What should I do if the hero is resurrected in the Monster Girl Encyclopedia?

Chapter 37 A Date with a Monster (The End)

silence.

Ignoring Siolitta's pleas for mercy and leaving the skillfully acting succubus completely out of the way, Mirad turned around and removed the stone pillar blocking the road, while Obora also dispelled the magic circle.

After all, they both knew perfectly well that there was no room for Siolitta to get involved in the embarrassing incident that had just occurred.

If we really teach this succubus a lesson, wouldn't that be indirectly admitting that something happened between them? ...Besides, she really didn't do anything.

"Where's the assassin?"

Mirad finally spoke, realizing with a start how terribly hoarse his voice was. The lingering feeling of being called father by his former nemesis was only now rising from the depths of his heart. He tried his best to keep his expression normal, but his heart was already in turmoil. "You took him away?"

"I gave each of them a one-way ticket to the Demon Realm and sent them off." Hiolitta smiled and made a "V" sign.

"...They were sent away before we even had a chance to interrogate them?"

Obora frowned and questioned Hiolitta in a stern professorial tone.

The succubus blinked; she wasn't so oblivious to such an obvious attempt to cover something up, but what could possibly make Obola so guilty...?

Oh dear, could these two really be playing father-daughter games while I'm away?

No, Lord Mirad is not that kind of person. Siolitta, on the other hand, was absolutely certain of this.

So the answer is obvious!
Detective Siolitta pushed up her non-existent glasses; she had already seen through the truth completely.

It must be that Obola's longing and desires, accumulated over a thousand years, made her unable to resist treating Lord Mirad with the etiquette of the Sabas Order, only to be turned away.

Thinking of this, she looked at Obora with a hint of pity.

Fortunately, she restrained herself a little when she first met Lord Milad and did not indulge her desires and cravings. This is precisely the rationality and calmness that the famous detective Siolitta is known for!

“What kind of look is that…” Obora squinted.

Hiolitta shook her head, gently pressing her index finger against Opola's lips, silencing Baphomet's next words.

Hiolitta cast what she thought was an encouraging look at her best friend who had made a mistake at the start, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.

It's okay, sis. I understand you, it's just a setback. That guy is just so clueless, I'll bring you next time.

Selectively ignoring Obora's dead-fish-like gaze, Hiolitta spoke in her usual lighthearted tone.

"Interrogation isn't necessary. I can vouch for those assassins; they were sent by Rescateyer. That stifling, musty smell seeped right from the depths of their souls!"

"This meeting should have been kept secret by everyone. The fact that you were attacked midway through suggests that someone was closely monitoring your movements."

Mirad looked at Opola, who pondered for a moment upon hearing this, then casually slapped away Hyolita's disrespectful finger.
"I took the day off today, and quite a few people in the college know about it. Anyone who wants to can just follow me."

As a high-level monster, how could it not have the slightest counter-surveillance awareness?

This question arose in Mirand's mind, only to be suppressed by him.

That's enough. Mirad warned Siolitta with his eyes, he didn't want to hear any more cheesy answers from this succubus like, "Poor Miss Obora was so excited about our date that she didn't pay much attention to her surroundings."

“These assassins pose no threat to a monster like you; they don’t have a proper understanding of your strength,” Mirad calmly analyzed. “...They probably don’t even know your monster identity.”

For an ordinary mage, the simultaneous casting of magical arrows by more than twenty assassins would be an inescapable and certain death. Mirad sized up Opola, but for this ancient being who had lived for thousands of years, dealing with assassins was less difficult than unscrewing a candy jar.

"Or maybe they just think of me as a witch or some kind of little creature." Opola sighed.

“…You’re not allowed to spread your madness in the neighborhood where the embassy is located,” Mirad warned, frowning. He was still worried about Opola. “You’ll stay inside the academy’s barrier during this time…I was also negligent in noticing that you were being followed today.”

Spreading madness. That's a phrase I haven't heard in ages.

Ebola chuckled twice, saying nothing more. Long-held impressions can't be changed overnight, especially after what happened today.

"it is good."

"What?! A father's house arrest as discipline for his naughty daughter?! Pfft—"

As Obola's heel crushed her toes, Hiolitta let out a scream, swallowing back the rest of her words.

When Kissfield is lost in thought, she often recalls the moment she decided to become a hero.

Was it encouragement from that black-haired girl from my childhood?
Or is it the impoverished life of everyone in the orphanage?

Or perhaps, it's a clear understanding that without power, one cannot protect one's life?

Now, she has gradually forgotten about it.

Of course, she later learned that becoming a hero didn't actually require much hard work.

Anyone can become a hero, regardless of their social status or how much effort they put in, as long as they have the qualifications.

The qualifications to become a hero are quite difficult to define, but one thing seems certain: those who can become heroes always possess goodness in their hearts and will not allow the filth of their surroundings to corrupt their souls.

That's why everyone lives such a painful life.

"Lady Kieslfir, the priest summons you..."

The young servant's timid cries brought her back to reality, and Kissfield's apologetic smile gradually cooled when she saw the bright red handprint on the servant's face.

That old woman…it seems her negotiations with King Visegrahn didn’t go very well.

This is not good news for either Visegrand or for himself.

Kissfield placed her hand on the servant's cheek, the warm magic dispelling the fear of the young noblewoman's illegitimate daughter and taking away the burning pain on her face.

"It'll be fine."

She took out some candy and placed it in the servant's palm. Amidst the servant's repeated thanks, Kissfield waved her hand and watched the small figure run and disappear at the end of the corridor.

Her flame could only warm those around her.

It's no use for a country where even the hearts of its people are frozen.

Kiesl pushed open the door and dodged the ink bottle thrown by the priest.

The glistening fragments fell into the carpet's plush, quickly absorbing the ink and staining a large area black.

"Oh dear, don't get so angry, High Priest. Getting angry is a big no-no for skin care, you know? This is a lesson I learned the hard way."

Sitting cross-legged on a chair to the side, Kieslowski tilted her head slightly, her face still bearing an undisguised, flamboyant smile, vibrant and lively.
"Let me guess, is it that the king refuses to pay the extra protection fee, or have you finally realized that you've gone through menopause and your youth is over?"

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(End of this chapter)