CHAPTER 2

A HOLLOW VICTORY

"You remember him talking to you at the end, don't you?" Arat asked, locking eyes with Hans. When Hans first woke up, Arat wanted to tell him, but their guest, Delimira Winters, had been quite persistent in not leaving. So, they discussed other things. Finally, the cat was out of the bag, and seeing Hans's blank expression, he asked again, "Samson talking to you—"

"Yeah. I remember." Hans nodded.

"You've seen what a Celestial Weapon does, right?” Arat had a gleam throughout his eyes as if he wanted to show off.

However, Hans didn’t have patience for his games, “Don’t talk in circles please.” He scoffed.

"As you wish." Arat nodded respectfully. "Just think about it—if someone like Xandor got his hands on that weapon, he could destroy an entire nation."

"That's a terrifying thought, Mr. PM," Hans said, hugging himself and pretending to shiver.

"So, if I'm right," Arat turned serious, "when your father briefly regained consciousness, he must've known he was being used as an undead, completely at the mercy of the caster. So he summoned that weapon, knowing you could disarm it. Even if Xandor manages to control him, he can't use the weapon."

Hans and Delimira looked at him, confused. Arat sighed, another regret clouding his face. "We lost our strongest advantage, but it's better than letting a madman have it."

"Rebellion and now the celestial weapon—just how much does he want from us?" Hans clenched his fists, furious. "He's really at the end of his days. Attacking Grimgar, fine, it wouldn’t have bothered me much. But trying to use my father? That just crossed the line. It's better Father perished in the blast—“

"Oh, about that." Arat interrupted, his tone even grimmer. "We discovered a portable space door had opened right at the explosion.”

“What?” The daylight vanished from Hans’s face as he mumbled, “No. No.” Shaking his head in denial, he tried to reject the harsh reality. Arat’s voice broke through his resistance, “I believe Xandor took Samson’s body before the blast could do much damage to him.”

Hans couldn’t believe it. He had fought tooth and nail to avoid this scenario, and yet when he thought he had won, it turned out to be a hollow victory.

“Xandor needs to—no, he must die.” His whisper carried a renewed resolve. The old Hans, who feared nothing and cared nothing, was clearly returning. Rage filled his eyes. He hadn't been truly angry with Xandor before, but now, his fury was unmistakable. “Just when are you planning to kill that man?” Hans asked Arat.

“Soon.” Arat's eyes narrowed, his tone carrying a repressed anger. “His attack was the perfect motivation needed for those laid-back Allied Nations.” He paused, his voice dropping even lower. “Xandor must pay for making Samson a pawn in his game. There will be no forgiveness.”

“Why wait?” In a swift motion, Hans swung his legs off the bed and planted them firmly on the ground. “He must still be near—”

“That’s why the Gryphon Knights are here,” Arat finally answered the question Hans had asked earlier. “They are the protectors of the crown, arguably the best knight order in the world. And,” he paused, emphasising, “I’ve also called him?”

“Who?” Hans asked, curiosity mingling in his voice.

“A genius, he’d been the best if he wasn’t born in the ‘Era of the monsters’; Homar Garuda.”

Hans momentarily forgot that he was angry and infuriated. Homar Garuda was the evidence that one need not follow a paved path, but can succeed in making one for himself. He asked jolting, “You mean ‘The Eagle Eye’.”

“So, you’ve heard the name—”

“Of course, I’ve heard. He is the third rank holder. The youngest in the ‘Top Ten’ after my father. The only Warlord who uses a bow instead of a sword, right?” Hans’s eyes lit up with excitement, searching the room. “Is he here?” he asked, sounding like a fan about to meet his hero.

“See, it’s really easy to change his mood,” Delimira whispered to Arat, prompting him to reply in the same fashion.

“It’s scary how well you know him,” Arat whispered back.

“He’s a kid after all. They always become jolly when you give them something they like,” she responded as Hans continued to hop in anticipation.

