The boy ran to the equipment section, blood dribbling down his hand, and armed himself with a sturdy wooden heater shield; in the meantime which the knight advanced slowly, using the opportunity to catch his breath. “Because you fight for selfish reasons: your ego was hurt, so you wanted to recover your pride and prove yourself a man. Whereas I am fighting for the people, carrying their hopes and dreams on my shoulders. I am a hero fighting for freedom, while you are a slaver trying your best to keep them down and restrained.”

Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Really, he’s just a boy whose girl you tried to seduce.

Rory glared at him in silence, refusing to play his part as the villain who’d spout a few lines of his own to justify his actions or to point out the hero’s hypocrisy.

Seeing this, Penbrooke sighed and shook his head. But he wasn’t melodramatic for long as he then sprinted after his opponent and leapt. “[Flying Shield Splitter!]”

Rory was prepared this time and made distance at once, racing away from the knight’s reach, though even then Penbrooke’s body automatically followed the brunet’s motion and tried its best to strike the shield; to Cal, as strange as it was to consider, it felt as though his body was autonomously honing in on the shield the way it leaned forward in perfect synchrony with the extension of the arms, as though it were a well-practised motion.

Alas, he had yet to consume the rubber rubber tree fruit, so his arms could not elastically stretch and hit things out of reach like Buffy, the famous comic book hero (not to be confused with Luffy the Vampire Slayer).

Hence, Penbrooke landed clumsily with nothing to strike at. “Wait, it still uses up mana even if I don’t connect… Oh, come on.” Clicking his tongue, the knight once more charged down the brunet who, on seeing his crazed expression, chose to flee.

Since his legs had not fully recovered from yesterday, it was only thanks to Penbrooke’s head start that he managed to make contact with the heater shield with his next [Shield Splitter]; even though it was merely the tip of his longsword, this didn’t matter as the blade still carved through the heater shield, noisily shredding through the reinforced wood and bisected it in a ridiculous show of strength.

What the…

The spectators were equally floored, staring with widened eyes and blinking in disbelief of what they’d just seen. Even Rory – who’d stopped several metres away when he saw Penbrooke was no longer chasing him – appeared stunned when he peered at the half shield still strapped against his forearm, the other half discarded on the ground besides coarse wood chips and a litter of splinters.

“Did you see that?” Penbrooke asked of his opponent.

I think he saw that, yes.

“That’s what happens when you anger a hero.” Penbrooke put his confidence on full display as he stabbed his longsword into the ground and leaned onto it. “Now that my power is unleashed, even I won’t be able to hold it back anymore.” He softly caressed the lightning mask with his hand.

Rudy, is that you?

Rory didn’t respond, his chest heaving up and down, a subconscious tremble present in his hands even though fire burned on in his eyes. The crowd waited with bated breath.

What wasn’t so clear to any of them was the agony the knight was currently under, the strikes his body had taken by now singing to him in different shades of black and purple beneath his clothes. Penbrooke tried to keep up his strong front by releasing laughter that had probably been intended to sound carefree but as a result of the anguish came out sounding maniacal instead.

He rolled with it. “In fact, now that you’ve seen my feared [Shield Splitter], I think I’ll be generous and show you my ultimate technique, the Gut Splitter.” He gave a harsh peal of laughter/an agonised groan. “If I do it clean enough, I might even get a chance to skip rope with your intestines afterwards.”

I thought you said you were a hero…

His hero-to-villain arc must have convinced his opponent as Rory finally dropped the arming sword with a head cast low. “I give,” he said, even his forfeit marred by an audible voice crack; at the end of the day, Penbrooke’s opponent, however talented, had only been an aggrieved boy and not a battle-hardened veteran of war.

Although the fight was over, the audience held back their cheers, glancing between the two main players to see what they’d do; the show had reached its crescendo.

Penbrooke struck before Ovaro could, pointing audaciously at the mayor. “This is the power of a hero fighting for the powerless masses. So go ahead and send all your guards at me if you want; just don’t come crying when I tear every last one of them asunder!”

Please don’t tempt him.

When the mayor didn’t respond beyond, surprisingly, a look of thoughtful contemplation, the knight continued. “Now, all of you who have been waiting for someone to come and save you, let me tell you: the only person who can free you is yourself. That’s right, it’s your responsibility to take back your lives and your freedom with your own hands!”

The accumulated fatigue from the bout had made a few revisions to his original message, and sure enough failed to appeal to as many people as it initially had. Regardless, it did manage to inspire one feverish, fluctuating voice to speak out: “Hell yeah, I hate these bloody flowers planted everywhere. I’m so sick of them, and how their pollen always clog up my nostrils – I’ve blown my nose so many times I’ve chafed it raw! Man, I’ll tear out every flower I see even if it gets me killed.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The one was enough, however, to break the dam on the villagers’ repressed frustrations and complaints.

“Hell yeah, I hate how I can’t say shit or hole anymore. How else am I supposed to tell Noel he’s full of shit? Full of excrement just doesn’t hit the same! I’ll tell him he’s full of shit even if it gets me killed,” followed another voice, plagiarising the format of the first and eliciting many approving sounds.

“Hell yeah, I hate that the butcher no longer works the storefront at his shop. It’s so unfair! I’ll literally die if I don’t get my dose of flirtatious chatter with him soon, like asking to buy his sausages and then, as I’m leaving, mention on the fly that I’m making toad in the hole tonight in case he wants to prop around and have a putt at it.”

This elicited a few certainly emotionally charged responses, a lot of Ooh, that’s a good one and I’m definitely using that next time I see him.

