Tale of the Fake Hero

Chapter 2 – Childhood, the Dawn of Summer (1)

“First row, ready.”

Was humankind fated to drown in misery with nothing to cling to?

“Hey, these damned uruks. Their numbers seem endless.”

“Captain, is it uruk pork belly for lunch today too?”

“Shut up and focus. Wait, wait, wait, now! Fire! First row, aim; second and third rows, fire!”

They didn’t have outstanding technical skills like dwarves; it wasn’t like they could grant all kinds of miracles like fairies; and they didn’t have overwhelming power like the dragons.

“Damn! The left wing is about to collapse.”

“An ambush? What are the reserves doing?”

“You idiots! Do you think there’s a need for the reserve team to go?”

Tales had been passed down of the gods giving five heroes to humankind to change their fate during their darkest hour—heroes known as ‘Warriors’.

Had the gods been giving them false hope? Those Warriors had not appeared since the Era of the Gods… not even one.

“Ah, the reserve unit not going to the left wing means…”

Thus, humanity had artificially created its own heroes, officially known as ‘Fake Warriors’. They were humanity’s strongest soldiers and wielded fake holy swords to bear the fate of humanity on their shoulders.

“Do you think Kamila is over there?”

A blade sparkled bright red, sending dozens of uruk heads flying from where they had been destroying the left wing with their barbaric weapons.

“I am Kamila Alter Aradamantel.” She held a longsword made of metal from another world. It wasn’t just any sword, but a weapon of slaughter—a holy sword.

Holy swords were only given to Fake Warriors, and hers was the unique Great Holy Sword, Aradamantel. It went without saying that the swordsman wielding such a sword was a Fake Warrior.

“I will kill you.” Her voice awakened the holy sword, sending a bloody aura spewing out and drenching the earth in a river of fresh uruk blood.

* * *

“Oh, my, Lady Kamila… They caused a mess again. Look, they left human sashimi behind.”

“Those monsters have elevated the skill of making human sashimi to the level of art.”

“Fuck art.”

Battling against the uruks was difficult, but the cleanup afterward was especially disgusting. The uruk turned villages into slaughterhouses, and the odor of blood hung heavy in the air. The monster wolves they rode, the Blache Wolves, found human flesh to be very appetizing.

“It’s not like this is your first or second time seeing such a thing. Stop overreacting. Huh? Do you want to get beaten or something?” The heroine scolded the soldiers and looked at the musty-smelling pile of corpses with a surprisingly calm demeanor.

She was tall and slim. Her mysterious golden dragon eyes peeking out from beneath her white-bobbed hair were evidence of human body modification—the most famous characteristics of Fake Warriors.

The world knew her as Kamila Alter Aradamantel, meaning ‘Proxy Wielder of the Great Holy Sword, Aradamantel.’

“What should we do?”

“What do you mean? Do you want to search through each of these ruined faces and identify them? Take what you need and burn it all before an epidemic starts,” she commanded.

“Understood.”

She was ready to turn and leave when she heard a commotion and shouting from the village entrance.

“What now?” She frowned. A moment later, a couple of soldiers rushed to the epicenter of the commotion and immediately brought someone back with them.

“He suddenly ran into the village and started causing trouble. He has to be out of his mind,” one of the soldiers said.

A fairly large soldier held the jet-black-haired and red-eyed boy up by the scruff of his neck, and they watched him helplessly struggle.

“Let go. Give it back! Give it back!” the boy screamed.

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Kamila gave the boy’s face a scrutinizing look for a different reason. ‘Have I seen him before? Why does he look familiar?’

The soldiers had been dispatched into squads for cleanup, but they ambled over one by one and started causing a stir, as if they were watching a good spectacle.

“That boy has a brand on his cheek… Isn’t that the Balkrush Clan’s emblem?” one muttered.

“Are you saying he’s in league with the uruk?”

“Well, no one would have such a tattoo unless they were crazy. The captain would know…”

Kamila sat on the paved stones of the collapsed city hall and continued to blankly look at the boy. A giant among men stood on either side of her. On her left stood the mercenary leader, Eltoram, who had a shaggy white beard and a physique as majestic as an uruk’s.

“You’re saying that kid went on a rampage for no reason?” Eltoram asked.

“No, that’s not it…” the soldier explained. “He asked to meet Kamila. I waved him away for spouting bullshit, and then he went wild.”

Eltoram’s fierce eyes narrowed as he approached the boy. He was a notoriously infamous beastman. Beastmen were cursed creatures—neither from the abyss nor the light.

Most beastmen were hated and despised everywhere on the continent and were driven out to the ends of the world, but it was different on the battlefield—they made the best warriors.

Their endless combat experiences, persistent vitality, fighting spirit, strength, and physique made them perfect for confronting the uruks, not to mention their natural aggressiveness. They were incredible living weapons.