“Prince, just a word of caution,” Arat said, calming him down. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but he might not be what you expect him to be—”

“What do you mean?” Hans asked, confused.

“He might not like you. You see, he was your father’s—”

“Thud!” The door swung open, revealing a figure bathed in light. A handsome archer entered with an air of confidence. His hair was as dark as obsidian, framing unshakable emerald-green eyes that sparkled with discipline. But, that was not all, Hans noticed at first glance, that the man was wearing a slim-fit armour, gleaming in gold, with a faded white cloak trailing behind him and folded within the cloak was an insignia, unmistakably a golden gryphon.

Hans's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the weapon known for its precision. A finely crafted bow rested on the back of the man, and a quiver of vibrant arrows adorned his side. Hans hushed in awe as the archer, marked by callused hands and a subtle smirk, moved in with grace.

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“So, you are the prince. It seems the heavens haven’t forsaken me after all,” the archer, the third-ranked knight, said with relief. “I can finally shake off this stigma of being second best.”

Confused, Hans turned to Arat with a questioning gaze, silently asking what this tall and impressive man meant.

“I told you, Prince,” Arat whispered back, “Your father and he were rivals. At least, that's how he sees it.”

“What does he want from me?” Hans asked, still admiring the bow knight. But before Arat could respond, the third-ranked knight spoke again, “Being the king’s son won’t earn you my respect. You want it, you have to beat that into me.”

"So… you are a masochist?" Hans couldn’t help but quip.

"Yeah. If you say so," Homar said indifferently, troubling Hans, who was expecting a sharp comeback. In response to his baffled face, Homar commented, "You got a problem with it? Beat me."

"Just what is your problem? I respected you—"

"Yes, because I earned it. My name carries weight in the world. What have you accomplished till now? You're just riding on your father’s name. Look at this senile man," Homar pointed to Arat and added, "he's only here because the king’s blood flows through you, not because you are Hans—"

"I’m just twelve," Hans refuted, playing his age card, but it only infuriated Homar. "How dare you whine about your age." The building shook, and the pressure of grade 98 fell on Hans. "By your age, your father was strong enough to fight Rudolf and survive to tell the tale."

"I'm not him," Hans rebuked.

"Blame your father, then. He set the bar so high, and that is the problem," Homar continued grimly, "and, the moment you set foot on Parvian soil, everyone will expect you to be Samson… no, they will expect you to be better than him." Homar scanned Hans from top to bottom and shook his head in denial. "And, you are going to trample their hopes—"

"Stop it, Garuda," Arat interrupted, shutting him up. However, while Homar’s mouth might have been shut, his intent still pressured Hans.

"Hey, back off," Delimira, who had been silent until now, jumped in between them. "He just fought your king. He saved a lot of lives here. You don’t get to judge him."

However, Delimira’s words fell on Homar’s deaf ears. "No, the king lost because he willed it, not because you won over him." He flicked Delimira away. Coming close to Hans, he asked, "You know it too, don’t you? I heard you begged him to spare you, and the only reason you are alive is that he did. You were no help without your mana gems—"

"I said, back off," Delimira shouted, her iridescent scales covering her cheeks. She objected, "Using every resource at your bay is a skill—"

"No, it's a dependency. My king must not have it. I want to serve the one who can confidently say - I’m enough. After so much wait, I don’t want my people to be disappointed. They waited for a decade and what did they get? A kid who is not even half of his father."

All of Hans’s excitement to meet the ‘Eagle Eye’ died down. He couldn’t even refute it because deep down, he knew every word of Homar was right. Samson had set a bar so high that he could only gaze at it from below. Now, he understood why Arat was reluctant to take him back this soon- He wasn’t ready for Parv.

He raised his head a little and saw Homar leaving the room, Arat trailing behind him, chiding. When they exited, Arat broke the dams he was holding and grabbed Homar by the hand, “Hey, stop it, you buffoon! Weren’t you too harsh on the kid?”

