How I Learned to Stop Being Afraid and Love the Dragon

Stark felt really bad.

Ever since Frieren arrived in the afternoon, her long-buried memories have been brought back to the forefront.

Honestly, if only I could just keep running away like this.

He could stay in the village, spend his days cultivating at the foot of the cliff, and occasionally deal with ordinary monsters for the villagers, earning the children's adoring calls of "Stark."

Everything will remain the same as before, as long as the Red Mirror Dragon doesn't reappear.

Even if it really does appear, as long as he can die before the villagers and avoid seeing the disappointed expressions on their faces, perhaps he can convince himself that he will be a hero of this village until the very end.

There's no need to go back to face my master, no need to travel to the dangerous Northern Plateau, and no need to admit that I'm not a hero at all.

This is already very good.

Stark put down his battle axe and lay down on his back on the flat stone slab beside him.

Night had completely enveloped the mountains and forests, with stars scattered across the deep blue sky. The lights of the village shone faintly through the gaps in the trees, and occasionally, the barking of dogs could be heard.

He stared at the starry sky for a while, then turned to look at the mountain wall beside him, which was covered with crisscrossing axe marks, the deepest of which even went through half of the cliff.

What Lorenzo said didn't seem to be wrong; his daily hacking at the mountain was indeed disturbing the peace.

Although the villagers never complained, it was probably just because they were too embarrassed to remind him directly. They probably gathered together every night to discuss how to subtly get "Lord Stark" to be a little quieter.

It seems I'll have to hold back a bit during training from now on.

But after a brief moment of silence, Frieren's words from that afternoon echoed in Stark's mind once again.

Eisen recommended you to us.

Why did my mentor recommend me...?

Stark raised an arm to shield his eyes.

He's clearly a coward who wouldn't even dare face the Red Mirror Dragon, and only knows how to hide in the village pretending to be a hero.

The master should know this better than anyone else.

Did they think Frieren's group needed someone to carry their luggage? Or was the Northern Plateau too cold, requiring someone to chop wood and start a fire?

Thinking about it carefully, it all seems quite possible.

That's much more believable than an answer like "my master acknowledged my abilities."

Stark gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Shall we hunt down the Red Mirror Dragon?

I guess I'm just a natural coward.

This is how she felt when her homeland was destroyed by Demons, this is how she felt after arguing with her master, and now even the question of whether or not to go and defeat the Red Mirror Dragon...

Whenever I really have to make a choice, I always seem to run away.

He escaped from the protection of his elder brother and father to the protection of his master, and then from the protection of his master, he hid in the fantasy of being a "great hero".

"I really haven't improved at all."

Stark stared at his palms. Just imagining himself standing in front of the Red Mirror Dragon filled him with fear, making it difficult to even breathe.

But those villagers still believe in themselves to this day.

I believe Stark can protect the village, and I believe that as long as I remain here, no monster is to be feared.

They're such a gullible bunch.

A closer look would reveal that their idol is trembling with fear.

But people always seem to believe what they believe, always hoping that a hero will appear out of nowhere to save them.

A hero...

If there really is a hero, could you please save him first?

Lost in these random thoughts, Stark drifted off to sleep without realizing it.

Crackling and popping...

It's so noisy.

Huh, what's that sound of fire burning? And I can vaguely hear crying and screaming?

Has the village caught fire?

Stark suddenly opened his eyes.

What met the eye was not a star-studded night sky, but a sea of fire that had almost turned the entire world crimson. Familiar houses were burning in the flames, and thick smoke billowed into the sky.

Broken weapons and collapsed wooden beams were scattered everywhere in the streets, and the once sturdy stone walls had been reduced to large ruins.

Stark stood there, stunned.

Is this... the Warrior's Village?

"How could this be...?"

He instinctively wanted to back away, but his body felt much lighter than he remembered.

Looking down, I saw that my hands had become childish, and I was wearing the same old training clothes I had worn many years ago.

He returned to the day his hometown was destroyed.

No, it must be a dream. My hometown no longer exists, and the dead can't possibly reappear before my eyes.

If I lie down right now, maybe when I close my eyes and open them again, all of this will disappear again.

So he actually closed his eyes, hugged his head, and squatted down.

One.

Two.

Three.

Shouldn't he be awake by now?

Stark cautiously opened one eye.

The fire was still burning, even more intensely than before. Suddenly, a burning tree fell from the side and crashed heavily onto the spot where he had just been standing. The scattered sparks landed on his arm, causing a distinct burning sensation.

Stark suddenly retreated.

Burning, burning, everything was burning and collapsing, the smell of burning flesh and blood, the horrifying screams, and the excruciating pain in one's internal organs with every breath.

It felt exactly the same as that night...

"Stark!"

A familiar roar came from ahead, and his body froze instantly.

This sound hasn't been heard for many years.

Stark slowly raised his head.

At the end of the burning street, a tall man stood amidst the flames, gripping a long sword. The blade was stained with blood, and his armor was tattered.

"Father..."

Before he could react, another figure burst out of the thick smoke, his clothes soaked in blood, with a deep wound on his shoulder.

He was the best soldier in his father's eyes, and a genius that the whole village was proud of.

His older brother.

"Elder brother..."

Stark stared blankly at the figure.

Seemingly hearing his voice, the young man turned around. Even amidst the flames and screams all around, he still wore the same smile as before when he looked at Stark.

What are you still standing there for?

His brother walked towards him, placed his blood-stained hand on his shoulder, and then pushed him toward the road leading out of the village.

"Run, Stark!"

Escape?

Are we going to run away again?

Stark staggered forward a few steps.

He understood better than anyone that running away was shameful but useful. If he hadn't fled his homeland, he would have died at the hands of the Demons like everyone else. Surviving was never a mistake.

But what if this is the only chance I'll ever have to start over...?