Winika

The Hero. The Chosen One. The One Who Slew the Demon Lord. The Hero went by many names. Yet…

Ryllis was not one of them.

When The Deletion corrupted all living beings capable of thought, it also revealed the Hero’s true nature. A visitor, not of this world, one who existed in different forms, faces, and even genders across separate instances of reality.

They were an aspect of The One Who Stares Behind the Window. A corporeal vehicle. A physical body. And if a Hero’s mortal shell were to fall, the world simply resets. The fate of the world was tied to the Hero. So when they disappeared after killing the Demon Lord, Gerhart knew.

This was the catalyst for The Deletion. His former companion, whose name had been erased from his mind, had doomed the world. Had betrayed him. Had corrupted him. But worst of all, they could have saved Winika.

And they chose not to.

The only semblance of truth in Ryllis’s words was her ability to “load.” Similar to that of the Hero’s. But given how he, and likely everyone in the world felt the reset, it was imperfect. A shallow imitation of the original.

Perhaps it was all just a game, like how the journey to kill the Demon Lord was. Perhaps she truly did have the power to stop the world from ending, provided the ambiguous condition of “peace between humans and demons” were met. But more importantly…

“Why me?” Gerhart asked, speaking for the first time in hours.

The knight had been mulling over the thoughts in his head, oblivious of the demon tribesmen throwing a party, celebrating their survival. He sat by the campfire like a statue, indifferent to the festivities, dancing, and merrymaking going around him. Killing them was a foregone conclusion. But until he figured Ryllis out, the girl would just reset the world over and over again. His revenge had come to a standstill. And in his brain was an existential crisis the likes of the world had not seen since The Deletion.

“Huh?” Ryllis heard Gerhart’s question in the middle of the air. Some of the villagers were tossing and catching her in the air, exulting her as the Hero she claimed to be. She had to insist on being put down. And after a while, they finally let their savior go.

Sitting next to the giant several times her size with a plop, she asked, “What’d you say?”

“Why. Me?” his frustration apparent from the echo within his helm. “I’m a killer. Not some ambassador of peace.”

“Are you serious? You’re Gerhart the Great, the greatest knight who’s ever lived!”

“...”

Just like the crackling of the wood in the campfire, he felt some of his brain cells going up in flames. He had been called many things in his career. “Great” was not one of them, especially after the things he has done.

“And where did you learn that from?” he asked, trying his best to keep his patience with the child.

“Here!”

She picked up the green, titleless book beside her, dusted off the snow, and began flipping through its pages. Eventually she stopped at one, which she proudly displayed to the knight.

It was…a badly drawn portrait of him. A younger version of him, as highlighted by the careless squiggles denoting his hair. Beneath the drawing were the words, “Gerhart the Great.”

Gerhart’s armor couldn’t hide his embarrassment. Even the wind was mortified, choosing to blow in another direction. He held onto whatever sliver of composure he had left, not wanting to say anything rude knowing full well that this caricature was the handiwork of a child.

“I’m nothing like that,” he pointed out.

“Maybe not now, but once we save the world and get rid of the corruption, you definitely will!”

“I have not agreed to your quest.”

“But why?!” Ryllis pouted. “You’re the best there is!”

“At killing,” he said, causing the tribesmen nearby to awkwardly look away. “You’re asking me to do the opposite of that.”

“But don’t you wanna save the world?”

“For what? What’s so good about this world that’s worth saving?”

“You’re just being selfish!” she fired back, raising her voice to match his intimidating cadence. “Your job as a knight is to save others! Save the world!”

He hissed, “My ‘job’ as a knight is to serve my kingdom, girl. Watch your tone.”

“You’ve already killed the Demon Lord. You’ve won the war. What more do you want?”

Gerhart did not answer. The memory of that moment in the Demon Lord’s throne room flashed across his mind. The party’s desperate struggle to put an end to the harbinger of chaos. His life, brought to the absolute brink. His mind, hanging on purely out of hate and vengeance.

With Roderiqua channeling her last bit of mana into him, he deflected the Demon Lord’s black hole. It was a clash that tore reality apart, light and dark folding in between themselves as his senses shattered, unable to fill in the missing gaps of space and time. But even as his skin and sanity slipped away, he held his ground, creating an infinitesimal chance, one that the Hero seized to deal the finishing blow.

And as the Demon Lord drew his last breath, Gerhart brought peace to the world. But there was none for himself.

Revenge did not bring him satisfaction, only emptiness. Revenge was a drug. A high that he chased over and over again only to feel numb after each act of slaughter. But he made it his purpose. He lived in this lie. And in trying to keep the lie he tells himself from falling apart, he continued to kill lowly demons to this day.

In truth, he wished for the world to end. Because the world already ended for him on that day many years ago.

Gerhart gazed around him, the snow feeling colder than before. The same lowly demons were celebrating. Rejoicing. The beat of the drums paved the way for the tapping of their feet, their bodies moving in gleeful harmony as they danced and sang. The older demons shared food with their younger ones. A few of them played with Huey, chasing the Amarok pup around, pulling its tail, and riding on its back. No longer forced to obey the Demon Lord, tribes like this spent their days living simply, taking pleasure in the little things in life.

Knowing full well the final day was approaching, they made the most out of the present, unlike him, who still existed in the past.

His vision began to wander amid the fading memories of the past, amid the night-kissed snow. And somewhere in between, a glint caught his eye. Something small, unmistakably so. Gerhart got up. Still in disbelief, he shambled toward the object of his attention.

“Hey! Where are you going? I’m not done talking to you!” Ryllis protested.

But he did not even hear her voice. Even the sounds of the drums, the singing, the wind—everything has faded into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the tiny adornment on one of the tents.

A lone white orchid. Picked and presented on the side of the sewn leather, it remained in full bloom. Despite its petals sharing the color of the snow around it, the flower stood out to Gerhart, a quiet rebellion against the cruelty of the cold.

To Ryllis, clueless and confused, it was just another flower. But to the knight, it was more than that. It was a fragment of the world he lost.

The Winika, the namesake of his late wife.

Gerhart’s hand shook as he slowly reached out to the tiny flower. He quivered, hovering less than an itch from its alabaster petals, but unable to touch it, holding himself back. Ryllis watched as the invincible knight seemed so vulnerable, a side of him she could hardly believe.

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her sleeve. A young demon girl whispered something into her ear, then left.

“You can have it if you want,” Ryllis said, passing on the message.

Only then, his metal fingers graced the flower. He held it with so much care. A priceless jewel worth more than anything. By all accounts, it should not be alive in this weather. It should not exist.

Yet, here it was.

“You asked me earlier what I want,” Gerhart said. Turning to Ryllis, he knelt down, meeting her at eye level. “I want to keep a promise I made long ago. I’ll be heading back. Back to the Kingdom of Avbridan.”

“Perfect! There we can meet the king and tell him to make peace!”

Make peace, huh.

Blinded by revenge, he failed to see something important to him. Something he could still do before the final day. He was not sure if humanity would be able to make peace with demonkind in less than a year, but to make peace with himself—this might be his last chance.

His only chance. To keep the promise he had forgotten. The promise he made with his wife.

The promise to grow a field of flowers for his daughter.