The Land of The Dead Hero

It has been approximately six years since I've been reborn. And my world has since then calmed down a lot. I've mostly gotten used to the hard labour at the mill, simply because there was no other choice to make food. I wake up at 4 AM, brush my teeth, and go to feed the animals. We eventually had to sell the cows and pigs, leaving us with only chickens and an old goose. And when I was about four, a rather harsh winter came. Winters have been getting worse, and this land is growing colder and colder. For heat, we utilize wood from a nearby forest. The one I initially tried to run away from. After I take care of the animals, I go there to pick up sticks and cut smaller tree branches with a hacksaw. I usually pick up some shrooms there too. Unlike in the real world, there is a different fauna and flora here. There is a special kind of mushroom that is resistant to icy conditions, and it even provides a sort of "buff," if that makes sense. It's apparently called the Hand, as it similarly stretches from the ground. As I have gotten quite familiar with the woods, I can notice the changes they experience. There is something wrong with this land. The soil is slowly but surely turning dark and dead. Almost as if it was corrupted from the inside.

The preacher Savas believes it is because underground, there is Hell where demons reside. It's hard to say whether he is right or not.

After I return home, I do housework. I mostly clean and prepare breakfast for my parents, who wake up around seven. All of this is viewed positively in this world, and it's usually worthy of praise. However, my family sees it as relatively automatic. At around nine o'clock, I go to wake up my sick brother Arailt, who has not left his room since that dreadful incident so many years ago. He is all alone, in his room, almost like a Japanese shut-in. If I didn't care about him, our parents would leave him to die there. I bring him food and water, change his sheets, and clean his room. I usually also drag him from the bed somewhere, at least to the table on his desk.

I have never seen a man so depressed. So bored. So miserable. And to think I used to envy him this life. He is powerless. Like a stone, he didn't speak, eat, drink, or sometimes turn his head. 

"You don't have to do this. Just leave me be," those are the words Arailt always says. But no. I won't. I found a strange sense of purpose in helping him. After all, he wasn't anything like my sister in the old world. She didn't understand a single thing, but this boy did. I felt as if he was one of the few people who truly understood me in this world. 

If there was something he truly cherished, it was the fragment that ended up in his hands. We were sometimes studying it together, but it led to little or no results. He was very insistent on being careful with it, scared it might break. I had to replace his hands and his legs while studying it. Still, it had no effect on either of us. And the hope that Witch Canalyse had that it would do...something was misguided. Maybe there was a fragment waiting for us eventually. Somewhere outside. It was said in this world that any child chosen by the Hero would receive one. It would literally find its way to them. It found its way to Xert. But not us.

We were just normal, useless kids. But I wasn't making that stop me.

"Going for training again today?" Arailt asked with a warm smile. 

That's right. Since I decided to survive, I have been trying to get stronger. For both of us. For this family, too. So that we can survive in this harsh world. It is, in the end, still another chance. I may hate this body, but I may use it. I thought that dying would be a way of escaping, but that sort of view was twisted. I had no way of knowing what's behind it all. Maybe this time, if I die, that will be the end of it. And I don't want to risk that. To throw away this opportunity, no matter how tragic this world is.

"I am told you are the Hero's Chosen. If that is true, your father will come for you."

I sometimes remembered those words, looking out from the very top of the mill, watching the dawn break. I wonder who my father is in this world. And if he is someone important, why does he only care about whether we are chosen or not? I was hoping that by training, I could get his attention. Elias was a prick, and I felt no warmth toward him. When Arailt told me he practically killed the witch that bore us, I was furious. However, I am now indifferent. He mostly stays in the town, trying to sell grain. We mostly remain just with our mother, who, believe it or not, has become quite a weaver. She makes clothes for us, including sheets and curtains, and we sometimes sell them in the village or when the caravan comes.

"Yes. Lady Rumabelle says I am making great progress for one without a fragment."

