Chapter 74: The Unwilling Hero
The news of victory on the Silva Plains threw the royal capital of Londinium into a frenzy.
The citizens, who had been pushed to the brink of despair, erupted in celebration overnight at the miraculous reversal of fate.
Spontaneous festivals appeared in the city squares. People drank together, sang, danced, and rejoiced wholeheartedly in this victory.
At the center of this fervor, there was always one name:
Zenon von Arkwright.
A young genius strategist who had appeared like a comet and single-handedly overturned the fate of the nation.
His name was no longer just that of a noble—it had become a symbol of hope, a synonym for miracles.
Among the people, his story grew with each retelling, taking on the air of myth.
“Did you hear? Zenon-sama even controlled the weather and struck the Imperial Army with lightning!”
“No, no! I heard it was said that a single glare from Zenon-sama turned Imperial soldiers into stone out of fear!”
“He must be the reincarnation of the war god from the founding myths!”
This frenzy grew uncontrollably, completely independent of Zenon’s own wishes.
He had only won using the most rational methods.
Yet the people could not help but translate his incomprehensible genius into a story they could understand—into the simple narrative of a hero.
A few days later,
after completing the major postwar arrangements, Zenon and the Kingdom Army set out on their triumphant return to the capital.
The parade welcoming them was unprecedented in the history of the kingdom.
The streets leading to the capital were packed with citizens desperate to catch a glimpse of Zenon.
They scattered flower petals, shouted, and repeated the hero’s name.
“Zenon-sama!” “Zenon-sama!”
At the center of the fervor,
Zenon sat atop his horse, utterly exasperated.
(…Annoying. Inefficient.)
To him, the cheers of the crowd were nothing but noise.
He did not wave, nor did he show any expression—he simply stared straight ahead, as always.
Ironically, his cold, indifferent demeanor only intensified the crowd’s enthusiasm.
“Look! Zenon-sama remains humble despite this great victory!”
“Yes! That is the true appearance of a hero!”
“Ah! Zenon-sama! How wonderful!”
Riding alongside him, Prince Alphonse observed the scene with mixed feelings.
The cheers should have been for him, yet he felt no jealousy.
Rather, he felt sympathy for Zenon.
(…This must be tough for you.)
He understood better than anyone that Zenon did not want this adulation.
Upon reaching the castle, King Edward IV himself awaited them at the gates.
“…You have returned well, Zenon.”
The king firmly shook Zenon’s hand.
In his eyes shone both royal dignity and the warm pride of a father.
“Thanks to you, our country has been saved… I thank you, truly.”
Yet Zenon gently withdrew his hand and responded in his usual flat tone.
“Your Majesty. My work is complete. As per our contract, I shall now resign from my position as Royal Financial Advisor and return to the Arkwright Territories.”
The abruptness of his words left the king, the nobles, and the people momentarily speechless.
The hero who had saved the nation… was abandoning all prestige at the height of glory to return to the countryside?
“What are you saying, Zenon! You have a duty to rebuild this country!”
The king hurriedly tried to stop him.
“Yes! You are the rightful candidate for the next Chancellor!”
The nobles also began to voice similar opinions.
They had come to not only fear Zenon but to rely on his overwhelming abilities.
Yet Zenon calmly shook his head.
“I decline.”
His voice was firm.
“My contract was only to establish a path toward financial stability and to achieve victory in this war. Both have been accomplished… There is no longer a rational reason for me to remain here.”
(I refuse to be at the center of such troublesome matters any longer. I want to return to my quiet, comfortable territory and continue my research.)
This was all he thought.
His selfless and solitary stance once again captured the hearts of the people.
“Amazing…”
“He seeks neither honor nor position…”
“He rose only to save the country, and once his duty was done, quietly departs… Truly a legendary hero…”
The more Zenon tried to distance himself from power, the more the people were drawn to him.
Despite his wishes, he was being deified.
A worst-case spiral had begun.
At that moment, pushing through the crowd, a young girl ran to him.
It was Saint Liliana.
She stood before Zenon, her glistening eyes fixed on him.
“…Are you really going to leave, Zenon-sama?”
Her voice trembled with sadness.
“Yes.”
“…I see… If that is your decision, I have no right to stop you. …However,”
She gently extended her hands, clasped in a prayerful gesture.
“…Please do not forget. There are people in this country whose lives have been saved by your noble soul… and there are those who watch your lonely struggle from afar, always praying for your happiness.”
It was the highest praise from the saint, almost like a confession.
The intensity of her gaze and words made Zenon feel a fear he had never experienced.
(…This is bad. She’s the worst.)
Instinctively, he felt a sense of urgent danger.
He had to get away from this irrationality as quickly as possible.
“…Then, excuse me.”
Turning his back to Liliana, Zenon tried to leave as if fleeing.
Unbeknownst to him, even his solitary retreat would capture hearts again and create a new page in legend.
The unwilling hero.
He only sought peace.
Yet the overwhelming results of his actions were pushing him further from the tranquility he desired.
His true battle was not against the Empire—
it was against the uncontrollable frenzy and misunderstanding directed at him, a battle against the world itself.