Danmachi: The Focalors Familia — Chapter 94

Chapter 94: Hero Bridge

Over the long, bloody centuries, whether shattered by monstrous tides, devastating natural disasters, or the bitter conflicts of mortals, the Hero Bridge had been reduced to rubble time and time again.

Yet after every collapse, someone had always stepped forward to rebuild the stone arches and the towering figures that lined them, sparing no expense to ensure the monument endured into the present day.

These weathered stone guardians seemed to project a silent, eternal command to every soul that crossed their path:

‘Never lose your pride.’

Noah, walking alongside Lefiya and Ais, passed beneath the shadow of the stone bridge tower and stepped slowly onto the ancient span.

Under the warm afternoon sun of the festival, the chiseled faces of the heroes were bathed in golden light. Thirty-one statues stood at equal intervals along the heavy stone railings on both sides of the bridge, their sightless eyes keeping a quiet watch over the sprawling city they had once bled to protect.

They represented the thirty-one individuals who had carved out the most glorious, world-shaking feats throughout Orario’s thousands of years of history, rising to prominence during a dark era when heroes were forged in desperation.

The arrangement of the statues held no regard for their dates of birth or death; they were placed seemingly at random, a chaotic assembly of legends.

Scanning the stone faces, Noah quickly spotted the familiar armor of the knight whose memorial hall they had just visited—Flandre.

Beside him stood names Noah had previously only encountered in the faded pages of heroic epics.

There was the last descendant of the Wolf Emperor, Saluang. His statue radiated a wild, overbearing aura, carved with his jaws parted as if he were about to unleash a roar that could break the morale of an advancing army.

A few paces down stood the Amazon Empress Ivelda. She rested a massive battle axe against her shoulder, her sculpted gaze looking down with a heavy disdain that perfectly captured the absolute majesty of a queen.

Across from her was the Undead Lord Garzanev, his figure shrouded in a heavy, mysterious cloak, his posture suggesting a man who had long since peered through the boundary separating life and death.

Then came the Tyrant Spear Sid, holding his long weapon pointed straight toward the heavens, radiating a fearless, unyielding battle intent. Further along stood Sphia, the legendary founder of the Spirit Dynasty, and the pure, flawless Royal Spirit Saintess, Seltia.

Noah noticed that beside many of these towering figures stood a second, slightly smaller pedestal. Resting upon them were the carved forms of various beautiful and powerful Great Spirits, standing faithfully beside their chosen heroes, their combined strength having written the magnificent ancient epics of the Lower World.

“The Hero Bridge… we finally made it. How does it feel?”

Lefiya walked with her hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head slightly to look up at Noah. A bright spark of anticipation danced in her blue eyes.

“How should I put it…”

Noah let his gaze drift over the silent stone sentinels. He raised a hand and rested it gently against his chest, as if he could physically feel the crushing weight and intensity of a thousand years of history pressing down on the stone. He let out a slow, sincere breath. “It gives me a feeling of… boiling blood.”

He was not exaggerating.

The moment his eyes met those weathered statues, he felt as though he could pierce through the thick mists of time and witness that suffocating dark era for himself—a time when monsters ran rampant across the surface and humanity struggled in the depths of absolute despair.

The men and women immortalized in stone were the proud, defiant figures who had traded their own flesh, blood, and lives to drag the world back from the brink of endless calamity.

All around them, the Hero Bridge was alive with chaotic, joyful noise.

As the ultimate spiritual symbol of the Dungeon city, the bridge drew an ocean of foot traffic during the festival, easily making it the most crowded thoroughfare in all of Orario. Countless adventurers and ordinary citizens flocked here to pay their respects to the glory of their predecessors, drawing quiet strength from the stone faces before returning to their own lives.

The three of them moved carefully, squeezing their way through the lively, pressing crowd as they advanced across the history-laden stone.

When they reached the exact center of the bridge, Ais suddenly stopped walking.

