LaughYeAmer
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Chapter 50: Step Up, Hero!
🕑 Added 2025-10-05 09:00:08 +0000 UTCFire. Heat. Smoke. A heavy weight upon his body.
Cedric painfully cracked his eyes open.
The cave was lit in flames. The body of the acolyte lay over him.
The man had unintentionally sheltered Cedric from the blast; his durable, Gold-forged body turned into a living shield that absorbed a large portion of the explosion.
The acolyte was also very clearly dead, on account of his entire back turned to a blasted slag of fused eldritch flesh and blackish spine.
Though alive, Cedric did not make it out unscathed. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs. His lungs were burning. The assassin could feel himself minutes away from death.
Still, his mind held enough sense to feel dread.
Because standing in the midst of the flames, the draconic Saint stood — stupefied, but completely unharmed.
No… Not completely unharmed.
Marred upon her cheek was just the smallest of cuts — the tiniest drop of blood leaking from the wound before it sealed up.
Cedric stared in horror. The bomb had gone off right in her face, and all it did was give her the equivalent of a love bite.
“... Pfft.”
The woman made a strange noise. A small chuckle followed.
Seconds later, she broke into boisterous laughter.
“Ridiculous… Ridiculous! All that time wasted trying to find a single worthy opponent, hunting Saints and Demon Nobles, and the first blood drawn in centuries was by a mere whelp not even in the Jewelled Tiers?! I would be insulted if it wasn’t so hilarious!”
Cedric didn’t dare make a sound as the woman laughed. He glanced over, trying to find the fae creature.
There was nothing. Not even a corpse. Only the tiniest shimmer of rainbow blood splattered on the cave ceiling and walls.
The brat makes good bombs. I cannot lie, Cedric thought tiredly. Too bad he couldn’t make one strong enough to kill that bitc—!
The assassin couldn’t finish the word in his head in time.
Before he knew what happened, he was suddenly smashed up against the roof of the cave.
Cedric vomited blood. The corpse of the acolyte that had been covering him was gone; disintegrated in a single blow.
The Saint’s draconic tail had smashed apart the body and impaled Cedric to the ceiling at a speed faster than thought.
“Careful now,” the Saint said lightly. “In the words of an old friend… Jokes and jests I can tolerate, but disrespect is beyond my means to forgive.”
“I spoke… no disrespect…” Cedric weakly said. His feeble arms clutched his torso. When he looked down, he nearly threw up again.
The tail had gone clean through his stomach; it was the only thing holding him upright.
“Your thoughts are as clear as day,” the Saint hummed. “Normally, I would rip you limb from limb for such an insult, but I am in a generous mood today. So choose.”
“C-choose?”
“Yes. Choose,” the Saint laughed. “The limb that I will tear from your soul.”
Cedric’s teeth would not stop chattering. His body was convulsing from pain and imminent failure. Still, he gritted his teeth. He knew what the woman was asking.
And what she was offering.
“M-my left. My left arm,” he choked out, thick blood spilling from his lips.
The Saint smiled. She lifted her great blade.
The steel burned with God runes.
The pain that came next was indescribable. It encompassed the word ‘agony’ in all its entirety. Cedric had suffered pain before. He had endured torture, poison, and even the worst of bodily torment under a surgeon’s knife while fully conscious.
Yet nothing could stop him from screaming when the blade touched his arm.
It was not a physical pain. It was the word of a hateful God being seared into his soul.
And the price was a piece of it removed.
An eternity and a second passed. Cedric felt his body flop to the ground as the tail pulled free from his stomach with a wet, metallic sound.
“Hm. Still conscious? Very good. You may make for a fine opponent in a few centuries,” the Saint praised.
Cedric weakly pushed himself up. It was barely an inch off the ground, but it allowed him to bow his head, as was expected of him. “I thank… the Great One… for her words. And… for her Mark.”
Cedric could not feel his left arm.
No… Rather, it was as if he had forgotten what a left arm felt like. The concept eluded him completely.
So this is what it means… to have one’s soul severed.
“You are now free. Consider your obligations to the Duskcrowns finished. I shall report your death, as well as those who perished here.” She smiled. “And of the boy, too, I think. That should buy the whelp some time to grow.”
