My Family in the Novel?

When did it all go wrong? Mavis pondered this question endlessly, her thoughts consumed by the turmoil of war. The beacon of hope she once saw in the north, a radiant light promising salvation, had dimmed to nothingness. The hope that was supposed to be the world's savior had vanished, leaving behind a void of despair.

Were the tales of old mistaken? Were heroes truly meant to be the guardians of balance and the harbingers of peace? Then why, Mavis wondered, had everything crumbled so suddenly? How could the hero, the symbol of hope, be lost in the chaos without explanation?

That fateful day replayed in her mind like a relentless nightmare. The onslaught of dreadful demons, the frantic escape, and the shattered remnants of hope—all blurred together in a whirlwind of destruction. With each passing moment, it seemed as though the world was hurtling towards inevitable ruin.

In the face of such darkness, Mavis couldn't help but question the very fabric of reality. Was there any hope left? Or was the world doomed to collapse into oblivion?

"What are the gods above doing?" Mavis murmured to herself, her voice tinged with frustration and desperation. "Aren't they going to help them? Will there be a new hero that will soon rise up?" These questions echoed in her mind, bouncing off the walls of the grand chapel where she sought solace.

With each passing day, the absence of divine intervention felt more pronounced. Mavis couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment, of being left to fend for herself and her people in a world torn apart by war and chaos. "Why are there no revelations yet? What should we do?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely audible over the solemn hush of the empty chapel.

Practically every night, every prayer, Mavis posed the same questions to the goddess above, hoping for a sign, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. Yet, each time, her pleas fell on deaf ears, met only with silence as cold and unyielding as stone.

"Tsk… Mavis, I knew you would be here," a voice interrupted her solitary contemplation. Mavis turned, startled, to see her friend Siena approaching, a jug of beer clutched in her hand as she stumbled slightly. "Siena…" Mavis began, but before she could finish, her friend spoke again, her words slurred with intoxication.

"You done praying to this bitch yet?" Siena muttered, her gaze fixed disdainfully on the towering statue of the goddess that loomed over them in the chapel's grand hall.

"Smack…!"

"Ow! What are you doing, Mila?" Siena demanded, her annoyance palpable in her voice.

"That's rude, you know, boss!" chimed in a slightly younger voice, belonging to Mila, who trailed behind Siena and delivered a swift smack to her head with her staff.

Instead of responding to her so-called boss, Siena, Mila chose to ignore the angered look on her face and instead bowed before Mavis, who remained kneeling in prayer. "I'm sorry about this, Queen Mavis," Mila began, her tone apologetic, "Boss is just really stressed out right now, that's why her words might come off as a bit rude."

"No, it's fine. I can understand her sentiments," Mavis replied calmly, her eyes still closed in reverence.

"Hey, I'm not rude!" Siena protested, shooting a glare at Mila before redirecting her attention to Mavis. "And you, when are you going to get out of this wretched place, huh? What's the point in praying to that bitch up in the skies when she can't even provide any help?" Her frustration bubbled to the surface, her words laced with bitterness and despair.

"Boss, the angels did desce—"

Boom!

Mila's words were abruptly cut off as a deafening explosion rocked the church, sending shockwaves reverberating through the air. She instinctively tried to credit the goddess for the sudden disturbance, but before she could utter a word, Siena slammed her feet onto the ground with such force that the entire structure quivered, cracks spreading like spiderwebs along the walls and ceiling.

"Then where the fuck were those fucking angels when the hero needed them?" Siena's voice cracked with raw emotion, her anger and despair pouring forth like a torrential storm. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a testament to the depth of her pain. "Where the fuck were they when the hope of the world had to fight those demons alone? Where the fuck were they when he needed help… tell me!"

Her words echoed through the desolate chapel, a piercing cry of anguish echoing in the silence. Months had passed since the war began, yet the wounds still felt fresh, the scars of loss and betrayal etched deep into Siena's soul. If only she had been more cautious that day, she couldn't help but wonder. Would the hero still be alive? Would her nephew, Adrian, still be by her side? The weight of her failures hung heavy upon her shoulders, crushing her spirit with the burden of unfulfilled promises and shattered dreams.

How can she ever see her sister now?

"Boss…" Mila hesitated, her voice soft with concern as she witnessed her boss, Siena, succumb to tears. It was a sight she had never witnessed before in all their journeys together. Despite the passing months, she still felt unequipped to console her.

