Chapter 62: Arriving at the Hero Academy.
The lizard man’s body gradually turned to dust.
Aku had won.
"It was easier than expected," Aku commented as he made his weapon disappear.
It was certainly true, but it was also true that Jeremy had done much of the work.
The hero had worn down the lizard man and forced him to use much of his armor.
Still, Aku was sure it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to defeat the lizard man.
"Well, we already defeated him. How are you doing?" the boy asked, turning toward Jeremy.
However, apparently the hero hadn’t survived the wound and was dead.
"Well... I suppose being a hero doesn’t come naturally to me yet," the demon king commented with an indifferent air.
After that, Aku continued closing cracks for a while until they gave notice that they were safe.
Many heroes died, but no explanations were given as to why the monster attack had occurred.
Aku supposed it was an internal problem, because if it had been a trial they would have said so.
After that, they finally arrived at their destination: the hero academy.
"Wow..." the demon king commented as he saw the academy. It was a much more impressive place than expected.
It was a gigantic floating island, suspended in the immensity of space as if defying any known law.
There was nothing below it, nothing above, only infinite void extending in all directions.
Still, the island remained firm, immovable, as if an invisible force held it with absolute certainty.
Its expanse was so vast that it was impossible to encompass it with a single glance, and its limits were lost in the distance, blurring under the slight curvature imposed by its own magnitude.
Surrounding it all, a transparent dome completely enveloped the island. It wasn’t simply glass, nor something as mundane as a conventional physical barrier. Its surface was so clear that at times it seemed nonexistent, allowing observation of outer space in all its rawness.
Aku recognized it instantly. That wasn’t a dome, but a magical barrier made to restrict the powers of chaos on the academy’s grounds.
The demon king let out a long sigh. He would have to get used to dealing with that barrier.
Beyond that protection extended an ocean of darkness dotted with distant stars, tiny and cold, that contrasted with the artificial warmth that reigned inside.
However, upon looking closely, it was possible to perceive slight undulations in the dome, as if it breathed slowly, reminding that that frontier between the interior and the void wasn’t something natural.
Above, suspended over the island like a domesticated sun, shone an artificial star.
It wasn’t a simple light source, but a radiant core that emitted a constant and uniform glow, bathing every corner of the academy with an almost perfect clarity.
Its light wasn’t aggressive or blinding, but surprisingly balanced, as if it had been designed to imitate the ideal conditions of a perpetual day.
There were no overly deep shadows or corners plunged into absolute darkness. Everything was illuminated with unsettling precision, as if even darkness had been carefully measured.
Beneath that star, occupying a large part of the island’s surface, rose the academy building.
At first glance, its design was modern, with clean lines and well-defined structures, dominated by materials that subtly reflected the artificial light.
However, that appearance didn’t manage to hide its true nature. It was immense.
Not just large, but disproportionate compared to any common construction.
Its towers rose with authority, connected to each other by elevated walkways and wide corridors that seemed endless.
Each section of the building gave the impression of having been designed with a specific purpose, forming an ensemble as complex as it was functional.
Wide windows ran along its facades, allowing the artificial star’s light to penetrate its interior without obstacles.
From a distance, the academy imposed not only by its size, but by the sensation of absolute order it transmitted, as if everything in it was carefully calculated, measured, and executed with almost perfect precision.
Together, the island, the dome, and the star formed a closed, self-sufficient system, a small world separated from the rest of the universe.
A place that not only defied logic, but seemed to have been created to impose it again under its own rules.
While the demon king observed the academy in the distance, motionless, as if trying to decipher each of its secrets, a firm and amplified voice burst into the environment.
It resonated through the Argos’s megaphones, clear, impossible to ignore, extending through every corner of the enormous "space ship."
"Start gathering at the exit," the voice ordered, without hesitation, with a tone that admitted no delay or questions.
The echo of those words seemed to remain suspended for a few instants in the air before slowly fading.
Aku didn’t hesitate. He set off along with the rest, advancing through the Argos’s long hallways with calm, almost carefree steps.
The interior of the place maintained that strange air that mixed the functional with the unknown.
The walls were smooth, of a material that didn’t quite seem like metal or stone, and reflected the light faintly in soft patterns, as if the hallway itself were somehow alive.
