There are many stories about people getting reincarnated, transported, or summoned into another world. The Stereotype is that they are supposed to defeat the Demon Lord or save the world from some other disaster. But what happens to these ‘Heros’ after they finish their mission? Some are eliminated by the people they protected. Some are sent back to their home world. But most either live out their days in the world or are forgotten.
This is, and isn't, the story of a hero who was betrayed then forgotten. The Hero, as a high schooler, was summoned by a kingdom. The kingdom was at war, and were being destroyed. Battle after battle, they lost. The Hero, ‘blessed’ with power, turned the tides and saved the kingdom. However, the commoners now supported the Hero more than the Royal Family.
The Hero expected this outcome and was prepared for it. He had prepared a body and when the assassin arrived, he disappeared. The assassin only saw the corpse, saw some basic poison near it, and assumed that the Hero had committed suicide. Still wanting to get paid, the assassin claimed that it was his poison that killed him.
The Hero, now able to travel around annomininously, enjoyed a peaceful life in another kingdom. He found a wife, started a family, and cared for his farm. Until the nation he now resided in decided that rebels had taken refuge in the village and had it burned to the ground. His wife and toddler son were cut down while he was in another town trading.
When he came back, all he found was ash, ruin, and a mountain of burned corpses. Outraged, he hunted down the rebels, slaughtered them, then started a personal war against the nation. He was merciless against the soldiers and ignored the noncombatants. He had almost burned the entire nation to the ground when he was confronted with a Hero, who called him a Demon Lord.
However, a recently Summoned Hero can't possibly stand a chance against a tried and true Summoned Hero. After killing the upstart, he finished his destruction of the nation and faked his own death again.
His new objective was to now hunt down all knowledge of Summoning Heroes and destroy it, hoping to also find knowledge on how to get back to his world. Along the way, he unintentionally achieved Immortality. It took a few decades, but he eliminated all knowledge and people related to Summoning Heroes.
He did in fact discover a way to return to his own world, but eventually decided that it wasn't worth it. He held no connection to the world itself, and the people he would have wanted to return to, would have died already.
After a few more decades, he discovered that all his stats and abilities reset completely every hundred fifty years. He changed a few settings of his immortality, allowing his body to age, and started to live the lives of different people. Cobblers, Knight, Adventurer, Miner, Mason, Soldier, General, etc. Every eighty years or so, he would fake his death and move to another place far away, generally taking the rest of his ‘lifespan’ to get there.
Once the hundred fifty year expired, his body would reset to a predetermined age and he would start anew. Centuries passed, lifetime after lifetime was experienced. The next occupation on his to-do list was King. To do that, he would first have to lay claim to his own land. That is where our story actually starts. Not with this Immortal Hero, but a simple villager, who happens to be pissed.
*****
The young man weaved through the forest, dodging branches and roots. Leaves cut thin lines, few drawing blood, but so numerous it painted his face and hands. Despite the dangerous speed he traveled through the densely packed trees, he forced his legs to move faster. The burning in his legs, and the tearing feeling in his feet intensified.
Continuing to push through the pain, he watched his footing. He had explored and played in the forest enough to know that if he tripped at this speed, he wouldn't get back up. He needed to get home as fast as he could, but he needed to get there in a condition he can help.
Sweat built up on his face and back, streaming down, attempting to blind him. His soaked clothes clung to his body, weighing him down.
As he neared the village, he smelt smoke and strangely Iron and copper. He remembered something one of the visiting doctors had said. Blood had Iron in it, and tasted like copper. The trees started to thin, allowing him to move faster, and signaling that he was close.
He was now able to see the smoke through the quickly thinning out foliage. He could also hear the sound of fighting, and it wasn't the childish fighting he was used to. Breaking from the treeline and into the crops surrounding the village.
The boy saw a hoe and retrieved it without slowing. He didn't know what was going on or what he was going to do, but he would not be caught unprepared. The numbness had started spreading up his feet. His grip on the hoe was slippery due to his sweat. His hair, messy and full of leaves and twigs, swept across his eyes, obscuring the very top of his vision.
