Demon Lord reborn as The Hero's Child

”It was an experiment,” the professor corrected, ”in calculating exactly how long it would take an esteemed academic to lose his absolute mind.”

Kōya stared at the professor. Then, a quiet, genuine laugh escaped his throat.

Haru grinned, pointing at him. ”There she is.”

Kōya’s smile faded slightly, the phantom ache returning to his chest.

But this time, the sadness didn’t violently crush him. It didn’t drag him down into the suffocating depths of the Demon Lord’s despair.

They spent the next hour doing nothing but talking about Yuna. Not how she died, or the horror of the curse, but who she had actually been. The stupid, reckless things she had done. The times she had covered for them during curfew checks.

The heated arguments. The brutal training sessions. The rare, beautiful moments when she had made the entire courtyard laugh.

As they spoke, the memories slowly began to shift. Yuna was no longer exclusively the tragedy Kōya had failed to prevent. She was their friend. A brilliant, fiercely alive person who had mattered.

And sitting in the dim wagon, Kōya finally realized that remembering her didn’t always have to feel like a blade in his ribs.

Sometimes, it could just make him smile.

Several hours later, the caravan groaned to a halt.

The dirt road had widened, spilling into a massive intersection where several major trade routes converged.

The professor stepped down from the wagon first, stretching his aching back. ”We will make camp and rest here for the evening.”

The exhausted students climbed out one by one, their limbs heavy with the trauma of the day. They set up a meager camp in the clearing beside the road.

Survival instincts took over; someone ventured into the tree line to gather dry firewood, another purified water from a nearby stream, while others unpacked the dry rations they had managed to salvage from the Academy stores.

Eventually, the comforting smell of cooking stew spread through the cool evening air.

Aoi looked toward Kōya, who was sitting silently near the edge of the camp.

”We’re cooking properly tonight,” she announced.

Kōya looked at her. ”We have rations.”

”That isn’t cooking.”

Haru nodded solemnly from beside the fire. ”She’s right. We need at least one meal that doesn’t taste like despair.”

Kōya stared at him. ”That was almost as bad as the professor’s joke.”

The professor immediately looked offended. ”I heard that.”

For the first time, Kōya’s expression softened.

Aoi smiled and returned to the cooking pot.

A few minutes later, Kōya sat on a fallen log near the crackling fire, watching the flames.

Aoi walked over and pushed a warm wooden bowl into his hands. ”Eat.”

”I am perfectly capable of serving myself.”

”You were currently not serving yourself.”

”I was preparing to do so.”

”You were staring motionlessly at a piece of burning wood.”

Haru dropped onto the log beside him, holding his own bowl. ”She’s right. That legally doesn’t count as preparing to eat.”

Kōya sighed, looking between the two of them. ”You are both incredibly annoying.”

Aoi smiled brightly. ”Good.”

Haru nodded around a mouthful of stew. ”That’s literally our job description now.”

Kōya looked at them, the warmth of the fire reflecting in his eyes, and smiled. The meal was simple, tasting mostly of salt and ash, but everyone ate together.

At one point, the professor attempted to stealthily secure an extra portion of meat from the iron pot.

Aoi caught him instantly. ”Professor.”

He froze, the ladle hovering inches from his bowl. ”Yes, Aoi?”

”That was Kōya’s ration.”

”I was merely executing a secondary check to ensure the meat was properly cooked.”

”You have already eaten three portions.”

”Quality control requires profound personal sacrifice!”

Haru reached over and snatched the wooden bowl out of the older man’s hands. ”Sit down, old man.”

The professor sighed dramatically, returning to his seat by the fire. ”I have clearly raised you all poorly.”

”You didn’t raise us,” Haru pointed out.

”I taught you.”

”Unfortunately for the world.”

The small camp filled with the sound of laughter.

Kōya watched them from his spot on the log.

For a long, quiet moment, he simply allowed himself to sit there and exist. The warmth of the fire against his skin. The heavy food in his stomach. The voices of his friends surrounding him. The vast, open road stretching out into the dark.

His grief was still there, a heavy stone in the center of his chest. But it no longer felt like a black ocean threatening to swallow him whole.

