Chương 9: The Boy Beneath, The Hero Above

"A village boy I saved asked me once—quiet church, three priests, ink scratching like bugs—if I ever felt like an imposter," the Fourth Hero said.

"Did you?" I asked.

"I dunno."

"But you were chosen by Naghari the Sage."

"That's what they tell me. Chosen, marked, blessed, they're all fine words, but listen—you wake up one morning a normal girl, and the next morning, everyone is calling you a 'Hero'. Then men thrice your age bow their heads, women cry when you pass, and children look at you like you've already won."

"And you haven't?"

"Well, I've barely begun my journey."

"Then why not refuse it?"

"Because fate doesn't ask twice." Long pause.

"Tell me this," the Fourth Hero said.

"If a man is called a Hero often enough, does he become one?"

"How would I know?" I said.

"Well, neither do I." —Excerpt Transcript from 'Inquiry into the Fourth Hero', Held by Custodian Irina Karslava After leaving the Altar hall behind, Milena dragged Orland through two more corridors of polished floors and lacquered walls, then down a narrower side passage, then into another passage where, at the end, a double door with a massive brass lock stood. She was excited to show him the Belograd Manor's treasures, and for his part… he was just a little bit excited, too. Just a little.

"Papa only lets family and special guests in here," she said, smiling over her shoulder at him while he tightened his bloodreturn flask on his waist sash.

"But you're not exactly everyone else, are you?" Then she shoved the doors open with both hands and stepped aside with a bow.

"Behold!" she declared.

"The Belograd Manor's relic closet!" Orland stopped fidgeting with his new flask. The room inside was beyond full of clothes. Hundreds of stitched leather coats hung in rows, ornate cloaks rested on the shoulders of beautifully crafted mannequins, and dresses patterned like falling leaves, flower petals, and cloud-like swirls shimmered behind protective covers. Several dozen pairs of shoes lined the wall shelves.

Gloves, belts, scarves, hats, capes, padded travel tunics, little silk evening jackets, fur-lined winter wear, and more, more, and even more… there was enough fabric in this one room to make Baba Marza's whole shop look like a child's practice stall. And this was just one room. One. Baba Marza probably had to buy and sell and mend and scrape together everything she owned just to keep her store open in the lower district, but this was Milena's private closet—and half of the clothes in here were relics.

He could just tell. Even without the taste of mana wafting off them, many of them had special golden labels and tags stuck to them.

"Oh, I knew you'd like this place!" Milena noticed the look on his face and brightened at once, grabbing his hand.

"Come. I'll show you all the relics." Then she pulled him into her closet. Orland followed, and he was glad his mask covered his eyes. He probably wasn't hiding his excitement very well.

"These are warming coats. Implement-Class," Milena said, gesturing first at a set of trimmed, velvet-red coats hanging near the doors.

"They'll hold a gentle heat if you feed them a bit of mana, so winter travel won't be miserable if you have these on." She moved two steps to the right, gesturing to another set of transparent, glass-like coats.

"And these are mildew-shedding wraps. Very useful in the rain belt. Water and grime don't cling to it easily, so your clothes will basically be waterproof as long as you're wearing one." Another turn. Another shelf.

"These are viscous gloves that massively improve one's grip on salty surfaces. These kanno cloaks in all five colors muffle sounds when you're brushing past trees and bushes. These are whitepetal viscous slippers that reduce floor creaks so you can sneak around your house easier…" And she smiled brightly with each introduction of a new relic as if she were trying to sell them to him. Orland kept pace, nodding only whenever she looked at him for a reaction.

Most of the time he was staring at the clothes himself, absolutely stunned and in awe at the sheer variety of them—but the longer he looked, the more he found himself sorting through the different types of relics not by appearance, but by whether they seemed like they'd actually be useful to someone who had to live a real life. Most wouldn't.

A coat that stayed warm with a bit of mana was nice, but if it tore the first time a branch snagged it, or a drunk grabbed at it in an alley, what use was it to Orland the slumborn? Slippers that creaked less meant nothing if he was already used to walking barefoot. A water-shedding coat sounded useful, but again, not if some thief could slice it open and leave him wearing expensive scraps. Also, he didn't mind the rain. Rain was cool.

If he was going to pick one thing—or a few things from this closet—he wanted something that would last. Something tough. It had to be able to take the sort of life he knew, even if he was planning on improving his life later on by using the Hero's good name. So his eyes continued drifting past glossy city coats and pretty shoes, not knowing what to even start looking at when a young girl's voice whispered in his ear.

