Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters

Before Evangela or Lilitha could even react, the heavy doors to the attached orphanage burst open. A literal sea of children came rushing out into the sanctuary, their little faces lit up with absolute joy.

"Sister Gel! Sister Lita!" they cheered in unison.

Instantly, the two doppelgangers were completely swamped, drowned in an overwhelming wave of tiny arms, tight hugs, and excited chatter. The children clung to their cloaks and buried their faces in their robes. Evangela kept her gentle, maternal smile perfectly active, patting their heads with flawless tenderness, while Lilitha maintained Lita's slightly exasperated but secretly fond expression, letting the kids pull at her sleeves.

Hela took a deep breath, trying her absolute best to finally stop crying as she watched the heartwarming reunion. She stepped closer, her expression shifting into one of lingering concern.

"And... what about Erwin?" Hela asked, her voice hovering between anxiety and annoyance. "Did that stubborn fool make it back to his house too? Please tell me he didn't pull that reckless, thick-headed 'hero' attitude of his and jump face-first into a hoard of monsters just to show off." She crossed her arms, looking intensely at them. "I just hope he came home alive, and with all his limbs completely intact, despite his infuriating pride."

Evangela looked up from the crowd of laughing children, offering a reassuring, flawless nod.

"He came back safely, Hela. His body is completely fine, and he has all his limbs. He's probably resting at his place right now."

Hearing that the entire party had survived the lethal peaks without a single casualty, Hela's remaining composure shattered. She burst into fresh tears of pure, overwhelming relief. Laughing and crying at the same time, she practically jumped toward the elderly Father, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly in a burst of sheer joy.

"Thank the heavens!" she sobbed happily against his shoulder. "They all made it back!"

The Father patted her back gently, smiling warmly at the two sisters over her shoulder. Deep within the joyful chaos of the cathedral, the two chimera children exchanged a brief, entirely unnoticeable glance. The trust was absolute. The deception was complete.

Lastly, the final member of the party to reach his destination was the captain of this prestigious group—Marrowin, now living the life of the celebrated hero's son.

He walked up to the front door of Erwin's family home, but it was not the grand estate one would expect for the offspring of a legendary figure. There was no visible wealth, no glittering armor on display, and no richness to be seen anywhere. It was a thoroughly ordinary, modest house, weathered by time and tucked quietly away from the busier districts.

Marrowin stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the worn wooden floorboards. The house was quiet and still.

As he walked through the main room, his eyes caught sight of a small wooden frame sitting on a side table. He stepped closer, lifting it up to examine the painting inside. It was a portrait of Erwin's family.

In the center stood Erwin as a young ten-year-old boy, looking proud and eager. To his left was his mother, smiling gently. And standing tall behind them both was his father—the legendary golden hero, Belvius Prime.

Marrowin stared intently at the face of the golden hero, pulling the memories and echoes of the dead adventurer's mind to the surface. He felt the heavy, lingering weight attached to that face.

"His father..." Marrowin murmured to the empty room, his voice perfectly mimicking Erwin's exact tone. "The man whose legacy he always carried. No... not just a legacy. His deepest regret and his greatest grief."

He looked closely at the dates and details etched into the corner of the frame.

"Right after this picture was taken," Marrowin traced the edge of the wood with a cold, precise finger, "they thought they had completely ended the life of the Demon Lord. But no… the demon lord attacked their home in retaliation... and slaughtered his parents while he was helpless to stop it."

The heavy burden of that tragedy, the driving force that had pushed the original Erwin to become an elite adventurer, was now entirely laid bare. Marrowin quietly set the frame back down on the table, aligning it perfectly in its original spot. Erwin's grief, his drive, and his deepest secrets now belonged entirely to the hive—the perfect cover to ensure the executioners of the kingdom remained completely hidden in plain sight.

Suddenly, an uninhibited, raw spike of memory bit violently into Marrowin's mind, forcing its way to the surface.

It was a memory that didn't belong to him, yet it materialized with terrifying clarity. He was looking through the eyes of a helpless, ten year old Erwin. The young boy was on his knees, weeping hysterically as he grabbed his mother's hand.

The hand was already bloodied and turning terribly cold. Her eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling, her lips parted slightly as if her final breath had been spent gasping his name: Erwin.

In the distance, past the crumbling, ruined walls of the estate, the sky was swallowed by thick flames and an oppressive, suffocating darkness. Through the smoke, young Erwin could see his father—the legendary Belvius Prime—fighting completely alone against the towering shadow of the Demon Lord.

The heat distorted the air, making it hard to see clearly, but a sudden flash of fire illuminated a horrific sight. With a brutal, swift stroke of darkness, Belvius's right arm was severed, sending his golden weapon clattering to the earth.

The little boy screamed out into the void, a desperate, echoing cry of absolute despair and then, the memory snapped shut.

Marrowin blinked, gasping slightly as he found himself back in the quiet, dim room of the ordinary house. The memory felt incredibly fresh, pulsing with a raw, agonizing grief that felt entirely real. For a fleeting second, the sheer weight of a human's ultimate tragedy had resonated deeply, sending a strange, unsettling ripple straight through his monster heart…

But what happened next made his monster heart freeze entirely.

In the absolute darkness and heavy emptiness of the quiet house, the floorboards down the hallway creaked softly. A frail, trembling shadow emerged from one of the back rooms.

Then, a familiar, raspy voice called out into the gloom, echoing with weak, desperate hope:

"Erwin…? Is—that—you? M-my son?"