Chương 28: Bad Ideas

"Did I ever tell you, little wolves, that I once beheld the Fourth Hero with these two miserable eyes?" Old Vladimir said, stirring the campfire until sparks climbed like fleeing souls.

"You beheld the Fourth Hero?" Semyon said.

"Then why are you still ugly? Should've asked her to bless your face."

"I tried to ask for a blessing, you donkey. She came flying down Karsk Road with her mask shining, her gauntlet burning, and her cloak all torn behind her. I thought, ah, Vladmir Savelov, here comes fate herself! Ask for her mark—ask for her prayer, mayhaps—and she might even sign your niece's wooden saint card!"

"And did she?"

"She glared at me, may the Seven remember her kindly, and kept on running down the road." The men laughed. But Old Vladmir didn't.

"Then I saw what was chasing her!" he said, laughing to himself.

"Three manski elkkin demon generals, antlers black as dead orchards. A volkodlak skin-eater with six wolf heads biting one another from hunger, two lead-bellied ashire half-corpses dragging their guts through the mud, a whole cavalry line of ironhoof demons riding flayed mares with no eyes, and above them all—gods shield us—a many-mouth zorin wyrm, stitched from templars, soldiers, and poor screaming townsfolk, beating the air with wings made of human arms. Can you imagine?

The sheer parade that follows that Hero around every single moment of her life?" The fire cracked softly as every man went quiet.

"... So," Semyon asked, quieter now, "did you get her blessing?" Old Vladimir looked at him like he was insane.

"I ran away. Obviously. Who would willingly chase the Hero's tail?" —Conversation between road-guards of Northern Ostravia Dwarves are pretty fast, huh? That was Orland's only thought as branches whipped past them in black and silver blurs. The astral lead storm hissed over Miriyela's molescale armor, skittered across his mask, and scraped against the cape wrapped over his back like a thousand tiny knives looking for a gap.

He had to admit, he really was a little surprised Miriyela was capable of outrunning the lion despite her size—it would've been really awkward if she couldn't—so it was all he could do to not fall off now that she'd picked up her momentum. Don't fall off don't fall off don't fall off! Ahead and somewhere off to the side, Sharsana ran even lower to the ground, claws tearing through roots and frozen mud just to barely outrun the giant lion behind them. Kazimir wasn't having much fun on his saddle either.

The old wolf's face was barely visible for how close it was to his saddle just to avoid getting cut to shreds by the lead flakes, but Orland took a peek and saw it in his eyes anyways: Fury incarnate.

"How the fuck did you know it was a sunmane lion?" he barked at Orland as the giant lion crashed through the woods behind them with no concern for paths, roots, trees, or anything else that existed in front of it.

"And why was it even following us around for an entire week? What'd you do to it, brat?"

"It's called a what?" Orland shouted back.

"A sunmane lion! It's got three eyes that can see halfway across the continent and a pelt stronger than alloyed gold!"

"Oh! So that's—" He tightened his grip around Miriyela's shoulders as they both ducked under a low branch.

"—what it's called! I just knew it was big!"

"Hey! So what'd you do to it?"

"I've got no clue!"

"Try harder!" Orland didn't answer that. Partly because he was busy holding on while Miriyela sprinted over uneven ground, and partly because Kazimir was right to be suspicious. It was obvious even to him by now that the sunmane lion was a more different beast than most. … And he'd been sitting on it for a while now, but he couldn't ignore it any longer: ever since he began impersonating the 'Hero', he'd been hearing those voices inside his head.

They weren't very talkative, and they weren't whispering every secret of the world into his ear either—which they could at least do if they were hiding inside him—but they'd always spoken to him during vital moments of life or death. In that first dream of his in the Belograd Manor, the young man's voice had told him the lion's fate was intertwined with his. Then, in the leech's cave, an old man's voice had told him to let the monsters fight.

Afterwards, in the manor's relic closet, a young girl's voice had told him which relics looked like they'd be useful for him, and then that same night, the young man's voice had told him once again to use salt against the giant leech. For almost an entire week after that, the voices were quiet.

It was a long enough period of time that he almost forgot about them and shrugged them off—but then a furious lady's voice had snapped at him to dodge back against the first elkkin demon he faced in Zimnerudik's rift chamber. So, no. He hadn't been imagining those voices.

He may not know what the hell was going on, and he may have no idea how or why this was even happening to him, but if something had slipped inside him the moment he began impersonating the 'Hero'—and had been keeping quiet ever since, satisfied with making him think they were just auditory hallucinations—then he was going to drag them out tonight. If you're listening, oh ghastly voices… Come on out. Suddenly, a bright starry blue glow came from Sharsana.

Orland glanced over to see Kazimir pulling out his stardial communicator, turning the needles so voices could crackle out of the little relic.

"—r-reaching the Hero's party! Sibinski Rift Sealing Corps reaching the Hero's party! Do you receive?" Kazimir held the communicator closer to his face.

"We hear you!" he growled.

"What?" Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Captain Kazimir! Are you near the town?"

"We're still about ten minutes out! Light the guidance braziers!" Twenty seconds later, distant columns of fire lit the night sky ahead. Miriyela and Sharsana immediately picked up pace, and both of them angled towards the light without hesitation as they realized they were closer to their destination than they'd expected.

"Correction, Sibinski! We're only about five minutes away!" Kazimir shouted into his communicator.

"Are you ready to receive us?"

"O-Our preparations are nearly complete!" the voice behind the communicator shouted back.

"The square has been cleared, the rift approach is open, and all metallic objects have been moved away as instructed. Food, water, spare clothes, and medical satchels are also waiting in the townsfolk's hands along the sides of the road!"

"Good! Now tell your people to stay far back from the road unless they want to be trampled!" There was a pause from the communicator.

