The Heavenly Hero Returns

Chapter 18: The Weight of Survival

Part 1: The Healer's Verdict (Lucien's Perspective)

Lucien carried Jessica into the makeshift camp infirmary, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The moment they stepped inside, the group healer, a first-year noble-born with an affinity for Water magic, rushed to meet them. Her face was pale, her hands trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer number of injured students she had already tended to.

Lucien set Jessica down more carefully than he wanted to, his instincts screaming that she was barely holding herself together.

But then—

"…She's fine."

Silence.

Lucien's red eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Excuse me?"

The healer, visibly exhausted, adjusted her gloves and repeated, "Her vitals are stable. No internal injuries. No broken bones."

Jessica, still slumped forward slightly, exhaled through her nose in something resembling a laugh. She didn't correct the healer.

Lucien felt something ugly coil in his chest.

He knew what he saw.

• He saw the tremor in Jessica's fingers when she tried to adjust her seating.

• He saw the deepening bruises blooming across her abdomen.

• He saw the way her shoulders sat too stiffly, as if she couldn't relax them without something locking up.

This wasn't fine.

His teeth ground together as his hands curled into fists.

Why does this make me so angry?

Jessica turned her head toward him—just slightly. The corners of her lips curved into something unreadable.

"See?" she murmured. "I'm alive."

Lucien's jaw locked so tight he could hear his own teeth creak.

Alive.

That wasn't the same as fine.

____________

Part 2: The Long March Home

The camp was a mess of exhaustion and quiet grief. The students were alive—but six were not.

For the first time, the lesser nobles and commoners looked hollow.

They weren't used to this. To death.

• A noble-born girl sat against a tree, staring at nothing, her hands still shaking from where she had tried—and failed—to cast a spell that could have saved her partner.

• A knight-blooded boy, barely conscious, whispered the names of his fallen comrades under his breath as if keeping them alive by force of will.

• Even the arrogant ones—those who had scoffed at lesser ranks—had stopped talking.

This was their first real battle.

And reality was settling in.

__________

Part 3: Magnus' Perspective – "Get Over It"

Magnus Reinhardt had seen this before.

When he was younger, before his magic meant anything, before the academy, he had traveled with mercenaries.

Not the honorable kind.

The kind that got paid to clear monster nests after entire villages had been wiped out.

He had seen men ripped apart.

He had seen young warriors hesitate—only to be devoured.

He had seen people sob over bodies while the enemy was still coming.

So when he saw the elite class falling apart, when he saw students breaking under the weight of their first real battle, he felt…

Nothing.

Not because he was cold.

Not because he was heartless.

Because this is what war was.

And they had been sheltered from it their whole lives.

_____________

Part 4: The Injured Begin to Falter (Magnus' Perspective)

The march back to the academy was long. Grueling.

One by one, students collapsed.

The First Wave – True Injuries

The first to fall were the ones who had taken real injuries.

• A boy with a cracked rib struggled at first—until the pain finally overtook him, and he crumpled to his knees.

• A girl with a gash across her leg made it halfway before she sank into the mud, unable to go further.

• Another, his arm wrapped tightly in a bloodied bandage, slowed down until he simply fell forward, unable to lift himself back up.

Magnus moved immediately.

"You, carry him." He pointed at a noble-born squire. The boy hesitated, panting. "I—"

Magnus grabbed him by the collar. "I don't give a damn if you're tired. Pick him up."

The squire stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the wounded boy. He swallowed hard—then bent down, hauling him onto his back.

No one argued.

Because Magnus was right.

Another student—a girl barely standing—wavered, gripping her injured ribs.

Magnus gestured sharply. "Help her."

A nearby knight-blooded trainee moved without hesitation.

Magnus didn't wait. He didn't ask. He commanded.

And the students obeyed.

__

The Second Wave – The Mind Breaks First

Then came the next wave of collapses.

The ones who looked fine, but weren't.

• A noble girl suddenly clutched her chest, unable to breathe, hyperventilating from the delayed shock.

• A squire stumbled, not from injury, but from sheer mental exhaustion—his eyes dull, his body barely responding.

• Another girl, perfectly unscathed, suddenly sat down and refused to move. She just—stopped.

Magnus assessed fast.

The real injuries got carried.

The mental ones?

Magnus stopped in front of the girl who refused to move.

She was shaking, staring blankly at the ground.

"Up." His voice was flat. Unyielding.

She shook her head. "I— I can't—"

SLAP.

The sound cracked like a whip.

Her eyes shot wide, her breath catching.

Magnus stared down at her, gaze sharp, voice cold. "I don't care how you feel. Move or die."

She gasped for air, hands trembling—then, with ragged, unsteady movements, she stood.

Not because she was ready.

Because Magnus didn't give her a choice.

__

The Final Wave – Redirecting the Remaining Strength

More students began to stagger, to falter.

Magnus didn't let them.

"You're strong enough to walk? Then help someone who isn't."

Some resisted.

"I— I can barely keep going myself—"

Magnus turned on them. "Then you've got two choices: Keep moving, or collapse and make someone else carry you."

No one chose the second option.

He pushed. He ordered. He commanded.

And in that moment— Magnus Reinhardt wasn't just another commoner among nobles.

He was the leader that the weak needed to survive.

He was the one keeping them from falling apart.

_____

Part 5: Princess Seraphina's Perspective – "I Will Cry For Them"

Seraphina's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She wasn't weak. She wasn't fragile.

But the sight of so many suffering—so many noble and common-born alike, breaking under the weight of this loss—

She couldn't just walk past them.

She knelt beside a sobbing girl, one who had just realized that her best friend hadn't made it.

And for the first time, Seraphina did something her brother never would.

She wrapped her arms around her.

And let herself cry.

___

"They deserved better."

Seraphina wiped her face, her grip tightening around the girl.

"They deserved better." She repeated it, softer this time.

The girl nodded into her shoulder.

No one else would cry for them.

So she would.

_______

Part 6: Brother & Sister – "You Feel Nothing."

Later, as they walked side by side, Seraphina turned to her brother.

Her face was still wet with tears.

Alistair's wasn't.

"…Do you even care?" Her voice was quiet. Bitter.

Alistair didn't look at her.

"I care."

She clenched her fists. "You don't act like it."

His steps didn't break. "A ruler can't cry, Seraphina."

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"No. You can't cry."

And then, her voice dropped.

"That's why they'll love me more."

Alistair stopped walking.

For a moment—**just a moment—**his jaw clenched.

And Seraphina knew she had struck a nerve.

But he didn't respond.

Didn't argue.

Didn't even correct her.

Because maybe—just maybe—he wasn't sure she was wrong.

____

Final Scene: The Realization

As the students continued marching, as the weak fell, as the strong endured—

Lucien still carried Jessica.

Magnus still pushed people forward.

Seraphina still comforted the fallen.

And Alistair still said nothing.

Because this was the cost of being a knight.

Because this was the cost of being a ruler.

Because this was the cost of survival.

And no one would leave this battlefield as the same person they were before.