The crops gave way to the village, and death. The young man didn't slow down or hesitate in the least. His eyes immediately swept over the village center. In a fraction of a second, he saw the corpses of the village people, he saw the survivors fighting against the bandits, and bandits looting and burning the village.
He redirected his direction towards one the bandits. As he neared, the young man swung his hoe and ran past. The bandit, engaged with one of the villagers, didn't see the boy until it was too late.
The dull edge of the hoe felt no resistance from the bandit’s flesh, and only slightly slowed when it went through his chest. No blood flew, as it was blocked by the intrusion. The young man didn't release the tool, and instead followed it down with the bandit.
Without resting or allowing himself to think about it, he reached nearer to the head and pulled it out. Blood overflowed from the gaping wound.
The boy allowed himself a moment to examine the body.
The bandit wore no armor and boots that were falling apart. The only thing that would set him apart from a normal farmer was the rusty sword.
The young man looked at the villager he had helped. It was Evan, the butcher’s son. The man was quite strong from lifting entire pigs and his arms are covered in the day’s work. The bandits had likely attacked just before he would’ve called it a day. The man was hyperventilating.
The boy grabbed Evan’s large hands and put the rusty sword in it, replacing the pitchfork he was using.
“Evan, stop thinking about it! Focus on saving your family. Ignore everything else.”
The cold steel and his words seemed to wake him from his trance. Forgoing words, he nodded and ran at a nearby bandit. Just like the boy, Evan attacked from his blind spot and quickly put the bandit down. The boy went to aid another villager.
Like this, the villagers in the village center killed the bandits. Hope among them soared, until a battle cry came from a side street. Heads turned to see what it was.
Three dozen bandits charged at the fifteen villagers. Among the villagers, only five held their ground, the rest ran away. The boy was one of the few. Holding up his looted sword, he prepared to die.
A dozen bandits stayed to fight the villagers while the rest chased after those that ran.
Clashing, two villagers immediately went down. Evan, the boy, Nathan a retired soldier, each managed to take one down, but they got surrounded. Nathan, who had been wanting to die a warrior’s death, charged forward, taking another two down before he was impaled. Blood spilled out of his mouth as he toppled over.
In the standoff that occurred after, Evan spoke to the boy.
“George, you did well getting back here and helping. You did your old man proud.”
The bandits took that as a signal and rushed forward. They deflected, blocked, and used the bandit’s numbers against them, but George was eventually attacked from behind.
Evan dashed to protect the boy and took the blade to the gut. The sword went through him and into George. The bandit withdrew his blade, and they both dropped to the ground. Evan draped over George and his blood coated him.
The bandits laughed and continued to loot and kill.
*****
George woke up in pain. His head felt like it was about to explode. His legs felt like they were on fire. His entire body felt like it was getting crushed. And he felt like he’d been stabbed.
Pushing off what was on him, he slowly stood up. He felt at his head and his hand came away bloody, he must’ve knocked his head hard. Feeling at his side, it was also bloody.
George looked down at what had been crushing him.
Evan’s pale corpse looked back at him.
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The events rushed back to George.
His feet gave out from under him.
His pants’ knees ripped and his skin scraped off.
George looked at his shirt and saw that it was soaked, but it wasn't his blood.
He covered his face, trying to erase those memories, and screamed.
The boy screamed nonstop until he couldn't.
Only then did he look up and see the state of his home.
What greeted him was ash, blood, and corpses.
The Bandits had left their comrades where they laid and had even looted them of anything that could sell. The same was said for everything. George didn't see a single thing that could fetch a penny. Looking down at his feet, he saw that they had even taken his boots. He slowly hobbled through the streets as he held his side.
He saw Rose, the baker’s wife that would occasionally give him sweets, naked and obviously raped.
He saw Felix, the mayor that loved to watch him and the other kids playing, with all his fingers broken.
He saw Justin, his best friend who would get in trouble with him all the time, without a hand or jaw.
He saw lyla, the girl he had a crush on and was working on the courage to ask her out, raped and without legs.