“Who are you to dare to ask for Lady Kamila?”

“I want to learn swordsmanship,” the boy said.

“Swordsmanship? Why?”

“I heard it’s a method of killing others with swords… If I want to kill those uruk bastards, I need to learn it!”

There was a strange silence for a moment, and then Eltoram held his stomach and burst into laughter. The mercenaries followed suit, bending over and laughing.

“If the uruks heard this, they would shit themselves.”

“While screaming, ‘Uruk Slayer’!”

“Oh, my… What’s he going to say next? ‘I don’t know if you brought a diaper. Would you mind giving me a diaper instead? Never mind, I already shit myself’, hahaha!”

“Hahahahahahaha!”

Eltoram suddenly stopped laughing, shoved his face in front of Kaisen’s, and made eye contact. “Don’t make a fuss, kid.”

“…”

“Does Kamila seem like a nanny who would pamper you? This is a battlefield. There’s no room for a snotty-nosed brat.” Killing intent laced Eltoram’s eyes and voice, but the boy showed no sign of avoiding his gaze.

The boy simply didn’t feel fear. He was already dull and broken beyond belief, his emotions having been cruelly trampled.

‘What kind of kid is this?’ Even Eltoram was surprised. Other kids would soil themselves and run away if an ordinary beastman just frowned at them, but the boy wasn’t scared of him in the slightest, and he was larger and fiercer than other beastmen.

“What is that brand? Who put that brand on you?” Eltoram asked.

The boy shook his head. “You’re not going to teach me swordsmanship. Why would I tell you anything in return? I’ll leave quietly, so just give it back.”

“Give what back?”

“Oh, about that, Captain…” The mercenary who had captured the boy made a coin shape with his fingers and gave a sheepish smile. It meant that he had looted a pretty good item.

“You pathetic bastard… handle it yourself.” Eltoram seemed to lose interest and walked to the other side while dusting his hands off. He complained to a few other mercenaries as he did so. “How dare you laze about, you bastards?”

As soon as Eltoram left, the boy turned to the mercenary who had captured him. “I want it back.”

“Return what? Kid, I’ll take good care of that dangerous item, so don’t worry. Just go your own way.”

“I said it’s mine. Give it back!” The boy attacked the mercenary. Unfortunately, it was impossible from the start for him to win with his small and thin body. On top of that, his opponent was an elite mercenary serving on the front lines of a Fake Warrior’s corps.

“Ha, this snot-nosed brat. I was trying to end things on a good note…” The mercenary easily knocked the boy down and prepared to kick him in the side for good measure.

“Stop.” A young man in pure white robes standing to the right of the Fake Warrior, Kamila, spoke. “What did you steal?” His voice was firm and benevolent, holding a great dignity that couldn’t be ignored.

The mercenary paused. “It’s nothing special…”

“Nothing special?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“That’s good. If it’s nothing special, then please return it. If we take things for no reason, then how are we any different from the uruks?”

* * *

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* * *

The mercenary hesitated for a moment before removing something from his waist.

The man in white robes kneeled in front of Kaisen and met his gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s not because he has a bad personality.”

The young man had his light blue hair neatly tied up in a ponytail, which strangely suited his blue eyes. “Please understand that it’s because his battle lust is still affecting him. Blood, after all, can sometimes turn people into beasts.”

The silver brooch neatly fastened on the front of his robes depicted a wolf’s head. It was an honor given only to the top graduates of , one of the empire’s three magic towers.

“My name is Yohan Wolf Frost. You can call me ‘Wolf’.”

“…”

“I don’t have many skills I can brag about, but I am a mage. Now, will you tell me your name?” He was gracefully humble.

The middle name ‘Wolf’ was an honor bestowed only to top graduates of the university, and he was a 5-star archmage, representing the empire’s scholars. In other words, he was a mage who had reached the rank of arch-wizard.

“Kaisen…”

Wolfe thought for a moment before smiling brightly. “Kaisen! Wow, that’s a good name. Is it from the dragon tongue? It means ‘connection’, right? Who named you?”

“My mother,” Kaisen replied.

“Your mother is a very knowledgeable person. What kind of person is she?”

Kaisen bit his lip and felt pain at the question. “She’s dead. Killed by the uruks.” He spat out the last word.

Wolf’s eyes filled with pity. “By the uruk who branded your cheek?”

Kaisen lowered his gaze as a bitter silence fell over the camp. Although they were emotionless mercenaries, some of them looked at him in pity.

Kaisen’s emaciated form from his travels north through the ruined southern region for the past month added to his pathetic form.

“Here.” The mercenary handed the item he had taken from Kaisen to Wolf. It was a shortsword.

