Chapter 2
If someone told Veris that another hero had been born in this era, Veris would kindly tell him to stop talking nonsense.
Do you think heroes are something commonplace? Less than fifty years have passed since the last hero, how could a new hero appear so quickly?
And the Demon King's group is still behaving themselves.
Now a hero has emerged, one who seeks to shatter the peace of the continent and disrupt the temporary friendly relations between humans and demons—a truly heinous crime.
But now, as Veris looked at the blond boy in front of him, who had drawn his sword and was pointing it at him, he felt as if the world was playing a huge joke on him.
Yes, a hero was born again before the corpses of the previous generation had even cooled down.
He is young, passionate, and has extraordinary experiences. He possesses a soul completely different from ordinary people, unwavering faith, and a pure and fervent belief. Most importantly, fate is also on his side.
Faced with the sharp sword, Veris obediently raised his hands and said, "Let me explain. I am just a bard with no strength to even kill a chicken. Do you know what a bard is?"
The brave young man blinked and said honestly, "I don't know."
Standing opposite him, the young man, whose sword he was pointing at, had a serious expression and said, "You know, there are many professions on this continent, right? Merchants, mercenaries, nobles, magicians, priests, swordsmen, apothecaries... and of course, bards."
"No one can say for sure how many of them there are, but what is certain is that they have always been wandering. The wild grass under your feet is like a bard, scattered in every corner of this continent."
Great bards can go to His Majesty the King's luxurious banquet hall and sing stories from every corner of the continent, which will be recorded by historians and passed down for generations.
Words are something that will never fade.
Once people learn to recognize characters and read, there will always be those who tremble at the sight of those recorded stories, whether magnificent or touching.
But not everyone can read. The bards set those timeless stories to music and sang them, passing them down year after year, their presence felt throughout the entire continent.
Their chanting has existed since before the kingdom was established, and even now, the stories they sing have changed from the seven great gods to the Pope who ushered in a new era, yet their presence remains.
"Ah, so we're all scholars, can't you just put down your sword?" After finishing his impassioned speech, Veris sighed, looking at the sharp sword in front of him, afraid that if the other man's hand trembled, he would be dead.
The hero looked doubtful: "But I saw you kill the monster with one punch."
Upon hearing this, Veris gasped and vehemently denied it: "Are you under an illusion? You clearly killed that monster with a single sword strike."
Brave:?
He looked at the Stone Rock Ape at Veris's feet, its chest riddled with a fist-sized hole... Could a sword have made that?
“You know what kind of magical beast this is, right?” Veris said.
The brave young man paused for a moment. He did recognize what kind of magical beast it was: a seventh-tier magical beast, the Stone Rock Illusion Ape. In his hometown, it was an extremely wicked creature, and the villagers avoided it like the plague.
The Stone Rock Illusion Ape does indeed have the ability to cast illusions... but are they really illusions?
The young man he was pointing his sword at was much older than him, but he was thin and his clothes were tattered and barely clean, making him look poor and destitute.
Could someone like that really kill a Warcraft with one punch?
Putting everything else aside, on the mainland, only top warriors and dwarves could shatter the Stone Rock Illusion Ape's breastplate with a single punch, right?
Those people were all tall and muscular... In short, they were nothing like the person in front of me!
The hero was caught in a struggle.
Seeing that he was beginning to waver, Veris's eyes lit up. Just as he was about to continue persuading him, the boy suddenly seemed to remember something, his eyes instantly hardening as he looked at Veris: "No, I want to go with you."
If given another chance, Veris would stay home and sleep instead of wandering around aimlessly.
As night fell, his hands were still half sticky and half dried from the pus and blood of the monster. If it weren't for the illusion magic, the young hero would have noticed something was wrong long ago.
A slightly chilly wind blew by, and Veris felt nothing but utter despair.
He just wanted to get rid of this stubborn guy and go wash his hands.
He couldn't remember the handwashing incantation at all!
You see, he never memorized these miscellaneous spells; naturally, someone else would memorize them for him. Generally, he wouldn't encounter this situation, as he always kept his distance from creatures like heroes.
Because these kinds of people are stubborn and have an incredibly strong intuition.
