Chapter 19: Hero of the Realm
With the sun now fully risen in the early-morning sky, and with only a few sporadic clouds to speak of, today really should have been a beautiful one for all of those here in Bradford—including Dal, who, had things gone as planned, would have departed here peacefully early in the morning and would already be on his way to the next town over.
But things hadn't ended up that way, had they?
Nope.
Instead, fate had something entirely different in mind for Dal. And so, rather than lazing around in the back of a caravan while gazing up at the clouds, he'd ended up picking a fight with a ruthless, bloodthirsty, and murderous demon—a creature that, by all means, shouldn't even exist. And yet, despite this, the craziest part of all was that Dal had actually almost won. Hell, he would have won: he'd been mere seconds away from winning!
And now?
Now, he was being consumed by a bright light, which took away his staff, rid him of his black attire, and even sucked the darker color right out of his hair, returning him to his original blond. And honestly? Dal was just fine with all of that. Really, he was! Why wouldn't he be? It was only hair color, after all. No, no, that was all business as usual, and Dal had no problem with it whatsoever…
…but what he did have a problem with was the class he'd just been assigned. Now, that, on the other hand, he took issue with.
This has to be a joke. It has to be.
Esreus, the God above, Lord of all things—he must surely have had a cruelty streak. He simply must have! Because if not, then for what possible reason could this be the class that Dal had been assigned? How could this be what he'd been given at a time like now? At a time when he'd beaten a demon almost to the point of death and had the misfortune to be standing just ten or so feet away from it while it was able to visibly watch him transform into something it could kill with a flick of its wrist? How could the God above allow this to happen to him?
Of all the classes in the world, why had he been given this?
Name: Dal Rineloch
Class: Goat Castration Specialist
Level: 2
Abilities: Snip (tier 1), Deceive Animal (tier 1)
Time Remaining: 4 days, 18 hours, 32 minutes
In the blink of an eye, his unsettling, but powerful and comforting attire was switched out for a ripped, ragged shirt, an equally low-quality tan pair of pants. There also appeared to be a toothpick in his mouth. And in his right hand, he now gripped a blue, metallic "squeeze-clamp" with the words "goat snipper 5000" engraved into the tool. Given that Dal was only level-2 and thus felt almost nothing in the way of CD, the tool disgusted him, and he threw it to the side. At the same time, the eyes of Prince Alain, Denin, Rethi, and Lord Garrick Ashmere all flashed red—a sign that they were using Identify on him.
"We're fucked," Lord Ashmere said, a growl following his words.
"God above must be angry with us, huh?" Denin asked.
Dal, who'd been wondering the very same thing, found himself so taken aback that it nearly paralyzed him. There he was, in tattered clothing, standing across from an actual God-forsaken demon—one that he'd provoked and was now glaring at him. The demon was still lying on the ground near the carriage it had crash-landed onto, and it was regarding him vengefully and with pure malice as it lay on its back, bloodied and wounded, but still very much a threat.
"It's hurt," Lord Ashmere said quickly. "My prince, we should attack it now. We must finish it before it can heal!"
The prince nodded. And both of them charged straight at the demon, who saw them coming and limped up to its feet. It seemed to want to take back to the air, yet only one wing could now flap, as the Lord of Skulls had severed the other—something the demon itself did not appear to realize until just this moment. Thus, as though caught off guard, it stumbled backwards several steps and began swiping its left and right clawed hands to deflect repeated attacks from the prince and Lord Ashmere, who were pressing it and actually overpowering it.
The two moved as though they were reading the mind of the other, which made sense because, as was widely known across the realm, the prince trained directly under Lord Ashmere. Thus, it was no surprise to Dal that they were able to step in and attack in alternating patterns that served to give the demon as hard a time as possible.
The prince tore his blade across, aiming high, and Lord Ashmere made a cleaving slash low. The demon was therefore put at an awkward angle as it was forced to parry the prince's glowing, holy-magic-infused blade with its right, clawed hand while quickly stumbling away from the larger, but slower-moving claymore. Yet, unlike before, the demon seemed to be struggling to guard, and it was likely due to the fact that it was missing several claws thanks to the Lord of Skulls.
