“Hero Day?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, Hero Day,” Cadmun repeated, “it’s a holiday where we commemorate the Great Hero’s sacrifice.”

“There’s a whole holiday for that guy? He must have been an exceptionally strong hero!”

“Oh yes, he was indeed the greatest,” Cadmun’s sleepiness slowly started to fade away. “They say his bravery and charisma were unmatched. Lord Henry and Lord Alastair couldn’t stop talking about that man’s achievements.”

Without knowing why, he started to smile. “Why? What did he do?”

The bald man stopped his efforts to start a fire and turned to him.

“He’s most famous for killing the Gods. They don’t call him the Godslayer for no reason.”

“The Gods? You mean Arslan?” He sat down to be closer to Cadmun.

Cadmun laughed because of his contagious excitement. “Exactly! So even you have heard the name.”

“Montgomery said that Lord Alastair helped him kill the Gods.”

“Did he now?” Cadmun let out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. “I guess you can say that, as he did fight with them. But truth be told, it was Arslan and his right-hand man who killed the God of Death, while the rest of the group wanted to retreat, for example. Although I shouldn’t say that.”

Wow! The Great Hero!

There was one question still burning in his mind. “Why did they kill the Gods?”

“Because it was their calling,” Cadmun answered, “the Adventurers were summoned to deal with the rising threat of monsters in the land after the Continental War was over.”

“So Arslan was a Player?” He couldn’t stop himself from rocking back and forth.

Cadmun scratched his chin. “Most of the great warriors back then were. They killed hundreds, if not thousands, of monsters and made our country safe again. And we’re not talking about Dire Wolves here. Those were Dragons and Mutants and Demons at least three metres high!”

“What? That’s incredible! I mean, Dragons? Gods? The Adventurers sure are something.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Cadmun crossed his arms. “It wasn’t like this from the start. The majority of Adventurers were a bunch of cowards unable to kill a measly goblin. If not for Arslan whipping them into shape, then they’d all still be drinking milk holed up in the capital.”

Amazing! “He sounds like a strong leader.”

“You see, that was the Godslayer’s biggest feat. He gave the people hope and the courage to fight.”

His eyes started to sparkle. A real hero!

“What happened then?”

“The good die young,” Cadmun weakly said. “The Adventurers had a falling out after his sacrifice. That’s how we got Carnifex.”

Cadmun looked at the mansion uphill with a somber look in his eyes. And with Arslan, hope died too.

They sat for a silent moment at the fireplace, enjoying the morning sun warming their backs. Only when they heard the first rustling of a tent did Cadmun speak again.

“On your feet, Recruit! Just because it’s a holiday, it doesn’t mean that there’s no work to be done!” Cadmun commanded with his authoritarian tone.

“Yes, Sir!” he sprung up. But-

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked shyly.

“Uhm…” Cadmun looked at him with wide eyes, scanning him from top to bottom. “You don’t look like you’re able to lift anything heavy with that body. You look like a stick!”

He tried not to be offended by Cadmun’s comment, but he still blushed. And your head looks like it can be used as a mirror.

“I carry the pickaxes every day,” he retorted.

“And you look like shit doing so. Your breathing sounds like the steam engine in the old factory about to give out. You shake more like a western belly dancer.” Cadmun added even more insult to injury. “And you miss your daily quota. Maybe you should stick to fetching the water for the stew. Although the buckets might be too much for those frail arms-”

“Enough! I get it!” he yelled over Cadmun’s humiliation.

“You want to yell at me, Recruit?” Cadmun stood up, looking down on him. “You really want to disrespect me?”

Oh, no!

“I apologise for the disrespect!” He immediately bowed, grabbing two nearby buckets in the same motion and ran off towards the well before Cadmun could do anything. “I’ll get that water for you, Sir Frost, yes Sir!”

As soon as he got to the well, he sighed a sigh of relief. It didn’t seem like Cadmun was after him. He lowered the buckets into the well one after the other, distracted by his conversation with Cadmun. He fantasised how he would confront Baron Bonatelli dressed in the heavy silver armour. He would challenge him to a duel and before Bonatelli could even react, he’d deal a devastating blow that would easily break off the tower of the mansion. One of those blows that could kill a God right into his smug face. Wait, what am I thinking? That’s the mansion of the Blitz family.

As he raised the second bucket from the well, he realised something important. If not for the holiday today, he’d probably never hear the story of Arslan. He was so caught up in the monotony and isolation that the Baron had put him into that he forgot the most important thing: hope. The story of the Great Hero, of how Cassandra escaped. That was what helped them make it through those tough times. What allowed them to dream. From the well he was standing next to, he could see a hole in Lydia’s shack exposing the sad interior. As long as there’s hope, we can endure.

He returned to the slave camp at the same time Reacher and Becket arrived. His hair stood on end. I thought it was a holiday!