Mayor Dragan: The False Hero

“Looks like something’s happening,” Aelric muttered, his brows furrowed. Lyselle only gave a slight nod, but her eyes remained alert. Her instincts told her that the commotion wasn’t a good thing.

As they got closer, they saw a handsome man standing on a simple stage made of wooden planks. He was muscular and wore a military uniform with a bronze medal that was deliberately polished to gleam in the late afternoon sun. His smile was wide and full of confidence, while his right hand gripped a long sword that was clearly only for show.

“Citizens of Ardellon!” he shouted loudly, making even the starving children stop crying for a moment. “I, Mayor Dragan, have come to bring hope! Aid from the kingdom has arrived, and I am the one who secured it for you!”

The cheers returned. A few villagers clapped, albeit weakly, because the word “aid” was like a drop of water in a long drought.

Lyselle sharpened her ears. The words were too beautiful, too fabricated. Especially since she knew the bitter truth: the aid that was supposed to reach this village had long been held back and misused by local officials.

Aelric squinted. “This bastard… he’s claiming to be a savior, but I’m sure he’s the one who held back all the food supplies.”

Mayor Dragan continued his speech with great passion. “If you want this village to prosper again, trust me! I will guard the new food supplies so they aren’t misused. Leave this matter to me!”

But something felt off. Behind the stage, several large wooden crates, supposedly containing grain, were tightly locked with a royal seal—but Lyselle knew that the contents of those crates were usually reduced by half or more before reaching the people. And the expressions of the soldiers around Dragan didn't show good intentions, but rather looks of pure greed.

“He’s using their starvation as his stage,” Lyselle whispered softly. “As if he’s a hero… when in reality, he’s the biggest thief.”

Aelric turned to her. “Do you want to expose him now?” Lyselle shook her head slowly. “Not yet. If we accuse him without proof, the desperate people will side with him. We have to reveal the truth before their own eyes.”

Cheers echoed again, this time louder. Mayor Dragan lowered his sword and stepped down from the stage, approaching a mother who was carrying a scrawny baby with sunken eyes. He smiled, extending a small bag of grain.

“See! I don’t just talk, I act!” he said with an air of authority. The mother immediately knelt, crying, and kissed Dragan’s hand. Other villagers watching began to whisper in admiration.

Aelric clenched his fist. “That’s… just a small bag! He’s handing out crumbs, while he’s hoarding a warehouse full of food for himself!”

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment, holding back her anger. The memories from yesterday—the children with bony bodies, the elderly who fainted from hunger—all danced in her mind. She knew that if left unchecked, Dragan would solidify his image as a ‘savior,’ while the people would continue to starve slowly.

As Dragan passed by her, their eyes met. For a moment, it was as if time stood still. Dragan looked at Lyselle from head to toe, then gave a condescending smile.

“Ah, you must be a newcomer,” he said in a dismissive tone. “Remember this face—I am the hero of Ardellon.”

Lyselle restrained herself from answering. But in her heart, she made a vow.

False hero… your truth will be torn to shreds in front of everyone.

The sky over Ardellon slowly darkened, while the night wind carried a salty scent from the dry river that had once been the town's lifeline. In the simple wooden hall, dozens of villagers were still gathered, their faces full of anxiety. They were waiting for news from Lyselle, who since the afternoon had been tirelessly examining the documents and reports they had gathered together.

Lyselle stood in front of a long table. Parchment scrolls, interview notes, and sacks of grain sealed with the royal stamp lay on it. The torchlight reflected on her serious face, her emerald green eyes piercing like a sword.

“All this evidence,” she said, her hand pushing some documents forward so everyone could see, “clearly shows that food aid for the villages of Ardellon was cut, even before it reached the storage warehouse.”

An old farmer clenched his fist. “But, Miss Lyselle… the man who distributed what was left of that aid was Mayor Dragan himself! Without him, we would have been dead from starvation long ago!”