"We can do this, Lord Ashmere!" the prince exclaimed. "Do not let up!"
The prince charged forward and slashed directly downwards at the demon, who attempted to guard, only to have his clawed hand knocked away. The prince then took a lunging step forward and slashed yet again, but this one was a quick, whip-like slash, and it actually connected, cutting deep into the demon's flesh just above its chest and causing its legs to become wobbly as it bled more and more dark blood.
For some reason, this did not please the prince. Even from where Dal was standing, he could see the prince's eyes widen in what looked to be a sudden rush of alarm. But why? Had something changed? Something must have, because Lord Ashmere also began scowling, and then he shouted, "Get away, you fucking idiot!"
Only then did Dal realize that a guard captain wielding a long spear was charging at the demon from behind while shouting, "I am coming, my prince!"
"No!" the prince screamed at him as he unleashed three very quick slashes, each one connecting and further carving apart the demon. Lord Ashmere followed up, his huge claymore aimed right at the creature's head. But it managed to awkwardly turn its body away, and instead, it merely severed the demon's arm at the point of its shoulder, causing the entire arm as well as its clawed hand to fall to the road as blood oozed out of its socket.
"Kill it!" Lord Ashmere shouted as the demon, nearly falling over, turned itself around so that it faced the guard rushing at it. "My prince! Attack! Attack it now!"
The prince exploded into a series of ruthless slashes while Lord Ashmere bent his knees and swung his sword with what looked like all his might. At the same time, the guard captain ran forward and pierced the demon through its belly, which the demon seemed to welcome. It made a weakened, pained screech and continued to stumble towards the guard, each step putting the spear deeper into—and then through—its body.
"Wh-why's it getting so close?" the guard asked. He made as if to pull his spear out of the demon and retreat, but the demon grabbed the grip of the spear with its one remaining, clawed hand and held it in place.
Then three things happened at once: the prince ran his entire blade through the creature's spine, Lord Ashmere unleashed a cleaving strike so powerful it severed both the demon's legs, and the demon opened its mouth and snapped it shut over the guard captain's face, chewing off his nose, an eye, most of his jaw, and about half of the right side of his face as he screamed and tried to retreat; instead, he fell onto his back.
"No!" the prince cried.
The demon, now legless, fell forward as the man fell backwards, and it landed on top of him—and now, even with one arm, no legs, a spear in its belly, and a sword in its chest, the demon ignored all else in the world and began to chomp down on the guard captain, who made hideous screams as the demon ate a big chunk of his shoulder and then tore off whatever remained of his jaw, preventing him from making any further sounds.
Dal, watching all of this take place, could do nothing more than swear, loudly, as it really dawned on him that none of this would be happening had he only had one more second's worth of time before shifting. And now, having revealed himself, he would die in addition to the prince and his cohorts. This much became plainly obvious as the demon feasted.
Grunts and shouts alike were made from the prince and Lord Ashmere as they slashed, stabbed, and pierced over and over at the demon, who was seemingly ignoring all of it. In fact, things were worse than that; not only were their weapons failing to do any damage, but the demon's body was continuing to heal in spite of their attacks. Dal watched as the demon's severed arm grew back, only for Lord Ashmere to hack it off again—but to no avail, for it regrew just the same while smoke arose and sealed the wounds all over the demon's body.
"I can't hurt it!" the prince cried.
"Retreat!" Lord Ashmere shouted, panting from the exertion of all his repeated, full-power swings of his claymore.
The two began backing away as the demon finished its meal, and now, a disgusting, tearing-like sound filled the air as the severed wing returned, a newly created one popping out of the socket on its back. The demon, licking its lips, stood up and turned around, and it was here that Dal could clearly observe that its missing claws had returned, and so too had the teeth that had been knocked out of it. Though it was still absolutely covered in blood, the demon looked otherwise restored.
And as it stood upright and spread its wings, it opened its impossibly wide mouth and unleashed its anger. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" the demon screeched. It took several steps forward towards the prince and Lord Ashmere, who were still backing away from it. But now, they stopped, and they raised their weapons to defend as the demon approached.
