"Percival!" King Alfred boomed. "Such a profoundly glorious name. Sure to strike fear in the heart of the Demon Lord!"
Percival narrowed his eyes.
It was an odd feeling.
He'd always liked King Alfred. Respected him, even.
He was a king that rarely took himself too seriously. He had an endearing laugh, and spent most of his time filling his mouth with duck breast.
What he did take seriously, though, was the affairs of the Human Kingdom, Valoris.
With Valoris, he was iron. Strict where it mattered.
Clearly, it was that very reason he had orchestrated Percival's betrayal.
Looking at him now made Percival's chest feel like it was packed with cold ash. He couldn't see the king as anything other than a betrayer.
Whether it was his idea, or the Elf or Dwarf kings', he had allowed his death.
He had planned it.
Alfred's voice gentled into a practiced, fatherly timbre as he studied Percival.
"I understand you're confused. Anyone would be."
"But hear me, boy! You were summoned to be our Hero. To lead our Awakeners through Gate Worlds, and to defeat and save us from the evil of the Demon Lord."
He spread his arms theatrically. "These are the stakes."
"No" was Percival's response.
There was silence right after he said it. A shocking silence like a blade was dropped. Alfred blinked as if sight was required to hear the word properly.
"A question wasn't asked," the king said carefully, looking left and right in case someone had indeed asked something. "What is it you refuse?"
"All of it," Percival replied, his voice toneless. "I don't wish to be anyone's Hero."
Gasps came from around the chamber, as though Percival had just sworn in a church.
The faces on the guards shifted, and the diviners looked as if a script had gone wrong. Expressions tightened.
Something was wrong.
For the rest of them, at least. Not for Percival.
"Surely," King Alfred said, his smile thinning, "the young man is confused."
Percival wasn't.
In fact, he saw clearly for the first time.
"Chief Diviner!" Alfred snapped.
An elder, robed in profound purple and wearing a hat taller than a toddler, hurried forward to the king's throne, bowing low.
He looked as confused as any other diviner.
If Alfred's intention was to ask him questions, Percival doubted the old man would have any tangible answers.
"Explain yourself," the king said. "Why does he speak in this manner? Is he the correct one?"
"The ritual went accordingly, Your Majesty," the diviner responded with jitter. "The Circles were held and the offerings burned clean. All four gods gave their approval. This is the boy that was chosen."
Alfred lifted his gaze, his eyes a frustrated thing, as he scrutinized Percival once more.
"Then why," his voice climbed, "would he not accept his fate? Why would he not help us?"
The diviner swallowed. "You will have to ask him, my king. It is strange. Usually, they are confused, but to outright reject his role. It is unheard of."
As predicted. No tangible answers.
Alfred dismissed the man, and returned his bearded face to meet Percival.
For a man in his middle-ages, the king was very good-looking.
His hair was like threads of sunlight sewn all over his weathered, masculine face. He had orbs of bright blue as eyes and a nose as sharp as an Archer's arrow.
Though now, all of these features had contorted into a grimace, a grimace that echoed his misunderstanding. "Do you have a reason for this… rejection?"
Percival stared at him, offering no words.
"Fine then," the king sat back, his crown glinting.
"Name what you want. Whatever it is, you will have it. Valoris is as rich as milk. In return, however, you will lead our Awakeners through Gate Worlds and defeat the Demon Lord when you are ready."
Percival remained silent.
Admittedly, the offer was tempting.
There were many things Percival could ask for—not merely material things, but even specific items that he knew from the former timeline was essential to his leveling up.
He thought of items that could protect him from betrayal.
Did such an item exist?
Still, whether it did or didn't, Percival had no intentions of being anyone's Hero.
Especially not the Hero of the same world that had stabbed him at the back. And cleaved his chest with a Silverlance Sword.
So he said nothing. His silence was a clear response.
"Will you not speak?" Alfred pressed. "Gold, then." He swept an open palm. "Valoris is the kingdom of gold. How much do you want? A chest? A caravan? A vault?"
A vault? That was enough gold to fill an inn.
