The Heavenly Hero Returns

Chapter 19: The Weight of a Broken March

The Gates of Arcadia – A Procession of the Defeated

The Academy gates loomed ahead, tall and pristine, untouched by the blood, dirt, and suffering that clung to the students now limping through them.

Jessica did not walk with the others. She was still in Lucien's arms, her body completely spent, too battered to stand on her own.

The elite class returned in fragments—not as a proud formation, but as a disjointed mess of the wounded, the grieving, and those who could barely process what had happened.

But not all of them entered together.

___________

The Nobles Abandon the Group – Self-Preservation Over Solidarity

The moment the first instructors and personal retainers appeared, the noble students broke away without hesitation. They didn't check on their classmates. They didn't wait for the injured. They didn't ask if anyone else needed help.

Instead, they flocked to their own people, letting private healers and family servants whisk them away before they had to acknowledge the failure, the dead, and the ones left behind.

A count's son was practically dragged away by his retainers, his arm in a sling. A marquess's daughter fell into the arms of her attendants, sobbing as if she hadn't abandoned her own squadmates hours before. One noble, face pale, muttered, "I need to write home… my father needs to know I survived," then disappeared into the academy halls without another glance at his classmates.

Lucien didn't stop them. Neither did Magnus. They both knew what nobility was—what survival meant to people like them.

Jessica, barely keeping her eyes open, watched them go in silence.

Alistair von Aurelius – A Future Ruler Who Does Not Look Back

Among the nobles who abandoned their own, Prince Alistair von Aurelius walked away without hesitation.

Unlike the others, he did not run.

He did not falter, did not stumble, did not cast a single glance over his shoulder.

There was no guilt in his posture, no hesitation in his steps.

He was not like his sister.

He would not stay behind.

He had seen how weak they had become, how easily the so-called elite had shattered. They had been given everything—wealth, training, status—and yet they had still fallen apart at the first taste of real battle.

They were unworthy.

A ruler does not mourn weakness.

So he left.

And he did not look back.

_______

The Commoners Are Left Standing – The Forgotten Survivors

The first-generation commoners and knight-blooded students—those without noble privilege or private healers—stood motionless, too numb to seek help, too stunned by the realization that even survival meant nothing.

One trainee held their own bloodied arm, staring at the nobles vanishing into the academy halls with a hollow expression. A knight's son wiped grime from his face, his hands shaking—not from fear, but from pure exhaustion. A squire turned to a fellow survivor, opening his mouth as if to say something—only to close it again. Because what was there to say?

They had fought. They had suffered. And now, no one cared.

Lucien adjusted his grip on Jessica, his crimson eyes unreadable. Magnus exhaled through his nose, glancing at the ones left behind. Seraphina stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with a conflicted expression.

The elite had abandoned their own.

____

The Ones Who Stayed – Those Who Still Had Humanity

The class might have stood there forever, too broken to move—until Elaine Verdant, the class's most competent water-affinity healer, stepped forward.

She took one sharp look at the wounded, then snapped, "Move! If you can still stand, you're coming with me!"

No one reacted at first.

A noble-trained healer scoffed, "They should seek care on their own."

Elaine's glare could have peeled flesh from bone. "They can't," she said, her voice cutting through the cold night air. "And you damn well know it."

Seraphina von Aurelius—the princess—watched in silence before finally stepping forward. Unlike her noble peers, she didn't leave. Her posture was regally poised, but her eyes were heavy with something almost like guilt.

"Come with us," she said, her voice softer than Elaine's, but carrying the weight of authority.

The students hesitated. Seraphina didn't. She helped lift a squire onto a makeshift stretcher. She let a trembling knight's son lean on her shoulder.

And with that, the forgotten survivors finally moved.

Lucien watched Seraphina carefully, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary before shifting back to Jessica, who had finally gone still in his arms.

"She's losing consciousness," he muttered. "We need to move."

________

The Judgment – The Scapegoat for Their Failure

As Lucien carried Jessica through the academy halls, the murmurs started—not quiet whispers of relief, not hushed concern, but something darker.

It began with one voice, sharp with exhaustion and barely concealed resentment.

"She abandoned us."

Jessica's breathing was slow, steady. She barely registered the words at first, too caught in the haze of her own fatigue.

"She ran ahead and left us behind."

Lucien's grip on her tightened. Magnus exhaled through his nose but said nothing. Seraphina's hands curled into fists, but even she did not refute them.

"She had the strength to fight. She survived alone."

"While the rest of us were dying, she was running away."

"She was fine. We weren't."

Lucien stopped walking.

Jessica's body tensed slightly in his arms, but she still didn't react, didn't lift her head, didn't even try to defend herself.

Because this was how it always went.

They needed someone to blame.

And she was right there.