"My prince!" Lord Ashmere shouted. "Get away from…huh?"
His expression turned from one of worry to confusion as the demon, having approached the two, did not raise its clawed hands to strike; no, it simply continued to walk right beyond them, ignoring their existence entirely. And now, Dal felt an intense flood of fear within him as the demon's goat-like eyes stared directly into his own.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Ravenia, who had been flying around somewhere, landed on his shoulder, and she squawked. "The demon says you two will finish this now. It demands you call forth your beast. It says it will slaughter the Lord of Skulls while you watch helplessly, and then it will kill you afterwards. It…it also claims your death will grant it fame and glory in the underworld."
Although Dal heard the words Ravenia spoke, he had trouble processing them. He was so confused about so many different things. And yet, as he spoke, all he found himself capable of vocalizing was a simple, irrelevant question. "Wait, you're still here?"
"Of course I'm here!" Ravenia shouted, an angry squawk following her words. She even flapped her wings angrily. "Do you think I'm happy about serving a ball snipper?"
Dal ignored her question as the demon walked towards him. Nervously, he cleared his throat. "Ravenia, tell the demon I accept his challenge, but I will need, uh…"
Time Remaining: 4 days, 18 hours, 26 minutes, 13 seconds
"…about five days to—"
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Ravenia again flapped her wings. "The demon says if you insist upon disrespecting it, it will just kill you now."
Dal nodded. At once, he realized he was already missing the feeling of invincibility and the total lack of fear he'd had in his previous class, because right now, the terror was hitting so hard it made his chest pound and his knees feel weak. Even still, he did not retreat. That would just be juvenile. Only a fool would bother to flee from this thing once it had its eyes set on you. There was no outrunning something like this. All that would do was grant someone a coward's death.
If this is how it ends, then so be it, Dal thought as the demon approached, bracing himself.
"Ravenia, fly away."
She squawked. "I cannot."
"You're about to die."
"If you die, I die anyway. Thanks, Master. I wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but I'd be lying."
Even amid all his fear, Dal nevertheless chuckled. "Oh well. If I survived this, you'd be going to a zoo anyway."
The demon, nearly upon him, let out one final screech and then flapped its powerful wings, using them to blast itself forward in Dal's direction. As it did so, it raised and extended both its clawed arms in his direction as though desperate to begin ripping him apart. The sheer amount of hatred and malice in its goat-like eyes actually gave Dal hope that his death might be fairly quick, as the demon seemed so enraged it might end up slaughtering him before he could even feel it.
Dal released a breath, exhaling. He loosened his muscles, relaxing himself. This was it, wasn't it? There was no getting out of this one. To his surprise, the prince, Lord Ashmere, Denin, and Rethi were all now rushing towards him. Did they actually care if he died? They'd only just met. Then again, they did not view his affliction as a curse, did they? No, they saw it as a gift, likely one to benefit their realm.
It benefits no one, he thought. I should have died when I turned 15.
At last, the demon was upon him, practically pouncing as its clawed hands reached towards his face, coming closer and closer, its mouth opened wide, its four sets of teeth ready to join its claws as it used every part of its body to tear him to shreds. Time almost seemed to slow down in this moment. Dal's life flashed before his eyes, the good parts and some of the really bad.
A moment before death, he tried to filter out all the sounds around him and give himself some peace. He tried to ignore the shouting voices, the demon's screeching, Ravenia's squawking, and even the sound of a horse's hooves galloping on the road behind him. He also tried to filter out the gruesome sights, such as the blood-covered road, the body parts spread all about, the claws about to tear off his face, and the hand that was grabbing his right shoulder.
Wait, what?
Confusion exploded in his head as he realized something other than the demon was grabbing him: something incredibly strong. Suddenly, he found himself yanked backwards with such force that he was thrown nearly five feet in the opposite direction, where he landed hard enough on his ass that he worried he might've just broken his tailbone.
Shaking his head, he tried to make sense of what was happening. With a blur, a figure had moved in front of him: a large, armored figure even more massive than Lord Garrick wearing shining, silver armor and wielding a huge, dark blue shield with one hand and a comically massive mace in his other: one so large it was hard to believe the weapon was not designed for two hands, as the spiked tip looked more like a cannonball.
