Two months after the death of the Shadow, a fierce battle of the third incarnation where both of my heroic comrades fell in the brawl, I retired to a forest known by the local populace as "The Hunting Grounds." True to its name the rather sparse yet diverse, primarily coniferous forest, was rife with life. The land was an expansive, jagged tract of land "belonging" to the Gardian duchy. The northern face of the woods bordered the city limits of Hezzana, capital of the domain and home to the Gardian castle.
I chose that particular forest as a place of temporary residence not simply because of the environment, though I would be remiss to claim that it was not a large part of my decision. I had conflicted with the Gardian duchy in the past. In this particular world Necromancy was not only morally acceptable, it was a common feature of human society. Animated tissue was used as a commodity, for labor, and as tools. The duchy of Gardia, however, had taken their studies of the black magic to a place far beyond what I would consider "acceptable."
I had executed many dark mages and shady characters hailing from that land, and inferred I may have to do so again. I had even openly laid siege to Hezzana castle, once, immediately following my freedom from the Shadow; my presence and disposition was known and feared.
I found a lovely glade a few kilometers away from the city, at the foot of a minor cliff face where the grass grew to extraordinary heights. A shallow river with a gravel bed flowed through said glade, which ran into the ocean. It was a spawning ground for the local salmon, and while I myself am not partial to fish, it was rather entertaining to watch the shallows froth with an excess of the hormonal creatures. The local bears, a meat I am partial to, a species not too dissimilar to Ursus Americanus would skim the shallows and eat their fill during the spring.
I nested at the base of a rather large, ancient, hollowed out redwood. I was at the very edge of the break in the trees, on a small knoll which was just tall enough to give me a decent view over the grass, facing the cliff and river before it. I could not have asked for a more tranquil and secluded home.
That day I sat upon a magnificently shaped natural boulder, which had been weathered over the course of hundreds of years by the river that had cut a swath through it. The generic granite sloped upward at two angles; coming right out of the water for about 1.7 meters at an angle of approximately 10 degrees, and then a steeper angle which rounded off. It was almost shaped like a fainting couch which ran into the river, tempered at the base by the waters and rain.
I had my feet dipped into the water on a tepid summer day; donning nothing but a simple wolf-hide kilt and a wicker hat, which I sloped over my face. The sound of chickadees and the slow-flowing water was hypnotic. I was about to nod off when, at the peripheral of my senses, I felt a human mana signature enter the glade. I was alarmed, at first, for the signature was perhaps no more than 10 meters away from me. Perhaps it was the tiresome stupor I was laxed into, or perhaps it was because his signature was extremely weak, but I was genuinely frightened that a human presence other than my own had entered this place.
I jumped up, tossing the wicker hat to the ground, and darted for the grass hastily. I was not quick enough to conceal myself, and the knight called me out, "Halt!"
He was a large fellow, about my height but twice as muscular, and had a very "knightly" air about him. Donning full plate - which I remember thinking was an extremely foolhardy thing to do in deep woods where mobility in such attire would be near-impossible – the man approached me on the thin sandbar. His breastplate bore the sigil of Gardia, a sword thrusting into the sun, and slung over his back was a massive claymore with an impossibly broad blade. It almost looked like it should be used as a blunt instrument, given the weight the sword must have owned.
The visor of his gleaming steel armet was raised and his facial features were just as "knightly" as his attire; a very pronounced jaw line and a handsome face, crystal blue eyes substantially brighter than my own, and a perfectly proportionate nose. He was grimacing at me: a disgusting, long-haired hermit youth, "You…" His voice quivered.
I offered a customary bow by way of introduction, being careful not to lose my footing in the wet sand, "Well met, sir. What brings a knight of Gardia to my humble abode?"
"Your abode?!" The man cast an accusing finger in my direction. I was so caught up by the fact that he had nearly managed to sneak up on me that I failed to realize the obvious anomalies of the situation. I mulled them over, then; what was a single knight doing in the forest? Scouts usually travel in pairs, and besides that there would be no need to scout woods which did not border enemy territory, let alone send fully armored knights. Perhaps he was lost…? No, that was impossible; someone suited up that well must have been a noble or high-ranking knight, which would trounce the possibility of a foreign mercenary.
"Ah, forgive my impudence," I bowed again in apology, "of course I do not 'own' anything here. Rather, my temporary abidance. Do you frequent these woods, sir knight, in such attire often?"
The visage of his gawking face almost prompted me to laughter. He was infuriated, confused, and reviled. It became apparent, simply by the way he glared at me, that he sought conflict, and thought very little of me.
