Chapter 50 Exposing the Lie

The inn was quiet, nearly empty. Morning light filtered through the dusty glass panels, catching on the steam curling from a cup of tea left untouched.

Liora sat alone at the corner table — the one Rein and Mira seemed to favor, she knew Rein will show up soon. Her gloves sat beside the cup, fingers curled and stiff. Her knuckles were still bruised from what she'd done to the wall the night before.

She stared blankly out the glass-paneled window, though there was nothing to see — just the back alley and the crumbling edge of the district where the stonework turned to dust.

Mira, dressed in plain server’s clothes, moved quietly between tables. She noticed Liora the moment she entered but she hadn’t approached. Something about the woman’s posture, the stillness that clung to her shoulders, made it clear: not today.

For the last ten minutes, Mira had hovered nearby, refilling cups, wiping the same counter twice over, glancing at Liora. She finally moved to the table, tray in hand, voice soft.

“That tea’s gone cold, Lady Liora. Would you like me to bring another? Something stronger, maybe. You didn’t finish the tea last time either. Starting to think you just like the way it smells.”

Liora blinked, as if coming out of a trance. She looked up — and for the first time, Mira saw it. Something had changed behind those closed eyes and fake smile.

“It tastes like mud. Goes cold fast. Don't need refill. I'm fine as it is, Mira.”

She set the plate down gently and took the seat opposite.

“You’re brave. Sitting like that. A supposedly girl from nowhere, chatting up King’s war mage and kingdom's diplomat like we’re old friends.”

“We’ve spoken more than a few times now. At this point, I think I’ve earned a little boldness.”

“You’ve earned something, I’ll give you that, Mira. I can’t tell if you’re brave, stupid, or just very good at... pretending.”

“Maybe I’ve seen enough of war to know how to recognize a woman who’s tired of it.”

“You think I’m tired? I thought I hid it well. I suppose you could always tell.”

 “You look like someone who’s held too much together for too long, Liora. And someone who just… lost something.”

“People die in war. That’s not news.”

 “But it’s not just war, is it? Not this time.”

 “You know, for a girl who tries to lay low, you talk too openly.”

“Perhaps, but I could not ignore you any longer. I can see you hurting.”

 “Don’t get too comfortable, little girl. You’re charming, I’ll admit it — but charm can be dangerous. Especially in this city. You know that better than anyone else.”

 “So can truth. But sometimes you need it more than charm.”

 “Truth got someone I loved killed.”

 “I’m sorry for what happened, Liora, I really am.”

“You don't have to be sorry, Mira. Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead. But soon, someone will be sorry.”

The door of the inn opened, and Rein stepped inside, looking more annoyed than usual. He scanned the room, spotted them, and made his way over.

 “Finally! There you are. What the actual hell, Liora. I was starting to think someone pranked me. Imagine my surprise returning from the Demon Plains only to finding this letter.”

He pulled out a small, neatly folded letter — the note Liora had left in his room.

“You know, if something’s important, most people just say so. They don’t leave cryptic riddles hidden under a plate of cold rations.”

 “This was important, Rein. I had to make sure that it is you who reads it and finds me here. Now sit down, we need to talk.”

 “Right. Next time just write ‘inn, corner table,’ and I’ll consider it a challenge anyway.”

He glanced at Mira, gave her a short nod.

“Morning, Mira. Could you leave us, please?”

 “Morning, Rein. Of course.”

He slid into the seat in front of Liora.

“So? What’s so urgent that you needed resort to riddles—”

“Rein.”

Her tone cut him off. This time, she wasn’t wearing her usual fake smile.

“What I’m about to tell you… you need to let me finish before you speak. No interruptions. No outbursts. You will hate me for this. Or worse. But if you walk out of here without hearing me through, you’ll never know the truth. Do you understand?”

 Rein gave a slow nod. 

“Jeez, fine. I’ll listen.”

“The war you’ve been fighting—this so-called endless battle against the demons—it isn’t what you think it is. It never was. The ‘demons’… they’re not a race born of hell, nor the spawn of some ancient evil. They’re people. Humans. Ones the king wanted gone over the past three hundred years of his rule.”

 He opened his mouth to speak but Liora raised a hand quickly. 

“Don’t. Not yet. Listen.”

She forced herself to continue.

“When the poor became too many, when the hungry, the criminals, the rebels began to stain his perfect kingdom, the king banished them. Cast them into the Demon Plains. Exiled to live in a wasteland poisoned by raw magi stone ore and pollution. Over time… exposure twisted their bodies. Their minds. They became what you know as ‘demons.’ Not monsters. Not invaders. Just… discarded people. The kingdom’s trash, mutating in the dark.”

Rein asked, “And the Demon Lord?" 

"There never was one. Not as you were told. King branded the person who rose up to stand against his cruelty a Demon Lord. Every generation, when a Hero rose, the king whispered the same story. That the ‘Demon Lord’ had awakened. That the kingdom’s savior must put them down. But the truth is crueler.”

Her voice cracked, but she pushed on.

“The ‘Demon Lord’ is always the same person, Rein. A Hero. A Hero who learned the truth… and turned against the king. The one who could no longer stomach the lies, the oppression, the slaughter of innocents. That is the enemy you were sent to kill. Not some dark god, not some ancient fiend. Just… the one who came before you. Each time, the king tricks his champions into erasing the last. This war isn’t holy. It isn’t just. It’s a butcher’s game. A purge of the unwanted. And now… now it’s you caught in it. You, Rein. But you’re not like the others. The king… he’s decided you’ll be the one to end it.”

“…End it?”

“Yes. A true Hero. He means ending the cycle. With you. By killing the so-called Demon Lord. Or to be more accurate… the Hero who came before you. Aura. That’s the truth, Rein. The king wants you to erase her — just as every hero has erased the last. Only this time, he means for it to be the final cut.”

Rein’s mouth opened, then closed again. His thoughts scattered like shards of glass, impossible to piece together fast enough.

“That—… No. No, that doesn’t make sense. You’re talking about my grandfather. The king. He’s—he’s the man who raised me. He’s never… he’s never shouted at me, never struck me, never once looked at me with anything but pride.”

His eyes flicked toward the window, like he was searching for proof outside — the clean streets, the guards keeping order, the banners fluttering over a city that had never known hunger under Arthur’s reign.

“The whole kingdom… worships him. They say he’s the reason we’re safe. The reason we’ve had peace inside our walls for three hundred years. Do you hear yourself, Liora? You’re saying the man who built all of this—the man who carried the title of Hero—was… a monster?”

He ran a hand through his hair, breath uneven, a hollow laugh breaking out of him.

“It’s… it’s insane. It has to be a lie. My grandfather—he isn’t capable of what you’re describing.”