Constantine did not return to the village through the forest.
That was how the old Constantine used to move—quietly through trees and paths that only he and Harun knew.
This time he walked the road.
The same road merchants used.
The same road travelers used.
A normal entrance.
Predictable.
Human.
The morning sun had just begun to warm the fields when the first villager saw him.
An old farmer pushing a cart stopped mid-step.
His eyes widened.
"…Con?"
Constantine stopped walking.
The man dropped the cart handle and stepped closer.
"You—"
The farmer's voice trembled.
"…you're alive?"
Within minutes the quiet road was no longer quiet.
Word traveled quickly in small villages.
People stepped out of homes.
Children stopped playing.
Women left half-filled baskets at the well.
Everyone gathered slowly near the road.
They stared at him like they were looking at a ghost.
Constantine stood calmly among them.
His crystal blue eyes moved across their faces.
Some had aged.
Some he recognized only from the system's preserved memory fragments.
But their reactions were clear.
Shock.
Relief.
Confusion.
One of the older villagers stepped forward.
"…Con."
His voice cracked.
"Where… have you been?"
Constantine answered without hesitation.
The lie had already been constructed.
Logical.
Believable.
Consistent with the known events.
"I was injured during the attack in Eldoria."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Constantine continued calmly.
"I lost my memories."
"A childless couple found me on the road and took care of me."
"I lived with them for years."
His tone remained steady.
"Recently… I began remembering things."
"I remembered this village."
"And my grandfather."
He finished simply.
"So I came back."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then someone sniffed.
Another villager wiped their eyes.
A woman covered her mouth.
"Oh you poor child…"
"You must have suffered so much…"
"The gods are cruel…"
Voices began overlapping.
Emotion spread through the group quickly.
They had believed Constantine dead for ten years.
And now he stood before them again with a tragic story.
The explanation made sense.
No one questioned it.
But their expressions slowly changed.
Relief faded.
Something else replaced it.
Sadness.
One of the older women stepped forward.
Her eyes were already wet.
"…Con."
Her voice softened.
"You came back."
"But…"
She hesitated.
"…Harun won't be here to see it."
Constantine did not react outwardly.
The villagers continued speaking.
Their words filled the quiet road.
"He waited for you."
"For so long…"
"He refused to believe you died."
Another man nodded.
"We tried to hold a funeral after the news came from Eldoria."
"But Harun wouldn't allow it."
"He said you were stubborn."
"Said you'd crawl out of hell before dying."
A few villagers laughed weakly.
Then the laughter faded again.
"For a year he refused the funeral."
"But eventually…"
"…there was still no sign of you."
"So he agreed."
Another villager sighed.
"We watched him change after that."
"The old man… broke slowly."
Constantine listened.
Every word recorded quietly by the system.
"He kept buying things for you."
"Food you liked."
"Clothes."
"He would guess how tall you might be now."
"Guess how much you might have grown."
The woman wiped her eyes again.
"He never touched your room."
"Everything stayed exactly the same."
"Spotless."
"He cleaned it every day."
Constantine's gaze lowered slightly.
But his expression remained calm.
Another villager spoke quietly.
"And the mirror…"
Constantine looked up.
"The mirror in the hall."
The old farmer nodded.
"He would stand in front of it for hours."
"At first he stood."
"But when his legs got weaker… he sat."
"He said he wanted to greet you when you came home."
The villagers had always assumed something simple.
"That hall faces the cottage door."
"So we thought he meant he wanted to be near the entrance."
But they didn't know.
Harun had not meant the door.
He had meant the mirror.
Constantine said nothing.
The villagers continued.
"…about two months ago…"
The farmer's voice lowered.
"Harun fell."
"He hit his head on a shelf."
"He died before anyone found him."
Another villager shook his head sadly.
"There was a frog statue on that shelf too."
"It fell and shattered."
He frowned slightly at the memory.
"Ugliest statue I've ever seen."
"Don't know why Harun kept it."
Constantine lowered his head slowly.
Then he bowed.
A deep, respectful bow toward the villagers.
"Thank you."
His voice remained calm.
"For taking care of him."
The villagers looked at each other awkwardly.
"No need for thanks…"
"He was our neighbor too."
One of them smiled gently.
"So what will you do now, Con?"
Constantine straightened.
"I will return to the cottage."
"If the village does not mind."
The reaction was immediate.
"Mind?"
"Of course not!"
"That place is yours!"
"Welcome home, Con!"
Their smiles were warm.
Open.
Genuine.
Constantine nodded once.
Then he added calmly,
"I became a traveling merchant."
It was another prepared statement.
A cover.
"I trade goods between towns."
"It requires long journeys."
"Sometimes months at a time."
The villagers nodded approvingly.
"That's good work."
"Honest work."
"And it explains why you might disappear again."
Constantine inclined his head slightly.
"Yes."
That was the intention.
Because those journeys would not truly be for trade.
They would be for searching.
Searching for information.
Searching for traces.
Searching for one specific entity.
The name surfaced again within his mind.
The one that had appeared in demon records.
In forbidden histories.
In the words of Veyrath.
The Ugly God.
Constantine turned toward the road leading back to the cottage.
The villagers waved as he walked away.
"Welcome home, Con!"
"Come visit us soon!"
"Don't disappear for another ten years!"
Constantine walked calmly down the road.
His expression remained quiet.
His crystal blue eyes steady.
The cottage waited at the edge of the forest.