The Hero’s Deception

“Husband…” The magic Freya condensed was brimming with killing intent. Her eyes, narrowed and sharp, bore into Roland. “I have a distinct feeling I’ve wanted to kill you for a very long time…”

“What have you remembered…?” Roland’s face turned a deep crimson, struggling for breath as if deprived of air.

“I recalled a few ways to wield magic, I remembered you are the Hero, and I remembered you are my husband,” Freya mused, her exquisite brows knitting together. “And… it seems I was originally supposed to kill you.”

“Don’t be rash…” A cold sweat broke out on Roland’s brow as he forced a strained smile. “Please, don’t do anything reckless!”

“But…” Freya’s tightly clenched hand relaxed ever so slightly, a look of utter confusion clouding her features. “I just can’t recall why.”

With a soft thud, Roland dropped to the ground, clutching at his chest as he gulped down air.

“Husband…” Just as Roland found himself gripped by uncertainty, a pair of pristine, bare feet entered his field of vision.

“You…” Freya slowly advanced, placing one foot firmly on the back of his head. Her calf, brimming with concentrated magic, seemed to exert an immense, crushing force, pinning his face to the cold earth. “Do you remember why? Why haven’t I killed you after all this time?”

‘Because I possess the Holy Sword, and you’ve never been able to defeat me!’

‘Still, that’s certainly not something I can say aloud right now…’

“No answer?” When Roland remained silent, Freya let out a soft chuckle, applying a subtle pressure with the sole of her foot. Despite her foot feeling soft, the terrifying magical force exerted made Roland feel as though his head was on the verge of being crushed.

“In that case, I might as well simply kill you, you useless wretch…”

‘At that perilous moment, the Little Demon Lord’s foot hovered a mere 0.01 centimeters from crushing my skull. Yet, I knew that in just a quarter of a minute, this Little Demon Lord would be utterly captivated by me. For I had resolved to utter a lie—one I deemed the most perfect among the countless falsehoods I had spun throughout my life.’

When Roland showed no immediate signs of recovery, Freya chided him with a deceptively sweet voice. “If you don’t speak now, I truly will kill you!”

“You should do it. Indeed, I deserve to die…” Roland offered a carefree, almost melancholic smile, as a single tear slowly traced a path down his cheek. “Once, a sincere love was laid before me, yet I failed to cherish it. Only when it slipped through my grasp did I come to regret it beyond measure…”

A look of profound astonishment flickered in Freya’s eyes. Unconsciously, the foot that had been pressing forcefully on Roland’s head relaxed its grip, sliding gently to rest against his cheek.

‘What in the world is this man talking about?’

“There is no greater agony in this world than this… Hahahaha…” Roland let out a laugh that bordered on madness, his voice thick with emotion. “Go on, press your foot down on my face. There’s no need to hesitate any longer…”

‘Is he truly unafraid of death?’ Freya watched the man with a mixture of shock and confusion. Her foot, still charged with magic, hesitated repeatedly, yet she found herself unable to crush his head. She was utterly at a loss for what to do.

‘No, this can’t be right. It must be a trap! My instincts scream that this man is incredibly cunning!’

“If fate were to grant me another chance, I would utter three words to that girl…” Roland forced out another tear, delivering the line in the most profoundly heartfelt tone he had ever mustered. “I love you!”

The foot resting on his face trembled ever so slightly, then slowly, deliberately, moved away.

‘I’m truly a goddamn genius,’ Roland thought to himself. ‘Could it be that my true calling is to be an acting emperor?’

He watched as the foot that had been on his face now settled into a shallow puddle on the ground. The rising, warm steam created a hazy, almost intimate atmosphere around them.

“You… you useless man…” Freya felt a strange sense of bewilderment, yet the undeniable acceleration of her heartbeat spoke volumes. A faint blush crept across her cheeks. “Wh-what are you… s-saying?”

“If I absolutely had to place a time limit on this love…” Roland pushed himself up, his gaze slowly ascending from Freya’s bare feet, past her form, until it met her eyes. “I would wish it to be…”

Amber eyes locked with pale violet ones.

As she gazed into his profound eyes, which seemed to pierce the very depths of her soul, Freya felt her chest tighten. For a moment, she was so overwhelmed by nervousness that she forgot to breathe.

“Ten thousand years!”

Upon hearing those three words, she found herself utterly unable to muster any trace of her killing intent-laden magic. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she stumbled backward involuntarily, collapsing weakly against the nearby wall.

‘Why is my heart pounding so furiously? What on earth is happening to my body?’

“Wh-what in the world…” Freya stammered, her voice thick with confusion. “You’re, you’re just making up a story!”

Roland moved in, his hands bracing against the wall behind her. His face slowly drew closer, causing Freya to fluster and instinctively avert her gaze.

“It’s all my fault, even though I managed to save you,” he murmured. His forehead once again rested against Freya’s, his expression that of a true romantic hero. “But if only I had been a little sooner…”

“You…” Freya’s face felt unexpectedly hot, burning beneath his touch. “What… what are you talking about?”