"Foul demon!" this figure roared. "In the name of our God, Esreus, and for the glory of the king and his realm of Ostros, I banish thee!"
Dal gawked, gasped, and even coughed as this armor-clad figure swung his mace at the demon, striking it dead center on its right cheek.
And it hurt the thing.
Like, really hurt it.
This armored fellow, whoever he was, struck the demon with such impressive, magnificent force that the demon was sent hurtling in the opposite direction, whereupon it crashed into the road and began rolling seven, no, eight times along the pavement before at last coming to a stop; a trail of its teeth—Dal counted at least twelve—led from where it had been standing to where it now resided like breadcrumbs.
Shocked, Dal opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he was at a total loss for words. The prince, however, was not. And then he spoke a name: the name of a hero. Of a man considered by many to be among the most powerful, loyal, and pious warriors in all of Ostros. Dal stared at him in disbelief.
"Master Churbud!" the prince cried, his eyes dampening as though in joy. "It's you!"
"I have come, my prince!" he roared, his voice joyful and kind. But very quickly, it turned serious and dark. "So, you were actually right. There is in fact a demon in our midst."
"It's true," Rethi said, hurrying over with Denin. "The prince was right, and nobody listened to him."
"It's a demon," Denin agreed, nodding. "It killed so many people. It…I wasn't strong enough to stop it. It broke through my barriers like nothing."
The man, wearing a battle helm, craned his neck to the right and glanced down at Denin. "Thank you for protecting His Highness, Denin."
"O-of course, Master Fallowthorne." He bowed. "But…but be careful. This demon is powerful beyond belief."
"So am I!" the Paladin bellowed, glaring at the creature, whose goat-like eyes now blinked with what could only be confusion and surprise. "I will erase this monstrosity."
He raised the mace in his right hand high above his head, and then, from a clear, beautiful morning sky, an errant bolt of lightning struck the tip of the weapon, charging it and causing it to begin shooting sparks. With that, the man began to chant.
"Oh, holy Esreus," he began. "The father of all mankind, the primordial being of all hope and salvation. Oh, great Esreus, bless your child with the strength to fight!" Another bolt followed the first, and now, the weapon began to spark even more violently and brightly. "Give me the strength to slay evil in my midst. Grant me the goodness of your eternal wish. Let the light fill my soul and spirit. Let me fight while knowing no limit!"
Blue, sparkling electricity began to shoot up from the ground in a circle all around the man as though he was charging up something: something big. Because as he continued to speak, the bluish electricity turned to blue flames, which began to rise higher and higher as they surrounded him, turning an even darker shade of blue in the process.
"Esreus, my God, my hope and my guide, may your love guide my spirit in the heavens where you reside! May I be granted benediction, may I forever be in your grace, may I know the truth of the light, may I…m-may…m-m-may I—RUB MY COCK ON A CACTUS! SHOVE AN ENTIRE CACTUS INSIDE MY BALLS!"
Dal blinked, more confused than at any point in his life as the flames extinguished, the electricity vanished, the mace stopped sparking, and the demon, who Dal realized was now flying forward through the air, tackled the Paladin with enough force to send him flying across the street, over the pavement, and with a loud bang, directly through the brick wall of a building, where he vanished out of sight.
What the hell was going on here? Were they going to die after all? What was he even witnessing?
For some reason, Prince Alain did not appear worried. His reaction to this, if any, was merely to wince, whereas Lord Ashmere sighed and said, "I refuse to believe he cannot control that."
"It's not his fault," Rethi said, glaring at the man. "You know that." She lowered her voice. "It's a disease of the mind."
"Never let him hear you say that!" Prince Alain hissed at her, appearing more concerned at her words than he was at the fact that the Paladin had just been torpedoed through a building. "You know how angry he gets. Call it a curse."
"Seriously," Denin agreed, sounding alarmed. "Rethi, you know better than to…"
"Shh!" the prince snapped, pressing his finger to his nose as several bricks fell out of the side of the building the Paladin had been launched through. He emerged soon after, unharmed, but with his helm having been knocked off. Dust and pieces of rock were in his curly, medium-length brown hair, which he shook free.
