each other one-on-one—well, Lowell might have a chance, but someone like me would be reduced to ashes in seconds.
It was only natural that I thoroughly investigated the spell before even considering anything else.
Yet despite my words, her expression showed genuine surprise when I revealed that I knew the spell's structure and the way to undo it.
Well, despite calling me the Second-best Strategist, the Nightmare of Orsia Hill, the Deceiver of Summons, she and I both knew those were just fancy titles.
I was the companion of the hero Lowell, the one who saved the world, and people assumed that meant there was something special about me too.
No, to be precise, they had to believe I was special.
Otherwise, how could they accept and admire such an unremarkable man without question?
Aegina the Golden Flash.
Medluf the Yellow Sage.
Orcan the Twin-Blade Spellblade.
Baglos the Night Crawler.
Lauti the Empress of Silence.
All my other companions had grand titles—two or three each—but unlike me, they deserved those titles.
But
"Second-best Strategist"?
"Nightmare of Orsia Hill"?
"Deceiver of Summons"?
They sound impressive—but that's all they are.
"Why the look? Oh, don't tell me you thought the only way I'd know how to break the spell was to smash everything in this room one by one?"
I walked past her and headed to the bookshelves in the back.
This room, Denatel's study and vault, was filled with countless magical tomes and items—not to mention forbidden ancient knowledge that no human was ever meant to possess.
Of course, unlike Medluf, I couldn't read the ancient or demonic tongues, so I couldn't understand most of it.
But even the few readable items were more than enough for me.
The Black Grimoire.
The Covenant of the Nether.
Prayers in the Deepest Night.
These cursed books, each the last of their kind in this world, were so dangerous even Denatel hesitated to use them.
He hid them deep within secret walls in the farthest corners of the library.
It was pure luck that I discovered their existence while investigating his research journals.
I'd only been looking for summarized versions of the books I couldn't read.
"Planning to dig into those creepy things again today?"
Her voice held not only disgust but a hint of fear.
One might think that emotion didn't suit a former Flame Legion Commander, but in this case, it was understandable.
All three books dealt with ancient and abyssal beings—beings so powerful even the Demon King Thanatos or the Goddess of Destruction Nyx dared not meddle with them.
"Don't worry. I know my place. I only plan to read them. I have no intention of actually trying anything. Or rather, to be precise, I don't have the ability to."
I had no plans to summon beings that even the Demon King and the Goddess of Destruction wouldn't dare call forth.
Even if I had the thought, I didn't believe someone like me could do it.
This was nothing more than a childish, meaningless self-indulgence.
Reading books and learning knowledge that no one else—at least no one alive—had ever seen.
Feeling like I was special just by doing that.
Wanting to delude myself into believing it.
The only one in the world.
A special existence.
Yes, something like that one.
I brought the three books over and sat down right under the light in front of her sealed space.
There was a desk at the other end of the room—I didn't have to sit here.
But watching her flinch every time I turned a page wasn't exactly unpleasant.
"You're just reading them? Then what's that creepy, squirming magic I feel every time you turn a page?"
I answered with silence.
I couldn't say anything about it myself.
Whether it was lingering attachment or pointless hope, I wasn't sure, but it was clear I hadn't completely let go.
After that, we spent an hour or two reading and playing word games.
As the pages turned, her expression stiffened more and more, but still, she kept talking to me.
At this point, I was the only one she could talk to—and even that, only for one or two hours a day—so I guess she didn't have much of a choice.
"So what's he doing now?"
"He?"
"You know. That guy with the hood, the scar on his chin, looks like someone who got tossed in a fire and barely pulled out."
"Ah, you mean Orcan?"
Orcan.
A man from the desert tribes, known as the "Twin Moon Swordsman" for the way he wielded his twin enchanted blades in a style that mimicked the phases of the moon.
Like me, he was one of the "Hero's Companions."
He was blunt, but straightforward and warmhearted.
Even with the scar on his chin, he was undeniably handsome, and his bronzed skin was rather attractive.
But I never got along with him.
I couldn't relate to anything about him, and he didn't like anything about me.
As he once put it, "Just because a carrion vulture sits quietly on your shoulder doesn't mean you'll like it."
He always compared me to a carrion vulture.
Said that no matter how friendly I pretended to be or how clever I acted, I'd be the first to tear into the corpse.
Well, maybe he wasn't wrong.
I'm not sure if I'm exactly a vulture, but I know my nature is different from the others.
And maybe he saw right through that part of me.
"He returned to his tribe in the desert. The last letter said he became chieftain. He's taken two wives, too."
At least one of them was a woman I knew.
When Lowell and I first met Orcan, she was the one who held a blade to my neck.
She was definitely beautiful.
Not just in looks, but the way she gazed at Orcan, eyes full of love—those eyes were especially beautiful.
"Really? I thought you didn't get along, but you still get letters from him? Guess you two were closer than I thought."
"Not a chance. The letter was for Lowell. Not even a greeting addressed to me."
Now that I think of it, none of the others ever sent letters directly to me either.
Maybe just a short "hope he's well" tacked onto what they wrote to Lowell or Aegina.
"Well, it's not like I ever sent any letters either."
"So in the end, you're the only one who has nothing left."
Without thinking, I clenched my hand.
Seeing my reaction, she smiled—for the first time in a while, a rather cruel smile.
"…What do you mean by that?"
I asked as if it meant nothing, but I knew it did.
"Isn't it obvious? The Hero got the princess. The others gained fame and positions worthy of that. And they all became special to one another. Naturally. You all risked your lives to save the world together. But you?"
I tried desperately to stay calm, but I could feel my face stiffening.
Meanwhile, her smile only grew deeper.
"Sure, you got some fame—as one of the Hero's companions. But that's all. Just one of many. Status? You still live in a small house in some countryside village. And are you really special to any of them? Do they see you that way?"
I couldn't respond.
Just like the phrase "the Hero's companions" implies, we were all brought together by Lowell.
But over the long course of our adventures, the others formed deep connections.
Medluf and Baglos stormed an enemy fortress in the Goit Mountains by themselves.
Aegina and lauti survived five days trapped in a collapsed cave.
Orcan and Baglos fought a duel in front of enemy lines to save a hostage—each trying to sacrifice themselves for the other.
Through experiences like these, they became trusted friends, comrades willing to risk their lives for one another.
But I had no such memories.
I was always with Lowell, or part of a group, or in rare cases, alone.
Even the event where I supposedly made my greatest contribution—on the Orsia Hill—was something I did alone.
Maybe it was because I was the weakest among them.