Casual Heroing

What’s the weight of a lifetime of slaughter? How does it affect the soul and how much more can you go before your brain decides to clock out?

…

A man sat on the ground, lost. He wasn’t a [Beggar] for [Kings] retain dignity even at their lowest. He was simply lost, maybe a hairline away from a cursed class, a red title spelling his doom. That he had not gotten one until now spoke volumes about his fortitude. For the sake of not having the atrocities he committed have an effect on his class, whatever had moved him had to be made of diamond. Or, simply, he knew what he was doing. Great knowledge is subject to the whims of the powerful, to rulers, tyrants, and monsters. Less so to [Heroes]. A [Hero] moves with his instincts, whereas a [King] has to move with cunning.

Now, the once [Druid] stared at his hands. His last companion had died of old age after almost a century of peace. There had been few battles he had needed to meddle with. But even those carried more blood than he was now able to shoulder. He had eluded old age thanks to skills that let him absorb life from nature, virtually giving him the gift of immortality – something that many sought, but few actually loved once they got their hands on it.

As far as his own preference went, he didn’t mind the immortality as much as the lack of a goal. His people weren’t up for another war, nor were his descendants. The new [King] was a good one, but fit for peace. The country was flourishing and, beside the lack of great levels, peace was good for everything else. Children could play without the looming threat of pillage, without having to fear [Assassins] coming to exact the price they would pay in place of their fathers.

But now, in a peaceful country, he was nothing. He was no more. He was bitter and angry. Lost.

He had considered running to Teiko, sowing chaos in their country as long as he could stay hidden, sniping a few [Generals]. Maybe even royals. But then, sloth had took over.

At his age, few considered ever stopping. It was too late to rest. And if you tried, there was the risk of never getting up again. Rest had killed more people in Immortality than any other monster or [Slayer].

…

He had once lain down in his cave in a fit of grief when the last [Druid] beside him had died. A [Druid] with [Bloodlust], like him. But no one had come to visit him for a long time, and he was slowly starving to death, unable to eat a single animal. Now, he sat on the ground and stared at his own lifeless body.

A [Beastlord] came and stared at him, the man, the [King], and realized he could do nothing about his condition. Getting angry would be a mistake. Instead, he stared at the dying man, thinking.

Slowly, a plan emerged. He had a [King] to unmake. And not just any [King]. The last [Druid] sat up, glaring at the [Beastlord].

“So it is true,” the last [Druid] asked.

The [Beastlord] went still. At least he hadn’t run away.

“The [Druid] class is gone,” the [Beastlord] told the [King].

The man was [Doom]. A [Doom Druid], and the last of the whole general class. He was not just any [King] as well.

The [Beastlord] stared at the man.

“You call yourself a [King], Tiberius?”

The [Doom Druid] didn’t answer.

The [Beastlord] took a step forward.

“Is that filth supposed to be a throne? Is this an impregnable palace? Can you not summon a [General] with but a flick of your fingers? You are worth more than half of your entire army. Why are you not out there?”

The [Beastlord] gestured at his animal companions to wait outside the cave and took a step forward. The [Beastlord] had tried to gain the [Druid] class, but to no avail. The last [Druids] had tainted it, made it impossible for others to get it.

“How do you call yourself a [King]?”

The [Doom Druid] froze. His eyes filled with fury.

“How do you dare insult me? I’m more [Druid] than you will ever be,” he snarled, “you cannot be a [Druid]. No one else can, now! And what was it all for? Nothing!”

The [Beastlord] shrugged.

“You see, Tiberius, that’s what I love about you. That’s the difference between you and the real [Kings]. They claim to be [Kings]. But you know the truth, as I do. When a [King] is a [King], he will never run away. His pride will not let him; he will prefer rotting in this place than admitting he has overstayed his welcome. But, I can. I can tell you, Tiberius, that you have done enough. There’s enough blood behind you that every descendant of yours will never be able to look at the sky without muttering an heartfelt thank you for your service. Now, however? Now it’s time to retire, Tiberius.”

“Then what of it? Am I just supposed to abandon the fight, now?”

“No. You will not be doing that. You have won your fight.”

“You’re a coward,” the last [Druid] growled.

“Maybe,” the [Beastlord] scoffed. “You might think that I’m a coward, and that’s fine with me. But remember, Tiberius, you taught me all you could. I was never defeated, you know. But now, I’m older than the boy you raised. I will never be a [Druid], but I can take over your duties. I’ll be the invisible hand behind the crown.”

“You are just older than the idiot sitting on the throne.”

“Still, I can live as long as I need. I relieve of your duties, Tiberius. Go enjoy your retirement. I’m sure it will be much better than this,” he pointed at the filthy cavern.

