The Return of the Hero?

Gerhart had not seen such a demon since his fight with the Demon Lord. It was said the ruler of demonkind hunted dragons for sport, and through this pastime, developed a unique fascination with demonic hunting dogs.

His favourite among them was the Amarok, a high-rank demon that grew to the size of an elephant, renowned for its unwavering loyalty. And although the one facing the knight right now was just a pup, its fangs alone were the size of his head.

The Amarok went straight for Gerhart’s sword arm, trying to rid the immediate danger aimed toward the girl. Unable to retract his arm in time, he dropped his sword, catching it with his left hand as he attempted to bash the hound with the gauntlet of his now free hand. Glaive-like fangs clamped down hard on his forearm, puncturing the steel plate as if it was paper.

But the moment its teeth touched the flesh of the human within, it felt like it was trying to bite the base of a mountain.

With its teeth lodged in his armor, the knight seized the opening. He rammed his blade into the Amarok’s chest. Only to be met with air. Going against its nature, the demon dog released its jaws, losing several teeth stuck in the gauntlet, but managing to avoid what would have been a sword to its heart. Despite its enormous bulk, its otherworldly agility allowed it to flip away, putting it between the knight and the girl.

Beneath the cold steel of his helm, Gerhart smiled as much as his distorted face could allow. For a high-rank demon to make its appearance was a fortuitous event. Butchering the tribe of weak, humanoid demons was no different from exterminating ants, but an Amarok? That would be like getting rid of a snake. The danger was there, but the thrill was not far behind.

The demon dog, however, was not smiling. It knew it was on the back foot, snarling a deep, guttural growl like rumbling thunder. Those in the vicinity did not hear it. They felt it. The vibrations in their chest. The tremors in their bones. The Amarok’s fur, darker than the night itself, stood up as demonic energy ebbed and flowed in the space around them, manifesting in scarlet streaks of lightning.

“Wait! Stop!” Ryllis cried out, but to no avail.

Gerhart gripped his weapon with both hands, bringing the cross guard close to his cheek, the point of his blade primed at the Amarok. His stance lowered. His breathing slowed. The demon tribesmen watched in uncomfortable anticipation for the knight’s next move. But they would not see it.

The knight vanished. Snow erupted forth from where his feet were like a geyser, the earth beneath cratering as shock waves cracked the ground’s surface like glass. He launched himself at his target with such force, the air itself shuddered as he tore past.

But the Amarok matched his speed. In an instant, the skin underneath its throat glowed red before a concentrated beam of darkness fired from its mouth. The space around the beam rippled, light bending around it like a collapsing star.

In what could only be described as a divine feat of strength, the Gore Knight deflected the beam, parrying it with his arm, the metal of his left vambrace melting from the impact, leaving only a bruise on the grotesque flesh underneath. The onlookers could not believe their eyes; the beam of black and red redirected into the night sky. For a brief moment, the stars were dyed crimson.

The Amarok’s eyes widened. As the last of the demonic ray faded, so too did its life; Gerhart now standing beside it, holding his sword that pierced between its ribs. Its fate was sealed. Its most powerful attack left nothing but a scratch. The demon dog thought they were equals at first, being evenly matched in speed.

But its opponent was the vanguard of the Hero’s party. Gerhart might have been the slowest compared to his former companions, but when it came to endurance, he had no equal.

Having survived blows from the Demon Lord himself, the Gore Knight’s toughness belonged in the realm of legends, remembered in song and poetry across the lands.

“Huey!” Ryllis called out the name of the demon dog as it collapsed into the snow where it breathed ragged and broken.

The tiny girl shook her friend’s body, desperately begging it not to die. The panic and the realization of the situation began to twist her expression into abject horror.

Little did she know, that would be the expression she wore as her head rolled across the snow.

Gerhart felt nothing as he killed the child, her warm blood still dripping from his blade. He had slain countless humans who sided with the enemy. Young or old, man or woman, it did not matter. Anyone who aligned with the demons did not deserve his mercy.