"T-Trampled by what, sir?"

"By the Hero's brilliant backup!" Then Kazimir slapped the stardial communicator shut before anyone could ask a second question. For his part, Orland only tightened the molescale cape around himself and glanced down at Miriyela's back. Her breaths were harder now, dragging in through her teeth, yet her pace barely changed. She was carrying, her armor, and the entire weight of the storm with a stubbornness that made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

"You're really fast!" he said, raising his voice near her ear.

"Even wearing all this armor and being so… big! Aren't you tired?" Miriyela didn't look back.

"No, Great Hero! Not at all!"

"You're breathing like a bellows!"

"A royal bellows, perhaps! One that fuels the sacred forge of victory!" She laughed proudly then, though even he could tell it was slightly strained.

"If it is for the Hero, slayer of demons, I shall push myself beyond the narrow fences of comfort! I shall be the first shield before you and the first hammer against your enemies, for that is what the vanguard of the Hero's party does!" There wasn't anything Orland could say to that. The only thing he was thinking about now was how stupid he was to have tried to push Miriyela away at the beginning. Well, the marriage stuff is still weird as hell, and she also talks kinda funny…

But she was strong, tough, and unbreakable in mind and spirit—what better vanguard than one who'd carry him on her back through an astral lead storm could he ask for? Miriyela was a good companion, and that meant he needed to become a 'Hero' deserving of her admiration. And 'Heroes' can't lose fights. Once I get back to that cavern, I'll have to face that four-horned demon again. This time, he did have an idea on how to defeat the demon. It was a bad idea. Probably.

There were so many holes in it that it might fall flat on its face the moment he re-entered the rift chamber again, but, well… ever since he began impersonating the 'Hero', none of his plans had ever been clean. No pressure, then. The woods finally broke open. Miriyela burst from the treeline onto a wide road leading straight into a flat plains town, with Sharsana tearing out of the forest beside her a second later. Sibinski ahead blazed with hundreds of lanterns, braziers, window lamps, and torchlines.

It wasn't nearly as large as Zimnerudik, and Orland saw no great mine lifts or ore ramps, but its town square had been cleared so thoroughly that the road towards it ran like an open throat, straight to the giant rift hovering in the center of the square.

"The Hero's here!" a boy shouted, and the word spread faster than fire.

"The Hero!"

"The Hero's come!"

"Clear the road! Clear the damned road!" Townsfolk and soldiers filled both sides of the road. As they saw the four of them approaching, men in padded coats dragged carts out of the way, and women hauled children back behind doorframes and barricades.

The Rift Sealing Corps in armor formed lines with shields held low, though Orland could tell by their faces that half of them wanted to run, and the other half wanted someone else to explain why the Hero was arriving on a princess's back—with a monster roaring behind him.

"What is that thing?"

"Is that… a demon?"

"What has the Hero brought to our—""Supplies!" Kazimir roared as the four of them rode into town.

"Now!" Soldiers immediately rushed forward from both sides of the street, tossing prepared bundles toward them without stepping into the path. Bags of food, water skins, rolled bandages, and cloth satchels flew through the air. Kazimir caught six of them against his chest and immediately hooked them onto Sharsana's satchel. Orland caught the rest of them, quickly fixing their straps around Miriyela's armor wherever there was space. The rift in the town square grew larger and larger with every stride.

Compared to the huge one in Zimnerudik, this rift was much smaller, but that meant little when it still looked like a giant gash in the world itself. The air around it distorted with silver and violet light, and beyond the rift itself, Orland saw no clear world. There was only warped brightness and shadows shifting in ways his eyes didn't like. His stomach tightened, but he also tightened his grip on Miriyela's shoulders.

"Don't stop!" he shouted.

"Go straight into the rift!"

"This is easily the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do," Kazimir grumbled to the side. Orland forced his grin wide as they thundered down the last stretch of the cleared road. The townsfolk beside them stared between him and the giant sunmane lion also tearing into the town, utterly frightened, so he raised his voice and lifted his gauntleted fist.

"... Sibinski!" he bellowed.

"You called for a great slayer?" The town was quiet for a second. Then it erupted with cheers from the roadside, the windows, from behind the wagons and the barricades, as soldiers struck fists against breastplates and prayers were cried to the divine. People flung themselves back from the road to get away from the sunmane lion, but they were still cheering, screaming his name, and drowning the night with their hopes and dreams.

So if there was any chance the sunmane lion would've stopped and turned on the noisy townsfolk, Orland killed it by lifting a small one-mana pebble and flicking it straight back into the lion's third eye. The lion didn't even flinch, but its wandering gaze snapped back to him, and whatever tiny hesitation might've held it back from jumping into the rift with him burned away completely.

"That's what I thought," he whispered, beckoning it forward with a feral grin.

"You wanna rip me to shreds, right?" He faced forward again as the lion roared, focusing only on the rift ahead. This might be a bad idea. This might be a really bad idea.

"... Good luck, brat!" Kazimir shouted from the side. Trembling, Orland looked over at the old wolf and gave him a mocking salute.

"So you really are higher than Rare-Grade, then!" In response, Kazimir shrugged and rolled off Sharsana's saddle, leaving only the three of them charging straight ahead. Bastard. So he really can't go through the Rare-Grade rift because he's stronger than that. What grade is he really, then? But that was going to have to be a question for another time. Silver-violet light washed over Miriyela's armor and Sharsana's scales as they neared the rift.

All of them clenched their jaws, narrowed their eyes, and braced their heads—then they jumped straight into the rift. Light immediately blurred around them. Weight vanished from them. The town, the storm, the road, the roaring lion, and the terrified cheers all stretched into one bright, impossible smear of reddish-purple light as demonic whispers began to fill his head. Orlad's grin finally cracked. … Fuck. This really is a stupid idea.