The villagers had long ceased gawking at the cloaked figure trudging through their dusty roads. He looked ordinary enough—a tall, wiry man in patched robes, carrying a rusted blade too unimpressive to draw attention. His face was hidden beneath a straw hat tilted low against the sun, and his stride betrayed neither urgency nor purpose.
No one would have guessed that this man, so easily overlooked, had once been the Blade King.
It had been two years since the final battle against the Demon Emperor atop Mount Ghalamar. His victory had ended an era of chaos and destruction but left the Blade King with an emptiness he couldn't shake. Every sect, guild, and noble house in the realm had clamored to recruit him, promising endless riches, power, and adoration.
He had refused them all, leaving the battlefield with nothing but his sword and a vague idea of finding something—anything—that would make life worth living again.
Now, his steps slowed as he spotted the crumbling structure ahead: Hearthwood Haven, a once-promising orphanage that now looked like it was one strong gust away from collapse.
---
"Careful, you little rats! That's dinner you're chasing!"
The shout came from the courtyard, where a red-haired girl about twelve years old darted after a scrawny chicken. Two other children, both younger, whooped as they tried to corral the bird into a rickety coop.
The Blade King paused at the gate, watching the chaos unfold.
The chicken bolted past the girl, and she lunged after it, tripping over a bucket and landing face-first in the dirt. She sprang up, her fiery hair streaked with mud, and whirled toward the gate, glaring at the stranger.
"Hey! What are you looking at, old man?"
"Old?" The Blade King tilted his head, tapping the rim of his straw hat. "I'd like to think I'm more... 'seasoned.'"
The girl stomped closer, hands on her hips. "Seasoned, huh? Got any seasoning for that chicken? 'Cause we're out."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "Can't say I do. But I was hoping I might find a place to stay here."
She snorted. "Stay? Unless you're planning to fix our roof or cook our meals, you'll be more useless than these two." She jabbed a thumb toward the younger kids, who were now chasing each other instead of the chicken.
"I can chop wood," he offered mildly.
"Fantastic. Another freeloader," she muttered.
A woman's voice called from the doorway. "Elya! Stop harassing strangers!"
The Blade King turned to see a weary-looking woman in her forties emerge from the house. Her gray-streaked hair was tied back in a practical bun, and her apron was stained with flour and what looked like charcoal. She gave him a once-over and sighed. "Don't mind her, sir. If you need a meal and a roof for the night, we'll do what we can."
"Generous offer," he said, stepping through the gate. His eyes flicked briefly over the warped wood and sagging beams of the house. "Though it looks like your roof might be better off without the extra weight."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes betrayed exhaustion. "Rina. I run this place—what's left of it, anyway."
He inclined his head. "Call me Master."
She raised an eyebrow. "Master of what?"
"Just... Master."
Elya, still hovering nearby, muttered, "Master of freeloading, maybe."
---
Dinner was a sparse affair—thin vegetable stew with barely enough to go around. The Blade King sat at the long, battered table, surrounded by curious eyes.
"So," Elya began, her spoon clanking noisily against her bowl, "if you're a 'master,' what are you actually good at?"
"Wood chopping," he said without hesitation.
"And?"
"Fixing roofs."
She smirked. "That all?"
"Raising chickens."
The boy sitting beside her, a round-faced child of about eight, perked up. "Really? Can you help us catch that dumb chicken tomorrow?"
"I'll see what I can do," he said solemnly.
Rina shook her head with a quiet laugh. "I hope you know what you're getting into, Master. This place barely holds together, and there's no funding coming in. We take in whoever needs help, but that doesn't leave much for ourselves."
He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hat. "Then it's a good thing I'm here to help."
"Help with what?" Elya asked skeptically.
He glanced at her. "Everything."
---
That night, after the orphans had gone to bed, the Blade King wandered the grounds. He moved silently, his footsteps barely disturbing the dirt.
The moonlight revealed every flaw in the orphanage's structure—the cracked walls, the broken fences, the sagging roof. He crouched near a warped beam, placing his hand on the wood.
A faint hum of energy pulsed through his palm, and the beam straightened, its splinters knitting back together as if time had reversed.
He stood, brushing dust from his hands, and looked toward the stars.
"Let's see if I can make this place worthy of its name," he murmured. Then, with a faint smirk: "I just hope that chicken doesn't give me too much trouble tomorrow."
And with that, the Blade King returned to the house, ready to begin his new life.