"Ooh! Look at that one behind you!" He whirled around, ears twitching. Milena flinched at his sudden movement before giving him a tense, awkward smile.

"Yes?"

"... Did you say something?"

"I did?" Orland frowned—and he wasn't sure if Milena could see it under his visor—but then he caught onto a set of relics hanging on a rack behind her. It was a simple beige tunic and trousers combo. There was nothing pompous about it, and he dared say it looked almost ordinary compared to all the other flashy relics around it—which was exactly why it caught his eye.

Name: Regenerating Apparel Type: Passive Implement-Class Relic, Common-6 Attribute Addition: +1 Resilience Ability Description: If damaged, the clothes will automatically regenerate over time. The passive drain is 0. 5 mana regeneration per hour.

The words on its tag might as well be insect tracks for how useful they were to an illiterate like him, though, so he tilted his head at Milena instead and cut her off while she was still introducing a different set of clothes to him.

"What do those do?" he asked. She paused and followed his gaze.

"Oh. That's a simple regenerating apparel set," she said, glancing at the label beside it.

"They're Common-6 Implement-Class clothes. Passive types, all of them. The whole set costs point-five mana regeneration an hour to equip, and as long as the damages incurred to them aren't too great, they'll automatically repair themselves over time." Orland raised a brow, approaching the set and pinching the fabric lightly. It felt smooth to the touch.

"So they're sturdy clothes?"

"Very. These clothes were obtained using the hide and marrow-thread glands of a greyback torshka as the main offering, if I recall correctly."

"A what?"

"A burrowing beast from the western sinkwoods. I heard they're really tough, so these clothes are pretty tough as well." Milena stepped forward with him and ran her fingers lightly over the trousers, smiling at him.

"Traveling merchants adore this relic set. They don't have to worry about bramble-snags, road tears, or rough handling ruining their clothes. Since you'll be traveling so much as well, this might be perfect for you. Do you want it?"

"Yep," he said immediately, no hesitation. These clothes were the first pieces of clothing in this whole closet that sounded useful to someone who actually had to work for a living. Not having to worry about tearing his clothes sounded incredible. Milena nodded and snapped her fingers. Without a word, two servants who'd apparently been waiting silently outside the closet appeared at once.

"Take down the regenerating set and prepare it for the Hero," she ordered. The servants bowed and moved quickly, lifting the tunic and trousers from their hooks. It didn't take long for the young girl's voice to whisper in his ear again.

"And that one! Look at those shoes!" He whirled once more, making Milena flinch again.

"... You didn't say anything," he muttered. Milena gave him a puzzled smile.

"I… did not?" Okay, I'm going crazy. First there was that young man's voice he'd heard in the leech's cave, and now he was hearing someone else's voice. He couldn't ignore the possibility that it may be stress-related—he'd done more reckless things in the past twenty-four hours than he ever had in his entire life—but at the same time… At the same time, another set of relics caught his eye next to Milena.

It was enclosed behind a glass box sitting on a shelf, a little too high for him to reach, but he saw the pair of low-cut sand-colored shoes just well enough.

Name: Sylph Shoes Type: Active Elementum-Class Relic, Common-9 Attribute Addition: +1 Dexterity Ability Description: When mana is poured into the shoes, they can release small bursts of wind to hasten the holder's movements. The activation cost for each burst is 3 mana.

"... The mana coming off them feels stronger than the other relics around the closet," he said, pointing up at the golden label he couldn't read.

"Why's that?" Millena looked up before her smile widened even further.

"Those are sylph shoes. Quite rare, actually. They're Common-9 Elementum-Class relics that were obtained using the feathers and hollow-flight bones of skylark vezuns as the main offerings." She was a little taller than him, so she had no problem stepping up to the shelf and pulling the glass case down for him to have a better look.

"Each activation costs three mana. I hear they're very useful for leaping gaps, changing direction during falls, or gaining a little extra height where it's needed. I hear they're also very hard to control for a layman, but… the Hero shouldn't have any trouble at all, right?" Orland's grin came before he could stop it. That sounded immensely useful as well. Every annoying jump he'd ever made over roofs, gaps between fences, ravines, and hunting paths would probably no longer be annoying if he had them on.

"These would be so good when I have to go out and hunt," he murmured, pressing his palms against the glass lid as he squinted down at the shoes.

