Chapter-13

"Who is it?" I looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice. "I am up here," the voice said. It was coming from the tree.

"Mr. Tree, are you the one speaking to me?" I asked, rubbing the spot on my head where I had been hit. "Ouch!" I exclaimed as pain shot through me. I scanned my surroundings but found no one.

"I am not the tree, but I reside within it. I am bound to it," the voice replied. If it wasn't the tree itself, could it be a leaf, a flower, or a bird? Before I could ponder further, I was struck again, causing me to stumble to the ground. "Why do you keep hitting me?" I protested, realizing that if the voice was bound to the tree, it could move anywhere. Perhaps it was a spirit.

"Are you a spirit?" I asked cautiously, waiting for a response. This time, there was silence. "You're an angel, aren't you? So why would you come to this cursed place?" I wondered aloud, puzzled by the voice's characterization of the area as cursed.

Despite its description, the place was stunning, adorned with gems and gold. The voice then began to recount a tale from its past, a story of a warrior who had fought in battles for kings, driven by greed and ambition. "Greedy kings exploited me repeatedly, using me to destroy countless homes in their pursuit of wealth," the voice explained. I couldn't understand why it was sharing this story or its relevance to our current situation. I wanted to interrupt and question the old man's narrative, but something urged me to listen.

"I was lost, but I learned to conquer the fear, to fight without remorse, eliminating anyone who crossed my path," the voice continued. 

"Do you know what the hardest part of my life was?" the spirit continued, its voice heavy with sorrow. "It was my very own family abandoning me because I chose the path of truth and righteousness. When I was on the wrong path, everyone praised and supported me. But when I chose the righteous path, they turned their backs on me."

The sadness in the spirit's voice was palpable, and I couldn't help but empathize with its pain. It seemed to have endured a profound betrayal from those closest to it, all because it sought to live a life guided by principles of honesty and morality.

"As long as you follow their paths, you will always be right, but as soon as you choose your own path, you will be considered a traitor, a betrayer." I don't know what happened with him, but I want to know exactly what happened. "Old man, what is your story?" I asked him out of curiosity.

"I was the Greatest Swordsmaster of my time; people called me undefeatable. But I wasn't great from the start. I was weak since childhood. I couldn't even swat a mosquito with my kind-hearted nature. My family was from a knight's lineage, and I was the eldest. My mother died while giving birth to my youngest brother. We were all brothers; there were no females in our family. All of my brothers were outstanding, except me. Each had some sort of position, but I couldn't even focus my mind on studies. My father was always gambling, so we had too much debt to pay. All my brothers left for other kingdoms; they were working under someone. They married into wealthy families and changed their surname, abandoning our actual one. As I was the only member left,

one evening, I had nothing to eat at home, not even a penny left to buy something.

There was a knock on the door, and I hesitated to open it, fearing it might be the debtor come to collect my debts. However, upon opening, I found a group of villagers standing before me. "All your brothers have left; who will pay the taxes now?" they demanded. I didn't have a single penny to my name, let alone enough to pay taxes. "I don't have any money," I stammered, trembling in fear.

"If you don't have money, then pay with your own flesh," one of them spat, striking me on the head before binding my hands, feet, and mouth. I struggled against them, but they were relentless. They sold me to the guards, and I found myself thrust onto the battlefield, armed with nothing but a rusty sword.

My first kill filled me with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, and with each battle, I grew more fearless. Sometimes, the king used me for his own twisted amusement, ordering me to execute prisoners or those who defied him. I never once stood up for anyone, consumed as I was by my own survival.

But everything changed when I fell in love with the princess, and to my surprise, she returned my affections. She implored me to promise not to harm any innocent person and to turn away from the path of violence and destruction. I agreed, hoping to start anew.

However, my newfound happiness was short-lived. The king, threatened by our love and unable to control me as he once had, devised a cruel plan. He killed the princess and falsely accused me of her murder. Despite my protests and tears, no one believed me. I was declared a traitor, my name tarnished beyond repair.

With my beloved gone, I felt I had nothing left to live for. I kept my promise to her, refusing to defend myself and instead dedicating my life to doing good deeds. But the king's grudge against me remained, and he eventually had me killed.

As I stood before the god of death, awaiting judgment, I was given a chance to pass on my swordsmanship to someone more deserving. Though I had mastered the art of the sword, I had not used it for noble purposes. It was a stark reminder that our past deeds can overshadow even our best intentions, and that the weight of our sins cannot easily be lifted by acts of kindness alone. 

As I stood on the precipice of eternity, I clung to the hope that my sacrifice would not be in vain, that my legacy would live on in the hearts of those who came after me. And now, as the fire dwindles and the night grows cold, I bid you farewell, my friend.

May my tale serve as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope, and that love and redemption are never beyond reach, no matter how far we may have strayed from the path." 

"So old man, what's your problem now? Do you have regret?" I asked the old man. "What's done is done. Why are you crying over spilled milk? It's not like you can take back what you've done."

"You can't undo what is done," the old man was silent. "Looks like you didn't hear my words correctly. I can only enter heaven when I pass my legacy, or you can say my swordsmanship, to someone."

Whatever he does, what does it have to do with me?

"Every action has consequences, young one," the old man replied, his voice heavy with the weight of his past. "I may not be able to undo what I've done, but I can still strive to make amends."

His words hung in the air like a solemn oath, a reminder that even in the face of regret and despair, there is still hope for redemption. I could see the anguish etched into the lines of his weathered face, a testament to the burden he carried with him every day.

As I looked into his eyes, I saw a flicker of determination, a resolve to make things right, no matter the cost. And suddenly, I realized that his quest for forgiveness was not just his burden to bear—it was a journey we shared.

"Perhaps," I mused aloud, "your legacy is not just in your swordsmanship, but in the lessons you have learned and the wisdom you have gained along the way. And perhaps, by passing on that wisdom to others, you can find the peace you seek."

The old man nodded slowly, as if he had been waiting for someone to understand all along. "Yes," he said softly, "perhaps you are right. Perhaps there is still a chance for me to find redemption, even in the twilight of my years."

And with that, he turned to me, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. "Will you help me?" he asked, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the night.

I nodded, feeling a sense of purpose stirring within me. "Yes," I said firmly, "I will help you pass on your legacy, and together, we will ensure that your story lives on, not as a tale of regret, but as a testament to the power of redemption and forgiveness."

And as we sat together in the fading light, planning our next steps, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, knowing that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope for a brighter tomorrow. 

"Anyhow, my swordsmanship is too bad. Maybe if I learn a bit, I don't think it will harm me in any way."

As soon as I said those words, the spirit appeared in front of me. He appeared to be in his twenties, suggesting he was not very old when he died. With a smile on his face, he said, "Wake up from your dream."

Confused by his statement, I asked, "What did you say?" I needed to confirm if I had heard correctly. Suddenly, he shouted, "Wake up from your dream!" his voice echoing with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.