Hero...

A concept that has been used since antiquity to bring peace and hope to the inhabitants of this world.

Beings who came from another world to protect, to save them, to become legends...

But what happens when, by a whim of fate, a variable arises in the unchangeable?

"There should be five. Why are there six heroes summoned?"

An unprecedented event occurs before everyone's eyes and can lead to one thing…

Rejection.

"No weapon chose him."

"Why does he have to be here?"

"The demons must have found a way to affect the ritual."

"Should he even have the privileges of the heroes? They should throw him out of the castle."

The weight of rejection would cause those who suffered it to succumb and be dragged into an abyss of total darkness. In that void, negative feelings would accumulate until they completely consumed or were assimilated into the heart.

Even so, fate will always be capricious, and there will be those who find a ray of light in the densest darkness.

"How can you ignore that treatment towards you?"

"It's not that I ignore it; it's something I learned to endure. I just have to prove that I'm a hero too, right?"

A smile that conveys determination and confidence. That same energy could help you climb and escape the abyss.

Thus, little by little, the traces of that darkness will be erased to welcome one thing…

Acceptance.

"Have you heard what they're saying lately? The sixth hero saved a village that was being raided by bandits."

"Isn't he stealing credit from the real heroes?"

As always, the path to acceptance is not easy. It takes time, but the results will come if perseverance does not die out.

"No. The heroes didn't even bother to listen to the situation. For them, the war against the demons is more important."

Actions speak louder than words. And, from one day to the next, among those whose gazes conveyed hostility, it disappeared without a trace.

"Have you heard what people are calling you? They're calling you 'the People's Hero'."

"Calling me a hero seems like an exaggeration. I don't even have a divine weapon."

Acceptance was something that those so-called "heroes" had from the beginning. The attention, the reverential treatment, and the glorification they received caused the predictable feeling in the most susceptible…

Arrogance.

Whoever immerses themselves in it experiences emotions that have caused countless tragedies. Feeling that another person is monopolizing the attention you believe you deserve. Seeing how someone you considered a failure reaches your same status. Those feelings, recurring in arrogant people, arise like another whim of fate.

And so, from the shadows, envy and hatred are born...

"So... is this how it will end? Ha, ha..."

Covered in wounds, his voice was barely audible to himself. His vision was already limited, as part of his face was severely swollen, his eyes almost completely shut.

His weak laughter was perhaps due to the powerful magic attack he saw heading towards him.

"I knew this would happen..." his voice broke with sobs. "I knew I should never have trusted them... Being used as bait was the only thing I was... good for?"

He remembered the phrases they had told him when they sent him on this "mission," if it could even be called that.

"You can do it, Hero," a soldier told him encouragingly.

"She'll be waiting for you when you return," one of the other heroes told him.

Words of encouragement multiplied among those present, and in the end, they turned out to be false lies.

He had been sent to face the enemy, deceived by the girl he believed he loved. Furthermore, it was his desire to be useful in this fight that led him to accept.

And in the end, he had only been used for his title as a hero, one that attracted a good number of his current enemies: the demons.

Unfortunately, his role as bait had been effective. A good number of demons, including several important generals, arrived to confront the Hero.

Even with the fear, he had accepted. Even with his doubts, he ended up here. The weakest hero lived up to his title, as he was easily beaten down by the demons.

He ironically thought that at least he had accomplished something: his small distraction had held the enemy back long enough for them to be eradicated.

The only thing he regretted was the number of soldiers who had followed him in that suicide mission, people who did it out of loyalty to him. Even though he was considered the weakest, there were those who followed him.

"If only I could have been as strong as them. If I had been, even she might have seen me differently," he said, showing a defeated smile. "Ha, ha. Why do I even keep thinking that was possible?"

Even in his current state, he smiled at his impending death. Any warrior would say he would die with honor.

That foolish boy was already ready for his end; but, in someone's eyes, it wasn't his time yet.

"Do you want to be strong?"