Sounds of agreement were heard, though mixed with doubt. Lyselle nodded slowly. “That’s true, he did give you something. But don't you find it suspicious that he’s always the one who appears like a hero, while other royal officials are silent? Dragan cut the official supply chain so he could appear as your savior. The aid that should have been plentiful, he reduced. The very small remainder he distributed with a 'generous' face. That way, you feel indebted to him.”

A tense silence filled the room. Lyselle’s words struck at the heart of an unwilling truth.

A young man stood up. “So… he’s been deceiving us all?!”

“Not just deceiving,” Lyselle answered coldly. “He's enslaving your gratitude. He wants his name to be praised as a hero, while he lives off your empty stomachs. A false hero.”

The words—a false hero—echoed in everyone’s ears.

Just as the atmosphere grew more heated, the sound of metal boots was heard from outside. The hall door was roughly pushed open. A man in an Ardellon military uniform, a long gray coat, and a belt full of medals entered with a confident smile. His sharp, wolf-like eyes immediately swept over the crowd.

“Looks like there’s a little party here,” he said with a cynical tone. “Too bad I wasn’t invited.”

The villagers were startled, their faces pale. “Mayor… Dragan…” one of them whispered with a trembling voice.

The man smiled broadly, revealing his white teeth. “I heard someone mention me… a false hero?” He stepped forward, his voice calm but full of menace. “I don't like slander, especially when it’s planted in a land that I’ve worked so hard to keep alive.”

Lyselle stared at him intensely. A faint magical aura surrounded her body, though it was invisible to the ordinary eye. “It's not slander, Mayor. It's a fact. All the documents, travel records, even the witnesses… all point to you.”

Dragan chuckled. “You’re good with words, elf. But the people here know who gave them grain when their children were starving. Who came with horses and soldiers, distributing bread, even if it was little. That was me. I’m the one who kept them alive. Not you.”

Some of the villagers bowed their heads, filled with guilt because they had indeed been grateful to Dragan. Lyselle could see the dilemma in their eyes. She knew this battle wasn’t just about evidence—but also about their hearts.

Dragan turned to face the crowd, his hand raised as if leading a troop. “People of Ardellon! You know who I am. I protect your village from bandits, I bring food, even if it’s little. And now, this foreign woman comes with empty accusations! Who will you believe—me, who has been with you for years, or an elf who has just appeared as if she's the true savior?”

Hesitant cheers broke out. Some shouted in support of Dragan, while others remained silent, waiting for Lyselle to speak.

Lyselle took a deep breath. “Mayor Dragan…” her voice was soft, but full of conviction. “You’re right. I am a newcomer. But that’s precisely why I can see more clearly. You built your reputation on suffering. You stole from the mouths of children. And what’s worse… you betrayed your oath to the people.”

Dragan’s gaze sharpened. “Your mouth is dangerous.”

Lyselle stepped closer, her face calm even as the atmosphere was filled with tension. “And the truth is more dangerous for you.”

When their gazes met, the atmosphere in the room seemed to split. Behind Dragan's arrogant eyes, Lyselle caught something—a small, hidden, but very real fear.

But before the tension could escalate into a clash, another set of footsteps was heard from a side door. A young man in a dark blue robe and a golden lion emblem entered calmly. His hair was dark brown, his eyes glinted with intelligence.

Caelan.

The Vice Political Advisor of Selvaria appeared without warning, making everyone gasp.

“It seems I've arrived at an interesting moment,” he said softly, glancing at Lyselle. “A debate about who the true hero is here?”

Lyselle looked at him for a moment. Her smile was faint, as if she realized a new path of destiny was opening up.

Caelan bowed politely to the villagers. “Allow me to hear for myself… who is truly on your side. I think this evening will provide the answer.”

And there, the seeds of an alliance that would shake four thrones began to take root—in the midst of the rot of a false hero.

The sound of a table slamming echoed in the village hall filled with people. Dragan, his face flushed red, tried hard to maintain his slowly crumbling dignity.

“Slander! This is all slander you’re throwing at me! Without me, this village would have been ruined long ago!” he shouted, his fist hitting the table until a wooden cup toppled over, spilling the remaining water.