“Let’s go back to town together,” the brave young man invited Veris.
Veris gave a stiff smile: "Okay."
The moon had already appeared on the horizon. On the grass, Veris tearfully abandoned the body of the Stone Rock Illusion Ape. The young hero clearly didn't recognize the various treasures on the body of the seventh-tier magical beast, and turned to walk towards the town.
He even urged Veris to hurry up and catch up: "What if it's not quite dead yet? Let's get out of here quickly!"
The hands hidden beneath his robes, covered in dried pus and blood, were sticky and gritty. Veris remained expressionless as he pondered why a hero had been born at this time.
The boy walking in front was very noisy, chattering incessantly.
"My name is Arnold, what's yours?"
“...Veris”.
Are you from this town?
“…No, we bards are all wanderers. I’ll be leaving here soon,” Veris said expressionlessly. Actually, he didn’t plan to leave Albion for the time being, since it was the closest town to the Amberley Mountains and he could still support himself.
But when it came to this boy, he lied quite smoothly.
Arnold turned around, his golden curly hair revealing a pair of equally golden eyes, shining like the rising sun. He looked at Veris's face, which was forcing a smile: "I'm leaving here too. Where are you going? Are you going to the capital? Didn't you just say you were going to sing hymns for the king?"
Veris: "That's a great bard. I'm just a nobody, a boy."
Hearing this, Arnold still wore that bright smile: "So you've been to many places? I'm going to find the Demon King, do you know where he is?"
Veris's smiling face stiffened again. He thought to himself that this kid was indeed up to something. He asked casually, "What do you want with the Demon King? A boy your age should either become a magic apprentice or a warrior's apprentice and become a mercenary or something like that, right?"
"A magic apprentice? What's that?"
Veris: ?
His face betrayed his shock: "You...don't you know what a magician is?"
Arnold stopped walking ahead and instead walked alongside Veris, his face sincere: "My family lives on a farm. I've never heard of any magicians, nor have I read any stories about them in the priests' books."
Veris was about to explain the concept of a mage to this country bumpkin, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he realized something. His eyes flickered, and instead of directly telling Arnold about mages, he said, "Mages... you should go to Albion and ask the priests. I can't really explain it, but they're a bunch of arrogant guys."
He spared no effort in spreading rumors: "Many people try to curry favor with the magicians, but they always end up getting angry and suffering the consequences. Do you know the story of the five great magicians of Lortheran?"
Arnold shook his head honestly.
The boy said somewhat embarrassedly, "I've only heard stories about the Pope and the Demon King. The priest's storybook is too old, and I don't recognize many of the words."
"The priests only tell stories about the Pope."
Veris looked up ahead. They were about to enter Albion, and the Mercenary Guild's large building was already in sight. He smiled and said, "Young man, how many days are you going to stay in Albion? Things haven't been peaceful lately."
“I’ve heard about it too! There’s a murderer in town. When I first arrived, a kind person in that building told me about it.” Arnold clenched his fist, but soon he remembered that he had gone back to find Veris because he suspected her, and he immediately blushed.
He awkwardly explained his thoughts, then apologized to Veris.
“I didn’t mean to assume that about you, sir poet.”
Veris looked at the boy, whose purity bordered on the wicked, and his gaze lingered for a moment. However, he immediately declared that he was magnanimous and would not hold Arnold's sins against him.
The blond boy straightened up happily and said to Veris, "That's wonderful, sir poet. Would you be willing to let me stay for the night?"
Veris's smile vanished.
The sticky, greasy blood and pus from the monsters on his hands seemed to emit a pungent odor. Veris stared at the eager boy in front of him, contemplating the possibility of killing him with a single punch and then escaping using a magic circle.
Arnold, who was being stared at by Veris, looked puzzled and said apologetically, "Is it not allowed? I've disturbed you, Mr. Poet."
"Hey! Veris, what are you doing standing there?"
Shouts came from the Mercenary Association next door. Veris looked up and saw the vice president standing on the second floor. The middle-aged man was holding a glass of wheat beer and was shouting at them, "It's so dark already, aren't you going home? Is this young man next to you here looking for his family?"
