"Sometimes, we don't choose to be heroes—we just don't want to see the world fall apart like before."
The sky turned crimson as we stepped out from the stone valley surrounding the ancient cave. The evening wind carried the mountain chill, sweeping through our hair still messy from the battle. Our feet tread a gravel path, crossing a small river with crystal-clear water flowing gently.
Elvira walked beside me, her steps slow but steady. She hugged her arms—not from the cold, but perhaps still haunted by the sound of the explosion and the flash of ancient magic from earlier.
"There's a small village up ahead," she said suddenly, pointing eastward. "It's called Veldan. Not too crowded, but the people are kind. We can rest and restock our supplies."
I only nodded, eyes fixed on the thin smoke rising beyond the hill. But the closer we got to the village, the more uneasy I felt. That smoke… wasn't from a cooking fire.
When we reached the village gate, something felt wrong immediately. Several houses were partially burned, the scent of charred wood thick in the air. Villagers hid behind their doors, and no sound could be heard—except distant screams and shouting from the village center.
An old woman stood trembling near a well. Her eyes locked onto ours, filled with fear.
"Please… don't make them angry…" she whispered before retreating into her home.
We walked slowly down the village's main road, now strewn with ash and debris. In the center of a small square, a group of large men in worn armor shouted at villagers kneeling before them.
"Your taxes aren't enough!" one of them bellowed. "If you don't pay now, we'll burn every last house down!"
They weren't royal soldiers. No insignias, and their weapons were dirty and ill-kept. They were no one. Just parasites.
I stared at them blankly. It felt familiar—too familiar.
"Stop now," I said quietly, my voice slicing the air like ice. "Before I intervene."
One of them laughed mockingly. "Look, the brat wants to be a hero!"
In a flash, I was in front of him. My sword's tip touched his throat. His eyes widened, his breath caught.
Others tried to attack. Their movements were slow. With a few steps and strikes, they fell—one by one. I didn't kill them—just enough to leave them terrified. The last one fled into the forest without looking back.
The villagers could only watch in silence.
"I'm not a hero," I said. "I just can't stand seeing justice trampled anymore."
The village elder, a tired-looking man with a white beard, offered us shelter in his home. Elvira tended to the wounded. I sat in front of a small fireplace, the flames dancing in my blank eyes.
Elvira sat beside me.
"Have you… seen something like this before?" she asked cautiously.
I stared into the fire for a moment before replying. "Not just seen. I grew up in a place like this. Where the strong oppressed, and the weak had no power."
She was silent for a while. Only the crackle of burning wood filled the room.
"But you didn't cry," she whispered.
I shook my head. "Because I ran out of tears long ago."
Morning sunlight gently bathed the village. The villagers saw us off with expressions somewhere between gratitude and worry. The village elder handed us a small pouch filled with healing herbs and food.
"It's not much, but… please take it. As a token of our thanks."
A small child suddenly tugged at my cloak. His hair was messy, his face smudged with soot, but his eyes sparkled.
"Thank you, big brother… I want to be like you someday."
I knelt down, looking into the child's eyes. And for a moment, I saw a reflection of my former self—small, afraid, but still full of hope.
"Be better than me," I said, ruffling his hair. "And don't let the world turn you into one of them."
We walked away, passing through fields just beginning to turn green, leaving behind a village slowly learning to breathe again.
The outside world wasn't just filled with monsters and magic. Sometimes, the real demons were humans who had lost their humanity. But for Minato, every new wound was just a reminder that his fight wasn't over—and that hope still lived in the eyes of those who hadn't given up.