As they neared the entrance of the infirmary, a few nobles had gathered, the ones who had been just lucid enough to have been treated but still bitter enough to linger.

The ones who had been humiliated.

The ones who couldn't accept what had happened.

One of them sneered. "You abandoned us."

Jessica's fingers twitched against the fabric of Lucien's cloak.

That wasn't what happened.

She had fought. She had bled. She had laughed.

She had killed for them.

But it didn't matter.

Because they weren't looking for truth. They were looking for an excuse.

"You call yourself a knight?" Someone spat.

"She calls herself nothing," another muttered. "She has no magic, no family worth mentioning—what else would you expect?"

"She's worse than a coward. At least the ones who died fought."

That one cut.

Jessica didn't react.

Lucien's fingers flexed slightly against her back, like he wanted to say something, to snap at them, but he didn't.

Magnus' expression was blank. He kept walking.

Seraphina took in a sharp breath, but no words came out.

They let it happen.

They just let it happen.

And then—

"What did you expect?" One noble scoffed, arms crossed, voice thick with bitterness. "She's from a backwater noble house that fights like barbarians. The Moran family doesn't care about honor, only how hard they can swing those ridiculous swords."

Another chuckled humorlessly. "That's why they're barely even considered nobility. The only thing they're good for is dying on the border."

"If you can even call it fighting."

"More like butchering."

"They're not knights. They're executioners."

Jessica's eyes slowly opened, just a sliver.

Something in her chest went cold.

But before she could process the words, before she could register the growing, ugly amusement in the voices of her peers—

A voice cut through them.

Sharp. Lethal.

"Say that again."

The temperature seemed to drop.

The nobles' expressions stiffened, their bitter amusement twisting into something closer to wariness.

Tobias Moran was standing at the entrance of the infirmary.

He had heard everything.

___________

Tobias Moran – The Weight of the Moran Blade

Lucien stopped walking. For the first time since they returned, Jessica lifted her head.

Tobias' posture was deceptively relaxed—arms at his sides, stance loose—but the tension in his shoulders made something in the air feel wrong.

One of the nobles, braver—or stupider—than the rest, scoffed. "You think I'm wrong?"

Tobias tilted his head slightly, but his expression didn't shift. "No."

A flicker of smugness crossed the noble's face—before Tobias continued.

"I think you don't understand what you're saying."

His voice was even. Unshaken.

"Do you know what happens when a knight's sword gets caught in a monster's bones?"

No one answered.

"It stops." His voice was quieter now, but it rang louder than any yell. "Just for a second. Just long enough for the thing to rip out their throat."

The noble swallowed.

Tobias took a step forward, and for the first time, the crowd instinctively shifted back.

"You fight knights in duels. You fight men in wars." He exhaled sharply through his nose, disgusted. "We fight things that don't stop moving when you pierce their hearts."

The words hung in the air, suffocating.

"You don't cut them. You break them. You crush them until they stop moving. Until they can't get back up."

His eyes narrowed. "That's what the weight is for."

A silence stretched between them, thick and unrelenting.

One of the nobles clenched their jaw, fists tightening. "That doesn't change what she did."

Tobias' lips curled, just slightly. Not in amusement.

"And what is it you think she did?"

The noble faltered. "…She left us—"

"You left her."

The words slammed into them harder than any weapon.

No one spoke.

Tobias' voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.

"You abandoned each other. You left your comrades. And now you want to make it her fault?"

One noble tried again, "She could have helped—"

Tobias' gaze snapped to them. "And you didn't?"

Silence.

Tobias took another step forward, voice like steel. "I fight monsters on the border. Real ones. Things that eat knights whole."

His glare swept over them, judgmental and disgusted. "Not once have I ever abandoned a comrade. Magic or not. Noble or not."

The silence turned suffocating. Lucien exhaled, his grip tightening on Jessica.

Tobias then turned to his sister.

"You threw it away, didn't you?" His voice was quieter now. "The blade. The one you always hated."

Jessica didn't respond. Tobias' expression twisted. "Do you even know why it was made that way?"

Jessica just stared.

Tobias exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Because it wasn't meant for knights."

His voice turned cold.

"It was meant for monsters and horrific creatures."

He turned back to the nobles and commoners alike.

"That's what the weight is for. To make sure the enemy never gets back up."

He let the words settle—let them hear the unspoken accusation.

They left Jessica behind. She got back up.

Would they?

__________

Final Scene: The Edge of the Infirmary

Tobias finally turned back to his sister.

"…You're coming with me."

Jessica exhaled, let her head rest against Lucien's shoulder, and closed her eyes.

Lucien let out a slow breath before stepping forward.

He handed Jessica to Tobias.

And the last thing Jessica saw before unconsciousness took her was Tobias' furious glare at the instructors—because he knew.

They had left her to die.