Arnold recognized the man who had kindly reminded him earlier and waved happily, "No, I'm staying here for a few days!"
Veris glanced at Arnold beside him, then looked up at the vice president: "Uncle Quake, do you have any spare rooms? The hotel isn't open yet, could you please take this person in for now?"
Looking at Arnold's youthful face, Quirk suddenly thought of his own son, who was about the same age as the boy. His heart softened, and he readily agreed: "Don't worry, there are still several empty rooms here. Wait a moment, young man, I'll come downstairs!"
His figure disappeared into the second-floor corridor.
Veris brushed the grass clippings off his robe, looked up and said, "Alright, I'm going home now. The poet's poor little home can't accommodate even half a guest. I'm really sorry."
Arnold looked at the slender young man standing next to him. The man had medium-length black hair with slightly curly ends, wore a long robe, and carried a satchel. He was much taller than Arnold, and Arnold had to look up to see the man's face.
It was a pale yet handsome face, every feature perfectly proportioned, neither too flamboyant nor too understated. Beneath his tousled hair were a pair of heterochromatic eyes. When the face stared at him expressionlessly just now, he almost wanted to draw his sword.
I always felt that the other person was thinking something dangerous.
Veris said goodbye to him.
Arnold snapped out of his reverie and instinctively called out to him, "Poet, your eyes—"
Veris, who had already taken several steps, paused. He turned his head, and his red eye reflected Arnold's face in his peripheral vision.
He smiled and said, "Because the person over there went blind, the magician had to use rabbit eyes to make fake eyes for me. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in such a poor and destitute state."
Seeing the shock and deep guilt on Arnold's face, Veris turned away, suppressing a smile, and walked towards his small building.
After rounding the corner and walking quite a distance, until they reached the small building in the corner of Albion—which was his home—Veris finally relaxed a little and pushed the door open to go inside.
In a corner of the room, several stones gleamed, making the narrow building less dark, but it was still a drop in the ocean.
The illusion dissipated, Veris closed the door, and the next second, a low voice echoed from the darkness behind him.
Why did you do it yourself?
The dirty hand was carefully lifted up, and a cleansing magic was applied to it, instantly restoring its cleanliness. At that moment, all the lights in the room turned on, and an invisible magical barrier enveloped the small building, making it appear as if it were still pitch black to outsiders.
Poor poets can't afford lamps; they always grope in the dark.
Veris looked down at his hands, now clean again, and said with a look of disgust, "Never mind, I'll go wash them."
The pool was behind the small building. He walked around the piles of books and scrolls on the ground and went straight into the depths of the building.
It had a tail attached to its back.
The person's voice was clear, somewhere between a young man and a teenager, seemingly having just come of age, and carried a strong sense of grievance: "Do you think my magic has regressed?"
Veris stood in front of the pool, turning to look at the person getting closer and closer. He was like a clingy little dog, with expensive fur and a docile temperament, who should have stayed in the most luxurious places in the world, not in this dilapidated little building.
He said with a hint of helplessness, "Sylvain, if your magic has deteriorated, then all those good-for-nothings in the High Papacy should hang themselves."
The young man called Sylvain's eyes lit up, and he bent down, affectionately taking Veris's hand and extending it to the edge of the pool, saying softly, "Let me help you wash."
Veris hesitated, as if to say that it was just washing his hands and he could do it himself.
But that's just Sylvain's personality.
They wished they could take care of everything for him.
If those incompetent fools in the Papacy knew that Sylvain personally helped someone wash their hands, they would definitely curse him for being shameless and daring to trouble their incomparably noble Holy Son.
Amidst the babbling of the flowing water, Sylvain stared down at the intertwined fingers. The other person's fingers were slender and long, pale and almost bloodless, as if they were about to meet the gods at any moment.
Of course, with just a little pressure, noticeable red marks will appear on it.
He quickly released his grip, a fleeting hint of restraint flashing in his lowered eyes, and said gently, "That's enough."
A note from the author:
----------------------
Veris: Strawberry Dark Chocolate (Dark x Red)
Sylvain: Creamy Green Grapes (White x Green)
[Kiss]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