A strange voice sounded in his head. He just smiled, thinking his mind was playing one last trick on him.

And, with nothing to lose, he decided to answer it.

"Of course."

It was a short answer, said with complete sincerity.

He saw the magic attack getting closer and closer. The demons around him had lost interest in him and began to run desperately in all directions. Unfortunately, it would be impossible to escape, as the impact radius would be devastating.

"Then, let's go somewhere quieter," said a silhouette that had appeared in front of him.

He could barely make it out. He no longer had anything to regret, as he had accepted that everything would end for him.

And, just seconds before impact, the two disappeared, leaving only the demons to receive the attack.

Everything that happened afterward would be described as an incredible spectacle of lights and explosions...

***

"I can't believe it worked! Ha, ha, ha. That idiot, in the end he was good for something."

In the distance, in a safe area from the impact, the silhouette of a boy could be distinguished, mocking what was happening before his eyes. Another female silhouette arrived and hugged him from behind, while observing the spectacle.

"Was it necessary to kill that entire platoon?" she asked, whispering in his ear.

"Most of them were his sympathizers. Although I made sure not enough died to avoid suspicion, he earned this for trying to steal our attention."

Upon finishing speaking, he continued to mock.

That would be unforgivable to others, but the female silhouette did nothing. Even with the attack in all its splendor and knowing what they had done, they moved away from the area without showing any signs of remorse.

***

"Noooo!"

A scream was heard in a room. It was that boy who had almost died in that place.

"I see you've finally woken up. After the third day unconscious, I thought there was no hope left," said an older man while smoking a pipe.

He was tall and had a very long beard. He wore a robe with some adornments. One could say he was human until you looked at his eyes, which were a shade of green and, by the shape of his pupils, revealed that he was a demon.

Upon noticing this, the boy tried to flee quickly. Unfortunately for him, upon trying to do so, pain invaded his entire body, preventing him from moving. He noticed that he was completely bandaged and that his wounds seemed to be more serious than he remembered.

"I know what you must be thinking. But don't worry, I won't do anything to you," said the old man in a calm voice.

He walked over and sat down in a chair next to the bed where the boy was.

He was still nervous. Although he had always been labeled as a useless person who was good for nothing, he had learned to sense the strength of others, something basic for the warriors of this world.

And the fact that he could sense the power of others was the reason for his nervousness. The old man's strength was not immense, but overwhelming.

He, along with the others who had been summoned as heroes to this world just over a year ago, had seen the power of the demon king. And, thanks to that, he could affirm one thing: the old man sitting beside him was on his level.

"Why did you save me? We're enemies," he mentioned, with a confused expression.

The old man stared at him, took a puff from his pipe, and enveloped him in the smoke he exhaled. The boy coughed because of the smoke that entered his lungs. Afterward, between laughs, the old man spoke:

"Enemies? Ha, ha, ha, ha. I don't remember you doing anything to make me consider you as such."

That scene seemed strange to him. Since he had arrived in this world, he had been taught that demons were the enemies of all the coexisting races. And now, there was one who not only saved him from his imminent death, but also seemed to have taken care of him all this time.

"Boy, I won't deny that in recent decades demons have done nothing but cause chaos. But... I'll ask you something: do you think we all want this?"

The old man's expression turned sad as he said it. That question made the boy reflect. He came from our world, and upon thinking about the wars that have occurred and still exist, his answer came quickly:

"Well, I don't think so... then..."

The boy stopped, as the old man interrupted him:

"My name is Exael Vladmoore III. I am the former Demon King."

His face filled with astonishment. Before him stood a Demon King. Now he perfectly understood the reason for the tremendous power he had felt.

But something didn't add up in the boy's eyes. Upon noticing that, the old man simply stroked his beard while showing astonishment.

"I see you have an idea as to why this strange situation has occurred," he said, taking another puff from his pipe.

"According to what I read in an ancient book in the royal library, a demon king is only replaced by another upon death. The fact that you are alive and there is already another means you were overthro..."

