Hinata Sakaguchi had been fortunate enough to cross paths with Shizue Izawa. Although the time they shared was brief—no longer than a month—it had left a mark on her heart. In that short span, Hinata had trusted Shizue in the truest sense of the word. Shizue carried a warmth and calmness that soothed Hinata's restless spirit, a gentleness Hinata herself had never been able to embrace.
Yet, Hinata's trust came hand-in-hand with fear.
For one month, she learned from Shizue. She absorbed every technique, every nuance of swordplay and magic, stealing them with the quiet desperation of someone who could not afford weakness. And then, without warning, Hinata left her.
It was not hatred that drove her away. It was fear—fear of being rejected, fear of losing the fragile connection she had found. Hinata had lived a life where everything was fleeting, where people and happiness could be torn from her without warning. She could not bear the thought of having something precious ripped away again. So, before Shizue could cast her aside, she chose to sever the bond herself.
The final push came from the casual words of a boy from her hometown.
"We are being a bother to Shizu-san. The Cooperative is poor, and doesn't have the money to spend on taking care of those who do not work. So will you work together with me?"
It was a simple invitation, no malice behind it. He only wanted her help, to share the burden of survival. Yet, to Hinata, those words pierced her like a blade. Being a bother… That was what she feared most: the idea that her very existence burdened others. She could not allow herself to cling to someone who might one day resent her for it.
So, she resolved to leave Shizue.
When she did, that boy chased after her. His voice rang out, desperate and earnest:
"We will definitely meet again one day! When that happens, please help me!"
Hinata stopped and looked back at him. His words, unlike the sting of rejection she had feared, were filled with trust and hope. She was not someone who easily built bonds, but in that moment, she realized that she trusted him—if only slightly—because he was from the same hometown, a small piece of the world she had left behind.
And so she nodded, silently accepting his words, and set off on her journey.
The world she walked into was merciless. Hopelessness stained every corner, and lives were lost with terrifying ease. To live was to constantly wrestle with death. Hinata knew she needed strength to survive, and so she honed herself like steel. Her swordsmanship sharpened, her magic grew colder, her heart grew harder.
But one day, during her wandering, she arrived at a country under siege.
A disaster-class monster had attacked. Its rampage left streets painted in blood and homes in ruins. Hinata witnessed the screams of mothers clutching their children, the despair of men torn apart before her eyes. And yet, amid the terror, she also saw something that shattered her assumptions.
The adults did not flee. They did not abandon their children to save themselves. Instead, they stood, shields raised, bodies outstretched, protecting the small and helpless with their own lives. They fought to the last breath, not because they sought glory, but because they would not allow the children to die.
Hinata had long believed that people lived only for themselves, that selfishness was the law of survival. Yet, what she saw that day told her otherwise. People could live for others. They could find meaning not in their own survival, but in protecting the happiness of someone else.
The defenders were called Paladins—holy knights who patrolled the land to uphold justice and shield the weak from the constant threat of monsters. Even outside the fortified Holy Empire of Luberios, where powerful barriers kept danger at bay, they stood watch in the vulnerable towns and villages, their presence the only thing standing between ordinary people and annihilation.
Hinata watched them, and instinctively, she knew: This is where I belong.
Without hesitation, she chose to walk among them.
Ten years passed.
The girl who once feared rejection, who ran from bonds, had now risen to the top of the Paladins. Hinata Sakaguchi—the one who never placed her faith in gods—stood as their commander, a holy guardian of Luberios.
It was ironic. She who distrusted divine beings, who rejected blind devotion, had become the face of the empire's sacred order. Yet she accepted the role wholeheartedly. For what she saw as justice was not written in scriptures or decreed by gods—it was carved into the actions of those paladins who had once fought to protect the helpless before her eyes.
Hinata's justice was simple: live for the sake of others, even if it meant sacrificing oneself.
That was the creed she had taken to heart. That was the creed she enforced. If she lived this way, she believed, then everyone around her would be happy. If she bore the burden of sacrifice, others could smile. That was her path, her purpose.
And with that conviction came her hatred of monsters.
For in this world, monsters were the embodiment of chaos. They stole happiness, destroyed families, and trampled lives without remorse. No matter how strong the barriers of the empire, no matter how vigilant the patrols, monsters always, always found ways to attack. To Hinata, they were the root of despair—the eternal threat to the fragile justice she sought to uphold.
So she resolved, with unwavering certainty:
monsters must be destroyed.
Day after day, year after year, Hinata led the Paladins in their sacred duty. The empire thrived under their vigilance. The towns survived, the villages endured, and while losses still came, they were fewer, lighter, than they would have been otherwise.
Hinata Sakaguchi—the girl who once ran from fear of being a burden—now stood as the shield of thousands, bearing the weight of their lives without complaint. To her, this was not faith. This was not divine mandate. This was justice.
And she would never doubt it.