“Previously, for certain reasons, you had an argument with me and stormed off. You then encountered bandits,” Roland explained, sighing with a look of profound heartache in his eyes. “Though I rescued you in the nick of time, you were unfortunately forced to ingest a memory-loss potion and an addictive Rofenia Maiden’s Potion…”

“I…” Freya paused, a flicker of doubt crossing her mind. “I can use magic. How could I possibly be defeated by mere bandits?”

‘Damn it all! When did this Little Demon Lord become so remarkably astute?’

“I’m not entirely sure myself. Perhaps even those skilled in magic can have moments of carelessness,” Roland replied, silently cursing his oversight before deftly sidestepping the flaw in his narrative. “Fortunately, I managed to find some friends of mine who possess a potion capable of restoring your memories. However…”

“However, what?”

“Alas… the intricacies of the Rofenia Potion have perplexed Alchemy Masters for over a century,” Roland lamented, gently cupping one side of Freya’s face with a tender, almost pained expression, his thumb tracing soft circles. “I can only offer you certain remedies to temporarily alleviate your addictive symptoms.”

“Ah…” Freya responded, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Addictive symptoms, you say…”

“You cannot leave my side, for if you do…” Roland leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered a series of dire consequences.

Freya’s delicate features instantly blanched, and she stammered, her voice trembling, “That’s… that’s impossible. How could I…”

“Alas… you will soon come to understand the nature of those symptoms,” Roland said softly. “In a little while, I’ll accompany you to the entrance examination for the Grey Academy of Magic.” He gently stroked her hair. “You’ll be participating to aid the Alchemy Master who assisted you, and I, in turn, will be there to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“Indeed. I can hardly allow you to enter the academy all by yourself, can I? Otherwise…”

“I… I understand…” Freya stammered, burying her face in her hands, her cheeks burning crimson. “It’s merely an entrance examination… I imagine it should be quite simple…”

‘Excellent, she’s finally been placated~’

“Oh, husband…” Freya suddenly blinked, her gaze turning strangely inquisitive as she looked at him. “You still haven’t told me why I wanted to kill you, have you?”

‘Damn it! Why is she still fixated on that particular question?’

“Hmph… I am not afraid of what you might say about me once you learn the truth, nor do I fear the scorn of a million people,” Roland declared, drawing a mournful breath. “I shall bear all these burdens alone.”

“You’re not trying to deceive me, are you?” Freya questioned, her brow furrowing in suspicion. “I’m quite intelligent, you know. You won’t be able to fool me!”

‘Smart, my foot! If I truly put my mind to it, I could trick you into my bed ten times over, and you’d still be none the wiser!’

“I…” Roland’s performance momentarily faltered, but he swiftly stifled the urge to retort, recapturing his emotional intensity. He spoke with a tone of profound self-reproach. “I despise myself for my own lack of ability!”

“Pardon?”

“I possess a sword, the Holy Sword,” Roland began, shamelessly deflecting the blame. “Though I have subdued it, it still possesses the power to subtly influence the minds of those in my vicinity, compelling them to desire my death. If I were to be killed, it would finally break free from my control. It is precisely because of this that you, too, harbored the desire to kill me…”

As if in protest of Roland’s audacious deflection of blame, something within the bedroom cabinet vibrated faintly at that very moment. Yet, with a wall separating them, no one detected it.

“Then… then…” Freya stammered, her voice laced with anxiety. “What are we waiting for? Throw away the Holy Sword!”

“But… without the Holy Sword, I, the Hero, would become incredibly weak…” Roland shook his head, a profound sadness etched upon his features.

‘So weak that I wouldn’t even be able to defeat you.’

“If I were to become that weak… I would—” Roland pursed his lips, a fresh tear escaping the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t be able to protect you, w-w-w…”

Observing Roland’s distraught demeanor, Freya’s mind was a swirling vortex of confusion. She couldn’t discern which of his words were genuine and which were fabricated. While Roland’s statements initially seemed plausible, a closer examination always revealed a subtle inconsistency. However, each time she attempted to delve deeper, his words would inevitably disrupt her train of thought.

Now, witnessing Roland’s sorrowful expression, an inexplicable pang of sympathy stirred within her heart.

‘His expression seems so utterly sincere. Surely it can’t be a deception, can it? No one could possibly act to such a convincing degree, could they?’

Cupping her head in her hands, she pondered for a considerable time. After much internal debate, she ultimately chose to place her trust in Roland.

So she reached out, embracing Roland’s shoulders, and gently patted his back. “It’s alright, it’s truly alright,” she murmured reassuringly. “I will be by your side as you gradually grow stronger. One day, you will be powerful enough to protect me even without the Holy Sword…”

Roland seized the opportune moment, pulling Freya into a tight embrace and burying his head against her back, emitting faint, simulated sobs.

Yet, in his eyes, an irrepressible mirth danced.

‘Ah, my Little Demon Lord, you’ve still fallen for my charms~’