Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 33.1, 33.2

Four Days Later

"I can't tell if this is flattering or insulting."

Sitting at a desk within his temporary headquarters, Simon squinted at the wanted poster that had been delivered to Springwater Village – and every town and city throughout the Severed Isles.

A royal messenger had stopped by earlier that day, their carriage riding through in a haste. They'd visited just long enough to warn Mayor Evergreen of the vile, barbarous, regicidal Demon running amok.

To the Mayor's credit, her poker face was immaculate. She didn't even crack a grin as the panic-stricken messenger regaled her with tales of Piers' final moments. Apparently, the Helmund scion had given his life in valiant defense of the commonfolk, succumbing to a horde of assassins so the civilians nearby could escape.

Propaganda in a world without cameras or instant long-distance communication was truly something else. Simon couldn't help but wonder how much of ancient Earth's history was just self-interested fiction eventually passed down as fact.

The wanted posters getting spread across the Severed Isles were a prime example of that. Each paper depicted the Hurricane-affiliated survivors of Duke Helmund's rampage: Simon, Katarina, Bastian, Cyna, and Marlene. To be fair, it was at least accurate enough to showcase the five assassins who had actually slain Piers.

But their likenesses...left something to be desired.

"Don't see what your issue is," Katarina grumbled. She peeked over his shoulder, glaring at the poster like it had personally insulted her – which was a valid interpretation. "It's a far sight better than what they did to me."

Simon paused for a moment to search for a silver lining. The moment stretched into several seconds as he kept searching. "They got your hair right?"

"Only the color. I've never worn it that long. Too much risk of someone grabbing it during a scuffle. As for the rest...were they even trying?"

"Well, artists sometimes take creative liberties."

Which was a polite way of phrasing that the Katarina in the wanted poster was a completely different person. Back-length red hair framed the face of someone ten years older; a bonafide femme fatale sporting excessive curves and a come-hither look. It was like the painter had been told 'female redhead' and little else, then decided to simply draw whatever would be most eye-catching.

It made sense. Besides some of the bar-goers, who had seen Kat just for a few hectic minutes, there weren't many witnesses left to describe her appearance. Duke Helmund immediately erased Piers' villa – and everyone still inside it – when he found his son's body. And when he caught up to Simon's group afterwards, he wouldn't have given much scrutiny to the four humans in tow, his attention laser-focused on the escaping Demon.

"Anonymity isn't a bad thing," Simon pointed out. "Means you could disappear if need be. It's not like they'd resort to rounding up every red-haired woman in the Severed Isles."

Probably.

"That much is correct," she said. "I won't deny the logic in it."

She jabbed an irritated finger at the poster. "At the same time...I helped kill a Helmund. Ancient One take me, shouldn't that be deserving of some notoriety? Am I to be mischaracterized as a painter's juvenile fantasy of a buxom beauty? Do I need to grow a Fell appendage for people to remember something other than the color of my hair?"

Simon's depiction was the closest to reality. His face, hair, and Demonic arm were so accurate that Duke Helmund himself had likely sat down with the poor artist and helped inform every minute detail. Bastian also claimed that they'd nailed the transmigrator's 'piercing yet hollow' eyes, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Everything below the neck, however, was questionable. Simon definitely couldn't remember being well over six feet tall, or having a body that rippled with protein-infused musculature, or half of his torso being covered in blackened, bloodstained scales. They'd turned him into quite the intimidating specimen.

It would be easy to blame that on incompetence or faulty memory, but the impression he got was of the wanted poster striking an intentional balance. Partially faithful, so that citizens could still recognize and report him...and partially fabricated, because his true appearance wouldn't fit the message being sold.

Simon was fully aware that he didn't stand out at a glance. He wasn't especially tall, and while increased Strength had granted him a toned physique, that wasn't any different from most mana-boosted Valtians. Aside from his Shapeshifted arm, he looked downright ordinary.

And that just wouldn't do. Piers Helmund, royal heir, scion of the Severed Isles, wasn't allowed to die to a man who seemed so...common. That couldn't be made public knowledge.

People might start getting ideas.

The other wanted posters neatly slotted into that theory. Bastian was marked with numerous battle-scars and garbed in luxurious finery that could've been stolen straight from a nobleman's dresser. Cyna was nearly as musclebound as Simon's poster variant, her greatsword as large as a tree log. Marlene was an exceptionally ugly old crone, smiling a jagged-toothed grin that spoke of a desire to inflict pain.