But the people were no longer silent. Several mothers stood up, their voices trembling but full of courage.

“Without you, maybe we would have been ruined. But with you, we’re also being ruined slowly! You stole the aid rice, you sold the medicine on the black market, and our children are sick because there are no healing herbs!”

A young man added loudly, “We used to trust you, Mayor Dragan. But all you’ve done is fill your own belly!”

The crowd began to stir, rumbling like a wave ready to swallow the "hero." Lyselle stood silently on the side of the room, observing. Her eyes were sharp, like a sword that had long waited for the moment to strike.

She knew there was no need for many words. The village was already aware. All that was left was the final execution: to completely bring down Dragan's mask.

Dragan tried to find sympathy, his eyes darting wildly towards Lyselle. “You! That High Elf girl! You’re the mastermind, aren’t you? You're the one who incited them all against me! Without you, they would never have dared!”

Lyselle looked at him coldly. “I just opened a door that was already there. They stepped out on their own, Mayor Dragan.”

The sentence made Dragan fall silent for a moment. Lyselle's words were like a knife that stabbed directly into his pride. He snorted, trying to smile, but the smile was bitter.

“Who do you think will believe you? You’re a foreigner! A High Elf from far away, who knows nothing about this village!”

Suddenly, a deep voice echoed from the corner of the room. “In that case, I will be a witness.”

Everyone turned. From behind the crowd, a tall man in a gray robe appeared. His black hair was loose, his face was calm yet mysterious, and his eyes held something deeper than just the truth.

It was Caelan.

Some villagers whispered, confused about who he was. But as he walked closer, his steps were steady and full of authority. The aura he carried automatically calmed the room.

Caelan looked at Dragan sharply. “Mayor Dragan, I have long been investigating the aid supplies that were supposed to reach this village. There are transaction records that ended up in your hands, and I saw them with my own eyes at the Selvaria market. You sold the aid rice that was supposed to save your people.”

Dragan went pale. “That’s… that’s a lie! What proof do you have, huh?!”

Caelan held up a parchment scroll, then threw it onto the table. “Written evidence with a royal seal. It will be difficult for you to deny this.”

The crowd seethed. The villagers' shouts began to echo:

“Punishment for Dragan!” “False hero!” “Give us back our rights!”

Lyselle looked at Caelan deeply. There was something in the way the man moved, spoke, and orchestrated the moment—he wasn’t just trying to defend the people, but also testing something. It was as if he had come not just to take down Dragan, but also to… offer his hand to Lyselle.

Dragan, cornered, finally tried to escape. He ran towards the door, but several young men from the village immediately held him back. He stumbled and fell, his face covered in dust and sweat.

“I… I just… I just wanted to live comfortably… I deserve it!” he roared.

But there was no compassion left. The people had already passed their verdict—and Lyselle knew it was time for her to end this chapter.

With light steps, she approached. Her eyes looked at the trembling Dragan. “A true hero is not one who takes, but one who gives. You are just a thief cloaked in a title.”

She raised her hand, and a soft blue magical light enveloped the room. She didn’t need to strike with a sword—just to lock Dragan in a magical seal that made his body weak and helpless.

“Let the people themselves decide your punishment,” Lyselle said, her voice cold but fair.

The crowd rumbled, a sign that the decision was final. Dragan was no longer their “hero,” but only a traitor.

Amidst the commotion, Caelan approached Lyselle. He bowed slightly, his voice only audible to the two of them.

“An interesting way you controlled the situation without getting your hands too dirty. You’re not just an ordinary High Elf, Lyselle.”

Lyselle turned, looking at him with full caution. “And you’re not just a coincidence witness. You've been watching all of this for a long time, haven't you?”

A faint smile appeared on Caelan’s face. “You’re right. We should talk. Not here—but somewhere safer.”

Lyselle fell silent, but her eyes signaled agreement. She knew this was the beginning of something bigger.

And behind the crowd of villagers who were still shouting, two pairs of eyes met: one belonging to a High Elf carrying the burden of change, and one belonging to a mysterious man who would later offer a secret alliance.