The Forsaken Hero

A/N: please be sure to read the author’s note I left at the end of the Chapter.

Following the death of the demon, we set about cleaning up the battlefield. Soltair and Trithe collected the corpses of the dead bandits before stacking them in a pile. The Sun Hero made sure to check each of their pockets first, going on about ”looting is the victor’s reward,” or something of the sort. Fyren regained consciousness several minutes later, looking about in a daze until his gaze locked on to me.

”What happened?” he asked slowly.

I sighed, looking around the clearing. ”We won. Barely. A sixth-level demon was far too strong for us.”

He looked down at his shredded armor, feeling at the soft, new skin on his chest. ”It seems I owe you a debt. I must say, I thought I was-wait, did you say sixth? I was certain it had grown beyond that and reached-”

”Sixth,” I pled desperately. ”Please.”

His piercing eyes rested on my face for some time, but seeing I was on the edge of tears, he slowly nodded. ”As you say. But what happened to it?”

I sighed as his response flooded me with relief. ”Thank you. Oh, and he killed it,” I said, gesturing at Soltair and Trithe, who watched the corpses burn.

”That shouldn’t have been possible. Even if it used a forbidden technique, it should finished us off far before it died.”

”It was a curse demon,” I replied simply.

”Right, but what does that change?”

It was the first time I mentioned the demon’s affinity to him, yet his response indicated that was common knowledge. Was he really so knowledgeable about demons? But how could such a thing be possible when no real demons had set foot on Enusia until now? Sure, occasional summoning, like what we fought today, had appeared, but those were rare and far between. Not exactly the case studies needed for a thorough understanding of their species.

Torn between challenging him, my eyes fell on his healed wound. A thin, white scar traced from shoulder to sternum, the only evidence he had taken an attack that would have claimed my life.

”Everyone has secrets,” I murmured, running a hand along my horn.

”I suppose that’s true,” Fyren wryly chuckled. ”I suppose it’s unfair of me to expect you to disclose everything to me right now.”

I blinked, the realization I’d unintentionally answered both our questions slow to dawn on me. My tail brushed behind me, sliding over the soft stalks of grass. The only sound between us was the gentle rise and fall of our breath. Fyren fiddled with something in his fingers, drawing my attention to the golden chains he wore beneath his armor. They pulled free of his collar, revealing a shining amulet, enchanted with magic so subtle and complex I couldn’t decipher it through the Eyes of Fate. It consisted of an intricate, angelic figure set within the bounds of a golden ring. The sun caught on the exquisite piece of craftsmanship, revealing details as fine as the tines on the feathers in its wings, or the individual strands in the braids falling about the figure’s waist.

Before I could muster up the courage to ask him about it, Soltair and Trithe plopped down beside me, releasing heavy breaths of exhaustion.

”We really outdid ourselves today,” Trithe groaned, closing her eyes and basking in the falling sun.

Soltair nodded, sliding his hand over hers. Their eyes met in a long, intimate look, continuing until Fyren cleared his throat. Immediately, they flinched away, blushing.

”You’re fight was still sloppy, although I can’t criticize you too much. At least you didn’t end up on the ground, bleeding out like an idiot,” Fyren said.

”Yeah. Thanks for taking that hit. What was that, even? I didn’t know demons came equipped with a final phase in their boss fights,” Soltair muttered.

”He burned his soul,” I replied. ”Which should have been enough. Guess he just got unlucky.”

”Xiviyah,” Soltair said slowly, ”I felt when you linked souls with us, and the fight immediately became easier after that. That was Adaptive Resistance, right?”

His direct question caught me off guard, and my stomach churned in apprehension. Taking a shallow breath, I squeezed out, ”Yes.”

”Does that mean....no, that can’t be right. But it felt like he was using seventh-level magical techniques.”

Although he left himself vague, I knew all too well what he was referring to. I leaned back, trapping my tail beneath my hand to keep it from waving anxiously. ”Yeah, he wasn’t that powerful. We struggled against a third level level demon just a few days ago, right? How could we possibly fight one of the same level right now?”

He nodded slowly, a look of relief spreading across his face. ”I guess that’s true. But it must have been at least sixth, right? Can’t you tell with the Eyes of Fate?”

