The Old Hero

“The Warpainter?” Arte questioned. She immediately turned to Leo, who shrugged.

“That’s all I can remember about who did this. But he had us communicating with him and sharing info. His voice was like listening to a crow’s. I only lived because I was able to provide him with info through my… Escapades with others.” He explained while looking away.

“I’d imagine lips would be loose during pillow talk.” Caius sighed, offering Trent a hand up. “Was there anything in particular he was looking for?”

“The hero. Those are the words I remember hearing the most.” He points at Arte. “He probably already knows you’re here.”

“How does he know?” Arte questions.

“He sent some sort of painting in our heads, and the two of you matched what he had.” He says.

“This seems kinda bad, doesn’t it?” Leo chimed.

“Nothing worse than an enemy knowing more about you, than them.” Caius says.

“That’s all I’ve got… Just be wary, I remembered hearing multiple voices when I communicated with him.” He says.

“So there are more that were being controlled…” Arte says.

“We’ll be able to pick them out because of their symptoms.” Caius says. “We’ll need to start reducing his numbers here.”

“The best time to do it would be during the all-class war, right?” Leo questions.

“Right. Having to draw them out like this repeatedly would be a big pain.” Arte states. “It’s better if we can take them all out in one fell swoop.”

“What was the all-class war again?” Caius asks.

“It’s an event that takes place in the middle of the semester. Each class battles it out, and the remaining class comes out on top. The students of that class then get their names immortalized on the school’s monolith.” Arte explained while crossing her arms.

“I see. So it’s more or less a chance for glory.” Caius says.

“There are also individual rewards for your own contributions,” Leo added.

While the students were discussing the information about the all-class war, someone came around the building, catching them off guard.

“Uh… Mr. Armstrong? What are you doing here?” Leo steps forward.

“I came to retrieve you three. The dean has called you to his office.” He says.

Leo’s mouth puckered as though he had just eaten an entire lemon.

“Hmmmm?!” He said, keeping his mouth closed.

“W-what does the dean want with us?” Arte asks with beads of sweat on her face.

“You’ll know when you arrive.” Armstrong explained. “Come on.”

“Let's see what happens…” Caius sighed.

In the main school building at the highest point of the school, the dean’s office required a winding staircase to get to the top. Light poured in from the window at the top, illuminating the path. The dean’s office, however, was made entirely of dark wood, desks, chairs, tables, drawers, etc. At the center of the room was a circular rug that mimicked the room itself, which was also circular. The carpet featured the school crest. The room itself had windows that formed a ring around the room, allowing the dean an almost three-sixty degree view of the school at any time. He sat at his desk with his cane at his side and waved at the trio as they arrived. Armstrong took Trent to the infirmary, while the door shut behind him. There was an awkward air as the trio waved back at the dean.

“Do you know why I’ve called you here today?” He asks.

“Good behaviour?” Leo answered.

“Technically….” The Dean spoke. “In my office, I have a full view of the school.”

“Oh no,” Arte whispered.

“I saw what you three did down there.” He begins. “When I saw young Arte brandish her blade against young Trent. I was ready to hop down there myself.”

“W-why didn’t you?” She asks.

“Because I saw a most curious thing. The flames of purification wrapped around your blade. Something I hadn’t seen in over thirty years.” He says. “The old hero, Rosso, was a student here as well. It was here that he first discovered his talent for it.”

“He was a student here?” She asks.

“Yes, he actually didn’t come here alone. He and his childhood friend came here together.” He explained. “Not unlike you two.”

“How could you tell?” Leo asks.

“You two seem quite close. It feels like a long-time bond.” He smiled. “Rosso’s friend was named Remilia. You’re her spitting image. That fiery red hair is not only rare, but also the same shade as hers, not to mention you have her eyes as well.”

Arte covered her mouth in surprise.

“I thought Rosso might’ve been my grandfather…” She mutters. “You mean to tell me he’s my… father?”

“There’s no denying it. You carry the same ability as him, and even look like his partner.” He says.

“All this time… I never knew anything about my parents.” She mutters, tears in her eyes.

Leo grabs her hand.

“I’m happy…” She smiles through the tears.

“It’s been about twenty or so years since they disappeared after the fight with Malady in the Deep Abyss. You were likely born a little before that.” The dean spoke. “The world assumed he didn’t have any offspring, but here you are. The only people who’d have known were his old party and any close family.”

“No wonder no one knew. She wasn’t here to be found.” Leo thought.

“We’re going to need your help.” The Dean says. “We’ve known about this issue with our students for some time, but haven’t been able to do anything about it. We’ve gone to doctors and even alchemists about it, but we didn’t have a method of curing the students. But now, we have you.”

“You want to work with us?” Arte asks.

“Yes. We’ll provide you all the resources you need to refine your power further, so that during the time of the all-class war, you’ll be able to save the rest of the students.” He says.

“Are you guys down?” Arte asks.

“Did you even need to ask?” Leo says.

“Stopping this is the whole reason I came here,” Caius stated.

“Then it’s decided.” He states.

“We also have some information to share,” Arte added. “We learned the name of the person responsible.”

The dean raised a brow.

“Who did this?” He asks.

“Someone by the name of Warpainter.” She states.

Meanwhile, at the Warpainter’s cave, the boy was sitting in a chair leaning against the wall. A brush was nestled in his hand as he painted steadily on a canvas, a gleaming sword, armor, and even a pair of wings.

In a cage off to the side, the misshapen man was trapped, spindly hands wrapped around the bars.

“Soon, the time for a revolution will come.” The boy smirked.

“Give my body back!” The misshapen man exclaimed.

“This body is too good for someone unwilling to fight for my cause. I’ll make better use of it.” He states. He pulls the sword off the canvas, and strength fills his body.

He swings the blade around, mimicking his memories, hours upon hours of watching the hero swing his sword while he played the game. The misshapen man trembled from behind the bars.

“That’s my father’s style…” He states.

“Well, it’s mine now.” He grinned.