“Um, Sir,” The nameless child - just one amongst countless, hesitantly offered Tristan a bowl of warm water with a few dregs of herbs in it.

Tristan gave his kindest smile to the brave kid. He would have loved to rub his dirty head but knew it wasn’t the wisest idea. These people, despite him saving them, still feared Stilag’s nobility.

And while Tristan was of the old generation, he still had not stopped his peers. That cowardice… He deserved much worse than the fear and apprehension of the common folk.

But since death refused to take his old bones, Tristan tolled to help what was left of Stilag.

“Sir?” The child hadn’t left. His pure gaze contained curiosity and hope.

Kids like these were the future of Tordgo… If it had any. Tristan let his gaze wander over the camp they had set up in a rush.

A couple hundred people were here, jumping at every shadow, fearing the deadly presence of Inquisitors. They couldn’t sleep and couldn’t walk. It wasn’t tiredness that had done this to them - not entirely. The loss of their homes and families…

Too many had died, and too many had seen those deaths. This forest didn’t offer enough protection. Only distance and time would.

“Sir?” The kid was still here. A couple others slowly moved to stand behind him.

Tristan shook his head, “Sorry, my boy. It is not easy at my age.” He sighed. “What is that you want?”

There was nothing Tristan could give. His title and riches - they had been burned down with Stilag. He looked down at the bowl, then tried to pass it back to the kid, guessing the little rascal was hungry.

But the boy hurried to shake his head. “I can’t, Sir!” He took a step back. “Mom said you are our only hope. You have to eat to have strength. That’s what my Mom always says.”

Behind the boy, his comrades nodded, encouraging Tristan to eat. He wanted to sigh again. How could this count for food? At best, it was just thicker, ruined tea.

“Take it,” Tristan pushed the bowl into the boy's hands, not allowing him to refuse. “And tell me, what do you want? And your name, too.” His aching bones reminded him of his age once again as he sat down on a larger root.

After a minute of hesitation, the boy passed the bowl to a small girl. He apologised and thanked profusely, only remembering the questions after Tristan coughed. “My name is Unte.” The boy whispered. “And I… We,” He corrected. “We wanted to know…”

“What is it?” Tristan grew tired. He hadn’t slept for a long time either. The Nobles… Most of his family had moved to where Zemny had promised they could see a new world.

Tristan was alone now. His warning had not been heeded and was too old. His place was in Stilag, such as it was… Had been. He felt lost now. Stilag had been his home all his life.

“Your weapons…” Unte whispered. “The Maiden accepted them.” His voice continued to drop, clearly in fear of the said ‘Maiden’ hearing him. The rest of the kids glanced around, studying shadows as if a little assassin would spring from them at any moment to punish them for their little mischiefs.

“Go on,” Tristan waited. He wondered what kind of ridiculous things they had heard.

“Were they divine artefacts the Blood-Soaked Maiden came to reclaim?” The boy’s eyes shined.

Tristan almost laughed. His weapons were certainly well made, taken care of and normally unbreakable. There had been magic used to craft them, but nothing as ridiculous as divine blessings. “No, kids. That lass does not rely on weapons to be formidable.” He hid his amusement with a harump.

Whisper broke behind Unte. One of the louder kids claimed he had always known, and another followed up by saying the Maden could conjure her own weapons anyway.

This was how heroes were born. Tristan sighed. The girl had faced the horror and triumphed. And even before that, the Maiden had done many acts that defined her as a punisher of evil and defender of the common people.

Although there were two. While the Maiden was the dagger, the other woman was the shield. Tristen didn’t understand them, but they had stood against the evil when no one else had.

When the Inquisitors hid, the Maiden and the Paladin had fought for the lives of the weak. It was a sight none of the people present would ever forget.

“She is too scary!” Finally, one of the kids said, The boy was immediately silenced by hushes and nervous glances around.

Tristan had to agree. He didn’t know why the girl had chosen to do her deadly dance entirely covered in blood, but it had made for a ghastly sight.

It was no wonder there were so many rumours about her being the punisher of the evil spreading around.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“The Inviable Paladin is better,” Finally one of the girls announced, earning her support from a large part of the ever-growing crowd of kids. “She is the one who keeps the Maiden in check.” The girl continued with surety in her voice. “My mom said so!”

The final punctuation earned the girl even more supporting voices. Tristan smiled at the naivety of the children. They still took a mother’s words as a law. It was heartwarming in these bleak times to see some things never change.

This was worth fighting for. Tristan couldn’t defeat any of the Inquisitors. But they weren’t here. All they had faced was the Temple’s hunting dogs and those…

Tristan could deal with some mercenary scum. They would survive. Stilag and what happened in it would not be forgotten.

*****

“-Don’t be like that, Isito!” Grea laughed. “She even killed an Inquisitor. Old man Sliof told me everything about it.” His jovial demeanour was in stark contrast with the rest of the group, who were mostly brooding on their own and crunching what they had learned.