Unlike the side bordering the Great Forest of Jura, where lush greenery and overflowing resources fed countless monsters, the western territories were a place of hunger and desolation. It was a land shaped by cruelty: endless deserts, barren wastelands, and cursed ruins.
According to ancient tales, the wasteland had once been fertile before it was reduced to scorched earth by the clash of Demon Lords whose magic power had torn reality asunder. Their lingering presence remained in the form of thick miasma, corrupting the very air, twisting the earth into unnatural shapes, and spawning monsters endlessly from the foul ether.
For ordinary people, survival in such a region was all but impossible. Farmers could not till the poisoned soil, travelers risked their lives with each step, and even fortified villages found themselves threatened by swarms of monsters drawn to human settlements like moths to flame.
It was because of this harshness that people placed their hopes on the Paladins. They were not just soldiers—they were humanity's guardians, the blade and shield that stood between ordinary lives and extinction. Their patrols through the desert, their expeditions into miasma-soaked ruins, their fearless charges against monsters, all became the lifeline of the western lands.
But monsters were cunning. They mimicked human speech, fabricated lies, and laid traps to prey on human trust. More than once, Paladins had extended mercy only to be slaughtered in return. These tragedies repeated often enough that the Holy Church's doctrine came to include an absolute commandment: "Negotiation with monsters is forbidden."
It was not cruelty, but survival born from centuries of loss. This became known as the wisdom of the Western Holy Church, wisdom that had preserved countless human lives for generations.
At first, Hinata Sakaguchi rejected such doctrine. She was a girl who did not believe in gods or scriptures. For her, only what she could see and understand mattered. She considered herself someone who lived only by reason and necessity. Yet, little by little, without realizing it, she found herself aligning with that doctrine. Not because of blind faith, but because its rationality resonated with her.
Monsters could not be trusted. Mercy towards them invited death. Only by wielding justice like a blade could humanity continue to exist.
Before she knew it, Hinata's personal sense of justice had transformed into the defense of the Church's iron teachings.
Her days became endless battles against monsters. She cut them down without hesitation, without remorse, with the precision of a machine honed for killing. And yet…
At some point, a strange emptiness began gnawing at her. Repeating the same acts of extermination day after day, year after year, became monotonous. It was not that she sought peace, nor that she hesitated in her duty—Hinata had no such weaknesses. But deep down, some part of her wondered if there was more to life than endless combat and doctrine.
It was only when she rose to become the Head of the Paladins that this hollow feeling began to fade. With command came responsibility, and with responsibility came purpose. Hinata was no longer simply a sword swinging at monsters—she was the one shaping the entire system of defense for the Holy Empire.
She devised countermeasures that far surpassed those of her predecessors. She reorganized patrol schedules to cover weak points. She developed predictive models for where monsters would spawn, allocating resources accordingly. She optimized lines of communication between detachments, ensuring reinforcements could arrive before casualties mounted.
The effect was revolutionary. The losses, once thought inevitable, dwindled to astonishingly low numbers. Villages that once lived in fear began to thrive. Caravans traveled with greater safety. Families slept without nightmares of claws raking down their doors.
It was this success that earned her the unwavering faith of the Paladins under her. They trusted her with their lives, followed her commands without hesitation, and revered her as their leader. Hinata, who once feared being rejected, had found something irreplaceable: trust, loyalty, and a place she could truly call home.
Even Nikolaus, the man closest to her among the Paladins, had once told her openly:
"I love you, Hinata. Not as a Paladin, not as a commander, but as you are."
Hinata did not know how to respond. She was not someone who indulged in sentiment. She had steeled herself against such ties, fearing how fragile they could be. And yet, his words pierced her heart, not unlike the boy from her hometown so many years ago.
It was in that moment Hinata realized something frightening: she was terrified again.
She had spent her youth afraid of being a burden, afraid of losing bonds, afraid of rejection. Now, as the leader of the Paladins, she feared something even greater: the loss of everything she had built.
The trust of her comrades. The loyalty of the Paladins. The fragile happiness of the people she swore to protect. These things were now hers to safeguard. And the thought of losing them clawed at her heart like a nightmare.
To bury that fear, Hinata clung even harder to order, to control, to perfection.
She convinced herself that if society was managed with flawless precision, then no one would need to suffer loss. If she could administer perfectly, there would be no room for chaos. People could live happily, safely, forever.
And the Holy Empire of Luberios, with its overwhelming power and its iron laws, seemed proof of that belief. It was a machine of administration and doctrine that worked. Its citizens thrived under the strict control of the Church. To Hinata, this was the model of justice she longed for—an unshakable fortress of order where happiness could be maintained by discipline.
That should have been enough. That should have been correct.
And yet, beneath the iron mask of the commander, a faint voice still whispered within her:
Was this really justice? Or had she, without realizing, surrendered her heart to the very doctrine she once scorned?