The Hero's Son wants to be the Demon King (1) (Patreon)

Chapter 1

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Arahan slipped out of his room, peering down the hallways to make sure no one was awake.  The morning chill lingered still and Arahan wrapped his cloak tighter around his body, trying to keep warm.  He stayed a moment, listening for footsteps or voices. 

Nothing.

He stepped carefully down the stairs making sure the ancient planks wouldn’t creak under his weight.  There was no need really, his grandfather kept them in good shape, but no point in getting caught and regretting it after.  Every little bit counts, his nana often said, though she was usually talking about spices in her cooking, not sneaking out at break of dawn.  But Arahan had a job to do and his conscience would feel stones better once he brought the goats home.

His grandfather was waiting for him by the front door, sitting on the porch steps.

“Earth and sky, Gramps.  How’d you know.”

Instead of answering, Arahan’s grandfather –Arxus– took a long drag on his pipe.  He was a tall man, but seemed shorter than he actually was due to his worsening posture.  The elderly man’s hair was all but gone, except the wisps of white that hung on stubbornly.  Arahan wished his grandfather would just shave it off.

Arxus was dressed in the beige-green home tunic that he loved so much, made by his grandma many harvests back when Arahan was just a boy. It hung on him loosely, emphasizing the reed-like frame and hiding the whipcord muscles from working out in the field.

“Saw you drink enough water to drown a mermaid, boy.”  His grandfather took a drag on his pipe then opened his golden eyes, which mirrored Arahan's own.  “Old soldier’s trick.  Where to, Boy?”

Arahan mumbled,  “Nowhere important.  I’ll be back by noon, Gramps.  I swear it.”

“That bow and arrow behind your back is just for show?”

Belatedly, Arahan stowed the bow and arrow behind his back and felt heat rise to his cheeks.  He did not want to confess to his grandfather that he had left the pen open last night and the goats had escaped.  For a small farm like theirs, every livestock was precious and everyone knew it.  He looked out the kitchen window and saw that the last threads of night were being dispelled by the beginnings of sunlight eking out over the horizon.

If someone other than him found the goats, it would be finders keepers.

And Arahan never won fingers keeps. Ever.

“Tell me the truth Boy, or I’ll have your grandmother speak some sense into you.”

Arahan flinched, all the while knowing that his grandmother did not have the heart to ‘speak some sense’ into him.  Sixteen summers old and she still doted on him like he was a child, though he didn’t mind.  But his grandmother was a powerful empath, able to pick up on the smallest of emotions.  Probably the best one in their Weiler –the collection of farms which served as their town. On the best of days, Arahan could block her out through sheer will.  

On the worst of days… well, the pain and genuine worry in her eyes got him to confess quicker than a six-footed rabbit.

“No sir,”  Arahan took a breath, deciding to fess up.  “Last night I left the doors open to the goat pen.  When I noticed it after fetching firewood for the evening… they were already gone.  I’ll go find them right now.”

“Now how’re you going to do that without mana or magic, Boy?” 

Arahan flushed with embarrassment and indignant anger.  He saw his grandfather had one eyebrow raised at him.  He’d said it on purpose, as he often did whenever Arahan left the farm.  Arahan knew all too well why; his grandfather was simply reminding him to keep his temper when going outside.  He’d gotten in too much trouble as a boy, unable to control himself when the name-calling began.

Freak.

Idiot.

Dummy.
Imbecile.

In a world where everything centered around magic, Arahan was an easy target for the cruelty of others. Six possible branches of magic and he couldn't master a single one. Most people showed talents in at least two, if not three. All because he had been born with no mana.

The mocking was doubly worse because he was the Hero’s son.

Arthas Quen, the last great hero of mankind who slew the demon king.

Funny how the hero’s name wasn’t worth the price of two eggs when it came down to it.