Clearing his throat, the prince called to him. "Master Churbud," he said. "Did the curse strike you again?"
"It did!" he announced, his voice powerful, upbeat, and optimistic. "My prince, I beg that you compensate the lovely family who lives here. They are unharmed." With that, he walked back across the side pavement and into the main road, where the demon awaited. And now, getting a good look at him, Dal made a croak-like noise of surprise.
Its head! God above!
The side of the demon's face was completely caved in, to the extent that it could no longer freely open or close its mouth. Just how absurdly, terrifyingly strong was this Paladin? The legends proclaimed him one of the "Great Four," but until witnessing him in person, it failed to do him any sort of justice.
"Let's try that again," he said, raising his mace to the sky. The demon, screeching, began flapping its wings, and then it took to the sky in a full-on retreat. It seemed the creature had had enough.
"You won't be going anywhere, demon!" With that, the Paladin began his prayer anew. Dal watched, transfixed, as the man repeated his previous chant. His mace began to spark and light up, and the circle of electricity reappeared, turning once more into blue flame. But unlike before, he managed to complete his chant. "…may I know the truth of the light, grant me strength from your embrace!"
In just the time it took him to finish speaking those words, the demon had flown so far away that it now appeared to be just a dot in the sky, though as a testament to its strength, the thwacking of its wings was still audible even from down here. Still, anyone could reasonably conclude that the demon had managed to escape, no? But if so, why was the prince smiling as he glanced upwards at the fleeing creature with his arms folded?
"Watch this, Dal," Rethi said to him with a snicker as she approached. "I've only seen this once, and it was during a public demonstration in Freewind."
Dal raised his hand to his forehead to filter some of the light out from the morning sun. He wondered what he was supposed to be seeing. The demon was continuing to get away. It was now safely flying outside the town limits and over the wall, heading eastward from the looks of things. What could the Paladin possibly do to—
"DIVINE JUDGEMENT!" he roared.
Abruptly, the flames around him vanished, the mace stopped sparking, and all trace of magical energy faded—no, wait. Not faded. It became concentrated: in a tiny, tiny bead of light at the very tip of his mace, on the spiked ball that he'd used to smash in the side of the demon's head. And now, with a groan of exertion, the Paladin aimed his mace at the sky, and from it he unleashed a pure, solid beam of bright-blue light, one that extended from where he resided all the way to the clouds themselves. And like a mosquito being burned alive, the demon released one final, terminal screech, and then its entire body disintegrated, having been reduced to a crisp. Then the beam cut off, and just like that, it was over.
"Incredible," Dal said, unable to believe his eyes. "Absolutely incredible."
It was hard to believe any of this was even real. After all that struggling and death, the Paladin had just slain the demon with a single powerful blast. It was a display of strength great enough to be called mindblowing.
The man, Master Churbud Fallowthorne, turned his body to face Dal, and he smiled at him. "Who might you be, young man?" he asked as a mixture of ash, blood, and a severely burned torso began plummeting straight down from the sky.
"I'm Dal Rineloch," he said. Nervously, he shifted his eyes to the left—towards the town square and the exit that awaited him. "I'm just a random Level-2 Goat Castrator. I'll be on my way now. Thank you for saving my town."
"Not so fast!" Prince Alain shouted as Dal began to hurry away. "Master Churbud, stop that man! He's also not a kid. He's a…I don't know how to describe it."
Dal angrily bit into his lower lip. After all they just went through together, they wouldn't just let him go? Seriously? As the giant, armored, and hulking hero of the realm caught up to him and gently placed a hand on his right shoulder, Dal came to a halt. He knew better than to resist someone like Churbud Fallowthorne. Especially as a Goat Castration Specialist.
"Let's sort all this out, young man," the Paladin said to him. Dal turned around, and the curly-haired man was smiling at him. Pieces of dust were caught in his beard, and he wiped them away as though suddenly becoming aware of it. "I am sure that, whatever it is you're caught up in, the prince means you no harm. Let us all have breakfast together. ASS MONKEY! JAR OF SHIT!"
Dal sighed. "Fine."