Lady Rumabelle. That woman has placed herself as Xert's teacher. And those of us who wanted to mean something in this world had to at least stand by the Hero's side, if something was to change. He was training every day. That made sense; his parents were adventurers and helped with his training. He was trained in both combat and the use of his fragment. From what I've observed, his power was to create something out of anything—a handy skill. But there was a catch. Everything he made had a 10% chance of immediately exploding. When I discovered this, I tried to remove the fragment from our house. I realized we were carrying and playing with a hand grenade, but luckily it didn't go off after all this time.

When I told Arailt those words, his face darkened. It was never explicitly stated, but it was implied like poison in the air. He was envious of me. I could at least do something. I trained with the wooden sword and a dagger, both of which were provided to me by Lady Bluefrog. They said they were her own. She and I got pretty close, as she reminded me of my mother from the real world in more than one way.

"I see...have fun then..."

However, today, I had something different in mind that I would like to try.

"I will take you with me to the training, Arailt. I think Lady Rumabelle can get quite creative with training. She is a heroine, so is Xert. They are good people. Maybe you can at least watch and not be so bored here..."

Despite meaning it well, it seemed my words stung him.

"Ah...watch huh..." he murmured, looking down at the floor as if he was scared to lift his eyes.

"Well...I suppose...why not..."

That was enough for me at the time. I dressed Arailt in one of the better clothes our mother weaved. It was specifically designed just for him, so it wasn't inherited by Elias. I had to keep him warm because of the snow outside. I even gave him a hat. He was bigger than I, so I couldn't carry him the same way Canalyse did. I had to use a wheelbarrow. When I dragged him outside, his body was bumping and scratching, yet he never sustained any damage at all. I noticed it before. When my parents and I were sick, he was never ill at all. And even now, when his knees were dragged across the floor, there wasn't as much as a scratch. Perhaps he was simply more durable. 

"And there you go!" Positioning him on the wheelbarrow was a tedious and hefty process. He was getting heavier and heavier. We were six now. Back in the old world, we would probably be going to the first year of elementary school. Here, there wasn't any school at all. 

"I have a surprise for you," I whispered in his ear, as I started pushing the wheelbarrow. His eyes were looking around the road, as if making sure we didn't fall into a ditch.

"Oh...is it my birthday or something?" he asked playfully, laughing along the way sadly. That caught me off guard. We were almost six, but we never celebrated a birthday. It isn't a custom in this world. Perhaps they regarded the event of one's birth as nothing special at all. Nameday was celebrated similarly to our birthday, although the gifts were simpler and less extravagant in nature. Apparently, there was a code of humbleness and selflessness among these people, who were taught in churches to be modest and altruistic. This is likely why the decision to donate all our supplies to the village improved our standing. Even if it made our lives much harder. It was selflessness.

Still, while his comment is strange, maybe he heard it somewhere, so I won't suspect him of anything.

"No, nothing of the sort. Well, to be frank, it's more than one surprise."

I pushed the wheelbarrow on the road, its wooden wheel singing a squeaky sound as we went. The path was rocky and muddy, frozen with small puddles made of ice.

It wasn't far at all. This was the path the midwife-witch used to take. The one just around the Bluefrog's household. I've heard the sounds of wooden swords hitting each other from a distance, echoing like the greatest battle of old. It made me slightly smile. Arailt heard it too, his eyes widening almost immediately.

"Almost there!" shouted Lady Rumabelle, dressed in training white-brown attire, rather than her traditional armor. This was a mock battle after all. Her hand was firmly secured around the grip of her wooden sword, as she easily dodged Xert's attack. The young lad has grown quite tall and strong for a boy his age. Holding his wooden sword in a convulsive manner, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was dirty, as if he had been fighting in the mud since morning. His attire was nothing special, but it was clearly training gear as well. Xert inhaled deeply, almost as if trying to catch his breath. My eyes caught the purple fragment that protruded from his hand as if someone had jammed it into it.

I leaned towards Arailt, whispering in his ear: "You know, none of us managed to hit her. Not even once. I got the closest."

