Milia ran. Not from cowardice—from calculation. She fled into the castle's hidden archives, the place her late mother had forbidden her to enter. There, she found the truth: her ancestor, the first Hero, had been a coward. Unable to defeat Veylan, he tricked the demon lord into a sealing ritual, then rewrote history as a grand victory. Every "Hero" since had been a jailer, not a warrior. The holy sword's glow was just a leaking of Veylan's power.
Veylan flexed his fingers. The sky turned the color of bruises. "Two hundred years in a cage," he sighed. "And now the little princess has handed me the key. How poetic." Yuusha Hime Milia
The royal knights charged. Veylan flicked his wrist. The knights became rose bushes—beautiful, rooted, screaming silently. Milia ran
Milia picked him up. "You'll stay in the castle. And you'll learn what it means to be helped, not caged." There, she found the truth: her ancestor, the
Milia smiled. She drew the broken hilt of Lux Aeterna —now just a jagged piece of metal.
Princess Milia of Eldora was the perfect "Yuusha Hime." Each morning, she posed in her gilded armor (padded for comfort) and raised the holy sword, Lux Aeterna , for the cheering crowds. The sword glowed faintly—just enough to prove the divine bloodline. She smiled, waved, and never once drew the blade in earnest.