“It's better than shattering countless hopes and dreams,” Homar retorted. “They expect a ‘god,’ Arat. A goddamn god, not a child. I'm not going to coddle him like you and Dijkstra. He needs to realise the weight of the Parvian crown.”

“That's why we're here, isn’t it? We can teach him together, prepare him—”

“No. He's an imperial, they're different, and he has to understand that,” Homar patted Arat's shoulder and left. “Until then, he's not my prince.”

Meanwhile, back where Hans was, Delimira kept fussing over Homar. “So, he sure is great as you thought, isn’t he?” Delimira frowned sarcastically. “Don’t let him get to you, Hans—”

“But he was right, Deli. I’m nothing compared to my father. He was the real deal, you saw it yourself. He took on so many and even together they couldn’t beat him. How am I supposed to fill those shoes.”

“Listen Hans. I can’t give you that answer. You have to find it yourself. I have a pretty big goal too. You don’t see me mulling about. When I fail, I at least wanna say, I gave my everything.” She questioned, “Can you say it now? Can you say you gave your everything and failed to live up to the expectations?”

Hans remained silent, So Delimira quoted his own words back to him, “Your story hasn’t ended, you can’t undo what’s already happened but you can always write a new chapter, right?”

Hans stared at her, confused.

“See, I can too speak good things.”Delimira teased.

“Stop gloating, Winters. But you know, you are right. What I do in the future is still in my hands. If Homar wants me to be better than my father. I still can’t say I can, but I barely started my story.” He clenched, determined, the solar mage was still in his hands. Heaving, He looked at Delimira oddly and whispered, “Thanks—”

“What did you say?” She asked quickly

“I said, I would satisfy the Eagle eye's wish to get pummelled by me.” Hans averted her gaze, However, now he had a question for her, “Hey, what’s your ‘pretty big goal’? You never mentioned it before.”

“Cause’ you never asked.” She cynically said and stressed, “ You really don’t wanna know Hans.”

But it did not affect Hans, "Oh, come on. I don’t see anyone coming. You know everything about me. I wanna know some secrets too. Let’s make things even.”

“Fine!” Delimira sighed. She delved into her past, “I told you that you'll end up killing my dad in DeadLands, right?”

“Yeah, and I'm sorry about that..wait, it still hasn’t happened yet, so why am I apologising?” Hans questioned himself.

“Focus, idiot! Do you know why he's not with us or why I was born in Edenberg, not Clandor?” She asked, and when Hans shook his head, she explained, “Elves are in a delusion that they are the perfect race, a hand-crafted species of the god, so a child between them and others is not possible. But what if a child is born between them and some other race ?”

“That only means your father belongs to the same race or of something of similar level,” Hans interjected.

“Yes, and elves are too proud to accept that their god created something else of their level. But, they couldn’t openly oppose him since he was ‘Really strong’.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Hans nodded, “People call him the Northern sea monster. It's a pretty cool name, though. Your reappearing scales are from him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Delimira confirmed, “My mother said she didn’t need the elves' acknowledgement of their union, but my dad was adamant about it. He believed a union would last longer with more blessings… He was delusional.”

“Delus…I think I shouldn’t comment on that. Please, go on,” Hans encouraged her to continue.

“So, to accept my father in the Elven community and bless their union, the elves asked an Ancient to perform a rite of passage - giving him the impossible task of killing five red demon commanders. I don’t know what happened there. Maybe my father killed them, and then the Ancient betrayed him. Or maybe he didn’t and was betrayed anyway. All I know is that man took my father away from me, and he's responsible for all the things I’ve endured in Clandor—”

“What things?” Hans asked.

“You’ll never know,” Delimira said firmly. “Be satisfied that I shared this much. I’ll find my closure when I’m strong enough to beat that ancient piece of trash.”

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