The Brave Who Fears Darkness and Thunder

"Am I being followed?"

That was Xu Xi's first thought.

But the idea was quickly dismissed.

Xu Xi and the "Hero" were strangers—their only encounter had been brief, on the day the undead invaded the village.

They could hardly be called acquaintances, let alone rivals.

Besides, Xu Xi’s path had been winding and erratic, veering toward wherever the undead were thickest, sometimes even doubling back. There was no fixed route.

Tracking someone like that would be pointless.

So, it must have been a coincidence.

...

[As usual, you clear the undead encountered on your journey, harvesting their soul flames for your own use.]

[Just as you prepare to leave, you unexpectedly notice the Hero’s arrival—he seems to be heading the same way.]

[No, more accurately…]

[You’ve arrived where the Hero is.]

[The rain pours down in heavy sheets. Through the storm, you see the Hero, clad in steel armor, striding unfazed through the lashing downpour toward an ancient ruin.]

The rain fell violently, like a cascading waterfall.

Each drop struck the muddy ground, splattering into countless brownish sprays.

The relentless downpour only deepened the waterlogged earth, turning it into a treacherous mire.

Thud—

A steel boot stomped into a puddle, sinking deep into the muck before wrenching free with sheer brute force, pressing onward without pause.

Despite the mud seeping into the crevices of the armor, the figure marched forward—unbothered, as if impervious to discomfort or obstruction.

From a distance, Xu Xi watched as the metal-clad figure entered the ruins—a collapsed, vine-choked relic of what was once a grand estate, now reduced to a crumbling, abandoned husk.

The "Hero" seemed to treat it as a shelter, sitting beneath the overhang at the entrance, sheltering from the storm.

"Quite the picture," Xu Xi mused.

From his vantage, the sky darkened further, the tempest howling as it lashed the land with torrential rain.

The world was a violent, roaring expanse—nothing but the fury of the storm.

The "Hero," their armor scarred with rust and battle marks, sat motionless at the ruin’s entrance, silently watching the deluge. There was an air of quiet mastery to it, as if the storm itself bowed to their presence.

Xu Xi knew the Hero wasn’t particularly strong.

Yet, he couldn’t help but reassess his opinion of them.

CRACK—!!

Suddenly, thunder split the sky.

The deafening boom echoed far and wide, momentarily silencing the wind and rain.

Xu Xi remained unfazed—he’d witnessed grander spectacles, heard more terrifying roars. His expression didn’t change.

But the Hero…

Did they just flinch?

Xu Xi chuckled, dismissing it as a trick of the eye.

The Hero was no ordinary being—a warrior who cleaved through undead hordes with a blade wouldn’t fear something as trivial as thunder.

CRASH—!!

Another peal of thunder, even louder than the last.

This time, Xu Xi saw it clearly.

The "Hero" sheltering in the ruins had indeed shuddered.

And as the storm worsened, the sky plunging into deeper darkness, the Hero slowly inched backward, trembling visibly.

Xu Xi: "…Huh?"

"Wait, what’s happening?"

The same "Hero" who had defended countless villages, clad in impenetrable armor, wielding a deadly sword against legions of undead…

Was afraid of thunder and the dark?

Even knowing the armored figure wasn’t a true hero in the traditional sense, Xu Xi fell into silent bewilderment.

"This is… unexpectedly absurd," Xu Xi sighed, his mood more complicated than when he’d first tried teaching magic to the Witch.

...

[You’ve witnessed another side of the Hero.]

[A side few have seen—one that would leave villagers gaping in disbelief.]

[They flinch at the roar of thunder. They curl up when darkness falls. There’s no courage here, no fearlessness—only fragility when left alone.]

[Only after the storm passes does the Hero emerge from the ruins again.]

[Head lifted…]

[Gazing at the sky…]

[The world is still gloomy, but the thunder has faded. The Hero seems to exhale in relief before gripping their sword and marching onward.]

[They walk far, farther still.]

[Silently, you observe the Hero’s movements, confirming they aren’t following you. In the days that follow, the Hero clears out more undead, protecting villages from threats.]

[Some weep with gratitude, offering gifts in thanks.]

[Others scorn them, blaming the Hero for attracting the undead, refusing to let them near.]

[The Hero doesn’t linger for any reaction. Their steps are heavy but resolute, until they reach the foot of a nearby hill.]

The sky is dim, veiled in haze.

A breeze, tinged with the scent of damp earth, stirs broken leaves and withered grass.

The leaves spiral upward, brushing against the Hero’s dented, rusted armor before vanishing into the endless sky.

The Hero pays no mind.

Instead, they cradle a handful of freshly picked pale flowers.

Step by step, they climb until they reach the summit, where they finally stop.

The hilltop is barren, save for two weathered tombstones, their inscriptions long faded by time.

Gently, the Hero separates the flowers into two bundles.

In the silence, they place one before each grave.

"Father. Mother."

"I’ve come to see you again."

With that, the Hero removes their steel helmet.

Xu Xi sees it then—a face half-ruined.

One side still bears human flesh, soft and fair.

The other is a skeletal horror, bleached white, devoid of life.

The jaw moves as they speak, bone grinding against bone, eerie and unnatural.

"…Undead transformation?" Xu Xi murmurs, stunned.

The divide between life and death was absolute.

A living soul carried all emotions, all memories.

The dead, even if they retained past recollections, were new beings—echoes, not continuations.

This was an impossibility.

The strongest might defy such laws, but this "Hero" was far from that level.

How had they managed it?

As Xu Xi pondered, the Hero moves again.

Slowly, they crouch between the two graves, their armored body curling into itself.

Their shoulders press against the tombstones on either side, as if seeking comfort in the contact.

And then—

A smile.

Half beautiful, half grotesque.