Chapter 71: Just Normal
The sun hung high over the city of Zander, showering the streets in warm, golden rays. Years and seasons had passed quickly since the death of the last Demon Lord and the absolute victory over the Dark Army. The surrounding villages had begun to prosper, and a profound change had settled over the world. People went about their days without worry; the air was no longer thick with the constant tension of war.
People could finally live peacefully. Farmers tended their fields however they wanted, without looking over their shoulders. Children played freely in the streets, sleeping soundly at night knowing there were no monsters lurking in the shadows. Society was relaxed, happy, and living normal lives.
But life was entirely different for James Tyranny, the son of the Global Hero.
Ever since James was born, his world had been suffocatingly tense.
While other children his age ran around playing hide-and-seek and acting their age, James was forced to endure grueling, relentless training. Even at the young age of ten, he found himself standing in the center of the massive, white-tiled, square-shaped training arena in the backyard of his father's sprawling estate.
He gripped a wooden sword with numb, blistered hands. Dressed in a small white tunic, black leggings, and heavy training boots, he was drenched in sweat. He felt like he was going to cry. He had been going at this for almost an hour without a break. His legs were shaking violently, and his breaths came in slow, forced gasps that burned heavily in his lungs.
The training ground felt impossibly enormous to the exhausted child. After running endless laps and sparring with his instructor, a towering, muscular man standing a few feet away with a wooden practice sword that looked comically small in his massive hands, James was completely drained. He wanted to drop his weapon. He wanted to give up. In fact, he desperately wanted to cry.
But then he turned his head to the left.
He saw his father, Alexander Tyranny. The man was an older, far more imposing mirror image of James himself. He had short black hair, sharp brown eyes, and a broad, muscular build that dwarfed even the instructor. Alexander stood at the edge of the tiles with his arms firmly folded across his chest, his expression hard and unforgiving.
"What are you waiting for?" his father growled.
James's legs trembled. His muscles screamed in pain, but he forced himself to move. He clenched his teeth, gripped the wooden sword tight, and charged forward. As soon as James thrust his blade toward the man's abdomen, the instructor effortlessly sidestepped. Carried entirely by his own reckless momentum, James couldn't stop. The instructor barely lifted his foot, sweeping James's legs out from under him.
James crashed hard into the unforgiving tiles.
He scraped his knee violently against the ground. He gritted his teeth, the urge to cry overwhelming him as hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He looked up toward his father. The breath caught painfully in James's throat. His father's eyes were glowing a faint, intense golden-brown, the undeniable physical manifestation of his anger and deep frustration.
Seeing that disappointment, little James couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears flooded down his cheeks, and he started to openly sob.
The instructor looked down at the boy, sighed, and turned to the Hero. "My lord—"
Alexander raised a single hand, immediately silencing the man. "That's enough for now. James," his father said, walking forward onto the tiles. The intimidating golden glow faded, his eyes returning to their natural brown.
James sniffled loudly. He wanted to push himself up off the ground, but his entire body ached, and his arms refused to cooperate. "Mom..." James whimpered through his tears.
Before he knew it, he felt two strong hands grab him, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. It was his father.
"Come on. Don't cry. Let's go rest," Alexander said quietly.
As his father turned his back to carry James away, the instructor’s perpetually stern expression finally cracked, softening with a sudden, heavy pang of pity.
His father carried him inside the luxurious, spotless mansion.
"Don't cry, alright?" his father murmured, setting the boy gently down on his feet in the grand hallway. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," James sniffled, wiping his nose.
"Alright. Let's go see your mother."
They walked slowly through the massive corridors of the estate. Every servant they passed immediately stopped and bowed gracefully in the presence of their Lord.
Eventually, they entered the estate's library. It was an incredibly cavernous room, stuffed from floor to ceiling with books detailing knowledge from a dozen different kingdoms, ancient histories, and legends of the world. Resting gracefully on a red wooden sofa adorned with intricate floral carvings was James's mother. She wore a bright, elegant blue dress, her curly black hair flowing elegantly down her back. A warm smile touched her lips as she read a book written by her favorite author.
"Clara," James's father said, causing his wife to look up.
"Oh, honey, you already finished your training?" She frowned as she truly looked at her son. His clothes were filthy, his posture was rigid and defensive, and his eyes were bloodshot, showing clear signs of crying.