The boy began to cough violently, seeing how the hand he covered his mouth with filled with blood.

The old man gestured for him not to exert himself, as his wounds were not yet fully healed. The boy was about to lie down; however, the old man stopped him to give him a red-colored concoction that he had to drink. Its taste was indescribable; the only thing he could say for sure was that it tasted awful.

Once he was lying down, the old man spoke again:

"It's as you say: I was overthrown. What happened was something that had never been seen before," he said calmly.

He didn't seem to show fury, or any other negative emotion, and continued to smoke his pipe.

"But well, boy, I've introduced myself; now it's your turn. Tell me, what is your name?" he asked, while stroking his beard.

"My name?..." The boy hesitated for a moment. "My name is Hiro."

The old man began to laugh and commented that his name was funny. The boy joined in the laughter, as he thought the same thing. But suddenly, the old man changed the tone of his voice and became more serious.

"Listen carefully, Hiro: you are going to die..."

The boy's face turned pale, and worry washed over him. The idea that all this care and salvation had perhaps only served to extend his life a little longer ran through his mind. Everything indicated that, in the end, he would die for being weak.

The old man simply sighed and told him that he hadn't finished speaking yet.

"As I said, you are going to die... in your current condition. What I plan to do can save your life," he said in a serious tone.

He stood up and approached the boy.

"How can you save me?" he asked, already without hope.

"By giving you my heart."

Upon hearing that answer, the boy showed deep surprise on his face; the shock it generated was immense.

"Your... heart?" the boy said, completely bewildered.

The confusion those words caused him was justifiable, as he had just heard that he would give him his heart. He managed to avoid saying the first thing that came to his mind, thinking it would only be a misunderstanding if he mentioned it.

Smoking his pipe, that old demon exhaled the smoke upwards and began to manipulate it with his magical power.

"This is not only considered a taboo among the existing demon races, but it is also something that has never been done with a human, and more specifically, with a hero," he commented, while manipulating the smoke until it took shape.

The boy recognized that it resembled the human heart he had always known.

He noticed that the old man manipulated another part of the smoke, also giving it the shape of a heart. He quickly deduced that this was the characteristic shape of a demon's heart due to the details that differentiated it.

"What I will do is unite my heart with yours. This will allow you to live by harnessing my power."

That old man joined the two hearts together, showing him a representation of how they would look connected. The boy still hadn't processed what he was hearing, although something else worried him.

"But, if you give me your heart... won't you die?" he asked, with concern.

The fact that he would give his life to save him, so that this wannabe hero could see the light of day... No, that was something he couldn't accept.

The old demon managed to understand the sea of unease that was brewing within him.

"If you think I'm going to die, let me tell you that you're wrong. Something that most other races don't know is that we demons possess four hearts," he mentioned, nonchalantly.

The old man's face remained serene, while the boy's reflected shock. There was silence; the only sound was that of the old man smoking his pipe.

"So, do you want to live?" he asked, as he finally put the pipe aside.

The boy didn't answer immediately. The reason? He didn't think he deserved to continue living. He was nobody. A Hero? That was nothing more than a title given to him for being summoned to this world.

He continued to sink into depression, the more he thought he wasn't worthy of another chance.

"I know that face. It's the face of someone who has already given up..." said the old man, with a compassionate look.

He looked into his eyes; it was as if they told him everything that was going through the boy's mind. He managed to understand his despair.

"Why...?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the room. "Why go to such lengths to save me?"

That old demon understood that the answer he gave would define the decision the boy would make. He simply smiled and said something the boy didn't expect to hear.

"Because you are a Hero..."

A glimmer appeared in his eyes as he said it. He had spoken those words with complete sincerity. The boy clutched the bedsheets and spoke between sobs:

"A... hero? I'm not that... I'm just an idiot who was summoned to this world," he said, his voice breaking. "An idiot who thought that, just by being named one, he would be strong... An idiot who was deceived and despised by almost everyone he trusted..."

