Even if I hadn’t understood the emotion behind the question, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant one.
They called me the “Strategist of the Second-Best Path.”
It sounded like an impressive title, but in truth, it was pitiful.
I wasn’t a brilliant tactician—just a little more cowardly, a little more fearful than my companions.
Most of the actual strategies and plans came from Medluf and Orcan; I only added the occasional comment here and there.
They always sought the ideal solution: every hostage had to be saved, civilians couldn’t be harmed, mercy was preferable to vengeance, and justice must always prevail.
Their paths were righteous and beautiful, and most of the time, they actually made them work.
But even they occasionally faced situations too dangerous or difficult for such noble solutions.
That’s when I offered something else—paths that were more realistic and practical.
They weren’t ideal, but they were safer.
They weren’t beautiful, but they worked.
I brought forth options they could never entertain—paths they wouldn’t think of, and would never allow themselves to speak aloud.
They were too noble, too good to even know such paths existed.
I didn’t ask them to follow my advice.
I didn’t need to.
Just by knowing those paths existed, they could find a compromise—something better than my ugly options, but still possible.
Not the impossible ideal, nor my distasteful realism, but something in between.
That’s how I earned the name “Strategist of the Second-Best Path.”
Medluf had given it to me with a tone of encouragement, recognizing the role I played.
Orcan, on the other hand, said it with mocking sarcasm.
Lowell and Lauti sometimes used it as if reprimanding me.
Someone had once remarked, probably not without spite, that of course I’d be “Second-Best,” because the true best was always Medluf and Lowell.
I’d agreed without protest.
But as I noticed a bitter smirk playing on their lips, I couldn’t help but recall a few choice spells—though I held myself back.
At least for now.
Captain stepped in then, gently chiding him not to bother me with pointless questions, and he obediently fell silent.
After a short, awkward break, we mounted up again.
It would take us another full day’s ride to reach the next city, but if we were lucky, we arrive at the Ropha Plains by nightfall.
There was a small, ancient temple on the plains dedicated to Tfeatin, the god of medicine and travelers.
The doctrine of the temple offered safe rest to weary travelers, and if no one else had arrived before us, we might avoid camping outdoors tonight.
One of the knights—Henri, I think—asked if I had encountered any other travelers on the previous nights at the temple.
I told him we hadn’t, not before we left.
He speculated that I must be uncomfortable sleeping outdoors after such a long time away from the field.
The captain told him to stop talking, and Henri backed down respectfully.
Still, I could tell their behavior was changing.
Without Lowell around, the respect and formality in their voices faded quickly.
Even the captain, though still maintaining some semblance of decorum, only gave them half-hearted reprimands.
This was why I disliked knights.
They weren’t particularly pure or noble—and worse, they weren’t even good at hiding their ugliness.
They couldn’t see their own flaws, and even if they could, they wouldn’t recognize them as flaws.
They mistook the shine of their armor for the shine of their souls.
I smiled then—not brightly, not like Lowell or Aegina could—but with a faint, sheepish grin.
The kind that looked a bit cowardly, a bit pitiful.
I told them I preferred walls and a ceiling.
I admitted I hated bugs.
They laughed.
Some didn’t even try to hide it.
I wondered if they’d still laugh so easily about bugs if they had to face the swarm legions of Anupkut, one of the Demon King’s generals.
We had once battled those creatures for two nights straight.
Let them try that and see if they still found bugs funny.
The thought lingered in my mind—maybe showing them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
When night fell and the stars began to dot the sky, we reached the Temple of Tfeatin.
An elderly priest and a young boy in acolyte robes welcomed us warmly.
I knew them both well.
The priest, Father Philip, and the boy, Austin.
I greeted them, remarking how long it had been, and they returned the sentiment with warmth and familiarity.
Austin even asked after Lowell, calling him “Lowell-hyung,” the affectionate term from long ago.
Back when Lowell and I first began our journey—when he wasn’t a Hero yet, and I wasn’t his companion—Father Philip had been a great help.
He shared rumors from other travelers, gave us advice, and even provided supplies.
He was the one who sent us to Kashin Village, where Lowell’s name was first heard across the land.
Had we followed Lowell’s original plan to head straight for the front lines, we would have likely ended up as mere foot soldiers—perhaps border guards—facing the Demon King’s overwhelming army, and dying pointlessly.
At the time, the Demon King’s army was sweeping across the world with overwhelming force.
The armies of the world could only hold the lines.
Launching an offensive was nearly impossible.
Even assembling a force for a full-scale counterattack would have meant abandoning most populated regions.