"Siena," Mavis's gentle voice cut through the air, drawing Mila's attention as the queen approached the weeping Siena. "What? Are you going to tell me to calm down again just like the others? Well, I'm sorry bu—"

Before Siena could finish her protest, Mavis enveloped her in a warm embrace. "No… you can let it all out. I'm here," she whispered softly, her words carrying a weight of understanding and empathy.

Hearing Mavis's comforting words, Siena's facade crumbled, and the dam holding back her tears finally burst. Her cries echoed through the chapel, mingling with the echoes of their sorrow.

As Mavis held her friend, observing the usually indomitable sword master crumble so vulnerably, a wave of realization washed over her. She had been so consumed by her own guilt and self-blame that she failed to see the pain and suffering of those around her. Siena's tears were a stark reminder that they were all grappling with their own demons, each burdened by their own share of loss and regret.

Though Mavis may not have understood the full extent of Siena's relationship with the hero, or the depths of her anguish, she knew one thing for certain—she could offer solace and support in this moment of need. And that, perhaps, was enough for now.

As time passed, the weight of Siena's burdens seemed to crush her spirit, and she succumbed to the numbing embrace of alcohol-induced sleep. Slumped over in a large, empty chair within the church, her once formidable form now appeared vulnerable and frail. Mila watched over her, her expression tinged with a mixture of concern and sorrow.

Wiping the sweat from her own brow, Mila couldn't help but marvel at the paradox of her master's physique. Despite Siena's slender frame, she was as heavy as ever, her muscles dense and powerful. Yet, even the strongest warriors had their breaking points, and seeing Siena in this state was a sobering reminder of her humanity.

The loss of the hero, or perhaps more deeply, the loss of her nephew, had left a profound mark on Siena's psyche. Despite her resilience as a sword master, capable of shrugging off physical and emotional pain with ease, the weight of her grief and frustration was too heavy to bear alone.

Mila couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the sight of her master in such a vulnerable state. The fact that Siena sought solace in alcohol, deliberately numbing herself to the pain, spoke volumes about the depth of her suffering throughout the war. As the flickering candlelight cast shadows across the silent chapel, Mila vowed to stand by her master's side, offering whatever support and comfort she could muster in this time of need.

Mila's gaze shifted from Siena to Mavis as the queen approached the altar once more, a sense of urgency in her movements. "Queen Mavis," Mila began, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

"Yes?" Mavis responded, her expression poised and determined.

"I understand your hopes for a new revelation and faith in the goddess, but we need to move," Mila explained, her tone firm yet respectful.

Understanding the weight of Mila's words, Mavis nodded solemnly and inquired, "Did they do it already?"

"Yes, right now the demons have penetrated deep within the empire… It won't be long before they reach the royal capital," Mila confirmed, her words carrying a sense of urgency.

"I see…" Mavis cast one final glance towards the statue of the goddess, a silent plea for guidance before turning to leave the church. As she passed by the sleeping figure of Siena, she hesitated momentarily, but seeing Mila give a reassuring thumbs-up, she felt a sense of relief knowing her friend was in capable hands.

With determination etched on her features, Mavis felt a small staff materialize in her hands, a symbol of her resolve. With practiced ease, she began to weave the intricate threads of a teleportation spell, her mind already racing with plans and strategies.

As death loomed on the horizon, Mavis knew that relying solely on hope and prayer would lead them nowhere. It was time to take action, to plan and strategize for the inevitable confrontation ahead. With each step towards the royal castle, she embraced the harsh reality of war, knowing that only through careful planning and decisive action could they hope to emerge victorious.

….

Meanwhile…

Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, a demon of monstrous proportions loomed, its malevolent grin stretching across its grotesque face as it held aloft the bloody, battered head of a man.

The man's body, once strong and proud, now lay broken at the demon's feet, a testament to the brutality of the conflict.

Despite the evident defeat, the man, Duke Tellus, met the demon's gaze with a defiant glare, the fire of determination still burning bright in his red eyes.

"Hahaha, as expected of the sword of the empire, you're quite resilient, Duke Tellus," the demon chuckled darkly, relishing in the duke's unwavering spirit.

"Tell me, Duke, between your daughter and the empire, which of the two is more important?"

With a sinister smirk, the demon gestured towards a line of soldiers, each bearing the insignia of the empire and his family, and a single figure standing apart—a beautiful lady, the duke's daughter, held captive at the demon's side. The taunt hung heavy in the air; a cruel reminder of the impossible choice laid before him.

The duke's fists clenched with barely contained rage, his jaw set in a steely resolve.

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