Each had been made into something 'more' than what they really were. For them, being recognizable was far less important than spinning a compelling narrative for the masses. Piers had been slain by unique freaks of nature allied with a monstrous Demon – as who else could possibly have harmed a Helmund?

Although Cyna did appreciate her rendition. Her only complaint was that they should have drawn her crushing a noble's skull beneath her feet.

On that note… "Our rebel allies have finished recovering from their post-healing exhaustion." Simon placed the wanted poster inside Inventory, turning to face Katarina. "We'll be leaving Springwater later this afternoon."

She nodded. "So I've heard. Marlene spent all of yesterday grousing about inactivity and lost time, even though being so close to Helmund's mana almost stopped her heart. She would've dragged us to a Waystation today even if it killed her."

"Right. Just wanted to make sure that you've said everything you needed to."

Katarina flinched. "I've talked plenty with father."

"How much of it was lies?" Simon folded his arms, unimpressed. "Or half-truths meant to set him at ease? Gerold will want to know what you're getting into. Even if it worries him. Especially if it worries him."

"What I tell my father is hardly your–"

"This might be the last time you ever see him. Things are only going to get more dangerous from here on out. Helmund will be gunning for us in full force. Don't leave Gerold wondering if he should've said 'I love you' just a little bit more."

Simon pushed his gaze at her. "I'm speaking from experience."

Kat promptly caved, quietly agreeing to have another talk with her father before she departed Springwater. No surprise there – pulling out the Dead Parents card tended to end arguments rather quickly.

He would've used it more often if the reminder didn't hurt so much.

--

Springwater felt less anxious than Simon had anticipated from a village committing imperial high treason.

He would have expected to see people quaking in fear of what the future held in store, to detect a nervous energy bubbling just below the surface...

But none of that was there. The villagers seemed largely unfazed. If any of them had realized that Duke Helmund would reduce their home to slag the microsecond he learned they were harboring the Demon that murdered his son, then they certainly weren't showing it.

Then again, a rogue Fell Beast had nearly wiped Springwater off the map just one month prior. The people here were familiar with the concept of encroaching death. Perhaps it wasn't ignorance or delusion that kept them calm, but an ingrained sense of fatalism – what will be, will be.

Though I did figure one of them would sell me out anyway, the transmigrator privately admitted. His heart had dropped to the bottom of his chest when he heard that a royal messenger's carriage was cresting over the horizon. It would've only taken a single wagging tongue for his presence to be exposed.

Thankfully, the people of Springwater hadn't forgotten the good turn he did for them.

Simon returned a cordial nod as he passed someone on the street. Most of the villagers seemed happy to greet him whenever they crossed paths, which was not a feeling he was used to. They'd grown more accustomed to him over these past several days, their fear and awe dissipating while their gratitude remained unchanged.

I should go find more Fell Beasts to kill. Nothing else I've done has been so cost-effective at inspiring loyalty.

Subjugate Territory's effect had probably been a factor as well. 'Native residents of this area will feel partially compelled to follow your orders.' The extent of its compulsion was mostly untested, and Simon couldn't prove that ordering everyone in Springwater not to spill the beans had helped...but it definitely hadn't hurt.

Still, gratitude and Demonic compulsion would only get him so far. The messenger's appearance had been a stark reminder that Simon was putting these people at risk by staying here. Duke Helmund was focusing his efforts on searching major cities for now, but the second he turned his gaze towards more provincial areas, Springwater would be put in the crosshairs.

It was high time that he, Kat, and the Hurricane made for greener pastures. Before his presence brought a royal inquisition upon the village he'd once risked his life to save.

And before Heroic Valor complains about me taking advantage of Springwater's kindness, Simon loudly thought.

[...Are you trying to pick a fight?] the Trait muttered, its voice rising up from deep within his mind.

Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You didn't say a peep about me exercising Subjugate Territory's compulsion effect. Or how I abandoned those two rebels to their fate back at Caelryn. If you're teeing up a long, drawn-out lecture, I'd prefer to get it over with soon.

[So paranoid. Was my olive branch of bonus-bonus EXP insufficient to placate you?]