"I won't ever have to worry about not being able to clear those stupid vinetrees… ever… again…" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. He trailed off halfway through. Idiot. He'd said that exactly how a common hunter would say it, not how the Hero tramping across the lands might say it. He looked at Milena quickly, ready to patch the mistake with a lie, but she just laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Of course," she said, giggling.

"As the Hero, you must surely encounter great beasts all the time on your travels. In this case, you must absolutely take these shoes as well. Nobody in Belograd Manor has the dexterity and reflexes to use them properly anyways. Papa only bought them from a traveling merchant because he liked showing them off to guests." A second snap of her fingers brought in more servants. They took the glass box from her hands, wrapped the whole thing in cloth, and retreated to pack the shoes for travel.

Orland turned away from them all with growing satisfaction. A regenerating set of clothes. Shoes that can generate wind. They were both useful things— real things—and for the first time since he put on the Hero's mask, he felt like he was finally getting rewarded for all the risks he'd been taking. It doesn't look like she's gonna stop me from just taking more relics I want, though. In that case, I'll just take as many as I can get that won't end up making 'Orland' look too suspicious for having them.

Now, what else do I want— A sudden cheer from outside made him pause halfway to another row of interesting and plain-looking relic coats. Before he knew it, his head had snapped towards the nearest window. So did Milena's. From all the way up here on top of the salt hill, the entire northern slope of Rusalka was visible, and he immediately spotted the source of the commotion: the lower western gate far in the distance.

Midday usually meant the gates were crowded with movement, but now it was clogged with hundreds of people, all trying to get a good look at the two giant leech carcasses finally being hauled into town by a battalion of soldiers and laborers. The celebration around them was madness. People lined the roads, cheering and waving scarves and hats.

Bells rang, children ran ahead of the procession to try to get better looks at the dead leeches, while merchants abandoned their usual money-grubbing natures and were cheering alongside everyone else. Milena hugged his arm as he stared down at the leeches, listening to the crowd chant the Hero's name.

"... Well?" she asked.

"Are you ready?" Orland glanced at her and blinked.

"For what?"

"For your celebrations, of course," she said, tugging him away from the window and out of the closet.

"I know tons of people who'll want to speak to you, including some of my closest friends. Won't you entertain them for a bit?" Orland had meant to entertain Milena and her friends only a little bit before getting back to picking out as many inconspicuous and hardy-looking relics as he wanted, but a 'few friends' quickly turned into a dozen, who then introduced a dozen friends each, who then invited their bedfellow, parents, their cousins, and their neighbors.

By the toll of the ninth bell of the night, the entire noblequarters was filled with glowing salt lanterns and streaming ribbons of light. Music spilled up from all over as people went in and out of the Belograd Manor, all eager to meet him and shake hands with him. It was a proper celebration. One he found far too annoying. Rurik and the other nobleguards who'd accompanied him out this morning were in no small part the cause of the festivities.

The feast in the manor's grand ballroom had been going on for four- no, at least five hours by Orland's count, and by now he'd heard at least three different men swear that the Hero had roared so loud the entire forest was shaken from root to crown. Another merchant had confidently told his friends that when the guards rushed into the cave, the Hero was still ripping apart the two giant leeches with his bare hands.

He'd even overheard someone saying the Hero first tried to negotiate with the leeches to leave in peace, but only fought back when the leeches, like the evil beasts they were, spat on his face and attacked him completely unprovoked. That last one had nearly made him choke into his cup while passing by for a refill of juice. Exaggerations, exaggerations, and exaggerations… but what was he supposed to do about them? Correct them and make his legend less admirable?

So he'd spent the better part of the past nine hours nodding, smiling, muttering under his breath, and shaking as many hands as Ludoslav and Milena could guide his way. Suckers. All of them. He was ignorant, but he wasn't dumb. He knew full well most of them didn't walk up to admire him because they were overcome with gratitude for Rusalka's continued safety. Some of them, maybe. But most? Most were just sucking up to the 'Hero'.

Many came up to him hoping a good word from the Hero might one day turn into coin, favor, protection, marriage prospects, trading advantages, and other tiny climbs up whatever ladders they'd all spent their entire lives polishing. He didn't have to understand everything they wanted to know they wanted something. Rich people, it turned out, may beg with straighter backs and cleaner sleeves, but they still begged—and he played along the entire time because he had to. The Hero is 'kind'. The Hero is 'noble'.