The [Doom Druid King], much different compared to a [King of Druids], looked at his disciple, the one person he had raised from a commoner’s body in spite of the royal family. He had given the man so much power, all his teachings… everything he could. They had undergone the ritual multiple times, but that had not worked. The [Beastlord] was supposed to be a [Druid]. Maybe a great class like a [Druid of Ages, Beast General]. Something great. Instead, he was just a [Beastlord]. He looked at his disciple with regret in his eyes, knowing that, once again, he would live up to the name of his class and spell the doom for the man in front of him.

“I can’t let you do that, Maximus,” he said.

The [Beastlord] smiled, turning to look at the [Doom Druid].

“What will you do to stop, old man? Attack me?”

“No. No,” the [Doom Druid] paused. He looked at the [Beastlord], staring at him. “I’ll bring back the class. It was my fault. I cursed it. I ruined it. It was all me. I need to make up for that.”

“And how will you do that?”

“I’m a [Druid], I’ll find a way.”

“And I’m a [Beastlord]. We both know that [Druids] are lost. Stop, Tiberius. Your war is over. You won. Do not linger; go.”

…

A woman suddenly approached him while he was sitting outside the city of Amorium, the one known for his great—

“Bloody hell,” she shouted, “are you free, sir? Hello! Hello! Sir? Are you free? Are you doing something?”

“Young woman, I’m—”

“Come on, get up. Chop-chop. If you are not doing anything I need help. Do you know anything about dogs? Do you know how to help a dog give birth? I think a dog is dying. It cannot give birth! You look like a [Farmer], you must know a trick or two!”

Before the [Druid] knew what happened, the woman was dragging him right in front of wall.

“Quick, tell me. Quick! What do I do? Can you help me?” she pointed at a big white dog, clearly in its death throes. Something had gone wrong during the birth process and he could already feel the aura of death around the animal. He concentrated for a second on the poor thing – all his cubs were dead. Wait. Not all of them. He crouched and put a hand on the belly of the animal.

“She’s dying. There’s only one cub alive in its uterus, and it’s going to die soon. I’d need to—”

“Dying?” she said with what he realized was a foreign accent, typical of Teiko.

“Are you from Teiko, Human?” he suddenly asked.

“Teiko? What is in your bloody mind right now?!”

When [King] Tiberius stared down at her, using his aura to elicit a response, she snapped.

“No, I’m not from Teiko, you bloody idiot! Is the dog dying? Can we rescue the pup?”

“We need to extract it. The mother will die soon. I can—”

Before he could say anything, she took out a strange knife, flipped the dog, and opened its belly, wading through the gore with a firm and expert hand. She made another cut, and before he could even realize, the pup was out.

But it was barely moving. The mother, instead, had stopped breathing. The sudden loss of blood had stopped her heart.

“Good pupper,” she said, gently caressing the dog and sighing.

“If you are not from Teiko, where are you from, then?” he asked.

“Oh, bugger off, will you? Is this pupper going to be okay?”

[King] Tiberius approached and put a hand over the little thing, using a skill to make sure the little animal would survive.

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

“Aren’t you an arsehole?” the Human woman told him. “We just saved a little pupper and you act like a cow that has to plow ten fields? Cheer up.”

The woman affectionately caressed the pup, smiling sadly at the sight of the mother.

“Dig a ditch for the mother,” the Human woman said. When he didn’t answer, she added: “Did you hear me? Dig, chop-chop.”

Begrudgingly, not having anything better to do, he simply manipulated the ground apart to swallow the dog. A litter lost and a female dog. It wasn’t nearly enough to move him in any way. He just wanted to resume his wallowing and self-commiserating.

“Nice trick. Let’s go have a pint before it gets dark. I have some business in town. Here, take him. We need to go wash him, first.”

Tiberius did not know what was up with him today, but he simply followed the instructions of the woman.

…

Tiberius looked at the woman. She was a strikingly beautiful young Human. She had a weird class, [Surgeon], something he had rarely seen in his entire life. He had seen some of her type trying to stitch people together, but that was it.

“So, what’s your name, again?”

Tiberius shrugged.

“Don’t have one.”

“Oh, sod off. What do you mean you don’t have one? Everyone has a name.”

“I don’t,” that was his decision. Throwing away his old life.

“Well, you know what, you look like a Stanley. I’ll call you ‘Stan.’ What do you do, Stan?”

“I’m a [Beggar],” he mused, not having completely lost his sense of humor.

“Oh, a [Beggar],” she said, nodding at his dirty [Druid] clothes. “That explains the smell, doesn’t it? Well, do you have a family or are you alone?”

“Alone,” Stan took his beer and gently sipped it.