Heroic Valor sighed – which was impressive considering it didn't have lungs, a body, or a mouth. Even now, it only 'spoke' in emotional impressions that Simon's system-linked subconscious translated for him. He doubted that anyone else could have comprehended the Trait so easily.

[You misconstrue actions for intent,] it continued. [While you did leave those two rebels to face Duke Helmund's wrath, you considered alternatives first, and wished you could have saved them. As for the people of Springwater, you are seeking to protect them by leaving as soon as you can, sacrificing short-term stability for long-term beneficence. I couldn't rightly ask for more than that.]

Simon shook his head. You're supposed to reward EXP for 'acts of significant goodness and heroism'. He wasn't sure why he was arguing against himself, but he found himself unable to stop. The intent shouldn't matter as much as the action – and whatever results it produces.

[The intent always matter. Maybe not to the people that your actions affect, but to you? It's the most important thing there is. Each purposeful decision made is a building block added to your soul, fixed and permanent. Your reasoning shapes the foundation of who you are.]

Heroic Valor's nonexistent eyes gazed directly at him. [And I shouldn't need to tell you what happens to those who start believing that a valiant cause can justify any means.]

Simon chose not to respond, taking a few seconds to collect himself as Heroic Valor faded into the background of his mind. As usual, there was no understanding or catharsis from having spoken to it – just a lingering sense of disquiet that he couldn't fully dispel.

He still wasn't sure why the Trait aggravated him so much. Voice-In-The-Sky had sounded genuinely shocked that they weren't getting along. Maybe other transmigrators in other worlds were less adversarial towards their versions of Heroic Valor? It was something to ask about the next time he and the Voice had another chat.

For now, though, there was work to do. Simon went down his mental checklist, crossing out Heroic Valor from the list of people he needed to speak with. Kat had been the first today. Next was…

The Hurricane trio. In a specific order.

Would've been awkward if he had to subdue Cyna, then talk to Bastian afterwards.

--

The rebel Swordsman was busy sparring with Springwater's makeshift militia. They wouldn't have compared to him even before he received a Boon, but he made sure not to humiliate the villagers, turning what should have been a one-sided rout into a playful teaching exercise.

"Your footwork has improved," Bastian said, as he effortlessly dodged a warrior's lunge. "Just like we discussed. Light and nimble on your feet, fierce and powerful when you strike. Don't deflect an attack unless it's a last resort; let their swords flow around you like air, never touching. The first blow to land is what decides all the rest that follow."

He had a manner of speaking that highlighted his expertise without coming across as condescending. Some of the Springwater warriors were getting a bit frustrated that they couldn't keep up, but it was to a much lesser degree than if Simon had attempted to teach them about...anything, really.

We all have our strengths, the transmigrator mused. Bastian's is reading the room. I suppose that mine would be evil laughter, based on recent evidence.

Their sparring session came to an abrupt halt as they noticed Simon's approach. The villagers fell in line like they were soldiers greeting a commanding officer, their eyes brimming with respect.

They scattered when he mentioned that he needed to talk to Bastian, rushing off to deliver fresh gossip, already whispering amongst themselves about what Springwater's Demonic savior had to discuss with a Hurricane swordmaster.

"Good lads," Bastian remarked, smiling fondly. "They would have bright futures with the blade – if only I could stay to instruct them further."

Simon arched an eyebrow. "Good lads? A couple of them were older than you."

"Age means less on the battlefield than you might presume, young Demon. Piers Helmund was scarcely past his mid-twenties, yet he could have single-handedly razed this village down to the last man, woman, and child. So could you. So could I."

Bastian glanced at the sheathed sword strapped to his hip. "Though I didn't used to be so frightfully strong as this. It was the Boon you Granted that made the difference. Without that, I likely wouldn't have survived our assault on the villa...let alone go on to accomplish what I did. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that my blade would be the one to end him."

He looked up at the transmigrator as if seeing him in a new light. "Thank you, Simon. Truly. Being allowed to slay Piers Helmund was a gift I'll not soon forget."

Simon blinked. Where did this come from? You've been avoiding me since we got to Springwater. Had Bastian just needed time to sort out his thoughts?

It was a surprise, but a welcome one. This conversation would go more smoothly if they started off on a positive note.

Before Simon could propose his new terms, however, Bastian cut in. "Do you remember the seventh Clause of our Contract?" he asked.

