I Was a Loner, but My Class Got Summoned to Another World…

Roland fought hard for the next few days, killing all who stood in his path—attacking fortresses, camps, and anything the demons used to patrol or locate humans.

Luckily, like humans, they too needed to eat and sleep.

It was during those vulnerable moments that he struck hard.

Now that he no longer needed rest, he went all out—day and night—restlessly hunting for more.

He didn't know how many he had killed, but the number was well into the thousands.

The hardest were the vampires.

When fully fed, their strength rivaled his, even without skills, forcing him to conserve mana until he faced them.

But it wasn't all grim.

Every person saved was another ally gained, especially soldiers.

They proved useful, and Roland's ability to rally them had grown his original team of twenty into a full legion of nearly two thousand.

He called them the First Liberation Army.

Each one stood ready to help him defeat more demons.

Today was important.

It was the day Roland would finally strike the largest barracks in the region, allowing him to advance into the Light Domain's territory—a place heavily fortified by the demons to prevent humans from gaining power.

Roland took a moment to rest, wary of what was to come.

He knew the king would be joining today's expedition, and with any luck, one of the demons they captured might reveal something about his lost son.

Everyone still held hope that the prince they had left behind and was still missing could be found.

Just as he was relaxing, he sensed a shift in the mana around him.

Right where the disturbance occurred, Stella appeared, holding a basket.

"Guess you even went and stole some food, huh?"

Roland chuckled, knowing full well she'd never do such a thing.

"Why would you say that to a princess? I only have to ask and it would be given. Now shut up—I know you don't have much time before the attack, so I came to give you this."

Stella sat beside him and handed over a plate filled with food.

She knew Roland never ate when he was nervous and had gotten into the habit of bringing him meals hours before battle.

"Thanks… as always, thank you, Stella. I know I should eat, but I just get so nervous."

Roland began to take bites of the meat and bread—the usual fare for those with privileges. Others had to make do with paste and gruel.

Still, he didn't enjoy the meal as much as he normally might.

He ate on autopilot until he felt someone poking his cheek.

"This is hard-earned food, mister. Look at it—take a good taste, feel the different textures. It's a blessing, Roland."

Brought back to reality, Roland nodded.

"Reminds me of something my mother used to say. You know, before they died, I was a huge gamer. I played games non-stop. I remember one time she told me the same thing. I know you don't know what a gamer is, but think of it like someone playing on… a magical device. Maybe I'll make one for you someday, so you can understand—haha."

Roland half-forgot that she wouldn't know what he meant, but that never stopped her from trying to understand him.

She was always curious about his world, always asking questions about everything he'd been through and his experiences on earth.

She especially loved the parts about his school days, his teachers, and learning different subjects; she loved it and hoped to add proper schools in her kingdom after all this was fixed, even for the commoners.

They would talk about all this for hours before she went to sleep—at least when they weren't busy having fun.

There was none of that today, though.

After he finished eating, he did what he always did: he healed her.

Stella often exhausted herself using her own healing magic, yet never complained in public.

It was only with Roland that she opened up, only with him that she shared her burdens.

They grew closer by the day, and that closeness made Roland more reckless.

He wanted to give her peace—somewhere she could live without always being on the front lines.

"The time's almost here, dear. I need to get back to healing the wounded. Please, stay safe out there… and don't do anything stupid, Roland."

Stella sat on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him for several minutes. It was the best part of Roland's day. He savored it—right up until the moment he was forced to leave her embrace.

Picking up his helmet, Roland exited the tent assigned to him. He headed to the blacksmith, gathering various supplies—from small crystals he could imbue with spells for bombs to new weapons, as he kept breaking the ones he used.

"Arvor, I hope you made something decent today. I'm still waiting for a sword that won't break. Please tell me you've finally crafted it."

The old blacksmith he'd come to know well chuckled and tossed him a new broadsword—this one at least twice as heavy as the last.

"I don't think any weapon humanity makes will help you, hero. You'll need one with the Spirit of Fire's blessing. Only then will you get a sword worthy of your strength. Until that day comes, keep bringing me metal I can work with. I'm your personal blacksmith for a reason."

Roland nodded, understanding the man's position.

"Sorry about that. I'll be sure to take better care of them this time. Just know that every blade you forge is used to its fullest. I promise you—each one will take down at least a thousand demons before it breaks."

The blacksmith nodded at that and pointed toward the armor racks.

Roland moved to inspect his gear. His armor still held up, so he decided not to take a replacement. His storage was limited, and he didn't like cluttering it, especially when he'd need the space to bring back the spoils of war after a fight.

"That'll be all, Arvor. After today's battle, you might finally get a few days' rest while I work on changing my class," Roland said, offering a brief nod.

But the blacksmith only shook his head.

"Knowing you, I'll need to start crafting your next two weapons already. Just leave it to me, hero. Every sword I make is a new piece of art—it's my passion, so don't worry about it."

With his affairs settled, Roland made his way to the king, who had already assembled the troops. Only a small squad of scouts and knights remained behind to protect the princess.

"I see you're ready, then," the king said. "Today, we liberate the first of the spirits. With it, you'll gain power, hero. So please—do your best."

The king lifted his sword, and the army shifted into position. Cavalry, pikemen, archers, and mages lined up in formation. Beasts stood by, ready to pull siege weapons, while winged riders prepared to scout the enemy ahead.

They were about to break into one of the largest fortresses—an ancient stronghold that once belonged to Elris.

Everyone knew how difficult this would be. That fortress had helped the kingdom survive countless enemy waves.

Now, it stood in demon hands.

Roland didn't mind the challenge itself. What worried him was something else entirely.

If there were humans trapped behind those walls… that would change everything.

The demons had begun to understand him, and by now, they knew that as the hero, he wasn't accustomed to killing his own kind.

By now, the demons' tactics had changed.

They began using prisoners as shields, forcing Roland to kill innocent people just to strike at his enemies.

There was no way around it.

Some had to die so others could live—he had accepted this the day he killed that girl.

All he could do now was offer them a swift death.

The strategy this time was simple: wait until the siege weapons destroyed the fortress defenses, then cast Meteor and charge through the shattered section of the wall. It should have gone just like the other battles.

And yet, something felt wrong.

The moment they approached, they didn't see the demons cowering behind stone and ramparts.

Instead, they stood outside the fortress, lined up, waiting to fight.

As Roland and his group drew closer, the demons began to cheer, their voices loud and taunting.

They weren't afraid of the hero.

At least, that's what they wanted him to believe.

Roland, however, took this very seriously.

He saw what was laid out before the demons—countless humans lined up like sacrifices for war.

Each one naked, lying on the ground. Some already dead. Others wailing in despair.

His jaw tightened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out several crystals and readying his next move.

He had grown to hate the demons with a passion that made him feral in battle—and today was no different.

He armed himself with the new weapons: crystals, which he hurled as far as he could into the enemy camp.

Everyone watched in silence, waiting to see what would happen.

Then it began.

From the spots where the crystals landed, massive golems began to manifest, as if born from the earth itself. At least eight of them rose, each one over five meters tall.