Xert growled and quickly started sprinting to Lady Rumabelle. His mother, seated just outside the training fence, watched with awe. As was the young Erop, whose presence wasn't at all surprising. He became a close friend of Xert's and, in proximity, a close friend of mine. He was still chubby, but his dream apparently was to be a huntsman. However, he kept his father's (the innkeeper's) jovial nature. He has learned from his mistakes...after all, who could really blame a child for what they do when they are two?

But I was more curious about Arailt's reaction to the last child, a petite silver-haired girl hidden behind Lady Bluefrog's skirt. It was Beanne, the priest Savas's ward. She was young and shy, but Rumabelle took her everywhere. And she was integral to the plan.

"Hooo, are you finally daring to use it?" Ruma asked playfully, taking a step back as the fragment on Xert's hand started to beam, and he reached for it. "I was wondering when you are going to st-" she said, and then instinctively dodged her head to the side, as a long spear flew instantly from Xert's palm. She then caught it in her hand, pulling him closer with it, causing him to lose his balance. She made him trip over, pushing the sword away from his hand. 

"Oh n-" Were Xert's words as he started falling face front to the mud, as he followed his spear, which was still attached to his hand, to the ground. One hit with the hilt, and he was on the ground with a bump on his head. 

"Now, will this one explode or not?" Ruma asked playfully, twirling the spear in her hand. "You should hope it does, otherwise you just gave me another weapon to beat you with."

Ruma said, hitting him with the dull back of the spear on the back. Xert quickly got up, going for his wooden sword. "I am not done yet!" he screamed valiantly. Arailt was silently watching them, analyzing their movements. He was like a fan at a game. I've never seen him so captivated.

That was good.

This time, he rushed at her, despite her having two weapons now. She threw the spear away to the side, seemingly giving herself the disadvantage. 

"Being valiant or angry doesn't make you defeat your enemies," she said condescendingly, as he attacked her with two slashes of the sword, she elegantly avoided. I knew about her speed. This woman was fast. Definitely unnaturally fast. That's what everyone around me knew. Yet to me she seemed...Normal. I've been thinking about that for a while. In fact, day after day, it appeared as if she was getting slower. Was it aging? No, she was still reasonably young. It was probably because of me. I could get better by training.

"But it makes them give me a lecture, so they are distracted!" he said playfully, his fragment igniting with a bright light. Suddenly, in the moment of clash, the roots from his wooden sword awoke and grabbed Rumabelle's mock weapon, turning around her wrist. "Caught you!" he screamed, seemingly truly catching her off guard. She was, however, relatively quick to realize his trap for an entrapment, pulling him closer with superior strength, and then swung him to the ground.

"Auch auch auch..." he whimpered, touching his chin as he scratched it. She nodded towards his mother, who quickly came with healing ointments. The two swords, now fused together with wood, began to glow. Her eyes looked at the glowing light, as Xert's creation was about to explode, only for her to simply crush the wooden swords like a rubber inside her hands in the form of a ball. It was something like straight out of a movie. Rumabelle held the explosion inside her hands like it was no problem at all, clapping her hands as it disappeared in smoke.

But I knew better. That feat alone was insane. It was definitely as strong as a hand grenade. Yet this woman managed to tank it with ease. That was unnatural. Magical.

"Wow..." Arailt murmured. "That's magic if I've ever seen one."

"Ah, the great Aer has returned to The Hero's Pact!" Ruma laughed gracefully, noticing our presence, which drew the attention of the other spectators as well. "Bringing her brother nonetheless," she said, coming closer to our wheelbarrow out of the wooden fence. Xert was sitting on the ground, saying something along the lines of, "Come on, Mom, I don't need it," as his mother anxiously applied ointment to his scratches.

Beanne kept staring at Arailt from behind the fence, with a face that was nothing short of disapproving. That surprised me dearly. And it made me worried. It could influence my plan.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ruma, we met before, but you were a lot younger," she said, kneeling beside the wheelbarrow to level herself at his eye level.

"I am Arailt...I remember...milady..." he said respectfully.