"Yes," the Demon answered. "Every Contract I forge is engraved onto memory." Without missing a beat, he read it aloud.

'Clause 7: All EXP gained by Bastian Evergray shall be transferred to Simon Cobblestone and Katarina Cartier, split evenly between them.'

"Very well." Bastian straightened his posture and cleared his throat. "What I am about to request may sound uncouth, but I would never forgive myself if I let an opportunity like this slip me by."

Yeah, I understand the feeling – wait, stop relating to me, Simon grumbled internally. Charismatic people are still unfair.

Was there a Class Advancement that would let him manipulate people without needing to wave his Shapeshifted arm around? Natural leaders like Bastian and Marlene had it so much easier than they realized.

"From what you and Lady Katarina have described," the Swordsman continued, "gaining more E-X-P will bestow additional Stat Points unto me. Am I correct in assuming that due to the nature of our Contract, my Level shall remain at 25 henceforth?"

Simon nodded. "Without Levels, you won't gain stat points, and without Experience, you won't raise your Level."

"An astounding form of magic, that. I'd long since resigned myself to being the best swordsman that latent mediocrity could achieve, but with the power you've Granted me, I feel as if I was born with a veritable wellspring of mana. And yet..."

Bastian clenched his fights. "Yet I crave more. More stats. More Levels. While I am hardly a man for addictive vices, I imagine this is what it's like to be a drunkard staring into an empty cup. Before, I was merely another Hurricane sword arm – now, I can affect change. I can grasp my dreams. I can save this land from utter ruination."

He exhaled a tense, ragged breath. "Do you know what that feels like, Simon?"

Yes.

Yes I do.

Mentally throwing in the towel, Simon admitted that he wasn't going to stop relating to Bastian anytime soon. "What's your proposal, then? You want me to revise the Contract? Remove your restriction on gaining EXP?"

"Correct." The Swordsman winced and lowered his gaze. "Not that I have much to offer in return. An uncouth request, as I've stated. I'll gladly beg if I must, but–"

"Okay."

Simon raised his right arm, Shapeshifted it, and started gathering Fell mana. Bastian was still trying to find his words when a blackened scrawl was written in the air above them.

'Clause 7 (Amended): Half of the EXP gained by Bastian Evergray shall be kept for himself. The other half shall be transferred to Simon Cobblestone. This functions at the standard rate of EXP transferal that Katarina Cartier's Boon similarly enforces.'

"Does that work?" Simon asked, as if inquiring about which restaurant they should have dinner at. "I can't revise it without your approval."

Bastian read it once, then twice. "Yes," he hurriedly said. "I approve. You have my thanks."

Not gonna give me the chance to change my mind? Simon grinned. Smart.

The Clause vanished as quickly as it had appeared – yet both of them could feel a subtle change within as the nature of their Contract was altered. Bastian's mouth fell open, a silence stretching on as he struggled with what to say.

"I…" As if seeking reassurance, he gripped the hilt of his sword. "It is done?"

"Yup. Now you have even more incentive to slaughter Helmund's lapdogs. Enjoy."

Simon turned away, shifting his arm back to human form. "I'll leave you to process the new direction of your life. Have some other people I need to talk with–"

"Why?" Bastian croaked. "Thank you. Sincerely. But why? Why enforce that Clause at all if you were willing to amend it so readily?"

Because it was meant to be leverage.

That was Simon's entire purpose for visiting Bastian today. He had intended to dangle Clause 7 in front of the man's nose, then offer to alter it – in exchange for heavier restrictions elsewhere. Such as extending the terms of the Contract past one year, or expanding who the rebel could be ordered to kill.

Then Bastian had thanked him. Bared his soul. Made an earnest plea from the bottom of his heart.

This is what happens when I let my guard down around charismatic people.

Still...this could wind up better than what he originally had in mind. There were certain benefits to having a bleeding heart like Bastian feel indebted to him. The man may have been willing to deceive strangers he didn't personally know, but he seemed fiercely loyal to those who'd earned his trust.

"Sometimes you catch more flies with honey than vinegar," Simon answered, unsure whether he was saying it to Bastian or himself.

--

Another bonus of their renegotiated Contract was that it should make Cyna less likely to bash Simon's skull in.

