2 Destiny

Hostile Territory: The Plains of Lanasca, the 25th Year of the Sword Century

A human of average height but seemingly blessed with exceptional features is seated atop a small hill.

"Ha ha. Ha. Ha." His ragged breaths fill the air with a feeling of tension that can only be experienced in a battlefield.

His hair, as black as the night is drenched with sweat and his brow is creased with fatigue and bloodlust.

Around him are soldiers scurrying about as they carry injured soldiers to the medical tents on the other side of the plains.

Various birds of prey circle the battlefield in search for corpses they can split among themselves and a sharp glint can be seen in their eyes.

Their cawing is eerie, and many soldiers find themselves nervously swallow their saliva at the thought of, "I could have been their next meal."

A spear pierces the chest plate of a demonic creature directly behind the human on the hill, "Gah!" and the creature let out its final breath. A look of utter hatred remains in his eyes.

The tired human used his sword as a cane and he stands up wearily from whence he sat. He looks around and motions to his adjutant to come closer.

"Milord. It was an overwhelming victory for our side." The adjutant salutes as he comes face to face with the tired human. A look of disgust and horror flashes on his face but it is quickly replaced by fawning and awe as he continued his report.

"While the loss of Sir Hubert of the Iron Mace and at least nine thousand mounted knights is devastating, we have at the very least successfully routed the army of the final Knight of the Fallen Star!"

He smiles and adds, "this might just be another medal for you milord!"

The tired human merely shrugs at this post battle report. He's done his job and he's done it well. He killed three of the generals of the final Knight of the Fallen star. He might have lost one of his party members in the process but all of that is trivial in the face of victory.

"I am so close to the end that I can almost taste it." An almost raspy exclamation leaves the tired human's lips.

"Milord?" Confusion is evident in the face of the adjutant but he hides his look, like a true professional.

"Adjutant. Draw a bath and fetch me my clothes. I need to rest." The tired human sheathes his sword and unbuckles his straps and cape. "I seem to be covered in those 'medals' you seem to be obsessed with."

The tired human looks at the adjutant with disdain in his eyes. Fine, he thinks to himself. It's not as if this idiot would know what's at stake here. The fate of the human race sits on my shoulders and I must carry forward.

If I am called to kill a thousand monsters to save the lives of ten thousand people then I shall endeavor to murder ten thousand monsters so that I may save a hundred thousand more.

The tired human shakes off the blood and gore on his clothes and he tosses his upper garments and sword to the adjutant.

The awe in the eyes of the adjutant are muddled in fear and in the process of trying to understand what just happened.

Recovering his wits at the sound of the departure of the tired human, he motions for a squire to assist him with the human's orders.

"You there, boy, you heard what he said." The adjutant continued, "Take his clothes and wash them and perform some basic maintenance on his sword. Make sure it is ready for the next battle." He barked his orders with practiced finesse and the squire, perhaps used to this treatment, quickly started on his tasks.

A moment of silence passed between them and seemingly unable to contain his curiosity, the squire timidly asked the adjutant: "Sire is that truly 'him'? Is he truly the one they talk about?"

The adjutant, understanding what the squire meant smiles at the young boy and responds. "That is definitely him. The Hero. Not exactly how you would imagine him to be eh?"

The squire nods in affirmation. "I've long heard of heroes from me mum and I have always imagined them to wear shiny armor adorned in jewels as they charged through the enemy forces on a white horse but he.."

A short awkward pause is shared between the adjutant and the squire but no words of condemnation were said. The adjutant knew. No, he understood the fact that heroes were supposed to be symbols of peace and justice but that man was just something else.."

The adjutant adjusts his glasses and he gazes into the eyes of the young boy.

"Not exactly a knight in shining armor that man but if from the enemy's point of view, he might as well be the demon lord because his brutal fighting style is just that. Brutal." The adjutant continued, "he is always covered in blood and flesh and as he has a tendency to minimize his movement…that tends to happen."

Noticing the gaze of the adjutant, the squire followed it and he immediately regretted his decision. The 'small hill' wasn't exactly a natural land mass.

It was literally a small mountain of corpses with limbs and innards scattered around and enough blood to dye the whole place red. It was a scene of carnage straight out of a horror novel.

As the adjutant soothed the back of the still puking squire, he thought to himself: Yes. This is what the Human Hero needs to do. This is his duty and this is his destiny.

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