Then Shouldn’t There Just Be More Heroes?

The inn was way louder than Flint and Isla would have thought.

Laughter drifted between the tables while a serving girl squeezed past a pair of adventurers arguing over whose turn it was to buy the next round. Somewhere near the fireplace, someone had already started singing. strumming the strings of a weirdly shaped instrument.

Big city inns were fundamentally different from the inn back in that small town it seemed.

Flint stirred his vegetable soup with a serene expression.

It’s tasty.

The broth was richer than the last one he had, and whoever had made it hadn’t been shy with the herbs either.

Across from him, Isla smiled over the rim of a small wooden cup filled with berry juice whereas at the end of the table, Murry tipped back his mug.

Gulp.

Gulp.

Gulp.

He lowered it with a satisfied exhale.

The server didn’t have to ask, she simply fetched another.

Isla knitted her brows together, before she asked.

“…Does drinking help you think?”

Murry glanced at her.

“No.”

He took another generous sip.

“Thinking helps me drink.”

Isla smiled wryly.

“There may be healthier alternatives to consider.”

“No Rowan. No contractor. No registry.” Murry narrowed his eyes, “Thus, no trail.”

Flint mulled over his words, arms crossed over his chest. He spoke with a hint of hesitation.

“But isn’t that a clue by itself?”

Murry raised a brow.

“Not being a registered contractor proves… he’s doing something suspicious. Otherwise why wouldn't he be?”

Isla mulled over his words.

“That means we’re on the right track.”

“Even if we are.” Murry started, “That track has now hit a dead end.

Silence lingered at the table, broken only by the muffled drift of city voices and a distant bell ringing the hour, until Flint finally set his spoon down.

“…Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Another thing.”

Murry sighed.

“I regret opening my mouth.”

Flint smiled.

“How come you left the Knights, Murry?”

The mug stopped halfway to his lips.

For the first time since they’d met, his answer didn’t come easily. There was a hint of hesitation in his face, before he eventually resigned the idea of withholding an answer.

“I joined because of Captain.”

He looked into the ale rather than at either of them.

“I left because of him too.”

Isla tilted her head.

“…Your captain?”

Murry nodded absentmindedly.

“He died.” The words hung in the air, stifling the room as neither Flint nor Isla spoke; only after a long, heavy moment did Flint quietly say,

“I’m sorry, Murry.”

The man shrugged, as if to mask the pain those memories brought.

“Heroes die.” He swirled the mug absentmindedly, “Captain proved that. He saved everyone. But he forgot to save himself.”

Murry hid his mouth behind the mug.

“That’s why I left. Once I understood that simple rule, I realized I didn’t wanna die.”

Flint thought about those words. Heroes die. That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

“…I don’t think that’s enough.”

Murry finally looked up.

“Enough?”

“If heroes die…” Flint folded his hands on the table, “…Then shouldn’t there just be more heroes?”

A short laugh escaped Murry.

“Kid…”

He shook his head.

“Dead heroes don’t save anybody.”

“The people Captain saved are still alive.”

Murry looked at him, letting his words settle.

“…Captain isn’t.”

Flint smiled faintly.

“But he made sure someone else could be.”

The table fell quiet again. Murry stared at him for several seconds before taking another drink. His voice was low and raspy.

“…You’ve got a dangerous way of looking at the world.”

Flint’s conviction didn’t waver.

“I’ll become a hero.”

He spoke as though it were the most ordinary thing imaginable.

“Then I’ll figure out how not to die.”

Murry let out another dry laugh.

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

The table fell silent for a second, as Murry took another generous sip from his drink, and Isla cupped her own between her hands.

Until now, Flint had never needed to question what a hero was. Everyone back home seemed to mean the same thing when they said the word.

Maybe the world outside his village wasn't that simple. Maybe everyone carried their own idea of what a hero should be.

If that were true, then he'd simply become the kind of hero even someone like Murry could believe in.

Before Flint could speak again, a familiar voice drifted from a nearby table.

“Looking for work?”

The three of them turned in unison, finding a man who had quietly taken a seat beside a lone laborer near the doorway. Murry’s grip tightened on his mug, and he slowly lowered it back to the table, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

“…”

Then, without taking his eyes off the pair, he spoke just loudly enough for Flint and Isla to hear.

“…Don’t look now,” Murry whispered, his voice barely audible over the room’s noise, “But I think our recruiter changed his recruiting location.”

But even as they tried to remain inconspicuous, the man in question turned, his eyes locking onto Murry’s, realization dawning.

“Ah, damn it!”

The recruiter bolted from his seat, cutting a path across the room and tossing aside anyone who dared to stand in his way.

“After him!” Murry barely managed to slam his mug down without splashing the contents everywhere before he bolted toward the door.

“Let’s go, Isla!” Flint shouted, already half-out of his seat and tearing across the room to keep pace.

“Again?!”

The recruiter barreled through the streets, shoving startled pedestrians aside as he ran.

“Move!”

Murry plowed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of the people he shouldered aside. “I’m not letting you get away this time, you slimy bastard!”

Flint stuck to his heels, their boots drumming a frantic rhythm against the cobblestones, until the recruiter suddenly veered into the darkness of a narrow alley.

“There!” Murry barked, charging after him.

Flint, however, throttled his speed, his brow furrowing in thought.

“…No.”

“What?!” Murry shouted over his shoulder, his voice strained with frustration.

But Flint had already abandoned the pursuit, spinning on his heel and sprinting down a different alleyway.

“Flint!” Isla called after him.

“He’s going the wrong way!”

Murry cursed under his breath but plunged into the alley regardless, the narrow path twisting sharply before winding around yet another corner. By the time he finally burst out onto the next street...

“…Damn it!”

The recruiter was gone.

Again.

𓌏

A block away, the recruiter allowed himself a grin.

“Hah! Idiots.”

He rounded one final corner… and stopped dead.

Flint stood quietly in the middle of the street.

“Hello.”

The recruiter stared at him incredulously.

“How the hell…?”

Flint gripped the axe on his belt.

“You really should stop running away.”

The man immediately spun around in an attempt to escape, but it was already too late. Flint stepped forward and seized him by the shoulder, his grip incredibly firm.

“Let me go!”

The recruiter struggled, but Flint’s grip didn’t budge.

“Sorry, but I can’t do that.”

A few moments later, Murry came sprinting around the corner, his face suggesting he was grasping at straws. When his eyes settled on Flint, his expression changed.

“…Kid.”

He looked from Flint to the captured recruiter.

“…How?”

Flint pointed toward the maze of streets behind them.

“Me and Isla got lost around here earlier.”

Murry blinked.

“…You caught him because you got lost?”

Flint nodded.

“I remembered where the streets connected. The bakery is just around the corner too.”

Isla finally caught up, slightly out of breath. She glanced between the two of them before letting out a small sigh, adjusting her robes.

“In hindsight… maybe getting lost wasn’t such a waste of time.”

Flint grinned back at her, oblivious to the irony

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Murry simply rubbed his face in disbelief.

“…Good grief.”