She would have failed in the attempt, of course. Springwater Village was a Subjugated territory, so his stats were doubled as long as he resided within its walls.

Somehow, though, he doubted that would stop her from trying. Even with zero chance of winning, she would've risked everything if she thought his death would rescue Bastian from a lifetime of Fell enslavement.

Which was why Simon was planning to cut out the middleman and offer her a Boon Contract.

Unfortunately, Cyna was here to stay. She and Bastian were practically tied at the hip. In lieu of canceling the Swordsman's Contract outright – or subduing his lover and locking her in a box somewhere, and boy would that go over swimmingly – this was the best way Simon could think of to prevent her from interfering.

It could backfire. She might very well interpret his overture as thinly-veiled manipulation...which it basically was. But if he played his cards right, he was confident that he could frame his proposal in a way that would satisfy her two necessary criteria:

Killing nobles and protecting Bastian.

Demonic Boons were unlike anything else in Valtia. They represented an unparalleled capacity for growth. Cyna wasn't blind – she'd seen how Bastian was faster, stronger, better.

The Swordsman had once claimed that he was the weak link of their duo. That dichotomy had been reversed overnight, just from him making one tiny little insignificant deal with the devil.

How could she hope to stand by his side if he continued to outpace her? Duke Helmund's soldiers were going to be even stronger than Piers' retinue. What if she became a burden, a hindrance? Either she could remain as she was, a warrior of only moderate renown, doomed to wallow in obscurity...

Or she could sign on the dotted line.

Wasn't too different from how Simon had convinced Bastian with 'you'll kill nobles and save Cyna'. Birds of a feather, those two.

Though her Contract would have to be more lenient than Bastian's. He had only accepted stricter terms because of a nerve-wracking cocktail of pressure, panic, and extreme circumstances. Between the guardsmen attacking the Barrier and the sight of his tortured unconscious girlfriend, there really hadn't been much breathing room for him to think.

Springwater Village was a slightly less stressful environment than that. Unless Duke Helmund's armies invaded within the next thirty minutes, Simon probably wouldn't be able to swing an obedience Clause this time.

That was fine as well. Boons weren't permanent. If Cyna turned out to be a bad hire, then he could always rescind his offer. He mostly wanted her as another weapon to point at his enemies – Level 21 combined with Grant Boon's retroactive Level boost was a tantalizing prospect – and he wasn't opposed to shopping around if someone more reliable came along.

Naturally, his plan was derailed the moment she opened her mouth.

"What is the full extent of Bastian's Contrast?" Cyna immediately asked, fixing Simon with a glare of tempered steel. "I wish to know what you've done to him."

Going on the offensive already? Simon shrugged, then read out all seven Clauses. He didn't have anything to hide.

When he was finished, Cyna's gaze softened by a fraction. "Not as dire as I'd presumed."

"You didn't ask Bastian about it?"

"I did, but he's prone to bending the truth if it would shield me from the harshness of reality. You could both be lying, but what you've said fits what I've seen thus far."

She tilted her head, examining Simon with a clinical look. "You know, I have spent every day in Springwater debating whether or not to kill you."

He put on a cheery smile. "And yet here I stand, hale and hearty. Decided I'm not so bad?"

"You're better than the Ancient-accursed blackguards I've sworn to fight. That much, I'll give you."

Cyna matched his smile with one of her own; all teeth, no mirth. "Suppose I'll have to keep a watchful eye. Could be that you lead us to glory. Could be that you're a two-faced snake. You'll reveal your true colors in due time, one way or another."

So the jury's still out? Simon thought. I can work with that.

He should table the offer of a Contract for now. Instead, he would continue to assess Cyna as a potential Boon-Bearer, while she would scrutinize him for signs of Demonic duplicity. A period of mutual observation and judgement.

"That's reasonable," he said. "I'll let you know in advance if you're becoming too much of a problem for me. That way, we discuss what to fix before I have no choice but to kill you."

Cyna narrowed her eyes – not out of malice, but confusion. "I've never met someone who acts so strangely as you."

"You wouldn't be the first to say that."

--

And lastly – Marlene.

He found the Hurricane leader reclining on a chair outside, basking beneath the noontime sun. She'd spent her time in Springwater recovering from Helmund's rampage. Despite Simon body-blocking any errant mana blasts, the Duke's unrestrained aura of power had nearly extinguished her life like a candle in a snowstorm.

