Chương 88: A Heroes Regret

Vale looked around in stunned silence. In the span of a single breath, the world had changed. Where moments ago there had been steel and stone, now a vast grassy meadow stretched endlessly before him. Dew clung to the tall blades of grass, shimmering faintly in the newborn light. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, its golden-orange glow painting the sky in soft gradients of warmth and quiet promise. And yet, despite the beauty, death was everywhere.

Countless tombstones dotted the meadow, stretching as far as Vale could see, their silhouettes fading into the distant haze. Row after row, horizon to horizon. An ocean of graves. Vale stood frozen. Above him, the ravens circled once before settling on the bare branches of a nearby tree. The tree had no leaves, its twisted limbs creaked softly as the faint wind passed through them, the sound hollow and mournful. For a long time, no one spoke. Finally, Vale turned toward Callum.

His throat felt tight, his voice restrained, as if raising it might disturb something sacred, or broken.

"What… is all this?" he asked quietly. Callum gave a grim smile. He lowered his gaze and closed his eyes for a brief moment, as though gathering the weight of his thoughts before letting them surface.

"A graveyard," he said at last. Vale frowned, the word settling heavily in his chest. Callum inhaled slowly, then opened his eyes and began walking toward the distant horizon, toward the rising sun.

"Come," he said.

"There's someone I want you to meet." Vale's eyes widened slightly. He hurried to Callum's side, his steps quick but hesitant. As they walked, Vale's gaze flickered constantly, unease tightening his shoulders. He wanted to speak, to ask more, but no words would come. Every question died before it reached his lips. They walked for a long time. As the sun rose higher, light spilled across the meadow, illuminating the graves in greater detail. Each tombstone bore offerings, flowers, trinkets, small tokens of memory.

Vale noticed figures kneeling before some of them: men, women, even children. Their expressions ranged from gentle remembrance to quiet devastation. The sight weighed on him. The meadow felt less like a place and more like a wound that refused to heal. Eventually, they reached the final grave at the far edge of the field. Beyond it, the land dropped away into a vast forest canopy, green and endless. Mountains rose beyond the trees, majestic and ancient. Atop the tallest peak, something pierced the sky.

Vale stopped walking. His breath caught. Embedded deep into the mountain's summit was a colossal sword, so enormous that its blade alone brushed the clouds. Its handle rose impossibly high, like a monument meant for the gods themselves. Vale stared, awestruck, before slowly turning back to Callum. The knight stood several meters ahead, motionless, staring down at a single tombstone. A sorrowful smile rested on his face, one that looked practiced, brittle, and painfully fake. Vale waited. Minutes passed. Then more.

Only after a long silence did Callum move again. He stepped forward, knelt before the grave, and rested one hand against the stone. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He glanced back at Vale and forced a smile.

"Come," he said softly, tapping the grass beside him. Vale hesitated. His chest tightened as a storm of emotions crossed his face. Slowly, he stepped forward and sat beside Callum. His eyes fell to the tombstone. There was only one name. And one number. Adrian - 8 years Vale's breath hitched. He closed his eyes, biting his lip as the weight of it sank in. Eight years. Callum watched him from the corner of his eye. After a long pause, he exhaled shakily.

"I was the one who killed him." Vale's eyes flew open. His body stiffened as if struck. Callum's expression didn't change. His voice was quiet, controlled, but sorrow bled through every word.

"It was five years ago," he said.

"I had just reached the peak of what it meant to be an Adept." He swallowed.

"I was celebrating in a small village with the locals. They treated me like a hero." His lips curved faintly.

"There was a boy who approached me, despite knowing exactly who I was." Callum's eyes shimmered.

"He was an orphan. Like me. He asked how he could become a hero too." A pause.

"I told him that being a hero meant protecting those too weak to protect themselves." A tear slipped down his cheek.

"How foolish I was." Callum drew a slow breath, steadying himself.

"That night, while I slept, a rift opened above the orphanage. A terrible spawn emerged." His fingers curled into the grass.

