Happy Life
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Coming to his senses, James Odd left the arena amidst the jeers of the working-class crowd in the stands.
A short walk through the city, during which he repeatedly caught unfriendly glances on his undead face, led him to the local monument to the fallen. Seeing the name Jarevik there, the knight once again vividly remembered his first journey, his selfless companions – humans and non-humans – who shed blood and gave their lives for something unclear. He remembered that terrible battle and how he burned the body of the young warrior, what was his name again?... Ah yes, - Larte Darkstorm. He also remembered how, guided by common sense and immediate gain, he gradually began to question all the Calverite dogmas. He even remembered his father with all his quirks – something that had been buried in the depths of his memory for decades.
Today, he lost the last particle connecting him to the past – an ancient blade, tempered in thousands of battles and that had tested his paladin's worth through impossible trials. James expected a heaviness in his heart, but he felt no emotional response. Now it was perfectly clear to him that those last remnants of rudimentary feelings that he had experienced since his resurrection were nothing more than a trick of the mind, cellular memory. He had already forgotten the name and face of the warrior who defeated him – it was irrelevant. Those who live long experience all kinds of falls in Erathia. By losing the symbol of his origin, the knight lost a part of his essence, but in addition to that – he got rid of a certain burden that had weighed on him all these years.
He felt dislike for all this pompous military spirit of Ilthan, the frightened faces of the peasants, the greed and trepidation of the fleeting thugs who would fall in the autumn like leaves from the trees, and also – for everything that had happened to him in recent years. Where to go? To Sintaan? To Calveria? To some unexplored lands? But why?
James placed his dead hand on the memorial and bowed his head. At least he did something useful until the very end, even if it was just a drop in the ocean of grief that had engulfed the continent. He felt a strange weakness in his old body. Names again surfaced in his mind: Larte, Eyvind, Laivet, Alexia, Darion, Enkara, Leonard, Kenshiro...
A minute later, all that remained of the former paladin of the Order of the Black Eclipse was a pile of dust scattered by the wind.
A short walk through the city, during which he repeatedly caught unfriendly glances on his undead face, led him to the local monument to the fallen. Seeing the name Jarevik there, the knight once again vividly remembered his first journey, his selfless companions – humans and non-humans – who shed blood and gave their lives for something unclear. He remembered that terrible battle and how he burned the body of the young warrior, what was his name again?... Ah yes, - Larte Darkstorm. He also remembered how, guided by common sense and immediate gain, he gradually began to question all the Calverite dogmas. He even remembered his father with all his quirks – something that had been buried in the depths of his memory for decades.
Today, he lost the last particle connecting him to the past – an ancient blade, tempered in thousands of battles and that had tested his paladin's worth through impossible trials. James expected a heaviness in his heart, but he felt no emotional response. Now it was perfectly clear to him that those last remnants of rudimentary feelings that he had experienced since his resurrection were nothing more than a trick of the mind, cellular memory. He had already forgotten the name and face of the warrior who defeated him – it was irrelevant. Those who live long experience all kinds of falls in Erathia. By losing the symbol of his origin, the knight lost a part of his essence, but in addition to that – he got rid of a certain burden that had weighed on him all these years.
He felt dislike for all this pompous military spirit of Ilthan, the frightened faces of the peasants, the greed and trepidation of the fleeting thugs who would fall in the autumn like leaves from the trees, and also – for everything that had happened to him in recent years. Where to go? To Sintaan? To Calveria? To some unexplored lands? But why?
James placed his dead hand on the memorial and bowed his head. At least he did something useful until the very end, even if it was just a drop in the ocean of grief that had engulfed the continent. He felt a strange weakness in his old body. Names again surfaced in his mind: Larte, Eyvind, Laivet, Alexia, Darion, Enkara, Leonard, Kenshiro...
A minute later, all that remained of the former paladin of the Order of the Black Eclipse was a pile of dust scattered by the wind.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