The boy continued to despise himself, until the old man stopped him.

"You can let this opportunity pass... Die, leave this world..." he mentioned, looking at him. "I just want to tell you something, boy: a Hero is not only someone strong who can overcome any obstacle, but also someone who cares for and protects others. And those who are called that, who put you in your current state, rest assured that they are not."

Those words caught his attention; even so, he clung to the idea that he didn't deserve to continue living.

The old demon sighed upon seeing how stubborn he was.

"I have a dream, boy. And I know you can achieve it."

He decided to tell him the truth, the reason why he wanted to save him; he thought that if he was sincere, it would make him change his mind.

Approaching a bookshelf in the room, he took one of the many books. The cover was old, which suggested it was quite old, and he opened it to a specific page.

On those pages was the illustration of five figures, along with various texts.

Although they came from another world, for some reason the language here was already in their minds. This meant that, despite the language and writing being different, they could speak and write it. It was as if they had been raised their entire lives in this world.

The boy read the texts; they were the descriptions of the Heroes. He quickly noticed something strange.

"There are only five heroes here," he said, while looking at the old man.

"Each hero possesses a specific weapon. You don't have one, do you?"

His eyes widened in surprise. After thinking for a while, a small laugh escaped him.

He looked at the old man; he had remembered something upon seeing the illustration of the heroes.

"Now that I think about it, I remembered something. The day we were summoned, in our world I wasn't exactly chosen. That day, a magic circle appeared above one of the Heroines in a shopping mall, and I wanted to save her. When I tried to pull her away, we were brought here," he said, showing a strange expression.

Apparently, several feelings washed over him at the same time, causing him to make that face.

The old demon sighed upon seeing the boy's state, who was slowly breaking down in front of him, and spoke again to reassure him.

"If you think you are here by mistake, I am going to contradict you. Believe it or not, you were also selected."

The boy brought his bandaged hands closer to his face to observe them, and then he remembered the journey that had brought him here.

He remembered his arrival with the others, the initial confusion of there being six of them in the summoning, the King's kind welcome, the selection process where no legendary weapon chose him, the effort of training just to be accepted, his infatuation with one of the summoned girls, and finally, the betrayal of the one he believed to be a great friend.

He was about to succumb, but something in his gaze changed, as did the aura around him. His eyes were no longer lifeless, but they didn't show hatred either.

"I want power," he said, as he got out of bed.

The old man felt his power increase noticeably, and his reaction was a big smile.

"What do you want it for? Do you want to take revenge for what they did to you?" he asked.

The answer he gave would define everything. The boy looked at him, and tears could be seen falling down his cheeks.

"No... I just want to show them that I can be strong too."

Upon finishing saying that, the immense energy that enveloped him disappeared. He fell unconscious.

Before he hit the ground, the old demon caught him.

"As I suspected when I saw you: the hidden power within you far surpasses that of any Demon King or Hero"—in his mind he recalled a past event—"Just as she said," he thought. "That's why I decided to give you the best I can offer and not let you die," he said, while resting his hand on his chest. "Without a doubt, you are the one they are looking for."

After laying him back down on the bed once more, he observed the boy for a few seconds and decided to leave the room.

***

Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Deima, south of the human nation, four young people observed a statue in front of the castle.

The statue was erected in memory of the one who sacrificed himself so that the others could escape, or at least that's what the inhabitants were told.

"Why are they making a statue of that useless guy? I'm the one who should have one," said one of those present, showing his anger at seeing the statue.

His blond hair was somewhat long, with bangs that covered half of his face. His green eyes showed rage. He wore light armor and carried a large sword sheathed at his waist. He was known as the leader of the heroes, and his name was Held, the wielder of the Diogla sword, one of the five sacred weapons.

"Calm down, honey. I understand your annoyance; I'm annoyed too. It was our idea, and they didn't give us the recognition we deserve," said a girl who approached to hug him from behind.