It was something tangible.

Something he could carry.

Something he could walk forward with.

Then, the aggressive sound of heavy wheels grinding against stone reached them.

Everyone around the fire turned toward the road.

A massive caravan appeared out of the gloom. It was moving quickly—far too quickly for a standard merchant transport. The draft horses were lathered in sweat, being whipped relentlessly by the drivers.

A second caravan immediately followed it.

Then another.

A chaotic stream of wagons, carts, and desperate people on foot.

All of them were fleeing in the exact same direction.

The professor stood up, his academic demeanor vanishing. ”What in the world is going on?”

The caravans did not slow down as they passed the intersection.

The drivers looked pale and terrified. The armored adventurers escorting the wagons rode with their weapons drawn, constantly checking their flanks.

Suddenly, one of the heavily armored adventurers leaped from the back of a moving wagon.

He hit the dirt road with a heavy crash, rolled to absorb the momentum, and immediately sprinted toward their campfire.

”Professor!” the man shouted, waving his arm.

The professor stepped forward to intercept him. ”What happened? Why are you running the horses to death?”

The adventurer stopped, leaning on his knees, gasping for breath. His steel armor was deeply gouged, scorched black by magic, and stained with fresh blood. ”You shouldn’t be camping here. You need to move.”

The students exchanged terrified looks, the memory of the morning ambush rushing back.

”Why?” the professor demanded.

The adventurer looked back over his shoulder toward the dark road behind them. ”Because you don’t have much time left.”

The professor’s expression turned deadly serious. ”Report. What happened?”

”The Bridge of Hope,” the man gasped, spitting blood into the dirt. ”It’s being raised.”

A stunned silence fell over the camp.

”The bridge?” Haru asked, stepping forward.

”They’re closing the border?”

The adventurer nodded grimly. ”They’re preparing to lock it down completely.”

The professor’s eyes narrowed. ”On whose authority? Why?”

”Flintgate.” The mere mention of the name caused the ambient temperature in the camp to plummet.

It was a name whispered in the dark corners of the continent, synonymous with absolute, unyielding military brutality.

The adventurer stood up straight, his face grim.

”Flintgate’s vanguard forces have been systematically attacking the surrounding territories all week. The border villages are falling one after another. The demonic regiments are driving everyone eastward, pushing the surviving populations directly toward the bridge.”

Kōya stood up from the log, his voice cutting through the crackle of the fire like a blade. ”They are intentionally attacking unfortified civilian targets?”

”Yes.” The adventurer clenched his gauntleted fist. ”They’re taking prisoners. Slaves. Initiates. Anyone with a pulse they can drag away in irons.”

Aoi’s expression darkened with horror. ”How many have they taken?”

”Too many.” The adventurer looked back toward the endless stream of fleeing caravans.

”And... there’s something else.”

Everyone around the fire waited, the dread pooling in their stomachs.

”The scouts intercepted a courier,” the adventurer said softly. ”We’ve heard they’re collecting people for more than just manual labor in the mines.”

The professor frowned deeply. ”Explain. What do you mean?”

”Machinery.”

”Machinery?”

The adventurer nodded, his eyes wide with genuine fear. ”Some kind of enormous, arcane machine. We don’t have the schematics. We don’t even know what it actually does. But according to the scouts, the demons are gathering people, magical cores, metal, and anything else they believe can be fed into the thing.”

The professor’s face became a mask of grim calculation. ”Do you know where this machine is located?”

”No.”

”Who designed it?”

”No.”

”What is its tactical purpose?”

”We don’t know.” The adventurer exhaled a long, shaky breath, looking directly at the young students around the fire.

”But whatever it is... they are actively harvesting everything they need to turn it on.”

The professor didn’t hesitate for a single second. He spun around. ”Everyone! Pack the camp. Now. We move immediately.”

The students scrambled, kicking dirt over the fire and throwing their belongings back into the wagon.

The adventurer pointed a mailed finger toward the passing stream of refugees. ”You need to merge with the main column. Travel with them. The secondary roads are becoming a slaughterhouse.”

