Runaway Hero and the Replacement

I walk through the forest, following after a faint trace of blood on the ground. The soldiers’ blood should have dried up long ago. From what is this blood coming from then? Why does this murderer take so much care to leave a trail for me to follow? What could they gain from making me chase after them? Is it truly just a mockery? Does this murderer doubt my strength? Even if I failed, I am still the Hero.

Although, even like that, he got past me. He killed those soldiers. He even fooled my senses. He played the knight and had me fooled. I hadn’t suspected he could be anything else. I hadn’t suspected that he was any stronger than he appeared. I was a fool, and I let them die because of that. And now I’m stuck chasing after a trail he laid for me himself. I couldn’t even stop him right then and there. That he still roams free portends only further disaster, and it is all due to my own carelessness.

I push past a leafy branch dripping blood onto the grass. On the other side is a sight I’ve already seen. How cruel an irony. It’s much too cruel. This must be my punishment. This is the sight I saw of tragedy. This is the continuation, the end result. The fires have died down now. Blood has been splattered across the blackened earth. Smoky lumps of ash lay there. Just hours ago they were full, joyful, living humans. I failed them.

How cruel must the world be to have shown me only that vision of disaster. It was so close by. It was so easy for me to prevent. I am at the root cause of this disaster befalling this place today. It was me. If I hadn’t stopped to deal with the soldiers. If I hadn’t fought the soldiers. If I hadn’t turned my back on the soldiers and abandoned them. If I hadn’t let their killer run away without any obstacle. If I hadn’t been so slow. There were so many ways I could have saved them. And I couldn’t do even a single one. All because I didn’t know what caused the tragedy. All because I chose to believe it was out of reach and there was nothing I could do about it. I gave up on them, and let them die.

The trail of blood ends once I enter the remains of the village. I suppose that was the sick joke the murderer was playing on me. He spent so much effort to make sure I would find this village. So I would know how deeply I’ve failed as the Hero. So I would again be forced to reckon with the fact that I can’t save anyone.

There must be someone left. There has to be at least one survivor. Even if I can’t sense them, there must be one. There has to be someone I can save. I have to be able to save even just one person. I search the village. Thoroughly, diligently, leaving no stone unturned, I search the village. But I have not been fooled again. There is not a single other creature left alive here. This village is well and truly dead. I can’t stand it anymore.

As I despair, I find the next waypoint the murderer has left for me. Our chase is not over. My duty to the world is not over. I can’t stop here. Choosing to stop is the only reason this happens. Choosing to look away. I can’t let my failures keep compounding like this. Carved into the scorched earth is an arrow. It points out of the village, across from where the blood trail had first led me. I follow in the direction it points.

Soon after, I come across a lone figure in the darkness carrying two blades, neither dead nor a demon, but not showing any signs of life. A ring of fire encloses the area around us, illuminating the murderer’s face. It’s covered in splattered blood and scars. He cackles when he sees me, then begins to speak with a certain madness to his voice.

“True Hero, did you enjoy my surprises? Did you enjoy them? Oh, but how impolite am I. I haven’t introduced myself. I am your replacement. Of course you wouldn’t know of that. I was top secret, even to you. You see, the king, fearing your eventual betrayal, ordered the court mages to create me. I am an exact replica. Through their spells, I have achieved power equal to yours. But then, cruelly, oh so cruelly, O True Hero, they locked me away. But then, O True Hero, just as I began to fear I would never see the light of day again, you truly did disappear. Unfortunately, I was only ordered to patrol the lands with the royal knights. So little fighting. But now that you’ve come and reared your traitorous head, I do not need to bind myself to that. I am at last free to do as I please. For you are the coward, and now I am the Hero!”

He thrusts one blade at my neck. I let it reach me. It bounces off ineffectually. He keeps striking at me. He keeps desperately trying to cut me apart like his other victims. But I do not move. He can do nothing to me. I don’t even need to draw my sword. I don’t want to either.

To me, he is nothing. He is weak. He is slow and lethargic. He is no copy. His strength is limited only to the shadow of my own that humanity can understand. His strength pales in comparison to my own. I need only a fraction to defeat him.

We are, both of us, only fakes. We can never be real Heroes. We will always be fakes. We will always be the men who use our power only to serve our own interests. I hate it.

“Why do you fight? Why are you killing people?” He sneers back at me.

“Why wouldn’t I! Strength exists to be wielded! And what way is more beautiful than this! To kill! To conquer! To dominate! It’s all so beautiful! Watching the life leave their faces! Watching the blood drain from their bodies! It’s all so beautiful! And you! You are the so-called strongest! Your death will be so much more beautiful! I must see it! And then, I will be complete! I will be the Hero fully realized!”

I smash the flat of my blade into his side. The metal snaps against him as his bones break. I form another blade from out of the remains, and slam it into him again. Again the blade shatters and again his bones break. He falls to the ground, sure of his defeat. He looks up to me with a disturbing look of adoration.

“Where does such a gulf come from? Am I truly not your equal? Is this the limit of my strength? How disappointing. I should have killed so many more, if that was the case. Now kill me, and my strength will be complete. In your death or mine, that is the only way for me to become whole!”

“Live. Live a life where you can help others.” Where do I get off lecturing him?

He starts to cackle, this distorted mirror of mine. His arm twitches upwards, and I understand what he intends to do. I grab his wrist, but I was too slow. I could not stop his blade. The sharp tip has been plunged inside of him. It will be fatal. And I cannot heal him.

He could never replace me. There is no replacement for the Hero. He was far too weak. And he was far too pitiful. He lost himself in his strength, and even then he could never be my equal. He thought he was the strongest, and yet he could still only chase after power. He could only understand the world in terms of power. Even if he was fit to be my substitute, he would end up in much the same way as I have. He would have lost himself in his own desire, and been unable to save the world. He could never be the Hero, and he could never be complete. I alone can bear my power, so why must I be far too weak to wield it?