"I arrived as fast as I could. I saved almost all of them." His voice faltered.

"Almost." He looked down.

"Under the rubble… I found one child." Vale's chest tightened.

"It was Adrian," Callum continued.

"Half his body was crushed beneath the orphanage." Callum laughed softly, broken, hollow.

"You know what was under him?" he asked. Vale shook his head.

"A puppy," Callum said.

"Even as he was dying, he was still saving someone." Callum's shoulders trembled.

"That child died protecting something weaker than himself." His voice cracked.

"And I, the hero, failed to save him." Callum smiled faintly, tears streaking freely now.

"With his final breath, he asked me if saving the puppy made him a hero." Callum swallowed hard.

"I told him yes." His gaze lifted to the sky.

"He smiled. Proud. Then his eyes went dark." Silence fell. Finally, Callum spoke again, his voice low, bitter, and raw.

"I devoted my life to saving others. I sacrificed everything for it." A humorless chuckle escaped him.

"And yet… it only took the death of one child to crush all of it." He stared at the grave.

"I failed him." The wind stirred softly through the meadow, rustling the grass and the distant ravens' wings, bearing witness to a hero's quiet confession. Callum slowly rose to his feet, turning away for a moment as he wiped the tears from his face. When he faced Vale again, the sorrow in his eyes remained, but it was steadier now, tempered by resolve. Vale, meanwhile, did not rise. He stayed where he was, seated before the small grave, as though standing would somehow betray the silence of the place.

"I chose to lay Adrian to rest here," Callum said at last. He gestured faintly toward the distant horizon.

"So he could watch over the Sword of God." A soft, genuine smile touched his lips, fragile, but real.

"It was a dream of his," he added quietly.

"A long one." Vale followed Callum's gaze. The colossal blade still pierced the heavens, unmoving and eternal. After a moment, Vale looked back up at the knight. His voice, when he spoke, was careful, almost afraid of the answer.

"Do you… still see him?" Vale asked. Callum glanced down at him, then turned his eyes back to the grave.

"Of course," he replied.

"It's my responsibility to watch over him now." Vale's eyes widened, confusion flickering across his face.

"But how?" he asked softly.

"He's… already gone." Callum was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice steady but heavy with meaning.

"That may be true," he said.

"But his death was not in vain." He lifted his gaze toward the sky.

"His wish, to become a hero, wasn't lost." Vale looked up at him, startled.

"His dream. His name. His resolve," Callum continued.

"They live on within me. Every person I save, I do it in his name." The wind stirred, brushing gently through Callum's golden hair.

"I swore that day," he said, "that I would become the hero he wanted to be. Because I am the one who must carry his wish now." Vale stared at him, wide-eyed. The weight of those words pressed down on him like the gravity of the mountains beyond the meadow. Several minutes passed in complete silence. Finally, Callum exhaled and spoke again, his voice quieter now.

"The truth is… my failure was inevitable. It was bound to happen someday." He sighed and lowered his gaze.

"The only regret I carry is that his death was the result of it." He sat back down before the grave, bowing his head. Vale looked around the meadow once more, the countless tombstones, the empty wind, the vastness of it all.

"Does anyone else come here?" Vale asked quietly.

"To visit him?" Callum shook his head, his eyes never leaving the stone.

"No," he said.

"Only me." Vale looked down. His hands clenched into fists. Slowly, he stood and walked away from the grave, moving toward the far edge of the meadow. There, nestled among the tall grass, he found a small cluster of wildflowers, fragile, vibrant, stubbornly alive. He knelt, gathering them carefully, arranging them into a simple bouquet. Then he returned. Without a word, Vale knelt and laid the flowers at the base of Adrian's grave. Callum looked up. His eyes softened, and a quiet smile formed.

"Thank you," he said. Vale sat back down beside him. Together, they remained there in silence, honoring the memory of a boy who dreamed of being a hero, and the man who carried that dream forward.