The Hero is 'patient'. That's who the 'Hero' is, right? … He hated it. The whole time. So when the tenth bell of the night rang, he decided he'd done more than enough hero-ing for one night. He slipped away from the grand ballroom after shaking the hands of a family of salt merchants or something, and nobody stopped him. Nobody noticed, more like.

At this point he'd practically shaken hands with the entire upper district, so everybody was busy chatting, feasting, laughing, and sharing daring tales of the Hero's exploits to each other. He slipped quietly through the manor, went up one corridor, then another, until the music downstairs dimmed and he returned to his dark bedroom overlooking all of Rusalka below. He didn't even know how much he'd missed not being in the presence of so many lanterns and brightly-lit hearths until he was back here. Finally. Peace.

Letting out a soft breath of relief, he hooked the door shut behind him and trudged towards the window. He didn't get much good sleep last night—no thanks to that strange dream—so he hadn't noticed before how small Rusalka really looked from atop the salt hill. The noblequarters right below the manor with its pretty stores and houses was, of course, incredibly bright, but it was hardly any larger than middlequarters of shabbier stores and buildings.

Even further below, almost dipping into a crevice at the bottom of the hill, was the slums. The slums were massive. By sheer density alone, there must be at least ten times more buildings in the slums than the middlequarters and noblequarters combined. And that's where I belonged. Is this the kind of view the 'Hero' gets all the time? … Maybe it was. But he wasn't the 'Hero', and he wouldn't be for much longer. Whatever weird dreams he was having and weird voices he was hearing…

it'd all be over surely once he abandoned his mask and gauntlet. Then he glanced around the bedroom idly and immediately had a thought: even if he was going to give 'Orland' a better life by having the 'Hero' speak kindly of him to the governor and anyone with even a smidgen of power in Rusalka, he should still do whatever he could to give himself a better advantage. I still wanna go back to that relic closet to pick out more relics, but there are some nice valuables around the manor as well. Old habits died hard.

There were plenty of ornamental jewellery just lying all around his bedroom. He wasn't stupid enough to steal too many, but one or two or three wouldn't hurt anyone. He doubted anyone would even notice—and even if they did notice, who would dare search the Hero on his way out? He moved through his room swiftly, picking up anything small enough to pocket and slipping them under his washed and dried coat. A chain here, a jeweled clasp here, and a little ruby brooch that looked pretty expensive…

he pocketed all of the low-level things first, prioritizing items that could be sold easily in the lower district. He was reaching towards a small hair brush on the table when someone suddenly knocked on the door behind him, though, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"W-Who's there?" The door pushed open slightly just as he turned around. Milena peeked in, looked around to see if he was alone, before pushing the door the rest of the way and stepping in with a small smile. That charming blue dress of hers made his breath catch for a moment.

"Er…. what's up?" he asked, pulse still punching at his throat. He kept his hands behind his back and discreetly pocketed the brush as well.

"I noticed you leaving the party," she said sheepishly.

"I thought maybe you just wanted to get away from the crowd." Oh. He almost let out a sigh of relief.

"Yep," he muttered.

"That's… yep. I don't really like… people."

"I get that." Milena stepped in a little closer, hands clasped before her.

"People can be terribly loud when they're excited. Papa worst of all. What was he thinking, inviting so many people over when it could've just been a few of us having a good time?"

"Uh… yeah." He scratched his hair and looked around, searching for a safer topic.

"Oh, right. Thanks for the clothes. And the shoes. They all fit really well." Milena brightened instantly as he looked him up and over. Her servants had come by a few hours ago to give him his new regenerating tunic and trousers, as well as his new sylph shoes. He hadn't had the opportunity to test them out yet, but he'd gladly try them out once he returned to being 'Orland'.

"I'm glad," she said. Then she blushed a little, and she stepped in even closer, making him backtrack towards the window.

"But… if you're really thankful, could I ask you for a favor?" He gulped.

"What?"

"Could you… could we…" she mumbled, "could we have a private dance?" Orland blanked. Completely. And his heart started pounding for a completely different reason than worrying about getting caught stealing.

"I don't know how to dance," he blurted. Milena smiled.

"Don't worry. I'll lead." Then she reached for his hands and took them gently. Orland let her. For the next half a minute, maybe a little more, he allowed her to pull and guide him around the bedroom slowly, his brain struggling to remember whether he should say something heroic or charming or just anything older than fifteen. She's really pretty. Maybe I… have… No chance. He shook his head mid-twirl, making her give a puzzled smile. No thinking about getting together with the actual daughter of the governor.