And Isito didn’t have anything to add either. He let his attention wander from one place to another. Nothing was interesting in the passing landscape, but it was better than acknowledging Grea.

Not that it stopped the man. “When do you think she will come and find us?” Grea bumped into Isito. “Months? Years? Decades? What do you think?”

Isito didn’t understand why Grea thought he had the answer. Or perhaps the man just wanted someone to talk to? Isito searched out his Master, hoping he would take the heat from him.

The absentminded elder did notice Isito’s glance and nodded. “Good. So you understand.” He started to speak. “We need to start training you properly.” Came an unexpected suggestion.

To be fair, Isito was used to his Master going on random tangents. The man was extremely smart but just couldn’t read the mood. He wanted to complain but knew it would be pointless. Once his Master decided on something, his mind filtered out anything else.

The mention of training attracted the attention of another nuisance. Piliste stopped sniffing the air, basking in the atmosphere of war and slowed down to fall in step with Isito. “That’s right. You have been slacking. I have been saying that for years now. You are always inside the library, cataloguing this and taking notes on that. You should go out more!” He started to suggest things to try.

Isito wanted to run when Grea mentioned he should find a girl. Then again, he was the slowest of them all without going all in. And even if these guys were too lazy to catch him, Polonomia was somewhere in the vicinity speaking with the Sage. Despite that, she would notice right away and bring him back without hesitation.

There was no escape. Isito really didn’t want to train. It was mentally exhausting, and his body felt strange afterwards. And the repetitiveness of it all… He would much rather read something. Learning new stuff from the scrolls and books was much more fun.

“Cheer up,” Grea continued to laugh, oblivious to the suffering he had caused. “The girl grew, but can’t you too? Don’t let her rush past you. After all… Likely, you both are from the same world.”

These words didn’t make Isito any happier. Instead, he let his usual face fall away, his body grew shorter, and his hair regrew. He felt his mana pool expand and rush to full speed, filling his body with incomparable power to what he had before.

“Oh, decided to stop pretending to be middle-aged?” Grea almost doubled over. “It’s not like looking like a teen will make us treat you any less harshly. Maybe we should start training now?” He jumped into a small jig, clearly enjoying Isito’s misfortune.

Isito, as always, didn’t reply. He quietly reformed his body to have endless stamina. It would be annoying, but he could power through if it meant he could retreat back into his sanctuary of books. He didn’t need to sleep or rest or eat, for that matter.

After all, having total control over his body and mana had its perks. Isito stretched, then almost had a heart attack when the Sage appeared in front of him and studied him.

The Sage’s deep eyes scrutinised Isito’s very being until he finally hummed. “Indeed. It has been a while since I saw your mana flow freely. It moves similarly to that girl and boy, but not like Mila’s.” He rubbed his chin, then turned away and walked to where Polonomia had appeared.

Isito didn’t bother thinking too deeply about what the Sage had said. The man’s words often made his head spin. He had tried to make himself smarter, but his brain was the one thing he couldn’t do anything about.

The group seemed to be hellbent on using Mila as his rival, but he didn’t care. She could have the win as long as she didn’t come for his life, which…

Isito frowned. That was possible. Maybe he should take the training a little more seriously. With his ability, Isitio wouldn’t die of old age - or so a couple of Sages had speculated.

But a dagger in his heart or eye certainly could end Isito. He clicked his tongue, trying to make his eyeball as durable as possible, only to realise it impaired his vision and gave up.

“We are stopping!” the Sage suddenly ordered.

To his surprise, Isito saw Polonomia doubling over and wheezing while the Sage did something with mana, running his hand up and down the woman’s back.

“Novoro. Don’t inspect her. Your mind is the most vulnerable to the taint.” The sage let Polonomia collapse on the ground and began chanting, forming shiny runes above her.

Isito glanced at Novoro, wishing he had the man’s brains. Novoro didn’t forget. He was their walking library. Although it was more of a hindrance at times like these.

While a little curious, Isito knew when to turn his head away. It was why he hadn’t been impacted by the taint at all - that and he had expunged the wrongness from his body while nobody looked.

Polonomia wasn’t as lucky. She had travelled to somewhere else. A place no one knew existed and couldn’t describe. She had seen something she shouldn’t have.

The Sage knew something and was able to help. But he didn’t reveal what it was.

One thing Isito knew. Their travel had been partly to inspect that being and partly to gather the artefacts related to the Earth to study and limit the spread of knowledge about that plane. Even to the point that Isito was made a petty thief, forced to steal a damn painting.

But they have learned and succeeded.

In the end, that was what was important to the Sages.

Even if Isito wasn’t informed of their exact plans, he knew. He knew they were planning to replace the long-dead God of knowledge.