Each step resonated with a slight echo, muffled, as if space itself absorbed the sound before letting it escape.
Around him, other "heroes" also walked toward the exit.
Some did so in silence, with their gaze fixed ahead, carrying thoughts that didn’t need to be expressed.
Others murmured among themselves, with low voices, as if fearing someone else might hear their doubts.
There was no enthusiasm in the atmosphere. Not the kind you’d expect from people chosen to save worlds.
Aku observed them sideways, without stopping. He didn’t recognize any of those present, which made him wonder if those heroes he had faced in the trial had passed it.
He also couldn’t find Sylvie, but that was more a relief than bad news.
Aku observed tense expressions, dull looks, poorly disguised gestures of discomfort. It was evident they all shared something in common, something that didn’t need to be said aloud.
They had failed as heroes. They hadn’t managed to defeat the demon king.
In contrast, he was a demon king who had defeated a hero. In a way, Aku was superior to all of them.
Finally, the hallways led to a large opening that led outside. The transition was almost abrupt.
From the Argos’s closed structure, they passed to an open, wide space, illuminated by the constant light of that artificial star dominating the sky.
There were already people waiting for them there.
Three figures clearly stood out among the rest.
They remained standing in front of the exit, aligned, as if they had been waiting there long before their arrival.
They dressed ostentatiously, with clothes that not only drew attention by their design, but by the details adorning them.
Capes with complex embroidery, armor pieces elegantly integrated, intense colors that seemed carefully chosen to transmit presence.
They weren’t simple instructors.
Aku narrowed his eyes slightly as he observed them.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him. Those three radiated a sensation difficult to describe, a mix of authority, experience, and contained power.
It wasn’t an exaggerated demonstration, but something more subtle, heavier. As if the air around them were slightly different.
Veteran heroes.
It was most logical. In a place like that, they wouldn’t put just anyone to receive them.
Aku couldn’t help wondering how many worlds they had saved. How many battles they had fought. How many demon kings they had defeated... or at least, how many they had had to face before becoming what they were now.
One of them stepped forward.
His presence became more evident instantly. He didn’t raise his voice exaggeratedly, but when he spoke, everyone listened.
"Welcome," he began, scanning the group with his gaze. "I know what you’re thinking. I know what you feel being here."
There was a brief pause. Not long, but enough for the weight of his words to settle.
"You don’t need to say it. All of you have been summoned as heroes... and all have failed."
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was dense.
"Some came far," he continued. "Others barely had time to understand the world they were sent to. Some fought to the end. Others... simply couldn’t do it."
There was no mockery in his tone. No pity either.
"But listen well to this," he added, taking a slight step closer to them. "Failing once doesn’t define what you are as heroes."
Behind him, the other two remained silent, watching attentively.
"If that were so, none of us would be here."
That phrase provoked a slight reaction among the group. Not an open murmur, but a subtle change in attention.
"This academy exists for a reason," the veteran continued. "Not to reward those who succeed the first time, but to train those who didn’t succeed... yet."
His gaze hardened slightly, not hostilely, but firmly.
"There are countless worlds out there. More than you can imagine. Worlds that need help. Worlds that will fall if no one intervenes."
He made a brief pause before continuing.
"And you... are candidates to be those who make the difference."
Some of those present raised their gaze slightly.
"Here you will learn. Train. Fail again, surely. But each mistake, each defeat, will be a tool. Because this time you won’t be alone, nor will you go blindly."
His voice remained firm, constant.
"You’ll be given another chance. And another. As many as necessary."
The veteran crossed his arms calmly.
"Not to repeat the same thing... but to surpass what you were."
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t the same as before.
"So decide," he concluded. "You can continue being heroes who failed once... or you can become heroes who will save countless worlds."
No one responded immediately.
But something had changed.
Aku noticed it without needing to look at anyone directly.
The atmosphere was different. More tense, yes... but also firmer. As if, little by little, something began to rebuild inside all of them.
And yet, while the others seemed to cling to those words, Aku simply observed in silence.
Thinking.
That man seemed good with words, too good.
But there was something about him that generated distrust in Aku.
Something he couldn’t discern.