Kael decided to stay in Lumara. Not for long — just long enough to absorb the atmosphere of this new world without raising suspicion. He rented a modest room in a discreet inn in the eastern district, The Silver Lantern, run by a taciturn half-elf who asked no questions as long as you paid in advance.
In the following days, he adopted a simple and quiet routine.
In the mornings, he wandered through the markets, listening to the conversations of merchants and craftsmen. In the afternoons, he settled into different taverns, always ordering the same thing: a dark beer and a thick stew, enough to justify his presence without drawing attention. In the evenings, he sometimes went to the central square where bards and storytellers took turns.
He learned quickly.
What interested him most were the Heroes.
He quickly discovered that the term "Hero" was no longer reserved for the seven or eight legends who had faced him. After his "defeat," the Alliance of the Seven Kingdoms had formalized a Hero Order system. There were now ranks: Bronze Heroes, Silver Heroes, Gold Heroes, and the extremely rare Legendary Heroes.
As for the survivors of the final battle against him…
In a tavern called The Broken Shield, an old bearded soldier, clearly drunk, was recounting the story for the hundredth time to a group of young adventurers:
"…Elara the Sacrificed, may she rest in peace, gave her life to seal that monster. But she wasn't alone.
The Holy Knight Aldric held the line for three days with his men. They say he lost his left arm that day. Today, he leads the Order of Eternal Light in the capital, Valoria. A true saint, that one."
Another man, more reserved, added:
"The war mage Sylvara also survived, but she's… changed. She lost part of her power after channeling too much mana during the battle. She now teaches at Lumara's Arcane Academy. You can sometimes run into her in the university district."
Kael mentally noted the name. Sylvara. He vaguely remembered her: an elf with green hair who had nearly hit him with a disintegration spell.
"And the sorcerer king?" asked a young boy, eyes shining.
"Ah, Tharion the Demonbane?" The old soldier chuckled. "That one disappeared five years ago. Some say he went looking for ancient artifacts in the Blighted Lands. Others whisper that he became… unstable. Absorbed too much demonic power during the war."
Kael drank his beer slowly, his face hidden under his hood. Interesting. Some heroes had died during or right after the battle, others had risen as national heroes, and a few seemed to have struggled with victory.
He also learned how the war had truly ended.
According to the official version: after Elara's sacrifice, the demonic army had fallen into panic. Without their King, the generals had turned on each other or fled. The Alliance had taken advantage to purge the corrupted lands and rebuild. The next ten years had been a true "Age of Reconstruction."
Captured demonic magic had been studied, purified, and repurposed to create the new technologies Kael saw everywhere: agricultural golems, mana trains, automatic protective barriers.
But he also caught darker rumors, whispered only when the beer flowed freely:
"They say some of Neverdie's generals survived… Valthor the Breaker was supposedly seen in the Northern Mountains, transformed into a wild beast. And the Black Witch Lirath… no one knows where she is."
Kael stayed in Lumara for several days, moving from one establishment to another, occasionally asking innocent questions under the guise of a curious traveler from the frontiers.
He even visited the great public library, where he consulted official chronicles under the discreet watch of a librarian. The books confirmed what he had heard: the surviving heroes had become pillars of the new society. Aldric in Valoria, Sylvara right here in Lumara, and others scattered across the kingdoms.
No one spoke of his possible return. He was an ancient legend, a bogeyman used to motivate new generations of heroes.
On the fourth evening, sitting on a bench near a magical fountain that sang softly, Kael watched the Arcane Academy students pass by, laughing. Among them, a slender figure with green hair caught his eye: Sylvara, visibly older, her face marked by fatigue and regret.
She didn't notice him.
Kael sketched a cold smile.
"They've settled nicely on my grave," he murmured to himself. "Let's see how long it takes them to realize I'm not dead yet."
He stood up calmly and headed back to his inn. He had learned enough for now.
It was time to decide on the next step.