The professor nodded firmly. ”Thank you for the intelligence. May the light guide you.”

The adventurer turned to run back toward the passing wagons, but stopped after a few paces. He looked back over his shoulder.

”Professor.”

”Yes?”

”If you see the bridge on the horizon...” The man’s eyes were hauntingly hollow. ”Do not stop for anything.”

The professor’s expression hardened. ”We won’t.”

Minutes later, their caravan jerked into motion, joining the growing stream of travelers heading toward the same destination.

The road ahead had become increasingly crowded.

Caravans moved in long lines.

Merchant wagons carried whatever supplies their owners had managed to save.

Families traveled together, carrying children and whatever belongings they could fit onto their carts.

Adventurers walked alongside the caravans, many of them already wearing their armor and carrying weapons.

Nobody seemed to be traveling casually anymore. Everyone was moving in the same direction. Toward the Bridge of Hope.

Kōya sat near the opening at the rear of the wagon. Aoi sat beside him. Haru sat opposite them. For a while, none of them spoke.

Kōya looked at the road behind them. The Academy was no longer visible. He didn’t feel the same urge to turn around this time. His friends were beside him.

That was enough.

The caravan continued onward. The landscape gradually changed. The forest became thinner.vThe road began climbing.

Rocky slopes appeared around them, and the distant horizon slowly opened.

Then Kōya noticed something. He leaned forward.

At first, it looked like a mountain.

A massive shape rose beyond the distant landscape, partially hidden by the morning mist.

Kōya narrowed his eyes. ”What is that?”

The professor stepped closer to the rear opening. He looked toward the horizon. For several seconds, he said nothing. The mist slowly shifted. More of the enormous structure emerged. Stone pillars rose from the depths of a vast canyon. A massive roadway stretched between them.

And then Kōya understood. ”That isn’t a mountain.”

The professor’s expression became serious.

”No.”

Kōya stared. ”A bridge?”

The professor nodded. ”The Bridge of Hope.”

Kōya’s eyes widened. He had heard the name before. But hearing about something and actually seeing it were two completely different things. The structure was enormous. Its ancient stonework stretched across the canyon, supported by gigantic pillars that disappeared into the mist below.

Yet the bridge itself wasn’t what caught Kōya’s attention the most.

It was what surrounded it.

Caravans. Hundreds of them. Perhaps even more.

They stretched along the roads leading toward the bridge, forming an enormous, slowly moving stream of people. Adventurers stood beside wagons. Merchants guided their horses. Families waited with their belongings.

People from the surrounding territories were converging toward the same place.

Kōya stared at the sight. ”So many people...”

The professor nodded. ”They are all trying to reach the fortress beyond the bridge.”

Kōya looked beyond the bridge.

Somewhere beyond it was the old fortress. The ancient stronghold built by the Heroes of the previous age.

A place whose true history had been forgotten by almost everyone. A place hidden within the Slane territory. Yet almost nobody living in Slane knew what truly existed there.

Kōya didn’t know all of that yet. He only knew that the bridge led toward a place that had once been important to the Heroes. And now, thousands of people were desperately trying to reach it.

”The caravan slowed as it approached the enormous gathering.

Kōya watched the endless line of wagons stretching toward the Bridge of Hope.

There were so many people.

So many caravans.

So many adventurers.

For the first time since leaving the Academy, Kōya truly understood something.

The world outside the Academy was enormous.

Much larger than the walls of the school had ever allowed him to imagine.

And somehow, all of them were being funneled toward the same narrow passage.

The Bridge of Hope.

Kōya rested his arm against the wooden frame and looked ahead.

The ancient bridge stood silently above the vast canyon, leading toward the forgotten domain of the Heroes.

He didn’t know what awaited them there.

He didn’t know why so many people were desperately trying to reach it.

He only knew that this was where their journey was taking them.

Kōya took a slow breath.

The Academy was behind him now.

Yuna was gone.

His old life was gone with her.

But his friends were still beside him.

And the road ahead remained.

The caravan continued toward the Bridge of Hope.

Kōya kept his eyes forward.

He did not look back.”