Heromaker - VI

Owen was dealing with the aftermath of the chaos, leaving me to my own devices.

I still called myself human.

I can feel sad.

I can grieve.

I empathize.

The <Blacksmith's 'Intradermal' Needles> weighed heavily upon my shoulders. Not physically, no, but emotionally.

"I can hear their screams,"

Endlessly.

Unceasingly.

Despite being far, far East, the moment I directed my gaze to the West, I could watch the massacres occurring. Villages were being razed to the ground. Humans were being slaughtered like livestock for the demons' farms.

It was a horrific sight.

Yet somehow... I was indeed human.

Despite knowing about it, a sense of apathy consumed me. 

I was a hypocrite.

I was busy empathizing with those who have lost so much yet somehow still apathetically gazing past their fleeting lives.

These were people born in a different world. I had no personal ties to them.

Thus, my emotions collapsed at this infinitesimally small point in my consciousness — an amalgamation of feelings in a maelstrom of morality. Like light unable to escape a black hole, every sentiment of my existence seemed drawn here.

Then, like solar flares, curiosity erupted. Violently. Chaotically.

My mind was filled with nothing but a deadly solar curiosity.

"Time to make a new hero."

It was finally time. I activated the <Talisman of Timely Returns>.

***

Gron did not heed Aventine's advice.

At least... Not right away.

He missed the most opportune moment to escape. Greed had consumed him, thinking that one more day wouldn't hurt again and again. The days went by until the Academy's professors suddenly sprang forth.

It had been too late for him by then.

Expelled from the <Academy of Laquer>, he had to sell his shop and his grandfather's belongings to pay off even a little of his father's debt. Still lacking in cash, he had to sell his house.

Luckily, it was enough to save his father from becoming a slave.

For now...

"Hah," Gron sighed as he sat in an alleyway, his back on the cold wall of a cathedral. Colors painted his face, reflected by the nearby windows. The setting sun draped Laquer in a mellow orange.

It was beautiful, yet Gron could only sigh.

He and his father had been homeless for about a week now. They were barely getting by through scraps of bread given by kind churchgoers.

"Don't move or you die,"

It was a whisper in his ears. The chill of deadly steel on his neck made Gron freeze in shock.

"—Ack!"

Gron choked as he was grabbed like a kitten. His clothes threatened to tear.

"Give me everything you have,"

'Damn,' Gron felt like crying. He was already homeless, and now he was getting mugged right beside a church. How sad was that?

"I have nothing, you bastard!" Gron spat in indignation, "Why are you targeting a homeless man? Fuck!"

"Haha,"

Hearing that laugh, Gron felt a vein pop. "Y-You fucking bastard—!"

If he was going to die, then so be it.

"You really didn't listen to me, did you?" The person who held the sword at his throat continued to laugh.

This voice... It was familiar.

Gron suddenly recalled the young man who had once asked for a snow globe as a bribe.

"S-Sir..? Is that you?"

His head was suddenly doused in cold water. He recalled the advice that the young man had given him.

If only he heeded such advice.

Alas, he had been too careless.

Too arrogant.

"I—" Gron turned around, and indeed it was that young man.

"There's no need for any excuses. Come with me. Since you've lost your smithy, we need to rent a room in the <Blacksmith's Guild>. I need you to do something for me."

"A-ah," Gron was more than confused.

What?

Why was he needed all of a sudden?

***

Three days later.

Midnight.

Standing inside an empty room in one of the <Blacksmith's Guild's> towers and holding a bag of gold coins, Gron had no idea what happened.

The young man he barely remembered went to him and handed him an artifact.

"Modify this sword and make it similar to this other one." He said.

Feeling the <Blacksmith's Intradermal Needles> in his hands, Gron felt something within him awaken. The artifact was something that seemed to be tailor-made for him.

However...

The young man whipped him until he finished his task. Over three days of nonstop work... Gron almost collapsed.

No, he had collapsed.

Multiple times.

However, the young noble kept feeding him potions and jolting him with a few volts of electricity, saying he had to finish his task in three days.

And so he did.

When he finished modifying the sword, he felt a sense of enlightenment swirl in his soul. However, it also felt like he was committing a horrible sin.

Blasphemy to the gods.

That's what it felt like.

Despite his discomfort, the young man didn't seem to care. His eyes were glowing with excitement upon seeing the results.

"Perfect,"

It was high praise.

Then, the weight of a pouch of gold coins and a key was handed to him. After being guided by a beautiful lady, he found himself in this room. The lady told him that he now owned this room and that his father's debt had been paid off.

"I..."

Gron didn't know how to feel.

***

Looking at the ordinary-looking sword, I was overjoyed. Gron pulled through right on time.

Luckily, when Gron held the <Blacksmith's Intradermal Needles>, I felt something awaken within him. It was like the hero finding her fated sword.

For Gron, however, it was a fraudster getting a hold of the government's printing press.

"Crazy,"

I cackled.

A new hero. I could finally make another.

I wanted to scream, however, I was still in the middle of the streets of Laquer. This was going to be so much fun. What would the demons think? What kind of chaos would this cause?

Excitement was coursing through me, devouring my red blood cells and injecting adrenaline throughout my entire body.

I was shivering in expectation.

"Let's head back and set the stage,"

The <Talisman of Timely Returns> was reactivated, sending me back to where I had first activated it. This was my last charge of its use, burning it up in the process.

It was completely worth it.