As the conversation moved on, I caught Fyren eyeing me curiously. Fortunately, he seemed content to allow the lie to slide. My recent tendency to keep my thoughts and theories to myself played in my favor, as well, as my words could easily be disproved. Both my hypothesis about the dungeon buff’s home-field advantage and the Gate Core’s elemental enhancement provided explanations for the fight against the Fire Demons. Here, it was broad daylight in Enusia, and we had the most powerful Sun wielder on our side. The battlefield was stacked in the same way, only against the demons.

Trithe held out a tattered scroll, stained with blood and dirt. ”We found this on the Bandit Leader’s corpse. Seems to be some sort of order or missive, but it’s in some strange language.”

”I couldn’t read it,” Soltair added, ”which means the words aren’t native to Enusia.”

Fyren took the scroll, unfurling it and scanning over the strange characters. Upon awakening, heroes received the special ability the church referred to as, ”tongues,” which allowed us to understand any language on Enusia. His words sent a shiver down my spine as I was reminded of the cruelty I suffered at the hands of the slavers, isolated and alone, unable to even understand their words. Although I hadn’t recognized it at the time, that had all changed the first time the comforting warmth of mana soaked through my veins.

”Why give it to me?” Fyren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Soltair’s face curved up in a tired grin. ”Because I think you can read it.”

Fyren looked up, stiffening in surprise before he sighed. ”I guess there’s no point in hiding it. The tongue’s called ’Infernal,’ although I can’t reveal how I know that. Not yet, at least.”

”That’s fine. What’s a party without a little intrigue?” Soltair chuckled. ”Can you translate it?”

Fyren cleared his throat, squinting his eyes at the crude runes for some time before finally speaking. ”I’m a little rusty, but it looks like an order to ’exterminate the passengers in the Lord’s Carriage.’ It gives directions and times for the ambush. Looks like it all went to plan, the ambushing at least, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

We sat in silence for a while, absorbing the information. After a few breaths, Trithe looked up, eyes falling on the Bandit Leader’s corpse. ”He seemed to be under the impression they were after the City Lord. Certainly seemed upset we weren’t him, at least.”

”But given the circumstances, the Demon in the Silver Mirror seemed happy to have us there. Was there some sort of communication?” Soltair asked.

Fyren shook his head. ”The schemes of demons are never as they appear. Undoubtedly, everyone was just told what they wanted to hear. I can’t imagine it would be easy to motivate some bandits, especially ones as powerful as them, to move against the Hero. But the Lord, who they are rebelling against anyway? That’s a different story.”

”They were nothing more than sacrificial pawns, sent to bait out the king,” Trithe muttered, shivering despite the heat of the evening sun. ”Thank the gods it was a curse demon.”

Fyren raised his head at her words, turning to meet my eyes. I could see the question burning in his mind, but I averted my eyes, pressing my hands into my lap. Curses were the last thing I wanted to discuss right now. I couldn’t risk revisiting the topic.

”What are we going to do with these bandits?” Soltair asked, staring at the unconscious men and women. ”We could tie them up, but it would be just as easy to leave them here. Perhaps seeing the demons up close will convince them of the errors of their ways.”

”Wishful thinking,” Fyren replied heavily. ”This is war. If today didn’t convince you of that, then I don’t know what will.”

Soltair froze, turning to gape at the adventure. ”You can’t possibly be saying-”

”They chose a side.”

”But they’re defenseless! We can’t just murder th-”

”Soltair,” Fyren said firmly. ”There is too much at risk here. They saw our abilities firsthand, they know our tactics and our powers. If even one decides to return to the demons, then they’ll know our weaknesses.”

”Yes, but-”

”Do you think they would act differently were your roles reversed? They threatened to rape Trithe right in front of you! Does she mean that little to you? Are those the kind of men you would see go free?”

His callous words sent chills down my spine. While his logic was sound, his words were almost too convincing. And effective. Soltair’s hand tightened on his hilt and he turned to gaze at Trithe. She shrugged, although I could tell she felt as conflicted as I did. Together, we watched the hero, hinging on his decision.

At long last, the tension left his body and he relaxed his grip.

Fyren sighed, placing a hand on his own blade. ”If you can’t do it, then I must. We can’t-”

”Stop,” Soltair said, raising his hand. Conviction blazed in the hero’s eyes as he decided, ”I’ll do it myself.”