Cedric blinked. “G-grow?”
“He’s not dead. Oh, don’t worry. You did everything right. It’s just that the boy has the Fates looking out for him,” the Saint said, an unsettling cheer in her voice. “Oh, and here. For delivering his ‘challenge’ to me.”
The Saint threw a golden potion at Cedric’s feet. The crippled assassin struggled to grab it. When he did, he downed the entire potion in one go.
Pain once more, though the agony of it was far more tolerable compared to what he had just suffered. His wounds healed completely. Even the gaping hole in his stomach was sealed up almost instantly.
Only his left arm remained missing. Cedric knew no healing would ever bring it back.
That part of his soul belonged to the Black Damnation now.
“Enjoy my Mark, with all the gifts and torment it brings. Let it nourish your strength through adversity, or perish for your unworthiness,” the Saint proclaimed. “We are all burdened by the Fates. If we are to break these chains, then we need more than blind faith. Only the strongest can call themselves free.”
The deranged woman brought a hand to her cheeks, pulling the droplet of blood away and licking it from her fingers. She smiled fondly.
“I am reminded of a dear friend, the only bastard who has ever defeated me,” she said. “He gave me this sword and told me to try again when I was ready. He promised me a proper death… And then he went and died. The fucking liar.”
Cedric trembled in silence.
“He’s forever beyond my reach now, unfortunately. Another whore got to him before I could,” she sighed. “Alas for him. I would have given him a death far sweeter than whatever that peasant delivered. I suppose I shall meet this boy in a few years and see if he compares, though I doubt it.”
Cedric dared to say nothing. The woman hummed a tune as she walked away.
“It’s only proper to greet a wound with respect. Good opponents are rare these days. The quality of modern saints is abysmal. Oh, one more last thing, half-Drow.”
The man almost felt his heart stop.
“Keep an eye on the boy for me. And stay out of sight. The Duskcrowns would not be pleased with this report, and if they find you, well… You would wish you had died along with everyone else today.”
There was a flash of dark magic. The Saint disappeared in a whirlpool of corruption.
Cedric stared into open space for a moment. He let out a shuddering sigh. “Fuck.”
~~~
Meanwhile, back at Castle Elathion…
Eri stared into open space for a moment. He paled.
A new notification had appeared.
[Bond Level 1 with Corrupted Saint Ordovis Achieved!]
[New Companion Side Quest Unlocked: Rekindling Old Flames]
[New Companion Side Quest Unlocked: The Actual Strongest]
He recognised that name.
In a rare moment of weakness, Eri openly swore.
“Ah, fuck!”
~~~
Weeks passed.
Life, though changed in many ways, carried on.
Following the attack, House Elathion underwent a series of significant dialogues. A flood of officials — inquisitors from the Church and Imperial agents of the Crown — came and went. Kaldreach was understandably concerned about the Duskcrowns’ movement within the North, particularly regarding their hostilities against House Elathion.
Meetings between very important people occurred, with even delegations from the Three Great Houses of the North visiting Lord Draevan’s rundown abode. Deals were made, information exchanged, and the general security surrounding Kaldreach’s noble families increased as the threat to their homes became evident.
But that was only the start. Within Kaldreach, a great military force was beginning to gather.
The Duskcrowns already proved themselves insane enough to send a Sapphire-Core Chosen to assassinate a Lord. There was undeniable proof of their heretical research into Elder blood and their creation of illegal half-blood Chosens, gathered through both the wealth of decoded documents and by the screaming ‘confessions’ of Maelric’s severed head.
The time for subtlety was over. By the end of the year, an expedition into the Slaver Isles would be launched, with forces from the Noble Houses, the Church, and the Imperial Regiment combined, working together to put an end to the unruly Royal faction to the West.
“This has blown up far bigger than anyone could have anticipated, won’t you agree?” Lord Horatio Dervaine said, gently stirring his wine glass. “The Three Houses pitching in their knights, the Church with their Crusaders, the Imperial Army with their soldiers! Not to mention all the independent mercenaries and Chosens who have arrived… Why, one might almost say it was fortunate that your home was attacked! You would have never garnered so much support for your ‘personal expedition’ otherwise.”
