[Chapter 13 - False Hero]

  It was not until we were in our room that the twins spoke out.

  “That was fucking terrifying.” Ante sighed, letting out a huge breath of relief as soon as he closed the door.

  Roxas scowled at the doorway in their direction.

  “Fucking inquisitors,” she muttered, “gives me the creeps.”

  I sat down on my bed.

  Now that I had left the suffocating tension of that situation, questions began circulating in my mind.

  Why were they after me?

  And why were they so adamant?

  The same questions I had asked the wolf, but each time to no avail.

  “What…” I spoke out hesitantly, drawing the twins’ attention as I chose my words with care. “What do they do? What are they after?”

  “The inquisitors?” Roxas asked. “They’re hunters. The Republic calls them the frumentarii, they find Outworlders to take them away. Don’t know what they do to them afterwards but they’re never seen again.”

  Outworlders.

  That one word resonated in my mind, and even I could guess its meaning.

  It was used to describe people like me.

  People who did not belong in Arithea.

  Better hope they don’t find you.

  Look who decided to answer. I snarled back at the wolf, the amusement in his tone not exactly present in mine. Not that you’re of any help.

  I turned my attention back to the twins.

  “Why do they take them?”

  They looked at each other before responding.

  “Because they’re Outworlders.” Ante shrugged. “No matter what they do, they all end up going crazy from bloodlust. They’ll kill anyone to ascend.”

  He paused for a second before continuing.

  “Just like the False Hero just did. The Outworlder in the hero’s party. He killed Illirion before they managed to defeat him, even though they were such close friends.”

  His words brought me more questions than it did answers, but the insinuation it made completely drowned them all out.

  The hero’s party.

  There had only been a few in recorded Arithean history, and the most recent had only just vanquished the demon king a month ago.

  An event that had taken place a week before my brother’s diary had arrived at my door.

  And so from what he said, Ante could have only meant one person.

  As I realised this, the sense of foreboding weighing down upon me grew heavier.

  The familiarity of the name Illirion served to only make this worse.

  It was a name that had featured so prominently throughout Vin’s book, one that occurred in almost every entry from the very beginning.

  I tried to be positive, to rid myself of what those words implied.

  At the very least this was a lead to my brother, and to the reasoning for his death.

  Roxas on the other hand was staring out the window, watching the streets of the city below that was now lying in the evening dark.

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  “Illirion was a hero to all of us.” She said softly. “Even when we were sold to the bandits we heard about him. They called him the Lord of Light not just because of his power, but also because of how he treated others. He didn’t care where they came from, or what people thought of them. He was nice to them no matter what.”

  She trailed off for a second, seemingly lost in a sadness that someone so young should not have had to suffer.

  “He gave us hope. He was a symbol for all slaves, and his death…” Her voice grew cold, she did not finish her sentence.

  I didn’t think they were lying, but still I doubted their words.

  It made no sense. The brother I had known was too kind, and coming to this world would not have changed that.

  No matter how much suffering he had faced.

  He had gone so far to join medical school in the first place simply for the fact that he wanted to save lives, even going out of his way to volunteer what little money and time he had to help those who were worse off.

  And whilst he was hardly a saint, to think that he may have killed someone so revered by many was incomprehensible.

  Especially if that person was as good a friend as Illirion was.

  The same Illirion who had supported him so much, who had been with him since he first entered this world, and had been written about with such fondness.

  These doubts haunted me that night, plaguing my mind as I tried to sleep.

  The wolf as always gave me no assurance, he seemed to act purely as he pleased.

  So I lay awake for a while longer, my thoughts occupied away from the dreams of rest.

  ***

  We assembled at the barrack grounds the next morning.

  It was clear that few of us were used to waking up so early; I saw many recruits rubbing sleep from their eyes, and even Roxas could not help but stifle a yawn.

  As the legion had promised us gear and supplies, everything we had had been sold save for the weaponry I hid beneath my tunic.

  I had purposely chosen one that was slightly too large for my size, disguising the vest beneath it along with the knife I had strapped to my thigh.

  My gun, however, remained in its leather pouch, hidden by the nondescript bag that was slung to my side.

  And within this contained also the Atreii I had gained.

  They acted as an extra precaution, used as an excuse for the pouch I carried as well as a reason for why I would not be happy to present it to others for inspection.

  That much had been allowed, but the legion provided the rest of our belongings.

  It lay in backpacks strewn across the dirt before us, rows upon rows of identical bags all illuminated by the cool morning sun.

  There looked to be one for each recruit, and so we gathered near the entrance as we waited.

  An officer stood to the side, watching the semicircular sundial that had been embedded into a marble plinth.

  As soon as it crossed the threshold he looked over, scanning the assembled body with a scowl.

  “Good.” He finally stated. “Everyone’s here. Come forwards when I call your name.”

  Pulling out a scroll from the bag hanging from his side, he unravelled it slowly before announcing out, and the respective recruits walked up to him in turn.

  As they walked up, the officer nodded them towards the bags they had been assigned.

  This seemed for the most part to have been listed by order of ranks, the same ones that had been bestowed upon us by the Pythian Eye.

  Some exceptions however appeared to have been made for the parties that had joined together.

  Ante and Roxas stood with me as a clear example, despite having been anointed as being of high [Copper] class.

  I was nonetheless grateful for this, and we remained unmoving by the bags we had been directed to.

  Still the officer droned on, each resounding shout he made summoning forth another person.

  By the time we had all assembled I made out over two hundred of us.

  To call this number below quota as the officer had done so yesterday, and for so many people to have amassed from only a single town, struck me as a daunting prospect.

  I wondered how many soldiers the republic demanded with each recruitment drive.

  And with it, how many soldiers lost their lives with each battle that occurred.

  When the officer finally put away his scroll, he looked us over once more.

  An expression of satisfaction graced his face momentarily before he spoke.

  “Before you are your sarcina. Your marching backpacks. They contain all of your equipment, including your satchel, cooking pots and axe.”

  He paused for a moment before he continued, and my eyes darted down to the pack which lay before me. Indeed, attached was a variety of leather pouches and metal tins, all of which had been fastened upon a long wooden stick.

  “You will carry these along with your pilum and shield.” he declared. “Your armour and swords will be given to you later, but with these you will march to Fort Greywatch, twenty miles from here.”

  The nervous gulps invoked by that demand were almost audible, and I threw a glance across at the twins.

  Both stood upright and alert, their chests puffed out in respect while their faces remained impassive and expressionless to avoid attention.

  Still I managed to catch a glimpse of the nervousness that flickered across their faces.

  It was clear that the bag was not light, whilst the unwieldiness of the pack was evident from the numerous cooking utensils and unknown equipment that had been tied haphazardly onto it.

  Worse still were the thick wooden bars jutting out the bottom.

  They were obviously handles, and despite their metal heads being covered by the fabric, their bulk was unmistakable.

  “You will complete this in five hours. Any questions?”

  The officer scanned us again, his look as stern as ever.

  Despite the hesitation that weighed heavy in the air, none of us dared to raise our hand to question him.

  That seemed to please him, and his expression softened when he finally spoke.

  “Good.” he said, “Then we leave now, beyond Wall Atlea.”