Arahan didn’t remember his parents well, he had been passed off to his grandparents –Arthas’ parents– as soon as he was born.  His father and mother had been fighting in a war, leading the frontlines against the demon king himself.  They passed away soon after the great battle and had a great funeral in the capital to honor them.  A feast that supposedly lasted thirty days and a great statue in their likeness; to remember the great sacrifice that the Hero and the Priestess made.

Arhan’s grandparents, Arxus and Emilia, –the Hero’s own parents– hadn’t been invited.

No one remembered the Hero’s parents, much less his freak son who couldn’t wield a single spell. They were too busy grieving.

Arahan shoved the old familiar pain away, thinking up the words to convince his grandfather.  If he didn’t go out soon, some other holder might claim them.  He was racing against daylight and was eager to start searching.

“I can track as well as any other boy my age, Gramps.  Even better.  They’re always relying on their magic, missing things.  You know that.  Remember when the Wortons little one went missing last summer? I was the one who found him, Gramps.  No magic. Just wits.” Arahan tapped a finger against his temple for good measure.

Arxus grunted.  “Aye, you can track them. No doubt about that, Boy.  But what are you going to do if their tracks lead to the forest? If you find wolf tracks? Even grown men with magic You don’t got any.”

“If I find any wolf tracks, I’ll turn right back Gramps.”  He spoke quickly.  “Please Gramps.  You gave me those goats and promised me that they’d be mine if I could raise them.  Well now, I’m just about ready to use them to start my own flock.  It’s my responsibility to go get them back.”

“It was also your responsibility to make sure this didn’t happen in the first place, Ari.”  Arxus seldom ever called Arahan by his nickname and it added gravity to the man’s voice.  “And there’s also the chance that some other holder already staked a claim.”

“I’ll… ask around.”  Arahan looked out the window, growing impatient.  “Please, Gramps.  I’ll stay out of trouble.  I swear it.”

Arxus looked over Arahan and finally relented, grunting and nodding at the same time.  Then he added, “Rivers and Wind, you're stubborn. Leave your bow here, boy.  If the other holders see you armed, magic or no magic, they’ll be on alert.”

“Yes sir.”  Arahan put the bow and arrow down, readying himself to run.  He had lost enough time.

Arxus put a hand on Arahan’s shoulder, “Take this with you,” pressing something cold and metallic into his hands.  

Arahan saw that it was a dagger; the only one of his father’s belongings to return to the family.  Everything else had been claimed by the Church, the Royal family and his comrades.  The blade’s length was about a hand and a half; its sheathed made of black metal with golden accents.  He didn’t need to draw it out of its sheathe to know that it had the sharpest edge in this Weiler; his grandfather took care of it like a newborn babe.

His grandfather flashed one of his rare, but extra mischievous precisely because it was rare, grins at him.  “Happy Birthday, boy.”

Arahan’s heart surged with emotion.  It was a combination of joy, elation, happiness and love for the man who taught him everything he knew.  He wrapped his arms around his grandfather, a detached part of his mind noting that he didn’t have to reach up anymore.  If anything, Arahan was a bit taller than his grandfather, though barely.

“Thanks Gramps.”  He choked out.

Arxus said nothing and returned the embrace.

“Now git and get those goats back before the Ghard boys find them.  They lost a pair of their taurents last winter and had no new calf-births this year.  Plus their oldest has his eyes on the Fredericks girl.  I reckon your goats will look mighty tempting for a dowry.”

“I’ll be back by noon, Gramps!”  Arahan rushed out the front door, stashing the dagger around his belt. 

The morning sun was shining down on their farm-field which glistened with the morning dew.  Soon his grandfather would go out and use a combination of water and earth magic to till the soil; renewing the soil and getting it ready for new crops.  As long as Arahan got back by noon, he’d have plenty of time to take the sheep –and hopefully, the goats– out by the river to graze.

Secretly Arahan hoped to find the goats and come back an hour after noon-meal.  His grandmother would fuss over him and insist that he do his shepherd duties after eating.  That way, when he did take the flock out to the river he could avoid the other boys.  Lately, the older boys had started going beyond the simply name-calling, there was a mounting tension in the air.