Her young and beautiful appearance easily attracted most people. She left her spear stuck in the ground to hug Held and calm him down. The spear had beautiful details that distinguished it from a common one.

She also wore light armor. Her long hair was dark brown, and her blue eyes sought Held's to calm him down. She was Gessiga, the wielder of the Mizrak spear.

They had been primarily responsible for what happened to Hiro, but, to avoid looking bad in front of the people, they invented the story of how he decided to sacrifice himself so that they could escape.

And the fact is that Hiro, despite not being a legitimate Hero, with perseverance managed little by little to win over the people. The entire humble sector of the capital mourned his death; it had been a hard blow for them. He who always looked out for them, according to the respected heroes' version, died doing what always characterized him: helping others.

Another of the boys present hadn't said anything since they met; he just stared at the statue with an empty gaze. His blue hair was as long as Gessiga's, and he wore it tied up. His clothing was similar to that of a nobleman, very different from that of his companions. His name was Heros, who wielded the legendary Mucra bow.

"Using someone's life for your own benefit? I feel corrupted," he said, while walking away without even saying goodbye.

"That idiot," said Held, watching Heros leave.

It seemed like he was going to start a conflict. However, the head of a large hammer intervened, blocking his path.

"Calm down, Held," he spoke calmly. "He didn't agree with this from the beginning; even so, he didn't do anything to stop us. He just feels guilty."

He seemed to be the oldest of them all. His hair was a similar shade to Held's, and his blue eyes complemented an admirable physique and great stature. Added to his silver-toned armor, it made him look imposing. He was Dike, the wielder of the Donyun hammer.

"Either way, that boy lost in this game called life," he mentioned, while taking out a coin.

He tossed it into the air, saying heads. When he caught it and saw the result, a confident look appeared on his face.

"As always, I won again."

Heros continued on his way, ignoring his companions, until one of the castle towers appeared in his sight.

"Of all of us, you are the one who suffers the most, right?..."

He observed it for a few moments before continuing on his way without saying anything else.

***

"Miss, please, you have to eat something. You haven't had any food in these three days."

Inside that tower, a maid was knocking on the door of one of the castle rooms.

"Go away!" someone shouted from inside the room.

That was the room of the one considered the strongest of the heroes.

The maid tried to open the door with the master key she had, but upon trying, an immense current of energy sent her flying, making her fall down the stairs.

She could have died from such a fall, although she only ended up stained with food, because before hitting the ground, a small shield of energy protected her.

The maid just looked, with a sad expression, at the door of that room.

"I didn't think that young man's death would affect Miss Akoni in this way," she said, while standing up and leaving.

Inside the room, lying on the bed, was Akoni, the so-called Sacred Heroine. She was a girl the same age as Hiro. She had short, jet-black hair and honey-colored eyes. She was looking at some hair ornaments and a letter that lay beside her on the bed.

Upon seeing them, she began to cry.

The letter was from Hiro, and the ornaments were a gift from him.

"Guess what, Akoni? They sent me on a mission with the others. I'm finally going to show how useful I can be. I was planning to tell you in person, as well as give you this gift, but they told me we had to leave immediately. So I promise you that when I return, we'll eat those pastries you like so much."

She was the only one of the heroes who didn't know what really happened. If she had known, she would have prevented it at all costs; she wouldn't have cared about facing the rest of the Heroes.

"And now... what am I going to do without you?" she said, in a melancholic tone.

Hiro pulled her out of the depression she felt upon arriving in this world, and little by little, romantic feelings had been born in her. These persisted, even when she learned that he was interested in Gessiga. The idea of ending her own life crossed her mind on several occasions, as imagining being without him was impossible for her. Hiro was the one who helped her get used to this world, always being there on her nostalgic days.

The only thing that kept her wanting to live was the hope that he might be alive, because, although they told her it was just her imagination, she could swear she felt his energy.

It would be a great relief for her to know that he was alive, but it was still too early for a reunion.