“Hell yeah, I hate how I’m not allowed to shit in the streets anymore and have to use the johns. It’s so unnatural! I’ll kill whoever tries to stop me next.”

This elicited many frowns and chewed-over expressions, draining enthusiasm from that corner of the amphitheatre as the people there shushed to find out who’d said it.

“Oh, it was bloody Hugo, of course it was. Alright, listen everyone, can we all at least agree that the ban on doing your business on the streets was a good one and should remain.”

“Aye, that’s a sensible suggestion. But I just want to add that we shouldn’t let one or two bad actors ruin this beautiful moment we’ve got going here with our whole repressed energy shtick. We should totally do something before we become disenchanted again and lose the opportunity. Maybe we can start a riot or something?”

“Yeah, I’d be up for that. It’d do me good to get outside and fool around for a while, get around to a cheeky bit of chanting in the streets and smashing up random things that we don’t own.”

“Oh, I’ve got a few great singalongs you’re going to love. So, are we all agreed on a riot, then?”

“Mm, I don’t know, boys – I’m not fully convinced yet. Like what would we even be rioting about?”

“Uh, returning Fragrant Grove back to the Shit Hole it was, I guess. That’s what the whole nostalgic notion we’re going with, right?”

This sentiment was supported by a few fervent shouts and one howl.

“Woah, sounds a bit extreme, don’t you think? Like I get what you’re saying, but hear me out, I also think the new buildings are pretty snazzy. Do you get me?”

“I catch your drift, sure; the streets are much nicer without piles of trash everywhere.”

“Yeah, especially since I’m a sandals type of gal, it’s been so nice recently to go out without having to worry about glass shards or whatever random muck just ruining my feet. Even thinking about it, ugh.”

“Sorry all, I zoned out of the conversation for a few seconds there – I was coming up with a bucket list of all the things I want to try out during this riot. I am so excited, honestly, I can’t even— Wait… why are you all making that face… we are still on for a riot, right?”

“Yeah, of course, we are. Boys, I wasn’t saying we had to kill the idea or anything, just maybe that we do it in a controlled manner. Like we can totally still kill all the flowers, you know – trample them, shred them, pick them and make daisy chains, I don’t care, because if we don’t get rid of the flowers soon, it sounds like the first speaker – like I don’t know who it was, but they sounded proper distraught, did you hear – like I think they will genuinely kill themselves if we don’t do something about the whole flower obsession.”

Hence it was so that following a great deal of compromising, the villagers of Fragrant Grove came up with evening plans that they could collectively get behind as evidenced by the outpour of approving noises.

Like a horde awakened, packs of people began leaving through the amphitheatre exits, marching to the cacophonous beat of thunderous footfall and merry voices, chanting new songs about trampling flowers and lightning-mask adorned heroes, as well as old ones about how Riversdalian women looked like ugly cows (the good-looking ones were reserved for comparisons with women from Cliquee Cove, the next town over).

Even those who’d not heard the plans followed on behind, not wanting to be left behind as lame ducks who’d missed out on such an important cultural event that all their friends would surely still be talking about and reminiscing on years from now.

Penbrooke saluted towards the flocks thronging through the exits. “Looks like my work here is done.” He then addressed Cal as he removed his mask and had it vanish, “Pretty productive session on the whole, I’d say. The main quest here is now complete, as well as the gambler’s one strangely enough – I wonder what happened there. Ah, who knows. Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll have time tomorrow or the day after, but I should be on sometime soon. Have a good one until then. See ya.”

Before Cal could get a word in, the spirit was gone, leaving in his absence an abused and knackered body. Heaving a sigh, Cal then trundled over to the seat where he’d left his backpack; he collapsed into the seat and watched idly as the arena emptied out, with the masses largely leaving him alone now that the movement had outgrown him.

It wasn’t long before the building was deserted except for a few laggards, none amongst them whom he recognised. In particular, the mayor was nowhere to be seen, most likely having slipped out to safety while the people had worked themselves into a riotous mood.

Even though the sun was still up, his body was in dire need of rest, so Cal began to entertain the notion of sleeping pit here tonight; after all, it’s not like there was anyone in Fragrant Grove he was close to or could rely on; moreover, he didn’t even know how people would react to him if he went out to the village, so he preferred to err on the side of caution. It was then that a hand fell upon his shoulder.

Fearing it was the mayor’s retribution, he flinched and spun only to find himself face to face with a ghost of Shit Hole past. Cal rubbed his eyes but the spectre remained, a certain Gambler Gillis finely dressed and lavishly bejewelled, topped off with his trademark floppy landsknecht beret. He grinned and showed teeth that were capped by gold, accompanied by a jaunty bounce of the eyebrows. Only the Saviour knew how he’d switched up his appearance so quickly.

“I always believed in you ol Penbrooke ol pal,” Gillis said whilst patting him on the back with a chuckle – even the gambler’s laughter had been transformed by his newfound wealth, sounding closer to the clinking of coins now.

“You wouldn’t believe what two all-in bets netted me, both times super unfavoured. High risk,” he grinned and tapped a gold tooth, “high reward. Now, I know for certain it ain’t right to leave my benefactor out to dry like this so, kind ser, I hope you’ll permit me to treat you tonight for all that you’ve done for me.”

He scrutinised Cal from head to toe, then back to the exhausted face, whereafter he picked up Cal’s backpack for him. “But where are my manners? You must be exhausted after all that fighting so come with me and I’ll find you lodging for tonight. Don’t you worry, ser, only the best for you.”