And even if they had tried, they wouldn’t have made it far.
The logistics alone would have strangled any advance.
Supplies were the real challenge.
The larger the army, the more supplies needed.
The slower the march, the more supplies consumed.
You needed double just to move forward, and couldn’t rely on foraging or pillaging either.
Even if all the logistics had worked, the only thing they’d have accomplished was uniting the Demon King’s scattered forces.
And those forces were far superior in numbers and power.
The only reason the defensive lines held at all was because the Demon King’s army was spread thin across its vast territory.
Managing all those occupied lands meant fewer soldiers were stationed at the fronts.
Besides, the Demon King’s goal wasn’t to conquer the world—it was to buy time until Nyx arrived.
It would be more accurate to say they didn’t even try to fight seriously, not against enemies who posed no real threat.
Military power alone wouldn’t win this war.
Father Philip had taught us that.
If we truly wanted to save the world, we’d need a different way.
That’s how Lowell’s story as a Hero began.
I told the priest we’d be relying on his hospitality once again.
He said he had already prepared the rooms.
He ordered Austin to take care of the horses, and Austin obeyed cheerfully.
Father Philip gave me a small room to myself and assigned the knights to a larger shared space.
The temple was small—aside from the priest and acolyte’s rooms, those two were all they had for guests.
He told me to rest well, and I thanked him. I’d see him in the morning.
My room was small, with only a bed and a desk, but it was immaculate.
Not a speck of dust, not a wrinkle on the blanket.
It was everything a temple of Tfeatin should be—cleaner, quieter, and more peaceful than most expensive inns.
“So, is this going to last up to ten days?”
I thought it would be shorter than that, but if things kept going like this, it would be hard to endure.
After setting my luggage down on the floor, I sat down on the bed.
I wasn’t particularly tired, but I needed to reflect on my lacking patience and the current situation.
I took out the invitation I had kept in my inner pocket and unfolded it.
“It’s definitely something I have to deal with, but…”
Clear as day were my aliases and names written on it.
And a single line added before the signature.
“There’s no way I’m misunderstanding this, right?”
Strictly speaking, there was a chance that I was.
“Either way, I’ll have to arrive there to be sure.”
With a short chant, the invitation was engulfed in flames and vanished from my hand.
I did feel slightly regretful about burning a document that carefully listed my lesser-known exploits, but if I didn’t do at least that much, I felt like I wouldn’t be able to handle the irritation.
“First, I need to prepare thoroughly.”
I locked the door first and took out a crystal.
Lowell had packed a lot of useful things in the bag, but the real preparations I needed were elsewhere.
“…What? Are you trying to show off all the stuff you got?”
“……?”
At her sudden words the moment I came over, I didn’t understand what she meant for a moment, but then I realized what I was wearing.
“Ah, this outfit? No, that’s not it. I just have something to take care of.”
“Hmm, I see.”
She spoke curtly and turned away.
“……?”
To be honest, I was taken aback by her attitude.
Back when she blocked our path as the commander of the Flame Enchantment Corps, needless to say, and even in the years since I took control of this dimension, she had never acted like this.
“Hey, Miss Ropena?”
“What?”
She didn’t turn around.
“I don’t think so, but… are you still mad about what happened this morning?”
“This morning? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It was clear.
She was mad.
I didn’t understand.
She started it.
Clearly with the intent to get on my nerves.
And it was obvious she knew I would react the way I did.
Besides, haven’t there been far worse incidents?
Both before and after she was imprisoned?
“Miss Ropena?”
No response this time either.
“Haa…”
To begin with, she and I are not friends.
We once fought to the death as enemies, and now she’s basically imprisoned by me.
We had no reason to treat each other warmly—in fact, open hostility would have been more natural.
But…
“…Alright. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know why, but it just felt like I had to say it.
“…What are you sorry for?”
Still facing away, she slightly turned her head.
“I went too far. I didn’t have to scare you like that.”
“Tsk.”
“Again?”
Again?
What else did I have to apologize for?
Honestly, I didn’t think I even had a reason to apologize in the first place.
“You got mad at me.”
“……?
What is this even about? She’s the one who made me angry—no, to be exact, the one who deliberately hurt me emotionally.
And now she’s saying I should apologize for getting mad?
That’s completely absurd.
“…”
I just stared at her blankly for a moment.
I wondered if this was another of her tricks to mess with me, but it didn’t seem like it.
Then suddenly, she turned around.
“…You were really mad.”
Her voice was quiet, slightly trembling.
“Even if it was just for a moment, you were going to actually use those spells.”