Witch, Fireball and the Evil God of Steam-Chapter 861 - 168: Hero

This was a war, and it was the first war Solan had ever experienced.

Unlike past battles where both sides would set up their formations and release skills, each enemy that fell in front was immediately replaced by new ones, their numbers seemingly endless.

Battle energy had long been exhausted, and the longsword in his hand was dulled from the killing. The shield had long been riddled with holes from the impact of guns and swords. One after another, the roaring prisoners fell, mixing with the bodies of the Imperial Army. Not far away, there was still a silver-white glow, but this time, in that glow were two familiar faces.

This time, the target of the healing magic was not Solan, but the Imperial Army soldiers who had fallen behind him. The enemies who rose again blocked his retreat.

The Holy Mage and the High Priest had arrived.

Their appearance brought morale to the Imperial Army and became the final straw that crushed the prisoners' ranks.

Solan glanced at his comrades behind him who were gradually being submerged by the human wall of the Imperial Army. Gritting his teeth, he charged towards Ilya and Sera.

Ilya and Sera, witnessing this scene, did not speak.

From their standpoint, they should be mocking Solan's betrayal, ridiculing him for choosing a path of self-destruction. If only Solan were willing to surrender to the Royal Family and the nobility, he could, like them, enjoy the spoils of "victory" in the game.

Speaking as the voice of the Royal Family, enjoying the people's adulation.

He could also settle in the Imperial Capital, rise into high society, become a "star" in the eyes of the nobility.

To showcase his influence, many nobles would be willing to invite Solan to attend grand events.

Ilya dared not meet Solan's eyes; it was an expression she had never seen.

Even though he was riddled with wounds, he did not stop. More blades cut his skin, bullets from firearms pierced his body. She didn't know why Solan hadn't fallen yet, but they could all see his aim—charging towards the direction behind, where they were located.

Perhaps at the end of his life, he wanted to personally tear apart this game set by the Royal Family and the nobility.

Even standing on opposing sides, Ilya could no longer scorn or mock.

"Ilya, why are you still standing there!"

Sera urged from behind.

The team of mages and priests, only this time, what stood in front was no longer a hero's shield or the barrier of his battle energy, but a human wall formed by the Imperial Army.

The sound in her ears became clear again, and Ilya's eyes narrowed.

The chant was complete.

She raised her magic staff inlaid with rubies. In the swirling winds, the magnificent mage remained unmoved. The air in front of her instantly solidified and compressed, magic power transforming into dozens of translucent magic arrows.

As the staff fell, dozens of magic arrows rained down towards Solan like a storm.

Sera also chanted spells. As former comrades-in-arms, this kind of coordination had appeared countless times on their journey. A weakening curse slowed Solan's steps, and it was precisely this brief moment that allowed more bullets and blades to hit his body, the weakening from the curse causing his shattered shield to fall to the ground.

Then came the frailty curse, the slowness curse, increased damage...

Thud! Thud thud thud—!

A dense, penetrating sound rang out. It wasn't the crack of thunder, but a more muffled, visceral sound. The magic arrows effortlessly tore through Solan's breastplate, piercing his heart.

The Imperial Army surged forward in a torrent, their blades ceaselessly swinging, completely submerging the blood-drenched Solan.

Solan closed his eyes, and the surrounding screams gradually faded away.

This was the end of life.

There was no pain or hatred, only peace remained in his heart.

For he had returned to the most familiar place—a small village with only a dozen or so households, the starting point of all adventures. As the sun set, he lay flat on the simple dock, knowing that soon it would come alive again.

When everything is over, where do you plan to go?

During the adventures, he had been asked this question more than once, and his answers had changed many times. After witnessing the various issues of the Empire, he and his companions had agreed that after defeating the Demon King, they would return to the Imperial Capital to prompt the Empire to make changes.

This was the responsibility of being a hero, as well as the expectation countless people had for him on the journey.

However, for the young Solan, the initial answer perhaps had never changed.

—Of course, to go home.

That was his unhesitating answer when he was first asked.

At that time, he happened to be a little hungry, and the thought of grilled fish from the village popped into his mind.

Soon, familiar footsteps came from behind him. Solan opened his eyes a crack, just in time to see the scruffy old man pass by. The old man merely glanced down at him, then sat on a small chair by the dock, tending to his bait and fishing hook.

The unkempt old fisherman, living alone in the village.

But to Solan, he was the strongest person in his heart.

That was his mentor, the one who taught him all his combat skills.

"Master, I'm back."

Solan spoke.

In that moment, countless conversations with his mentor surged up in his mind, including the thing he was most curious about as a child.

Master, why don't you become a hero?

In Solan's heart, his master's skills surpassed his, also more suited to the title of hero.

Revered by people, loved by people.