Lord Draevan took a slight sip of his wine. “One could.”
Horatio laughed heartily. “I knew you could play the game if you set your mind to it. The Mad Hound can learn new tricks, it seems. I trust our previous dealings will not be affected by this development?”
“So long as Justinina is brought back safely, I care little about anything else,” Draevan spoke honestly. “Assuming you commit your forces as promised, our deal stands.”
“Oh, I will. I think you will find few Houses in the North unwilling to have a personal hand in this invasion, by this point,” Horatio snorted. “Greed aside, there is an element of insulted pride involved.”
Draevan frowned. “Calling it an invasion is too much.”
“Is it? You have stirred the hornet nest, my friend. Those ‘documents’ you have revealed to the world were extremely illuminating. Details of kidnapping, of multiple noble heirs stolen under the shadow of false deaths… The North weakened, and the West supplied with prime bodies for their heretical research… It is enough to inspire any true northerner to violence.”
Draevan grimaced. “The contents of the decoded documents were most foul indeed.”
It turned out that House Elathion had not been the sole target of the Duskcrowns’ operations.
Armael’s office had been searched, revealing more encoded documents and papers. Combined with the ones recovered after Dulcina’s failed kidnapping, the full scope of the Duskcrown’s activity was unveiled.
Their reach extended over the North, even to the far South and East of the continent. Financial sabotage was but the first of many greater crimes.
Whatever research the fiends were performing on the Slaver Isles, it required more than simply funds; it required Chosens whose bloodline could be traced to Saints.
The Duskcrowns had been staging false deaths of young nobles for years, kidnapping them and bringing them to the West as prime subjects for their mad sciences.
The document had referred to this chilling sin as ‘material procurement’.
The lives of Chosens were often fraught with peril. Few of their bodies were ever recovered if lost on an expedition. That truth applied even to those of noble blood.
Now, with such crimes revealed, who knew how many had actually died to the perils of the wastelands, and not been taken away to be sold to the West?
It was a crime far beyond the Northern Families to tolerate. The Church and Imperial Administration likewise saw opportunity — the former in purging the slaving heretics of the West, the latter in finally ending the rogue Royal faction — and so their support was added to the pile.
Moreover, independent parties could sense the coming conflict — as well as the lucrative promise of profit, plunder, and reputation amidst the great dangers. Mercenary companies, solitary warriors, and even young nameless Chosens were gathering in vast numbers within Kaldreach, swelling the expedition ranks with more bodies.
The same phenomenon was undoubtedly brewing in the West, and it meant that when the conflict came to a head, it would be one that bloomed with death, riches, and new legends in flooding abundance.
“War in our time. Great fortunes await, should one play their cards right,” Horatio remarked.
“I care little for fortune. Not in this coming bloodbath,” Draevan quietly said.
“Normally, I would rebuke you for that. It is a Lord’s duty to seek fortune in every opportunity.” Horatio downed the rest of his wine in a single pull. He set the glass aside. “This time, however, I find myself inclined to agree.”
“I had thought you one to enjoy a bloodbath.”
“Oh, I do. But this is an exception.” Horatio smiled grimly. “My first son could still be alive, held in Duskcrowns’ hands.”
The body of Lord Horatio’s firstborn was never recovered. It was simply assumed he died in the 24th Crusade.
But in the wake of such revelations, the truth might not be so simple.
“The same sentiment applies to nearly every family in the North,” Horatio continued. “I won’t deny that the weight of familial affection holds equal for everyone; some are doing this under that pretence to veil the greed that moves their hand into this war. But for me… It has become, as you say, personal business.”
Lord Draevan gave Horatio a considering look. “Will you be personally joining the expedition, then?”
“Aye, I will. You shall have another Sapphire-Core to back you up! Consider it extra compensation for your Ruby Core, now that my forces are worth less to you!” Horatio laughed heartily. “How thrilling! An adventure of our own, at our age and position?! Absurd. Madness! And yet this old heart of mine beats with youthful vigour! Let us rip the heart of the Duskcrowns out with our fangs and save our children, Draevan!”
The Lord of House Elathion raised his glass. “I will drink to that.”