One after another, George saw the people he had known all his life, mutilated in numerous ways. Each caused his stomach to churn more than the last. He had already emptied it twice and had nothing else to give. Finally reaching his home, he saw that it was burned to the ground, just like the rest of the village.
Just outside, he saw his father. Dead like everyone else he loved. His father still had the bandit’s rusty swords thrust in his body. He had died kneeling. So many weapons had been used to kill him. An axe to the shoulder. A knife to the leg. A sword to the gut. Dozens of arrows riddled his back. A spear had finished him off by piercing his heart through the back.
Despite all the horror he had witnessed and been a part of, George felt a surge of pride at seeing the dozens of dead bandits surrounding his father. His father had been part of the Capital’s Guard, an Elite force second only to the Royal Knights. His Mother had died during childbirth, something that George was happy with for the first time in his life. He wouldn't have wanted to see her like the other women in the village.
George kneeled in front of his father, whose face still displayed defiance, despite his eyes being closed and dead. Doing as his father taught, He kneeled with all his weight on the arches of his feet. Hands resting at the top of his thighs. Back straight and face forward. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.
His father had said that anyone could calm down in any situation if they tried. And so he tried. George didn't know how long it took, but he eventually calmed his heart and mind. He then continued on to the next step. He slowly processed everything that had happened that day, or maybe yesterday. Everytime his heart started to speed up at the thought of these memories, George would stop and calm himself before starting all over again.
He slowly thought his way through everything that had happened. After finishing, he bowed from the waist to his father and stood up. He walked over to one of the bandits and ripped two long strips of cloth. He wrapped up his injuries. He had been growing dizzy from blood loss.
George then started the long process of sorting out the villagers from the bandits. He laid the villagers in neat lines and used cloth to cover them. For the bandits, George simply tossed them in a large pile. It took him throughout the night and well into the morning to finish.
He was one of the few in the village that could read and write, but he used scraps of wood to mark the shallow graves. After burying all the villagers and saying a silent prayer to any god that would listen, he stood to burn the bandits.
As he approached the pile, he heard horses pound down the road that lead out of the village. George turned to face the newcomers. If they were more bandits, he would kill as many as he could before dying himself.
The men were armored cavalry, obviously soldiers, but not any soldier George recognized. They certainly were not soldiers of the Korin Kingdom, which George was a part of. The soldiers quickly made their way through the village, looking through the ruins and roads. After a quick, yet through, search, they made their way over to George.
“Are you a survivor of the deserter attack?” Asked a soldier who had a slightly higher quality equipment
“Yes. What do you want?”
“We are tasked with providing relief. We can offer food, shelter, and safety.”
“No. I don't know what nation you belong to, or even if you're not connected to the bandits who slaughtered my home.” Stated George as he lit a torch and slowly made his way to the pile.
Many of the soldiers grimaced at the mere sight of the small hill of corpses, but they all turned away or gagged when the smell of burning humans filled the air. All except the captain.
“What if I can promise you a chance to find the ones who did this and return the favor?”
George didn't turn from the sight, or make any sound or expression at the sight of the meat pile burning.
“How?”
“Join our army. Train to be a soldier. Get stronger, and when you return, you can slaughter them in any way you want.”
George turned his head, “You can promise this?”
“I can only promise that you’ll get stronger. It's up to you if you get strong enough to return the favor they dealt you today.”
George turned away from blaze to face the captain. Many of the lower rank soldiers could’ve sworn they saw a bloodthirsty demon and not a bloody child.
“That's all I need.”
“Good.” The Captain said with a nod, “Go to the river and wash up. You’ll ride with me and my horse won't like to be covered in filth.”
George nodded, “Feel free to search through and take anything you want. It’ll just go to waste anyway. Don't do anything to the graves.”
The young man made the short trip to the nearby creek. At its deepest, George could submerge himself if he crouched. Stripping out of his ruined clothes, he scrubbed away all the blood and dirt. No reaction was given when he scrubbed away around his injuries.
After a short, and freezing, bath, he grabbed his clothes and walked back.
