Horatio saw his moment.

As the weakened Leader staggered back from the force of one of the party members’ attacks, Horatio leapt forwards and plunged his blade between its top pair of eyes, right into its forehead.

The blade pierced whatever was there—skull or brain or flesh, who knew?—and sank in to the hilt.

The Leader stiffened.

A heartbeat.

Horatio pulled his sword out, and it slid free with a squelch, coming back slick with black blood. He hopped clear of the demon-creature.

Everyone else in the party had paused in place.

An inhuman scream tore from the Leader’s mouth. It began to convulse and thrash around, tentacles flailing, legs dancing up and down, wings flapping uselessly, and Horatio and the others had to hop back a few more steps to avoid it.

And then it was dissolving in a cloud of purple gas, just like all the other monsters they had ever slain, to the sound of one, final, enraged scream which died away as its throat evaporated.

The Leader was gone. They had defeated him. It. Whatever it had been, at the end.

And on the black stone of the floor lay the Clarent Sword, shining red.

Horatio was standing closest to it.

Nobody said anything. Perhaps they were too exhausted; perhaps they felt it was a hollow victory, given that Primus had died. Nobody moved towards the Sword, not even Alex.

Horatio walked over to the Sword and picked it up.

GOT THE CLARENT SWORD! [Add item to inventory: Clarent Sword. Is extremely powerful.]

It was surprisingly light, and at first its hilt was cold to the touch. But it warmed in his grasp, and there was no mistaking it—Horatio felt a tremendous power sealed up in the weapon. His arm felt stronger just holding it, and energy began to course through his body.

This was a powerful, legendary weapon. He had seen enough evidence of that with it in the hands—or tentacles—of the leader in the battle just now.

Why not just keep it for myself? Horatio suddenly found himself thinking. Maybe I am the chosen hero destined to wield the Clarent Sword? I could keep it. I could use it. I could take the glory.

He turned and looked at the faces of his comrades. They were all stood watching him, dumbstruck still from exhaustion or awe or both. Alex, Tyler, Walter, Ursula, Ross, Olivia, Helen, Silvia, Ouzo, Wyvera, Egea and, last but not least, Ceres, looking at him with amazed blue eyes.

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Maybe now that I have the Clarent Sword she will want to marry me, Horatio thought as he held eye contact with her. Maybe if I save the world with it she will fall in love with me.

Still nobody said anything. Horatio held Ceres’ gaze a little longer.

No, Horatio thought. I don’t want her to love me just because of this Sword. This story is about more than just me. There is far more at stake here than just my own glory. I am not the Chosen Hero of Destiny. I am not the Hero of the whole world’s story. I am just a simple sellsword, and that’s all I’ll ever be.

He walked up to Alexander, who watched him all the way, knelt down on one knee in front of him, and offered up to him the Sword, presenting the flat of the blade to him on two palms.

He bowed his head and said, ‘I believe this belongs to you, Hero of Destiny. I give you the Clarent Sword.’

‘Oh,’ said Alex. ‘Thank you. But that’s alright. I’m happy to let you have it.’

‘Huh?’

Horatio looked up. He hadn’t been able to stop the undignified noise from coming out of his mouth.

Alex was smiling down at him in his white robes. ‘Yes, that’s right. I want you to wield the Clarent Sword. The fact that you won it back and got hold of it but were prepared to give it, and your life, up to me shows that you’re worthy of it, really. And I want to share it with you. I never wanted to do all of this by myself really, anyway—I wanted you all to help me do it. I may be the Chosen Hero of Destiny, but I can still share my glory with those whom I want to. And you may not be the one and only Chosen Hero of Destiny, but you can still be the hero of your own story. I want you to wield the Clarent Sword, Horatio! Actually, come to think of it, pass it here just for a moment…’

Alex took the Sword from Horatio, then laid the flat of the blade on each of the sell-sword’s shoulders.

‘I dub thee Sir Horatio, Son and Knight of Qind,’ Alex said as he did this. ‘Welcome to the Kingdom! You can’t be the hero of every story, or the whole world’s story, but you’re the hero of your own story! You’re the hero of this story! Be the hero of your own story, Horatio! This is your time! You have come here, now, for such a time as this! Arise, Sir Horatio!’

Horatio stood, as commanded, and accepted the Clarent Sword back from Alex. His companions clapped and cheered him nearby.

‘Thank you…’ was all he could say at first. ‘I… I won’t let you down, Alexander.’

‘I know you won’t,’ said Alex.

‘That’s really good that you won’t,’ said Silvia, interrupting their moment, ‘because there’s a load more monsters coming for us right now.’

Horatio spun.

Monsters were indeed charging towards them, enraged. Many of them had been crushed and killed by Primus’s meteors, but some still remained in the chamber. They had stayed stationary at the command of the Leader and to witness the exchange of the Clarent Sword, but now that the Leader was dead and they had recovered their wits, rather than fleeing they seemed more angry than ever. They rushed at the party, attracted to the glowing ball of dark energy that was still growing at the centre of the chamber, and driven on by the remaining Cultists who hadn’t been killed by the meteors either. They appeared to be spurred on by the imminent arrival of their Master, and fought with more fury than ever.

Battle 1