The Heavenly Hero Returns

Chapter 17: A Battlefield Without Witnesses

Part 1: The Reluctant Search Party

The students stood in uneasy silence, their bodies aching, their minds heavy with exhaustion.

The battle had left them battered, their numbers reduced, their arrogance shattered.

For the first time in their privileged lives, they had fought a battle where magic had failed them.

And they had barely survived.

Seraphina von Aurelius exhaled slowly, sheathing her bloodstained rapier.

"We need to regroup," she said, her voice steady despite the weariness in her bones. "There's still one thing left to do."

Lucien von Hohenfeld turned his crimson gaze toward her.

"You mean checking for survivors?"

She hesitated.

Then, quietly—

"Jessica."

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Reynard Falkenrath let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You really think she's alive?"

"Dead or not," Magnus Reinhardt said, his voice grim, "we need to confirm it."

No one argued, but the reluctance was palpable.

It wasn't just that they assumed Jessica was dead.

It was the wicked curiosity clawing at their chests—the need to know.

Had she died screaming? Had she been torn apart like the trainees?

Or—

No.

That wasn't possible.

The group hesitated, reluctant. They had just survived hell. Going back, even with magic slowly returning, felt reckless.

But curiosity, sick and undeniable, overrode their hesitation.

They had to know.

And so, bloodied and limping, the remains of the elite class made their way toward the battlefield they had abandoned.

————

Refined Part 2: A Battlefield Too Still 

The battlefield was wrong.

The battlefield was still. Too still.

No one spoke at first.

The exhaustion was too deep. The losses too fresh.

But the silence itself became unbearable.

Seraphina was the first to break it.

"…There's no destruction."

A pause. A long, uneasy pause.

Lucien exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes flickering over the perfect, clinical slaughter before them.

Magnus ran a hand through his blood-matted hair, his expression unreadable.

Gareth swallowed. "This isn't normal."

No one disagreed.

No one wanted to say what they were all thinking.

Because the alternative was impossible.

And at the center of it all—Jessica Moran stood alone.

Shaking.

Shuddering.

Her uniform was torn. Not in a way that suggested injury—her skin remained untouched—but in ways that shouldn't have made sense.

Certain seams had split, as if pulled too sharply. The edges of her sleeves were frayed, her collar slightly stretched. Her pant legs were scuffed where they had dragged too hard against the earth.

As if she had been moving too fast for her own clothes to keep up.

But there were no wounds.

And her grip—her grip had not loosened.

Her fingers curled too tightly around the hilt of her sword. Knuckles white, trembling from the sheer strain of not letting go.

She wasn't holding onto it for survival.

She was holding onto it like she had forgotten how to let go.

And then—Lucien was moving.

______

Part 3: The First to Move – Lucien von Hohenfeld

Lucien moved first.

Not because he wanted to.

Not because it was rational.

But because something about this was wrong, and his body refused to wait for an answer.

He reached her first.

Jessica barely reacted as his shadow fell over her.

Lucien's gaze swept over her—too sharp, too precise, too focused.

Her breath was too erratic.

Her fingers would not let go of the sword.

Lucien's jaw tightened.

Then—he reached out.

His hand closed over her wrist.

Not harsh. Not forceful.

A grounding touch.

Jessica stiffened. Not because of him—but because she hadn't realized how badly she was shaking.

Lucien's grip tightened slightly. Testing. Feeling. Confirming.

Her pulse was too fast.

Her skin was too cold.

Her fingers—still locked around the hilt—would not loosen.

Lucien exhaled slowly, a quiet, measured breath.

Then—he pried her fingers open.

Jessica blinked. Finally, she looked at him.

Lucien didn't look back. He was still focused on her hand, on the way her fingers resisted, on the way her grip had turned into something unnatural.

She let go before she could think about it.

And his fingers—**without hesitation—**curled around the hilt instead.

Jessica's breath hitched.

Lucien's gaze flickered.

And something inside him uncoiled.

She's alive.

_____

Part 4: The Unspoken Realization

The others caught up.

Seraphina von Aurelius stared at the battlefield. Her blue eyes swept over the scene—over the bodies, over the lack of struggle, over Jessica.

"This doesn't make sense."

Lucien exhaled through his nose, not letting go of Jessica's wrist. "No. It doesn't."

The nobles, already shaken from their own losses, desperately tried to process what they were seeing.

Reynard Falkenrath swallowed thickly. "She's barely injured."

That wasn't true.

Jessica's arms, legs, and ribs were covered in deep bruising, her uniform torn in places where her movements had been too fast, too sharp.

But her skin was untouched.

That shouldn't have been possible.

Seraphina forced herself to speak. "She wasn't affected by the surge."

Lucien's grip twitched slightly.

Seraphina's voice was quieter now, controlled, as if saying it out loud would help her believe it. "She doesn't have a mana network. There was nothing for the surge to disrupt."

A pause.

Then Reynard let out a short, bitter laugh. "Of course. Of course it's that simple."

The nobles latched onto the explanation instantly.

She hadn't been affected. She had no magic. That's why she lived. It was just luck.

A perfect, logical answer.

Then why didn't it feel right?

________

Part 5: Magnus Refuses the Lie

Magnus exhaled sharply through his nose.

"…Bullshit."

Heads turned.

Magnus' gaze didn't leave Jessica.

"She didn't just survive." His voice was cold now. Flat. Unyielding.

His fingers twitched as he gestured toward the battlefield—toward the neatly butchered remains of monsters surrounding her.

"She butchered them."

The nobles flinched.

Because he was right.

There was no panic in this slaughter. No reckless survival instinct. No sloppy, desperate injuries.

Every stab was in a fatal point. Every cut, every strike—precise. Measured. Calculated.

She had fought like someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Magnus looked around at them, scoffing. "You're all full of shit."

Reynard bristled. "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

Magnus tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. "I'm saying you're all trying really hard to pretend you don't see what's right in front of you."

________

Part 6: Jessica's Unreadable Smile

Jessica, still shaking, still caught between the last fading traces of adrenaline and exhaustion, smiled faintly.

Lucien, still watching her too closely, noted that the smile didn't reach her eyes.

His fingers tensed at his sides.

Jessica met his gaze. Then Seraphina's. Then Magnus'.

And in a voice hoarse, exhausted, but light—

"…Lucky me."

Lucien's jaw locked.

He didn't like that answer.

Not at all.

__________

The Cover-Up Begins

The official report was to be filed within the hours.

It stated the following:

- The elite class fought bravely.

- The battle was won through strategy and teamwork.

- Jessica Moran was separated briefly but survived.

Nowhere did it say that she had fought alone.

Nowhere did it say that she had killed more than the rest of them combined.

Nowhere did it acknowledge that she had come out of that battlefield cleaner than the ones who had fled.

Jessica was erased from their victory.

Because they could not allow the alternative.

Because the alternative was too terrifying to comprehend.

And yet—

Jessica, seated in the infirmary, watched them lie with that same unreadable smile.

She did not argue.

She did not correct them.

Because this?

This was exactly what she wanted.