The Soldiers saw him walk towards them completely naked.
“Did you happen to find or have a set of clothes for me?”
One of the Soldiers walked over to his horse and pulled out a set of pants and shirt.
“Keep them.” He said as he handed them off to the boy.
George thanked him and tossed his old clothes into the still burning pile.
He quickly put on his new clothes and accepted a hand from the captain to get on the horse. He had never ridden a horse and was uncomfortable with it.
The group of soldiers all mounted up and rode away from the decimated village. They all seemed eager to leave.
After an hour or two of travel, George had finally gotten used to the movements of the horse enough to ask questions.
Unfortunately, they were only able to answer very basic questions.
“What is the name of the Kingdom you fight for?”
“Telron.”
“I’ve never heard of it. Is it a new Nation?”
“Yes.”
“What type of Mages do you have?”
“Can't tell you.”
“Because you don't know? Or because Its a secret?”
“Secret.”
“When will I be in on this secret?”
“Secret. Look, just know that where we are taking you, they will be able to tell you everything you need to know.”
The rest of the day was filled with silent travel.
They set up camp off the road just a little bit before sunset.
While they were preparing food, one of the soldiers tossed George his sword while another soldier stood up and drew his.
“You are going to be a soldier of the Telron Military, might as well get a headstart.” Said a soldier.
George nodded and stood across from the trained soldier without hesitation.
There was no ‘start’, the soldier simply attacked.
George called upon his training sessions with his father and held his ground, but was disarmed easily.
Again and again George would be disarmed. By the time supper had been prepared, he had reopened his wound in his side and his head pounded. He tightened his bandages and accepted a plate.
The soldiers joked and chatted amongst themselves, even trying to involve the boy a few times, but George remained silent.
After the meal, George bent his head to pray thanks for a good meal, but stopped himself. No God stopped his home from being burned to the ground or his loved ones to be slaughtered. No God was worth his faith.
He spent the night under the stars, it was a beautiful night, but he didn't get much rest. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was plagued with nightmares. He saw the faces of each person. He saw their eyes eaten out by so many maggots they spilled out.
Morning eventually arrived.
The soldiers came out of their tents to find George doing pushups and other exercises.
They ate a short breakfast and were on the road quickly.
Two weeks passed like this.
George would spend the ride trying to get answers to his questions. In the evening he would spar, and always be defeated. At night, his mind would be filled with nightmares and would instead spend most of it working out.
By the time they crossed the border, George was near his breaking point. His wounds had yet to heal, he was sleep deprived, and most of his muscles were overworked. The soldiers knew this, but nothing they did or said changed anything. His sole focus was getting stronger.
It took another two days to arrive at their destination.
A small city ruled by Telron.
The Captain dismissed the soldiers and personally took George to the infirmary. The Healer took a look at the physical injuries and treated them, only using magic to remove the infection that had set in. It was obvious he was mentally wounded, so the Healer called over another Healer who was trained for these types of problems. Using magic to diagnose George, she tried to alleviate some of the symptoms.
The Captain questioned simply using magic to knock the boy out to make him rest, but the Healer said it would be better to let him naturally sleep. The Healer also wasn't proficient enough to simply heal the mental issues George had without accidentally turning him into a vegetable. She tried to get George to open up and talk about his issues, but he was only interested in signing up and joining the military to become stronger.
After many minutes of trying to get George talking, the Captain took a turn. He stood right in front of the boy and stared at him for several moments. Suddenly, He slapped the boy, hard. Bending down to be at eye level, the Captain spoke slowly.
“Listen boy. You can't join the military if you can't even walk straight. I won't let you sign up unless you are in perfect physical health.”
George ignored both him and his cheek.
“You are going to kill yourself if you keep going like this.”
George simply stood up and started to walk away, “If you won't help me sign up, I’ll do it myself.”
“Would your father want to see you this way? Injured, tired, a complete mess? What would he say?”
George stopped in his tracks and turned. His eyes softened slightly, just before he collapsed. The Healers caught him just before he landed and carried him to a bed, where he quietly slept.