It seemed to have taken the wind out of her sails. Assassinating Piers had been an incredible, impossible feat, the culmination of decades of false starts and broken promises, the most progress she'd ever made towards fulfilling her dream...

But what did it matter when his father still reigned? They had only barely managed to kill Piers – a mortal man. Powerful, yet still mortal, and still a man.

How could they topple the walking natural disaster that was Duke Helmund?

"You neglected to inform me that you'd seized a village," Marlene began. She didn't turn to look at Simon, instead watching people in the distance as they went about their lives. "Lucia Evergreen may be Mayor of Springwater, but you are its ruler in all but name."

"The topic didn't cross my mind," Simon honestly replied. "Wasn't relevant to our mission."

"Our mission. Hmm."

Just for a moment, Marlene's posture sagged with the weight of years. "That was the Hurricane's second try at slaying Piers. The first...cost us dearly. It went so poorly that I doubt he even realized that it was an attempt on his life. In truth, my hope died that day. I'd made my peace with being a rodent clawing at the ankles of the nobility, and no more than that."

She tightly laced her fingers together. "Then you revealed yourself – and hours later, a Helmund is dead. Hours."

Her gaze snapped towards him. "How long, Simon? Days? Weeks? How long were you orchestrating this outcome? Did you know precisely how everything would play out the very instant your claws touched Piers' throat?"

Simon remained quiet. Marlene was perceptive enough that she might catch him lying if he spoke. Better to let her form her own assumptions.

"...So be it." The Hurricane leader sighed, sinking into her chair. "Couldn't trust anything you say regardless. Would be a fool to, after what I've witnessed. Just promise me one thing."

A note of savagery crept into her tone. "Tear out Duke Helmund's vile beating heart. Do that, and I don't care what kind of tyrant you become afterwards. You couldn't possibly be worse than what we've already endured."

Simon chuckled. "A ringing endorsement. You needn't worry so much, though."

If only because the bar was atrociously low. Voice-In-The-Sky had confirmed that Valtia would perish if Helmund wasn't slain.

Wasn't hard to be a better leader than someone jumpstarting the apocalypse.

"That so?" Her lips twitched with amusement. "Then keep fighting, Simon. Fight until not one of them is left alive."

He was forced to turn away so she wouldn't see the look on his face. Yeah. Alright.

Fighting, I can do.

**

Nine Years Prior

The principal's office was likely meant to seem intimidating. It was cold, austere, and the head honcho himself was seated at the forefront, scowling with disapproval.

Simon didn't mind. Getting out of class was a win in his book, and scowls from a stuffy old man weren't scary. The principal couldn't punish him in any way that mattered.

But his parents absolutely could. He sat up straighter as they stormed into the room, adopting an innocent, wide-eyed gaze that would have put a baby lamb to shame.

Based on their tense expressions, they weren't buying it. Why does that never work? he wondered. Other kids do it just fine. Is it something on my face?

"There you are." The principal nodded at Simon's parents, then gestured towards two empty seats. "I'm glad that both of you are able to join us today, Mr. and Mrs–"

"My son is being bullied?" his mother hissed, her voice cracking like a whip.

An uncomfortable silence crawled on. Simon's mother sent the principal her patented Prosecutor Stare, looming over his desk with the murderous air of a gargoyle. Her husband leisurely took a seat as if he was used to this sort of thing, giving their son an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

The principal cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, buying time until he could muster the nerve to speak. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it 'bullying'," he put forth. "Simon has had difficulties making friends, that much is true, but–"

"Don't you dare try to fucking rules lawyer me. That is literally my job." Her cheeks crept upward into a snarl. "I can see the bruises on him. Where did those come from, hmm? Gonna tell me he tripped and fell?"

"Ma'am, there was an altercation."

"Oh, of course! An altercation. Then why is Simon the only one sitting in your office right now? I know my son. He wouldn't throw a punch unless someone had damn well earned it. You schools and your zero tolerance policies, always punishing whoever defends themselves while letting the aggressors off with a slap on the–"

"He broke someone's arm!" the principal blurted out.

A pause. Slowly, Simon's mother and father turned to face him. "Is that true?" his father softly asked.

"Yes." No point in lying. There'd been plenty of witnesses, and it wasn't like Simon felt guilty about it.

