THE HERO'S SON IS A MONSTER-Chapter 60: Being a Hero Was No Easy Task
Being a hero was no easy task.
And for someone of his stature, a few indiscretions could be tolerated. He endured constant stress, so it was only natural that he would seek entertainment from time to time. His well-being directly influenced that of the world—or at least, that was how Constant saw it.
The hero’s minor transgressions were known only to those in the highest circles. Constant, who frequented this exclusive group, had already heard rumors, caught whispers exchanged at hushed banquets. But what he witnessed today went far beyond anything he had imagined. This crossed a threshold he had never thought possible.
Honestly, even he, as a man, could tolerate certain excesses. After all, pleasure was a legitimate pursuit—everyone found happiness where they could. But was what was happening here truly normal?
Constant was the emissary chosen by Ixac, the King of Celestial, to accompany the hero to Sunkush. And yet, this very same Constant, meant to be an observer and supporter, could not stop himself from muttering curses, his fists clenched.
He had just witnessed something that deeply revolted him. The hero had quite literally forced the village chief’s daughter to share his bed. A local beauty, a young woman of immaculate reputation. Her father had been reluctant, yet it hadn’t taken long before she gave in. Too little resistance. Too quickly. As if she had been... changed.
Constant was lost in feverish thought.
"Enough! I’ve had it. What sorcery did he use?"
That girl did not seem like a courtesan accustomed to selling her charms. Nor did she appear naïve enough to be so easily swept away. And yet, she hadn’t resisted the hero for long. As if, for a fleeting moment, she had become someone else.
Disgusted, Constant had dismissed the other women who had tried to approach him. He saw an expression on their faces that he understood all too well. There was no pleasure there, no amusement, no excitement. Only something hollow, forced.
More disturbingly, he had noticed something strange: those who had been near the hero seemed... different. Their eyes vacant, their smiles absent. And it wasn’t just them. The men accompanying the hero—those wanderers, those mercenary knights he had gathered around him—shared that same unsettling look in their eyes.
"They’re nothing but trash..." Constant thought bitterly.
What was their king thinking?
These men were nothing more than a band of mercenaries recruited at random along the roads. None of them bore the demeanor of a true knight, a warrior devoted to a cause. They were merely followers, opportunists willing to do anything to stay in the hero’s shadow. And yet, he had managed to wield them as if they were a trained, ferocious, obedient pack.
Once again, Constant thought back to the matter of Fort Carmine. The hero had refused the escort provided by the king. He was supposed to travel with a dignitary, yet he had rejected this offered protection. Why? What was he thinking?
Constant spent the night turning these questions over in his mind, never finding a satisfying answer. In any case, he was unable to sleep. The soundproofing in this house was atrocious.
All night long, cries echoed through the walls. Cries of pleasure. Or at least, that’s what they seemed to be.
The Next Morning
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the hero finally emerged from the house. The night had been long, and he had indulged himself without restraint.
Outside, the village was bustling with activity. His companions, already awake for hours, were enjoying the food and drinks offered by the villagers, exchanging laughter and lively conversation.
They acted as if they belonged in this village. The women had not gone to the fields—after all, the hero and his companions were here, their supposed protectors.
The hero had promised that today he would discuss the looming threat over the village, vowing to take care of it before continuing his journey.
His men spoke enthusiastically to the villagers, boasting of their exploits and assuring them that there was nothing to fear—that nothing would happen. They were all gathered around the house where the hero was staying, seated on chairs, as if they were nobles rather than mere mercenaries.
Among them, Constant observed the scene. But his gaze immediately locked onto the hero.
His expression was filled with determination. He knew he had to speak with this man, to understand his mindset, and more importantly, to make himself heard.
Normally, his mission was solely to serve as a diplomat in the exchange between Sunkush and Celestial. Relations between the two kingdoms were slightly unstable due to the hero’s summoning. This mission, arranged by the church, was meant to ease those tensions.
And yet, even here, Constant did not understand why the hero had been absent from the official meeting with the church regarding the sacred sword. Of course, he was among those unaware of the unofficial meeting, where the saint herself had been present.
All of this only proved that he understood the hero less and less.
Steeling himself, he took a firm step forward and called out in a clear voice:
"Hero, I would like to speak with you, please!"
The hero, who had been walking nonchalantly, stopped abruptly and turned his eyes toward him.
A silence slowly settled over the camp. Some of the so-called knights accompanying the hero stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold. They all understood that Constant carried a heavy burden on his heart—but that wasn’t what truly interested them. What mattered was what would happen next.
After all, Constant was no ordinary man. He was the emissary of the Celestial Kingdom.
A knowing smile stretched across the hero’s lips. He approached slowly, his gaze glimmering with playful mischief.
When he reached Constant, he placed a light hand on his shoulder.
The emissary, a man of natural presence, embodied elegance and seriousness. At thirty-three years old, he wore one of the official outfits carefully chosen for this long journey. His gaze was firm, unyielding, intolerant of any misconduct.
The hero leaned in slightly and murmured in his ear:
"No matter what you wish to discuss, I suppose this isn’t the place you want to do it, is it?"
His smile widened, filled with a carefree provocation.
And at that moment, Constant understood—
To this man, all of this was just a game.
Nothing in this situation truly mattered to him.