Turning to face the helpless tribesmen, he found himself in the same position prior to his fight with the Amarok. The demons were beyond terrified, but he noticed something different.

Something was off.

His blade was clean. Not a drop of blood could be seen.

“I-I can’t believe it…” Ryllis uttered, her voice coming from behind the tent. Her headless corpse was nowhere to be seen at all. “You actually killed me.”

Goosebumps crawled down Gerhart’s neck. He had not felt this sensation for a long time. And it felt all the more apparent as Ryllis stood back on the same box from before, her voice laced with disbelief. Other than the shock on her face and her hands desperately checking her neck, she was completely fine.

But her surprise was nothing compared to the knight’s, a fact hidden by his armor that was now back to its original condition. The demon dog’s teeth were no longer lodged in his right arm. It was the same story for his left—the steel plate was no longer melted off, having returned to its earlier, battered state.

As he tried to wrap his head around what just happened, the Amarok returned. No longer was it slumped on the snow. It leaped into the fray like before, but this time, without any attack to intercept, it appeared behind Ryllis. Lowering its snout to the ground, it was shaking. Gerhart could hardly believe it. Was it…cowering in fear?

“Huey!” the girl bounced in joy, hugging her friend, her small arms failing to wrap around the demon dog’s massive maw. “That must’ve been super scary. I’m sorry, Huey…”

“What. Did. You. Do?” Gerhart bellowed, his voice deep like a war drum. Each word that reverberated out of his helm shook the snow off the branches of the trees nearby.

“That’s my line!” Ryllis snapped back. “I get why you’d hurt Huey, because he’s big and strong and scary and all, but why’d you kill ME?!”

The knight approached her, brandishing his sword. Huey nudged Ryllis forward, as if begging its master to negotiate on its behalf. It tried its best to hide behind the petite girl, which was to say, not very well.

Gerhart threatened, “Answer me, girl. Or I’ll kill you. Slowly.”

She squeaked, “I…loaded.”

“Load? Load what?”

“The s-s-savestate.”

“Make. Sense,” he demanded.

“Look, I can go back in time, okay? But only if I made a snapshot, which…is kinda like marking down the exact moment I return to, but it’s not something you can actually see, so think of i—”

“How far back?”

“Huh?” Ryllis was startled. She could have sworn she felt a tinge of hope in his sea-deep voice.

“How far back can you go?”

“My last savestate was just now, so…like a minute ago?”

The knight lowered his sword. At that moment, it felt like everyone could breathe again.

“You said you were waiting for me,” he pointed out. “Why?”

“I…” Ryllis hesitated, unable to meet his eyeless gaze, unlike before. She pondered a bit. Taking a deep breath, she looked right at him, her index finger pointing right at him. “I have a quest for you.”

“...”

It had been ages since he took up a quest from the guild when he was still in the hero’s party. So to receive a quest directly from a time traveller…what could possibly go wrong?

He grunted a single word, “Speak.”

“I want you to arrange a peace treaty between humans and demons.”

Her words caused the knight to visibly recoil, his head shaking, trying to make sense of the absurdity of what he just heard. No, to even begin to process her request was grinding his brain to a halt. Peace? She might as well tell him to paint the moon pink.

The more he thought about it, the more insulted he felt. Where was the peace when his wife was murdered? The gall of this child to suggest he just “let go” of his very reason for fighting—he was filled with so much spite, his clenched fist was on the verge of breaking his gauntlet.

“T-T-The reward’s pretty good, though…”

“What 'good' your reward would be when this twice-damned world would end in a year?!” he heaved, offended beyond compare.

“...You get to stop the world from ending.”

Gerhart scoffed, “And why should I believe you?”

Annoyed, she puffed up her chest, proudly declaring:

“I’m the upholder of honor and justice! Ryllis…the Hero.”