The day before, after the arrival of the Demon King to the demonic realm and the beginning of the battles between the sins, the human world continued spinning as if nothing... but deep down, everyone knew that something had changed.
In the Human Kingdom, in its capital, the place where important decisions always found a stage, the paths began to fill up.
Long streets, wide avenues, small paths, and forgotten alleys led to the same point.
It was as if the world itself pushed people toward there.
The kingdom's capital did not sleep.
It had always been like that, but that night felt different. More tense. More alive. More aware.
The lights from the torches illuminated the white walls of the castle, reflecting on the polished stone as if the place were prepared for something great... or for something terrible.
All the paths became one single one.
And that path led to the castle.
Thirty-nine.
That was the number that floated in the air, although no one said it out loud.
Thirty-nine people torn from their worlds, from their beds, from their routines, from their small and big problems, and thrown into an unknown place with a single word as explanation:
Heroes.
Some appeared together upon arriving in that world. Disoriented, with labored breathing, touching their bodies to make sure they were still real.
They looked at each other with eyes full of questions, trying to understand what had happened, why they were there, and if all that was a dream that was too long.
Others met on the way.
Strange crossings but that shared the same feeling of being out of place.
A glance was enough, a simple question, or showing the weapon they carried with them to understand that they were in the same situation.
A few arrived alone.
Guided only by a soft and distant voice.
The voice of the goddess who had called them. A voice that didn't shout or command, but that made the path clear. Each one heard it differently, but the message was the same.
"Go to the castle."
And so they did.
In the end, it didn't matter the origin, the language, the age, or the life they had left behind. Everyone knew how to get there. Everyone felt they had to be there.
The goddess had been clear.
There were no doubts.
In front of the enormous white walls of the castle, the thirty-nine heroes gathered for the first time in that world.
The place commanded respect. The stones were tall, strong, and ancient. The castle was not only a symbol of power, but of history. It had withstood wars, betrayals, and entire generations.
And now, in front of it, there they were.
Each hero held a different weapon.
Swords, spears, bows, books, staves, chains, weapons that didn't look like weapons. Some shone faintly, others seemed simple, but all had something in common: they weren't normal.
They weren't just metal or wood.
They were blessed weapons.
Weapons that had chosen their bearers.
Although they were all young, their gazes were different.
Some observed the castle with firm eyes, full of desire to prove something. Others looked around with curiosity, trying to memorize every detail of that new world.
Some smiled, as if everything were a great adventure.
And others... hid the fear behind a forced smile.
Then it happened.
From one of the highest balconies of the castle, the king appeared.
He wasn't wearing shiny armor or an exaggerated crown.
He dressed with dignity, but also with simplicity.
By his side were the queen and his daughter, both in silence, observing the young people in front of them with attention.
The murmur died down.
As if someone had turned down the world's volume.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. No one moved. The heroes remained standing, waiting, while the king observed them one by one.
He didn't do it in a hurry. His eyes scanned each face, as if trying to understand who they were, what they carried inside, and if they could really do it.
Finally, the king raised his voice.
—I present myself before you, heroes chosen by the Goddess of Life.
His voice was firm, but not harsh.
—As you already know, you have been chosen by destiny. Not only for your strength, but because each one was recognized by one of the thirty-nine blessed weapons.
Some heroes looked at their weapons upon hearing that. Others tightened their grip without realizing it.
—Those weapons are the only ones capable of killing the Demon King and his servants —he continued—. Today, I, the king of the human race, welcome you to the world of heroes.
He made a brief pause, as if weighing each word.
—Please... save it, so that the Goddess can grant each of you a wish.
While he spoke, his gaze was sincere. Or at least, it seemed so. There was no mockery, no evident deception. Just a request that sounded too big for such young people.
The heroes began to look at each other.
Exchanges of glances. Confident smiles. Some nervous laughs that broke the tension. The idea of setting out, defeating the Demon King, and returning home as saviors made their hearts beat strongly.
There was excitement.
There was hope.
But when the voices began to rise, the king raised both hands, asking for silence.
—Listen to me one last time —he said—. You can set out tomorrow in search of the Demon King. The world is large, perhaps the journey will take you time... but I know it is possible.
He looked at the city behind them.
—This night you can stay in any place in the kingdom. No matter the hotel. Just say that you are heroes and show your weapons. That will be enough for them to know who you are and not charge you anything.
The king bowed his head slightly.
—I wish you a great journey... and an absolute victory.
And without saying more, he turned around and returned to the interior of the castle along with his family.
The moment ended.
The silence broke.
The heroes began to move. They talked among themselves, laughed, argued. Some seemed nervous, others excited. Little by little, they began to disperse through the city.
In the midst of that ordered chaos, small groups began to form. No one said it out loud, but everyone knew that traveling alone was not a good idea.
Thirty-nine.
An awkward number.
After some quick conversations and decisions made almost at random, they arrived at something simple.
Groups of three.
Not too many, not too few.
Thus were born thirteen groups.
Thirteen teams that, at dawn, would set out in different directions of the world. Thirteen separate paths, with a single goal.
Kill the Demon King.
And return home.