"What happened?" Clara asked, immediately standing up from the sofa and rushing toward him. She knelt down, gently cupping James's dirt-streaked face. Then, she glared fiercely up at her husband. "I told you not to take it this far again. Do you want a repeat of what happened last time?"
"Of course not," Alexander muttered.
James suddenly felt a wave of release wash over him. All the pain started melting away. The deep exhaustion, the burning in his muscles, the stinging scrapes, everything vanished as his mother's hands glowed with a warm, faint green light.
It was a very familiar sensation; one he felt every single time he finished training with his dad. After all, his mother was a high-level Healer.
"I can't keep healing him every time like this," Clara said softly, the green light reflecting in her worried eyes.
"I know," Alexander said, a heavy look of guilt settling on his face. They had spoken about this before—about relying on magic to fix James after every session. Healing magic only erased the physical damage, not the psychological toll. They both knew that. But at the same time, they were desperate for James to become stronger. To heal the deep scars that had appeared in their family's flawless reputation.
"Thank you, Mother," James whispered.
"Don't worry, sweetie. Come here, let's find you something to eat. I asked the cook to bake some biscuits earlier."
"Really?" James asked, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his exhaustion.
Clara stood up, straightening her dress as she gently took her son's hand. "Yes. I asked her to bake your absolute favorite."
James smiled, his tone brightening considerably as he chatted with his mother, following her out and leaving his father standing alone in the massive library.
Alexander stood in the silence, a bitter mix of frustration, guilt, and profound embarrassment churning in his gut.
He was the Global Hero. The one man respected by every kingdom across the entire planet. Other heroes and noble families had always been deeply jealous of him, yet they could never touch him because of his absolute, undeniable strength and status.
But when James was born, everything changed.
They laughed at him. They laughed at his family in the shadows. The secret had somehow escaped the estate that he had birthed a failure—the first Hero in recorded history to not be blessed by the automatic leveling system. The devastating rumor had bled out into the villages, the cities, and the rival guilds.
It filled Alexander with a dark, suffocating blend of anger and shame. He could still vividly recall the memories of rival heroes smiling at him at banquets, hiding their mocking smirks behind wine glasses. They had always searched for a weakness to exploit, something to drag the great Alexander Tyranny down. Finally, they had found it. They whispered behind his back, calling his bloodline weak, even going as far as mocking his potency as a man.
His eyes flared, glowing a faint, dangerous golden-brown as his fists clenched at his sides. The air around him shimmered and distorted, bending like an invisible heat haze radiating from his body.
"Father!"
A small, cheerful, feminine voice cut sharply through his dark thoughts. Instantly, the oppressive aura vanished, and the golden light faded from his eyes. Alexander turned toward the doorway to find his young daughter standing there.
"Ah, Claire. You're here. Have you finished your studies?" he asked, forcing a warm, proud smile onto his face.
"Yes!" she chirped, a bright chuckle escaping her lips.
She suddenly ran toward him and effortlessly leapt five feet into the air. Alexander caught her easily, settling her into his arms.
"Hey, I told you not to do that around the house," he chided gently.
She just laughed, completely ignoring the reprimand. "I can count all the way up to a hundred now!"
"Really?" her father asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah! Want me to show you?"
"Of course," Alexander said, his tone softening. "You can count for me while we go find your mother."
Claire started happily counting the numbers aloud, ticking them off on her small fingers as they walked.
Alexander smiled as he carried his daughter out of the library. The crushing frustration in his chest eased as he listened to her cheerful voice. His eight-year-old daughter was his absolute pride and joy.
Little Claire was currently Level 44.
Unlike James, Claire was leveling up exactly like a Hero should. She had the raw power and the boundless mana. She was incredibly strong, having far surpassed her older brother's level, even though Claire had never once lifted a sword or stepped foot in a training arena. She didn't have to endure the grueling, tear-filled regimens that James was subjected to daily.
At the age of ten, after years of brutal effort, James was currently... Level 7.
Even though Alexander was deeply frustrated, and the rumors declaring the boy "unblessed" continued to spread, there was still a small sliver of speculation that James might just be an extremely late bloomer. After all, this wouldn't be the first time in history a Hero took time to awaken. The longest recorded delay before the automatic leveling kicked in was two years.
Even though James had long shattered that record, Alexander clung to hope. Every top-tier Healer, every Saint, and every physician who had examined
the boy all said the exact same thing: there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.
James was just normal.