The winter hadn’t been kind to the Weiler.  Many farms lost livestock and food had been running low for all of them.  But Gramps was the oldest Weilholder and had been wise enough to stock up extra this harvest; taking the risk to skimp out on taxes.  It wasn’t anything new though, grandfather hated the kingdom with a passion and used any excuse he could to dodge taxes.  In his eyes, they were directly responsible for the death of Arahan’s parents.

Knowing this, old man Judd –the tax collector– looked the other way every now and then.  Everyone in this Weiler and the next Weiler over and their cousins in the next Weiler all knew about the Hero’s forgotten family.  Especially the fact that Arahan was a manaless freak.

But now seeding-day was near.  Things would get better.  People would be more relaxed and tired.  There were lots of work to be done now that the winter-ice was finally gone.  They’d be too tired to bother Arahan.

Arahan went towards the river.  The path here was too frequently traveled to track them just yet; but knowing the goats and their appetites they’d have headed towards the river.  On the way, he passed by Ghardhold which was coincidentally next to Frederikhold.  Arahan slowed into a jog then eventually stopped; his gaze fixed on the two farms.

What if his grandfather was right? What if his goats had already been taken?

Most Weilholders wouldn’t think twice about giving back someone’s lost goats.  But the Weiler that Arahan and his grandparents lived in were a bit different.  They were in the frontiers; the boundary between the human kingdom and the vast demon ranges to the west.  Mana was especially dense in this part of the world; creating freak magic-storms that only the most powerful of mages could calm and powerful beasts twisted by the clash of human and demon mana.

Before the war ended, demon raids had been frequent as well.

Perhaps that was why his father had been so strong; living out here in the frontiers was not for the weak.  The place bred strong magic; another reason why Arahan was looked down on so much.  Of course, not having magic at all was unusual but Arahan was sure that in the cities where magic wasn’t required for the daily struggle for everyday life, he wouldn’t be looked down on as much. There were plenty of others with weak mana at birth.

Arahan had to find those goats.  They were his ticket out of here.  In the capital was the Hero’s Academy –named after his father– and it was a place of learning.  People of all races and backgrounds gathered there.  Swordsmanship, mage-arts and, arcane-crafting, architecture.  They taught everything.

It didn't matter which of the six branches of magic you specialized in. Whether you were a Elementalist like Gramps or Mentalist like Grandma, they would take you.

Maybe even a boy with no Mana.

He wouldn’t be judged by his lack of magic; he could make a name for himself as an arcane-crafter, designing blueprints for new inventions to make people’s lives easier.  Perhaps he’d become a famous architect, leaving his name in the history books with the great castles he’d build. Or he could become a politician, helping people.

Arahan could make something of himself there.  Unlike the frontiers where being powerfully gifted with mana was not an option; it was a way of life.

Putting that aside, Arahan brought himself back to the matter with his goats.  He wanted to go and check if the Ghards or Frederiks had seen his goats last night.  But it wasn’t like he could knock on their door even before breakfast and expect a well-welcome.  Besides, he knew the two families; they’d lie, plain and simple.  If they had his goats it would be best to cut his losses.

At the same time though, he wanted to check.  The trek to the river was a long one which would continue past the river.  Crossing the ford meant he would get wet and getting wet meant washing his clothes and washing his clothes meant coming back down to the river and coming down to the river meant facing another round of taunts by the other boys.

Arahan made his choice.  He’d sneak into their stables and just check for his goats. In and out. It would be quick. They wouldn't even know that he was there.

If his goats were there, he wouldn’t make an issue out of it but at least he’d know what happened to them.  It was always better to know than to not know.  Best case scenario, his goats wouldn’t be there and he’d continue his journey of searching for the lost animals.  Worst case scenario, his goats now belonged to the Ghards or Frederiks, or had been eaten; lost to him either way.

With his mind made up, Arahan headed towards the Ghard family’s farm.

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