[UPDATE]

I want to thank everyone who took the time to add this work to their collection and those who continue to support it. To meet your expectations, I believe it is my duty to improve the quality of my writing. In order not to fall behind on the story's progression, I have decided to put The Hero's Son is a Monster on hold.

📅 Starting from 04/01/2025, I plan to return on 05/01/2025, or perhaps even earlier. By then, I hope the current chapters will be more polished, and the upcoming ones will be even better, with a solid stock ready to be released.

Thank you for your patience and support! 🙌

***

In the middle of what was certainly the remains of a freshly destroyed city, a lone figure stood—a man clad in full black armor, gripping a sword, with several others hovering around him. His gaze was firm, his breath short, and his body battered despite his armor.

Facing him was a child, completely naked, as if his clothes had been stripped away by the chaos that had unfolded here. His expression was neutral, and unlike the man before him, he bore no bruises, not even a scratch, as if he had ended up here by sheer coincidence.

Beside the armored man stood a group of individuals, dressed in different styles and of varying genders. A single glance was enough to tell they were also part of the event unfolding here—they were no mere spectators.

"Hero, do not get distracted!"

It was the voice of a woman. The man in black armor was the hero, and for a moment, he had lost his focus. The voices of the others rose, and the hero turned to look behind him.

A wave of shame washed over him. This was all his fault, yet he still found a way to make things worse. He clenched his teeth.

His voice echoed throughout the area as he shouted:

"Araneas!!! What is this?! Why?!"

"Why was I told nothing?! Why wasn't it stopped?!" His questions went unanswered. He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tightly, while the swords hovering behind him began to spin faster.

"At last, hero, you have regained your senses. We must finish this." Each of them reaffirmed their resolve.

Just as he was about to take a step forward, something entirely predictable happened—things could never end this easily.

The child's form changed in an instant, and the aura he exuded grew ever more ominous.

He transformed into an adolescent, seemingly around fifteen years old, with long black hair. His once slightly blue eyes darkened to a deep black, his blank gaze settling on the hero and his group.

His nakedness was now concealed by scales that emerged from beneath his skin. He looked like a fusion of a human and a black dragon, yet something about him was enough to shake the hero to his core.

He truly resembled his grandfather. The hero saw in this child the face of his younger father.

But the others bore expressions of terror and disgust. Silent prayers echoed within their hearts. They had come to battle the looming threat to their world, only to realize that behind that threat lay something even more terrifying.

Some prayed to the goddess, even though her name could not be spoken. She was their last hope. Even if the embodiment of the goddess's will resided in the hero, they could not help but wish for her divine intervention through him.

Then suddenly, their monster charged.

Magic was useless. In the area surrounding this creature, mana vanished as if it had never existed, nullifying spells and the magical energy that sustained them.

This monster posed a grave danger by that trait alone. It altered the environment around it—if it wasn't neutralized quickly and the phenomenon spread, the damage would be irreversible.

Even though mana was ineffective, some members of the hero's group still attempted to cast spells. Their goal was to slow or distract the creature, but it was futile. Still, they continued—otherwise, they would be useless. This was their role.

"Don't look down on me! I am the hero!"

The hero, too, dashed toward the monster, his speed surpassing its own. He pointed his sword as if to pierce it in a single strike, his blade enveloped in a light reminiscent of a thousand suns.

His strike landed true. The tip of his sword pierced the monster's heart, stopping it dead in its tracks. The hero's heart grew heavy as he drove his sword deeper into the body of his own son.

He realized he had been too young, too immature—and he regretted it deeply. But now was not the time to be consumed by such thoughts. He sensed something was wrong. He was in direct contact with the monster.

The fear he felt at that moment, the chill that ran through him, was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his miserable life. He instinctively leaped back.

Something similar—yet fundamentally different—had happened to him before. He recalled it as if it were nothing, and a name resurfaced in his mind: Demigra.

"The hero got him! As expected of our savior!"

"Oh, great hero Chréois, continue to vanquish evil!"

But the hero was no longer listening to their words.

"It's not over yet."

Everyone soon realized—the monster, despite being impaled by that 'sword,' had not fallen. There was no trace of the wound on its body, as if nothing had happened. Cries of lamentation and desperate pleas began to ring out.

First, a countermeasure against magic. Then, this regeneration ability. And that feeling I just experienced—what was that? What have I created?

The pit in the hero's stomach only grew. He had reached a point where, without the help of his cheat system, he would have lost his sanity. He vividly remembered the words of the Demon King of Death.

"You mocked me—are you proud of yourself? You took what was not mine in the worst possible way. You would have been better off dying by my hand. You won't be able to bear the consequences of your actions. Soon, you will face the incarnation of your arrogance. Neither of us will meet an honorable death. Oh, I almost forgot—you already killed me."

"System."

[...]

"Activate Flow!"

Flow wasn't an extravagant skill—it merely allowed him to enter a state of extreme concentration. The hero judged that his thoughts had become too burdensome, weighing him down. Until his mission was complete, he would focus on one thing and one thing only. It was also a means of escaping reality.

"To all allies—run!"

Flow activation.

[Error *** System corruption %40]

%Flow @ctiv@ted %£

"What?"

Rest@rting

What's happening? the hero wondered. But he had no time to dwell on it. An ethereal orb razed everything in its path. He dodged, but most of those who had been running were caught off guard and just like that, they were gone.

The hero wanted to counterattack but quickly realized something—his system was down.

All his skills—all those years spent honing them—had been reduced to nothing. His brain was not optimized for the calculations needed to use skills or magic. The system took care of all the calculations.

The light in his eyes vanished.

I have no more skills. I don't master magic enough, and even if I did, it would be useless. So… is there no hope left?

He took an Iai stance.

But as a human, I will bear the consequences of my actions to the very end.