"Why?" his father asked next, still softly.

"Mom was right. They were bullying me."

It was a gradual escalation of events. Insults first. Then harsher insults. Pranks. Pushing. Tripping. Stealing. Little punches. Bigger punches.

Simon had informed the teachers. Tried every strategy they told him. Ignore the bullies, reason with them, meet their cruelty with kindness...none of it worked.

Until today, when he'd devised a strategy of his own.

"Simon." His mother knelt down in front of him, her eyes shimmering with pity that burned at him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Already cause too much trouble for you, was what he thought. Didn't want to disappoint you more.

"I don't know," was what he said.

His parents shared a glance, their faces unreadable. "How did you break someone's arm?" his father ventured.

"Held him down and stomped."

All three of the adults winced. "That's…" His father let out a nervous laugh, looking over at his wife. "Honey? Didn't the psychiatrist recommend that we filter what he watches on TV?"

"I didn't get it from TV," Simon explained. "Got it from a book. And it worked. Isn't that what you're supposed to do in a fight? Hit them as hard as you can? End it right away?"

"Suppose you got that from a book as well?" the principal remarked. He was examining Simon with one of those searching looks that adults often gave him. As if he was a puzzle missing pieces.

Simon hated that look. It never led to something nice.

"I suggest you keep quiet," his mother seethed, her anger reigniting. "This happened because of your staff's negligence. The hell are we even paying you for, if you couldn't handle a spat between grade-schoolers before it spiraled out of control?"

"We can only do so much," the principal retorted. "Especially if his parents are teaching him to...how did he phrase it? End his fights right away?"

"We didn't teach him that, you insufferable–"

"You did," Simon interjected.

Silence again. Everyone looked at him with expressions of bafflement. "What?" his mother said.

"You told me that before. When I asked why you take on the tough cases that no one else wants. You said...if there's a battle worth fighting, then you can't avert your eyes from it. Need to face it head-on, without blinking. Have to hit hard and fast, using any means necessary, and you don't stop until it's over."

His mother ran her hands down her face. "Oh. I see." She stared up at the ceiling. "God damnit."

"Simon?" His father tagged in. "What your mother said isn't...wrong, per se. Thing is, you're neglecting some very important context. Maybe you couldn't have resolved this situation without fighting–"

The principal let out a noise of disapproval. It went ignored.

"–But breaking bones goes too far. The punishment has to fit the crime."

It did, though? One arm is a fair trade for weeks of making my life miserable.

He managed to stop himself before saying that out loud. "I warned them yesterday," Simon defended. "Told them that I would break an arm if they didn't leave me alone. They just laughed."

Probably thought he was bluffing. Lesson learned – when threatening someone, he needed to make sure they believed it.

"Let's look at this logically," his father offered. When his parents realized that he and them weren't seeing things eye-to-eye, they usually tried this approach. "What benefits do you gain from escalating to this degree of violence? While the bullies may not harass you again, other kids could be afraid to get close to you."

"That's okay."

His father frowned. "No, Simon. Making friends is important."

"I wouldn't have anyway," he said, shrugging. "If they're going to avoid me from now on, what difference will it make? No one likes talking to me."

For some reason, that statement, spoken with dispassionate objectivity, made his parents more upset than anything that had come before.

In the end, they were both correct. His father was right in that the other kids his age were wary of him moving forward. Making friends became virtually impossible.

And Simon was right in that he was okay with it. He was lonely, yes, but it was still a measurable improvement from his former circumstances. Spending his days in peaceful solitude didn't seem so bad.

Until one year later, when a phone call upended his life.

**

Would they approve of me?

It was a question he sometimes asked himself. Simon's parents had loved him, but they'd also fundamentally disagreed with him on many things.

He wasn't even going to bother wondering if they would be proud of him – not when he wasn't sure if they would approve of a single thing he'd done. Embracing the power of Fell mana, hunting people for EXP, designating himself judge, jury, and executioner...

What would they say, if they saw him now?

Well. At the very least, they couldn't have argued that he wasn't following their example. He'd found a battle worth fighting, and he wasn't stopping until it was over.

Although on second thought, they would definitely argue with him there. Beg on their hands and knees. Plead with him to turn back and save himself.

Because if they hadn't been so committed to fighting their battles, they might still be alive.

--

Thanks for reading!