Percival's betrayal and death would come before he could use half of it.
"No," he refused.
"Land and herds! Farms, cattle, vineyards. A fief to your name."
"No."
"Women," Alfred said, his patience was thin now, his brows were creased against his eyes. "Any number! The women of Valoris are the finest in the realm."
Percival wondered what the women of Eldermoor had to say about that. But his answer remained the same.
"No."
Alfred exhaled through his nose, sitting backwards on the cold gold of his royal chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the armrest with frustration.
He had one final offer to give, and it was one that pained his heart.
He lifted his hand toward the dais. "My daughter, Ethel Highcourt. Step forward, Ethel."
Percival's eyes moved slowly to the dais.
A beautiful girl stepped out from the court.
She had golden silk for hair, spilling down her back, and falling to the gilded royal gown she wore. Her eyes were as blue as her fathers, her hands were crossed together in perfect posture.
"She'll be awakening today, alongside you and the other aspirants," Alfred said.
He sounded proud of her.
"You may have her hand in marriage. Be my son-in-law."
Percival held an unimpressed expression.
Ethel was beautiful, yes. He remembered that. He also remembered never thinking much about her beyond that.
The princess had awakened the Mage Class in the last life, but it was her brother, Aethelstan, that had been the more powerful of the two.
He had joined the party while Ethel stayed in the castle, tending to gardens with her magic.
Courtesy required that Percival complimented her before refusing.
He only said "No."
The king chewed his jaw, his cheeks red with shame. Even after offering his beloved daughter, this boy still refused.
"Then what do you want?!" he demanded. "You seek no material things? Well, then. Do it for virtue, for honor, for legacy. Do it for the glory men fight for! This is what I offer you."
Percival thought that was pathetic.
It felt even more pathetic that he had once been fooled by such hollow ideals.
Never again.
"I want to be left alone," he said.
The courtroom responded with noise.
The guards glared at him through the visors of their silver helms, the diviners whispered amongst themselves.
One of them performed a hand movement that was like a nun crossing herself.
"You don't even wish to return to your world?" another blurted.
Percival glanced at him. "If I could return to my world, you would have done that already. You can not send me back."
That was true. There was no spell or ritual that could send a summoned Hero back to their world.
Percival had learnt that in the former timeline.
Alfred's face was as hard as rock, his knuckles white from gripping his throne. "You merely want to live in our world? With no obligation whatsoever."
"I have no choice," Percival replied. "You're the ones who dragged me here, and I have no desire to be your Hero. What to do next is entirely up to you… King Alfred."
Undoubtedly, placing his fate in the hands of the same people who betrayed him was an ill-advised move, but Percival was aware of one pertinent law.
The Summoning Contract.
"By the Summoning Contract," the king said with gnashed teeth, "we are bound to provide you shelter and food. That much the law compels. Everything else depends on your service."
He hesitated. Percival maintained an unmoving glare with him.
"Since you have rejected your service, you will receive nothing else from us. We refuse you of equipment, of weapon, of armor, of scrolls, of potions, of tutors, of aid, of permit, and of an army.
"Once word reaches Eldermoor and Stonehold, you will have no ally in the Human, Elf, or Dwarf Kingdoms.
"Awakeners will avoid you, others will refuse to assist you until you come to your senses and accept your fated, distinguished role of Hero."
Percival felt like a traitor being exiled. It was almost humorous even though he knew that this only worsened things.
If he made an enemy out of everyone, he might escape betrayal, but a stab in the back and one in the front still meant death.
Perhaps he had not fully thought this through.
Yet his rage could not allow him to affiliate with his own murderers.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Percival muttered, turning for the doors.
"Boy."
King Alfred's voice stopped him.
"I could call you a fallen hero," the king said, "but you never even rose. You have no honor. And you were never a hero to begin with."
Percival said nothing in reply.
The king was wrong. Plain. Simple.
He didn't need to defend himself. He wasn't going to tell them how he rose once, only to be gutted down by the rest of them.
He merely continued on out of the courtroom, his footsteps echoing as he left for the Awakening Temple.