The item Kaisen brought as a keepsake… was something his mother had treasured throughout her life. It was more precious than his life, so he’d desperately tried to get it back.

“Wait.” In nearly an instant, Kamila, who’d obviously been sitting some distance away, closed the distance and grabbed the mercenary’s wrist.

“L-Lady Kamila?!” Her grip was so strong that the mercenary let out a pained groan.

Kamila snatched the shortsword from him and turned to Kaisen. “You brat… where did you get this?” she asked with a glare. Her previous, blank stare was nowhere to be seen.

“Kamila, what are you doing? Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” Even with Wolf’s dissuasion and the mercenaries’ confusion, Kamila harshly continued, “Where did you steal this from?! Are you mute? Deaf? Want me to pierce open your ears?!”

“I didn’t steal it.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I said I didn’t steal it!”

“Then where did you get it?! Tell me!” Kamila sensed a sliver of truth in Kaisen’s wavering voice and slightly red eyes.

“It’s a keepsake from my mother… so give it back! That’s the only thing I have from her!” the boy yelled.

In that instant, everyone there froze.

“A keepsake?” Rather than it being from the boy’s yell, they were frozen by the overwhelming killing intent erupting from Kamila’s body. The intensity of it was such that it seemed to dye the air bright red.

“Your mom’s…?” Kamila tightly grabbed Kaisen’s chin and turned his head this way and that, looking closely at his features.

‘No way.’ Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t accept the truth before her as reality. ‘If you look closely, they look exactly alike…’ The moment she subconsciously acknowledged that fact, her mind went blank, as if she’d suffered a traumatic brain injury.

‘How?’ Her master had definitely died in the final battle of the ‘Black Summer’…

“He’s dead.” The mercenaries, not knowing the truth, sighed and shook their heads.

“I can’t believe he talked back to Lady Kamila like that.”

“She’s a true egalitarian, not distinguishing between children and adults…”

Wolf, who had been Kamila’s friend for 20 years, was the only one who felt something was strange. He grabbed Kamila’s hand as she gripped Kaisen’s chin. “Stop! He’s a child who lost his parents. You should treat him kindly. Let go of him.”

Kamila blankly looked back at Wolf and finally let go of Kaisen. As Wolfe patted Kaisen’s back and helped him catch his breath, Kamila spoke. “You want to learn swordsmanship from me to kill the uruks? So you can get revenge?”

“Yeah…!”

“Oh? Then convince me that you’re worth teaching.”

For a moment, everyone was speechless—the coughing Kaisen, Wolf, and even the mercenaries around them.

Kamila continued, “Why are you blinking at me like that, you idiot? Answer me. I told you to convince me. Don’t I need to know if you’re worth teaching or not?”

The mercenaries looked at each other in bewilderment. Wolf felt the same. “L-Lady Kamila?”

“What is she doing?”

“Kamila, what are you…?”

Kamila had even cursed at and chased away the Seven Sword Saint candidates who’d gone to her in the hopes of becoming her disciples. More than that, though…

“Kamila, a Fake Warrior can’t accept a male disciple. Only women can become Fake Warriors.”

Becoming a Fake Warrior’s disciple was the same as becoming a candidate to be the next Fake Warrior since there was a high probability of the holy sword being passed down to one’s disciple.

Fake Warriors did not accept just anyone as their disciple. Rather than just a student-teacher relationship, it was more of a successor-predecessor one.

“Who says I’ll accept a brat like this as my student?” Kamila asked. “I just want to see if he has some spunk.”

“What do I have to do to convince you?” Kaisen defiantly asked.

The mercenaries cheered.

Kamila spat. Then, she took a longsword from a nearby mercenary and threw it at Kaisen. “Catch.”

“…?”

“I hate people who are only talk. If you desire to sincerely learn swordsmanship, then go for it. Be prepared to die.”

Kaisen blinked.

Kamila provocatively waved Raminea’s shortsword. “If you succeed in landing an attack even once… Yeah, even if your sword glances me, I’ll return this sword to you.”

“…!”

“If I win, though, I’m keeping this. Why should I give a keepsake to a brat who’s about to die? If you want to give up, do it now, and I’ll let you take the sword up north.”

The mercenaries around them burst into laughter.

“If you don’t want to teach, just say so.”

“Kid, just take the sword and leave.”

Kaisen quickly read the atmosphere. It was clear that Kamila’s behavior was very unusual. It was important to seize this opportunity before she changed her mind. Maybe that’s why he said his next words…

“It’s a promise, then.”

The mercenaries’ mouths dropped open, and even Kamila’s eyebrows twitched. Everyone focused on Kaisen. Even Wolf couldn’t believe what was happening.

Kaisen grabbed the longsword stuck in the ground and aimed it straight at Kamila. “If I win, you will teach me how to wield a sword.”

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