Great turmoil awaited. A thousand hands, both great and small, were moving. The powers of those above commanded armies, while those below held swords and Arts honed through years of combat.
Yet in the great sea of players that held myriad skills and repute…
Lord Draevan could not help but think it was the heroic hands of a reckless young boy who would change the coming tide.
~~~
Eri was still stressing over the implications of his last notification message when he received yet another from the System.
/-/
[Conditions fulfilled; Act 1 Complete!]
[Main Quest Advanced!]
[You have garnered great fame and fortune! Your Core is strong, the people sing your praises, and your pockets are laden with loot and gold! Yet darkness grows on the horizon. Powerful forces prepare to clash, while the secret knives in the shadows plot the demise of all. Inaction will doom all parties, while action might see you ascend to true greatness! It’s time for a hero to step up!]
[New Main Quest: Manifest Greatness; Go West!]
[Invade the Slaver Isles, destroy the millennia-old dark cults operating there, and plunder their seas for riches! Oh, and also put a permanent end to slavery while you are at it.]
/-/
“You want me to WHAT?!”
[Failure will lead to the eternal destruction of both the North and West, and the death of countless millions.]
[Good luck, Hero.]
~~~
And so comes the turning of fates.
The leniency once afforded to a fledgling hero has passed. Now, true heroism calls.
The trials ahead will not be easy. The Hero journey serves to both temper the worthy and remove the meek.
Those of sound mind will fall, for the world is cruel, and the good intentions of selfless men inevitably bring madness unto oneself and the world.
But to those who dare brave insanity for higher purpose, you doomed Chosen Ones who would walk to the ends of the earth to see your goals realised…
Embrace the futility of making the world a better place. Embrace the truth that the fleeting heroism of a few good souls will never hold back the undying tide of cruelty born from sentient thought.
Embrace these impossible odds… and win anyway.
To do good; To do that one deed, that one day, and to help just one life out of the darkness of your world, despite knowing that, ultimately, it does not matter in the grand suffering of your universe.
That urge to help others exists in the warmth of your blood; to do something, to care, even if it might only alleviate a single drop of darkness in a world that hates selflessness. To reject the universe’s loathing for the living, to give up on greed, and to persist in the hopeless endeavour of making the world even just a little brighter… It is insanity to do so, yet still, you must hold to it.
Evil is relentless… and so for a hero to prevail, they must be relentless beyond even evil.
Only the strong and mad can do such a thing. And it is why only the maddest heroes can become the strongest.
Behold the ‘Heroic’ truth, ye mighty Chosen Ones: your mental stability and superhuman magical talents are mutually exclusive long-term investments. You cannot hold one without giving up the other.
Power is a curse. It is the path to madness. Yet our protagonist — a certain reincarnated ex-Demon King who was beginning to realise Heroism was not as simple as it seemed — must thread it nonetheless.
For the Strongest must always be ready, and—
“Elen! ELEN! HELP! I’M NOT READY FOR THIS! EVERYONE IS IN TROUBLE, AND I THINK IT'S MY FAULT!”
“Brat, what did you do this time?!”
… Maybe we will give him a little more time to grow first.
The end of the world has already been delayed by five millennia. A few more years would not hurt.
[End of Act 1: Kaldreach]
[Next Act: The Slaver Isles]
~~~~~~
Author's Note:
And that's Book 1 complete!
Normally, I would leave a more extensive author's note to end off the first Act, but I think I will save that for when Chapter 50 is also posted on Royalroad.
For now, I just want to thank everyone who's supporting this story. Your Patreon membership means the world to me, and it enables me to continue writing while covering the rent.
The story is not perfect, but I have been reading the reviews and comments. I am taking all the feedback into consideration as I continue the story into Act 2, with the goal of addressing the flaws in Act 1 while retaining its strengths.
As a writer, I'm still lacking in many ways, but I hope you enjoyed Book 1 of 'Re:Hero' nonetheless, and that you'll stick around as I continue to improve my craft and write better stories.
Book 2 will start straight away tomorrow. I hope you look forward to it!
Comments
Touch
Thanks for the book! Love overall story, doubt lock-picking skills decision, and looking forward to a more mature MC!
Jason Bryant
Ahhh yes! So good!