This supposition was proven when, with a haste uncanny for a blade that size, the man brandished his claymore in a single, practiced motion, "Beastman, the usurper, I, Paladin Gaunts of Gardian rank, have come to claim your head! Draw your weapon!" He proclaimed the challenge with great rehearsal.
I raised an eyebrow and parted my lips, "Ignoramus, does it appear to you as though I am armed?"
"You, who are capable of magic most foul, I have witnessed with my own two eyes your combat style! Draw your weapon!" He prattled hypocritically. Magic most foul? Preposterous.
It made sense, now. He must have been one of the few present at the time of my siege a few weeks prior. How did he manage to track me down? Such misguided ignorance, such hypocrisy. I truly loathed people like him, who blindly adhered to that false chivalry, "I've no quarrel with you, Gaunts. I suggest you take leave of here and take some time to reevaluate your priorities."
"In the name of my Lord, I cannot! I shall avenge my dearest Samantha!" He shouted, taking the massive blade in forehand, wielding it as though it were without mass.
I sighed, "And what if I refuse to 'draw'?"
"Then you are without honor, though I should expect no less from you, monster!" His pontification was irksome.
I could feel my blood pulsing through the veins in my cranium, the ineptitude of these cultivated wretches was antagonizing. I scratched my beard and said, "Such supercilious words from such a fool. Tell me, whelp, who was this 'Samantha' whom you regard with such compassion?"
"I've no obligation to respond to you, beast!" Gaunts screamed with grand vehemence.
"I see," I tapped my forehead with my right index finger, "A loved one, then. And you claim to combat me in the name of your Lord, hmm?"
"Silence," he twirled the blade, "I would not expect an uncouth, heartless creature such as you to understand honor!"
"I hate that word," I could not hold back my seething frustration any longer, "Honor? You don't understand the futility of such a concept! What is this bravado, you present before me? You are ruled by emotion, animal, and yet you cannot even comprehend that which even the most basic life forms can."
"Draw your weapon!" The bellicose individual again shouted.
Why I even bothered to attempt to impart my wisdom upon such an ignorant, stubborn human, I cannot begin to understand, "You refer to me as a beast? Whelp, we are all animals. Humans are literally of the primate order! Honor? Pride? Codes of Chivalry and fealty?" I threw my arms in vexation, "Have you ever taken the time to critically analyze the implications of those hollow words? You fight for no one but yourself, wretch! Each action any living being takes is executed solely in self interest."
"What is the one true commandment of life? TO SURVIVE!" I screamed. Why was he not attacking me, yet? No matter, I would continue, "To consume, to procreate, and to die; to attempt to ensure the perpetuation of your blood and your kin. Honor? You believe you fight for another? Chivalry? You believe yourself to live in accordance to some grand scheme, towering above the rest of life? You justify your actions through an empty force. That, honor, in itself is a selfish prospect! Think about it; you kill someone in the name of another, believing your actions to be just and good, where otherwise you could not bring yourself to commit such atrocities.
"Why did humans conceive honor? SIMPLE! Guilt and selfish desire! You see: when an animal wants something, it will either attempt to take it or, if they cannot bring themselves to live with their actions, leave it be. We, humans, are so intellectually advanced that we managed to find a way to subvert this natural inhibitor! Honor! Pride! Chivalry! Justice and love and loyalty! We, ignorant, pathetic animals can live in denial. We have the power to make ourselves believe that our actions of self interest are something worthy of praise, not scorn!
"But what of the facts, hmm? You impudent whelp… A man will steal, rape, kill, destroy, demolish, and violate! But all is well and good if God and honor say so, right?! Who cares about the rivers of corpses? Who cares about the trillions of destroyed lives, about the burnt forests, about the starved creatures?! You disgust me…"
I was so riled up that the only thing I could think about at the moment, looking in that knight's indignant eyes, was about eviscerating that pathetic face of his.
"You're wrong!" He shouted, his voice losing strength.
I clicked my tongue and crossed my arms, taking a defiant stance, "If you did not even feel the slightest merit to my words, you'd have attacked me long ago, you pathetic worm. You understand the import of this ultimate reality; you are not beyond salvation from ignorance…"
"Shut up!" He interrupted, screaming bloody murder, rebuffing his prior flame.
"Heh," I scowled, "Well if you won't listen to the philosophy I spent a lifetime contemplating, why not observe the facts? What will become of your honor, ultimately? Who do you believe it matters to? Your kingdom may remember you as a hero; alas, all things pass. Whether it be a hundred years or a thousand, your history will perish to the fathomless annals of time. The trees will not remember you, nor the birds, nor the beasts, nor the stone, soil, or water. You act in self interest; fighting to 'avenge' someone is something that matters exclusively to you or other interested parties. You seek my blood for the gratification of vengeance. Yet even if you do fight for your Lord, what is it then, but for the recognition of your compatriots?