"Please, Ruma is fine. I don't insist on titles with the same passion as do some of my colleagues..." She lifted up, smiling gracefully. "Well, Arailt, it is good of you to finally join us. I spoke a lot with your sister about you. As you know, I am gathering prospective heroes here in this village. Training them so that they become stronger and can protect this land and their families from danger. The Hero's Pact, that's what they call this little group. And I want you to join it."

Arailt stared at her in silence, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Don't you know..." he sounded as if he were almost out of breath. I thought he would be rejoiced, but he seemed to be flustered. Angry. It caught me off guard. Why was his face so dark?

"If you think this is funny...it isn't..."

Ruma lifted her head, tilting it to the side. "I am serious. Why would I be joking?"

Arailt started laughing. His laugh was mean. Evil. It wasn't the side of him I was used to. It made me squeeze the wheelbarrow even firmly. I thought he would be happy.

"Maybe because I am a cripple touched by the Witch lady?" he said provocatively. "Didn't you hear anyone in this village before? Not even my parents talk to me. I sit in my shit every day. You think I can run around and play swordfight like you and Mr. Chosen over there do?" he continued, laughing with such darkness and vileness from the depths of his heart.

"No. I can't do anything. Believe me. For six years, I've tried."

He expected to provoke her. I knew that tone. It was more similar to my sister's in the real world than I would admit. This sort of nagging. You do a nice thing for them, and it comes back to haunt you. Forever unhappy. Forever depressed. Forever negative. They call it "realism". That's the sort of people they are. I wouldn't think even Arailt was like that.

And yet, she smiled so warmly that it made him go silent.

"Well, I haven't tried yet! Your mother didn't want me to meet you. In fact, Aer isn't here either. She is picking berries. Isn't that right, Aer?"

I nodded eagerly.

"What?" Arailt laughed. "Oh, of course...Mother probably wouldn't want this to happen at all...she is too busy weaving...you know it's ironic...they kill her by cutting it and mother turns to weaving...God, the person who made this world, is cruel..."

Those words made little sense to me. Sometimes my brother spoke about things I didn't quite understand. And that made me worried.

Ruma continued to smile, her posture gentle and somewhat familiar, like my favorite high school teacher. She could easily insult him. Make him feel small. Compared to her, he was like a worm.

"Arailt...I want you to try something," she said suddenly, keeping her composure. "First of all, even in your situation, you can help us. I have already arranged for Beanne to teach you reading. You seem to have a sharp mind. I would like you to plan out certain things for us." Ruma suddenly pointed at Beanne, who was seemingly caught off guard by being called by name. "Huh, me? Absolutely not," she said, hiding behind the fence.

"He has evil eyes. I can read people. He has already thought about killing. He's scary."

Oh really? 

I looked at Arailt with a suspicious stare. Well, as closed off as he was, he certainly has his secrets. But who was I to blame him? I don't know what I would have done in his predicament. It's only directed towards our parents. That can be somewhat understood... even if I thought the situation calmed down a bit over time.

Yet, despite this, Ruma maintained her warmth and even offered her hand. She was a true heroine at heart. It made me almost forget she was officially an Inquisitor. 

Arailt, to my surprise, merely scuffed at that comment. As if it were nothing new to him. Like he was used to all the hate.

That sort of a mindset had to change. 

"Well, who hasn't at least once in their lives! What matters is actions, not the thoughts we have in our heads. It is said that the great Hero, Arailt, his namesake, thought shamelessly about a vile demon queen, Azaerya. For she infected his mind and made him desire her for an entire year while he journeyed the desert, while his dearest Cia was away at home. Yet he never once succumbed to that urge. His thoughts didn't matter. His actions did. And never cheated and kept his loyalty. As any man should."

Wait...there are lustful demons in this world? And he really held it in for a YEAR? As a fellow guy, I have some trouble believing that. 

I touched my chin nervously. 

A fellow guy...yeah...not anymore... 

This body, although I kept its hair short, was certainly not looking the part.

Arailt looked at Lady Ruma with a nihilistic stare. It didn't seem he was convinced.