If the 'Hero' was going to leave town tomorrow, then he only had tonight and tomorrow morning left to plant the right words in the right people's ears. He still needed to tell someone that a certain slumborn boy had offered him so much help getting to Rusalka that the boy ought to be treated better for it. He should start with Milena. Then I'll work up to Rurik, the other nobleguards, then Ludoslav and every other important-looking man in the ballroom before they can leave for the night.

Once I get their assurance, I'll— He accidentally stepped on her toes, making both of her stumble. Milena recovered quickly, though, laughing as she righted their dance again.

"You've really never danced before, huh?" she said.

"I thought you came from Saint Mazan, the town of dance and flowers. Didn't your honored parents teach you how to dance?" At the mention of parents, his throat clenched slightly.

"I don't have parents," he muttered.

"What was that?" He froze and almost stepped on her toes again, but she managed to wrangle him through the next twirl with just enough force to keep them both from falling. Why am I even talking about this to her? he scolded himself. I dunno who the 'Hero' actually is. If I talk out of my ass here, there's a chance she'll double-check with someone later and realize I was bullshitting all along. The right play here was to say nothing or divert the conversation. He knew that. He was so close to the finishing line.

He just didn't have to get caught here. But… he also looked at Milena. Really looked at her. The way her eyes sparkled when she looked at 'him', and the way she seemed genuinely interested in 'him' made him feel like…

"... I don't have parents," he eventually said, letting her twirl him through another step.

"I had a 'director' for the orphanage they dropped me off at as an infant, I guess, but he died in a fire a while ago, caused by a bunch of… upper-class merchants who wanted to cut costs and use stronger, more volatile explosives to mine their minerals. Didn't take long for workers to accidentally blow the explosives up, and the flames rushed out of the mines, burning down the entire district where my orphanage was.

After that, there wasn't a new director—can't really have one if there aren't any plans to rebuild the orphanage—so I was kicked out onto the streets and left to die." Milena inhaled softly.

"What?"

"And you know what the funny thing is?" he continued murmuring.

"The merchants who caused it got off scot-free. The nobles of the town pardoned them, claiming it was just an honest mistake—but we all knew it was bullshit. They just didn't want to toss their richest merchants into the cells. Three hundred and nine people died in the fire that night, and not a single man paid for it."

"I… I heard nothing of this." Of course you did, he wanted to shout. Your father was the one who covered up the Great Fire for those fucking salt merchants, after all. You'd know three hundred and nine people died that night, too, if you actually cared about anyone outside of your pretty manor. But he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he clenched his jaw and forced a smile onto his face.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this," he said quietly.

"It's just… between me and you, okay?"

"Of course. I won't tell another soul." Milena nodded extremely quickly. Then she hesitated, looking away for a brief moment before glancing back at him.

"But… but what about those nobles? Those merchants? What did you end up doing about them?" There was genuine concern in her eyes as she looked at 'him'. And in that instant, Orland lost all attraction for her. The way she looked at him made him feel like she was pitying him, and… he hated that above all else. I don't need your sympathy. Screw all of you 'blessed by fate'. I don't… need you to…

His thoughts trailed off again mid-twirl as Milena guided him past the window, because he eyed something strange happening down in the lower district. Baba Marza's store stood out in the otherwise drab and plain-looking lower district. The entire Vodyanaya Thread Street was brightly decorated with fabric strewn across the roofs by the local tailors, really, but her store especially was easy to pick out because of the giant gold-threaded carpet on the roof.

He'd already noticed it first thing when he stepped into his bedroom, and now… At the back of the store—in that small, muddy alley—he spotted several shadows scratching and scribbling away at the wall. His whole body went stiff. Ruslan. It had to be. They were there last night, and now they were there again, disrespecting Baba Marza's store. His hands slipped out of Milena's before he even meant to pull away.

Anger shot through him, wiping out every noble thought and every bit of careful image-making he'd been maintaining all night. Rage. So simple. So honest. … I guess playing at being the 'Hero' for one day doesn't really change who I am, huh?

"What—" Milena started, startled. But Orland was already moving. He tore out of his bedroom at a near run, shoulder clipping the doorframe, and behind him Milena tried to give chase.

"Hero! What's wrong? What's going on?" He didn't answer. Surely the daughter of the governor wouldn't want to hear him say he was going to beat the shit out of Ruslan this time.