The Hero Who Wasn't:Lord of Kingdoms

Arion remained lying on the shredded forest floor, the echo of Valerius's devastating strike still reverberating in his bones. The lazy Guildmaster's back vanished between the trees, leaving behind ruin, a sharp scent of ozone… and a brand-new problem for Arion.

"So… the strongest man in the city is a lazy fraud… and he thinks I'm some hero who can fix his messes." Arion whispered, then burst into a painful cough that brought up blood. "This world never runs out of new ways to humiliate me."

He had to move. Staying here meant death. He looked at his foot. The sharp piece of wood was still lodged deep in it, staining the ground red.

He took a deep breath and gripped the wooden shard with both hands.

"One… two…"

Three!

He let out a muffled scream as he ripped the wood from his flesh in one quick, brutal motion. Blood gushed out, almost making him black out from the pain.

"Heal… Basic Heal…" he mumbled, pressing on the wound.

He placed his hand on his foot and activated his pitiful healing skill.

Ding~

> [Skill Activated: Basic Heal]

[HP restored: 9]

He felt a tiny tingling—about as helpful as putting a band-aid on a cannon wound. He had to repeat it again and again, each time draining what little mana regenerated, just to slow the worst of the bleeding.

He couldn't stand. His foot was ruined, and his whole body was a mass of bruises and agony. He had no choice.

He started crawling.

The "Friend of the Earth," the "Alchemist," the "Beast Calmer," crawled across the muddy forest floor, leaving behind a trail of blood and shredded dignity. Every movement was hell. Pebbles cut into his palms, branches scratched his face. He panted, whimpered, and cursed everything: the system, Valerius, his own stupidity for getting here in the first place.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard the trickle of water. He'd reached the bank of a small river. He collapsed at its edge, plunging his face into the cold water. It felt glorious.

He stripped off what was left of his torn clothes and started washing the blood and dirt off his battered body. He looked at his reflection in the water—a stranger's face stared back at him. Swollen and bruised, one eye half-shut, a split lip.

"This is me…" he thought bitterly. "Arcadia's legendary hero. No wonder Valerius didn't recognize me. Even I barely recognize myself."

He felt a fleeting sense of freedom in being unrecognizable. This battered face, this broken body—this was the truth. The "Lord Arion" with the cloak was just a ghost, a lie everyone believed but him. "This lie… it's the only shield I have left."

Once he'd cleaned up as best he could, he wrapped his foot in big leaves and began limping back to the city. He entered through a side gate, and, as he'd expected, no one paid him any mind. Just another wounded beggar—an ordinary sight in a big city like Arcadia.

He reached his lavish home by nightfall. He quietly opened the door to find Lyora and Kalin asleep together on the couch in the living room, clearly having waited for him in worry.

"I'm back…" he whispered, a pang of guilt stabbing him. He gently carried them to their beds, then collapsed on his own, surrendering to nightmare-ridden sleep.

The next day, he could barely move—but he forced himself up and made "stew" for his siblings.

"Brother! Your face!" Lyora gasped when she saw him. "What happened? Did you fight an evil tree the size of a mountain?"

"Something like that," Arion said with a tired smile. "It was… very harsh training."

He spent the day at home, slowly tending his wounds and trying to think about his next move. "Investigate why a rank-B monster appeared… Valerius will assign 'Lord Arion' to handle it. I am 'Lord Arion'. So I have to investigate the incident that nearly killed me, which happened because I was there. This is absurd, even for this world."

He knew he couldn't refuse. But he couldn't accept it, either. He was trapped. "Maybe I can just fake a report? Say it was… swamp magic gas? Or that the monster was just a lost tourist?"

While drowning in his desperate thoughts, he heard an eager, urgent knock on the door.

Arion sighed. "Here we go."

He opened the door to find his annoying apprentice, Finn, standing there panting, eyes shining with manic excitement. He wasn't wearing his cloak, but Finn wasn't here to see "Young Arion." He was here for "Lord Arion."

"My lord! Is Lord Arion here?" Finn asked breathlessly.

"He… is resting." Arion croaked.

"My lord! He must wake up! There's an urgent matter!" Finn yelled. "Guildmaster Valerius is searching for Lord Arion everywhere! There's a crisis threatening the eastern woods! And Master Valerius has declared that only Lord Arion has the wisdom and strength to uncover the truth!"

Finn's trembling hand extended a scroll—an official commission notice. "He's posted a direct commission at the guild! A quest no one but Lord Arion can accept!"

Arion took the scroll. He knew exactly what he'd see before he even opened it.

> [Direct Commission – Rank A]

Assignee: Lord Arion, Reaper of Obsidian, Friend of the Earth.

Mission: Investigate the spiritual anomaly in the eastern forest that caused a rank-B monster to appear. Determine the source and eliminate the threat.

Reward: To be decided (Generous).

Arion stared at the commission. Yesterday, he'd set out to kill a few rank-E spiders. Now, he was officially tasked with an A-rank mission to investigate the incident that nearly killed him—an incident caused by him—under orders from the man who'd accidentally saved him, who thinks he's a mythical hero, delivered by an apprentice who worships him like a living legend.

Arion felt his brain begin to melt. He shut the door in Finn's stunned face and rested his forehead against the cold wooden panel.

"I'm going to need a lot of soup to survive this."