She stood perfectly still, her head tilted upward, her golden eyes locked onto a specific hero statue rising before her.

It was a figure entirely different from the heavily armored or wildly imposing heroes that lined the rest of the bridge.

The man held a slender, razor-sharp sword. He wore simple, functional light armor, and a long scarf was carved fluttering wildly at his neck, giving the distinct impression that he was a wanderer about to begin a distant journey.

Beside him, there was no Great Spirit leaning against his side. There was only an empty, cold stone pedestal.

Noah looked up at the man who was endlessly praised as the absolute strongest in the long, sprawling heroic epics. He studied the sharp, angular face that had somehow retained its fierce edge despite centuries of wind and frost, and quietly spoke the name.

“The Great Hero, Albert…”

Hearing the name, Lefiya immediately sobered, turning her gaze toward the statue with deep reverence.

Albert was the undisputed strongest hero recorded in the Dungeon Oratoria, the grand historical text detailing the deeds of the ancients.

He had led the ancient groups of mercenaries and explorers—the very people who would evolve into the adventurers of the modern era.

In a very real sense, the Mercenary King was the first true King of Adventurers.

In the epics, he carried many heavy titles. Albert. The Conqueror of Swords. And… the Mercenary King Waldstein.

Noah let his eyes drift from the stone face to the expressionless, beautiful profile of Ais standing beside him.

The unmatched feats of the Great Hero Albert marked the absolute end of the Ancient Era. His life and his death were the catalyst for the subsequent descent of the heavens and the beginning of the Age of Gods.

It was an indelible legend, burned into the final, blood-soaked chapter of the Dungeon Oratoria.

His greatest, most tragic achievement was repelling the Black Dragon.

In that suffocating dark era, the pitch-black calamity birthed from the deepest bowels of the Dungeon had brought total collapse and destruction to everything it touched on the surface.

The Great Hero had stepped forward to challenge that living incarnation of despair entirely alone. Ultimately, at the cost of his own life, he had driven the beast to the very ends of the world.

Legend stated that the Dragon King, having lost one of its eyes to the hero’s peerless sword—the apocalyptic monster now known as the One-Eyed Black Dragon—had let out a mournful, world-shaking roar before fleeing to the frozen northern lands, vanishing without a trace ever since.

Sometime after the Black Dragon was driven away, the deities of Heaven finally descended, ushering in the new Age of Gods.

It was the Great Hero who, with his own two hands and his own lifeblood, had severed the ancient era and chained the fate of the Lower World to a new, brighter future.

Because of that, no one in the world disputed his title as the strongest.

“The strongest hero, huh…”

Noah stared at the statue looming over Ais, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, imperceptible arc.

He liked the sound of that title.

Heroes were not unique, and they were not rare. But there could only ever be one who stood at the absolute pinnacle.

“Miss Ais, do you care deeply about Lord Albert?”

Lefiya looked at the blonde swordswoman, who remained so still she might as well have been carved from the same stone as the statues, and asked the question in a soft, curious whisper.

The elf had always wanted to understand the quiet girl better, but it seemed only a select few, like Loki and Finn, truly knew anything about her past.

Ais let out a tiny, almost inaudible breath from her throat and gave a single, slow nod. Her golden eyes never wavered from the carved face of the mercenary.

Noah watched her, letting out a quiet sigh in his mind.

How could she not care? The bond between Albert and Ais was not just a matter of historical reverence.

He was her father.

Naturally, Noah kept his mouth shut. It was a heavy, dangerous secret that was not his to tell.

“Noah, do you happen to know why?”

Realizing Ais had no intention of elaborating, Lefiya turned her attention back to Noah. She raised a slender finger, pointing toward the space directly across the walkway from Albert’s imposing figure. “On this entire bridge, only the spot opposite Lord Albert is missing a statue. It’s completely empty, while every other hero on this bridge is arranged in a pair.”