"That's a nice story, I guess...but you shouldn't force the girl into anything...and quite frankly, you are wasting your time with me."

Ruma leaned in, staring him directly in the eyes. Then she smiled playfully.

"You are just like my brother...you even share a similar predicament...although his legs were bitten off by a mountainous spider during the crusade to the East..." she said calmly. "Let me ask you this, Arailt...what are your teeth for?"

Arailt seemed puzzled by that question. Additionally, the fact that Lady Ruma had someone in a similar situation to his own. Perhaps he thought such people didn't exist at all? I inhaled to answer for him, as the answer was obvious - for eating, chewing food. But Erop was faster. Well, eating was something he clearly enjoyed, and it was unusual for him to keep quiet for so long.

"For eating food!" he said happily, holding his bow tight. However, that wasn't the correct answer in the end. Erop was surprised as Xert joined the conversation, cleaning his hair with a towel.

"Not just for eating. You can bite with them..." he said confidently. "If nothing else works. Even a baby knows that."

Arailt's eyes opened wide. A moment of realization. I saw it. Maybe it was because we are brother and sister. Did it open up a new perspective for him? That's what I wanted the most. I needed an ally. Someone to rely on. I need him to function at least somewhat. That mill...something had to change there, not just for the normal, but for the better.

"Like a mountainous spider..." Arailt whispered, seemingly perplexed.

"Well, you got the gist," Ruma said supportively, and then, to everyone's surprise, took her hand and put it close to his mouth.

"Go ahead then. Bite me. Show me that fighting spirit."

What? Is she serious?

It was Beanne first that shouted: "Lady Ruma! Are you insane? Why would you let him bite you?" she screamed, running close to pull her arm away from his mouth. Arailt began shaking.

"Well, naturally, to remind him he isn't powerless," she said authoritatively.

"None of you can hit me. Yet Arailt will be the first one to do so. With the weakest, most primal of our weapons. Any man I ever met hated the feeling of powerlessness. But it was always fake. It was always just resignation. As long as you are alive, you aren't powerless. Weak, maybe. But not powerless." 

I swallowed, curious as to what Arailt would do. We all watched and stared with almost morbid curiosity. 

"The first bite won't hit the skin...won't it?" he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

What does he mean by the first bite won't hit the skin?

Lady Ruma began laughing. She laughed hard, her back stretching gleefully. She was ecstatic. I've not seen her like that.

"What does he mean?" Beanne asked Erop, who didn't know either. Xert was thinking to himself, with his mother merely relaxing a few meters away, leaning on their fence. She seemed more concerned about watering her plants than the whole situation. 

"Be careful, Ruma, this one could be the end of you," Lady Bluefrog said suddenly, pointing to Arailt. And on his face, there was that victorious glare. He figured something out.

The first attack won't hit? Is that her secret?

"Tell me, boy, what else can you see? What else can you make out?" There was a boldness in Ruma's voice. She was almost proud. As if she were egging him on and on. Yet when he answered, her smile froze a bit.

"That Beanne is tied to you by her hair...And what does that mean..."

She looked down at him, analyzing my brother like he was truly a force to be reckoned with. I didn't understand anything they talked about. Hair? What hair? 

Beanne stared at him intently, just as Ruma did.

"So, you know that much. Then you are more knowledgeable than the rest. That sort of skill is nothing short of having a fragment...is it because of the fake one you have?"

He turned his head disapprovingly. 

"Umm...what do you mean by hair? What does Arailt know that we don't?" I asked curiously.

Yet I got no answer. None at the time. Only silence. For such things were just between them, as if they had always been friends.

It was then that he bit her hand like a snake that bit the hand of Adam when it took the fruit. She didn't even flinch when a drop of blood poured down.

"Will you join us then?" she asked, pulling her hand back.

Arailt looked at her with blood dripping down his chin.

He looked like he was possessed by a demon himself.

And then he turned his eyes to Beanne, who hid behind Ruma cowardly.

"Of course I will. When can we start?"