"You plebian, illiterate whelp. You have fabricated this false ideal in your mind to serve the purpose of self indulgence, can't you see? Your emotions rule you as an animal, as a means of survival, accept it!"
"You are the one who does not understand, monster! I will give you one last chance: DRAW YOUR WEAPON!" Gaunts blazed, lowering the visor of his armet.
I growled, "I have accrued knowledge beyond your feeble comprehension, wretch! I have studied the human being in extensive detail; the physiology, psychology, and primal functions are all known to me! Do you even know what the genome is? Do you comprehend the basic functionality of serotonin? No? Then you've no right to question me, moron!" I indulged in my own haughty sense of superiority… Not something I am typically partial to, but this man irritated me to no end.
"SHUT UP! Human beings aren't puzzles, you fucking pretentious monster!"
"And yet were I to say the same thing about, say, a coyote, you'd take it as the word of God. Shut your Gaea damned mouth, you hypocritical, insolent, arrogant human. We are all just animals…" We were endlessly looping, now…
I almost laughed when he lunged at me, cutting my sentence right off. I probably would have, had he not glided across the damp sand like stone skipping water. In spite of wearing, probably, near 40-50 kilograms of gear, not including that massive blade which probably weighed more than his armor, he dashed across the bar without kicking up a single grain of sand.
I had seen people like him, before. It is extremely rare for a living being to have a mana signature as weak as his. The magnitude of his mana capacity is borderline dead, and when life nears death, it tends to find power for the brief finale. Very rarely you will find some form of life which is born in this state of near-death; in humans this almost always results in a still-birth and the lack of magical ability. However those scare few which do survive will almost always develop some strange ability as compensation for their lack of mana, exemplified by a hyper-metabolism. Gaunts had clearly developed a considerable natural physical body.
He covered almost two meters of wet ground in under a second, and swung his amazing sword for my head…
I did not react, but rather diverted the diamond in my body to the flesh around my neck, telegraphing the approximate location of his sword. Even though my neck and flesh suffered no damage from the strike, the mere weight of the attack forced me to rebalance myself on my right foot; the blow nearly knocked me over, and I held no less than 100 kilos of granite in my body at the time.
Gaunts held the blade to my neck, absolute horror marring his eyes, which I could barely see through the visor. My neck was cocked to one side and I glared into his face and growled; he was paralyzed with fear.
"Wh-what are you…?" He managed after a tense second.
"You said it yourself," I growled through my teeth. I raised my left hand, gently placed it upon the broad blade and, with a flex of my index finger and thumb, empowered with physical attunement, snapped the entire slab clean in half. The half of the sword that went beyond my head fell into the sand behind my back, and I mused, "I'm a monster."
I pumped the mana through my body and let the granite well up into my hands. The stone passed through my flesh and I, in turn, formed it into a similar massive cleaver. With my left hand I gripped Gaunts shoulder, as he had yet to move in his shock, and with my right I swept into his ribs with the primitive weapon.
I did not use physical attunement on my right arm, and my raw strength and the dull blade were not enough to slice the man in half. The edge dug into his lower torso perhaps only 10 centimeters, though it was difficult to tell with his armor. Blood welled out from the wound, onto the broad stone blade, and streamed gently into the sand below.
He was still standing, obviously still alive, and gasping weakly for breath. I removed my left hand from his shoulder and used it to raise his visor. I was no longer angry, in fact I was quite melancholy as I stared into his pitiable face; contorted with fear, and regret. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and I could see he was truly disappointed that he would be unable to avenge his dear Samantha.
I stroked his tears with my thumb and frowned, placing my palm on his forehead, "For what it's worth, I am genuinely sorry to have made you live through such tragedy…" I whispered gently, tears welling in my eyes now, "I know the feeling of having to live without a loved one… It would have been easier on you if I had killed you then. I am so, so sorry…" With those last words I pulsed stone through my left palm and shot the rock out in a stake. His head was punctured clear through, and the light faded from his eyes. I retracted the stone from his brow, then the claymore from his torso, and he crumpled to the ground, his armor grating on itself.
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The tears would not stop as I stripped him of his armor and commit his naked body to the Earth a few meters inland from the sandbar. I had contemplated simply removing his armor and letting the bears have him, but decided against it. I buried him with the honors of a Paladin of Gardia, placing the broken remains of his sword as a grave marker.
I turned around, only to notice my hat was missing; it must have been swept up by the river. I sighed and started walking south.
I needed a vacation.