B3 Chapter 51: A Hero in My Heart

After the Primus Pilus left to speak with the engineers, Marcus took the opportunity to move a bit further behind in the column, taking a few minutes of jogging by himself to think. Things had proven rather chaotic during their reunion with the other Legionnaires, and far more eventful than he’d hoped.

Perhaps it was only to be expected. After all, they were here to fight the orcs, and fight the orcs they did. He just hadn’t expected to take such an… active role.

The effect of his song had been far more pronounced than he had ever expected. Even after the encounter with the beetles, he had hoped to momentarily stun the orcs attacking the Legion or briefly divert their attention, not get himself chased about like a piece of red meat on a stick.

It wasn’t as though orcs were particularly easy targets, either. True, their generally abysmal mental stats made them more susceptible to such attacks. But he wasn’t exactly a mind wizard. His performances were purely a charisma-based effect. And besides, since when had orcs been able to be affected by those? Weren’t raging berserkers and the like usually immune to such things? At least, Marcus had certainly found that to be the case.

Of course, there was one clear explanation for that. His blessing. Marcus still hadn’t gotten the chance to stop by a class stone and investigate its full description. But that also meant his level hadn’t increased—at least, no increases had taken effect. Not that he expected a few levels would explain things anyway.

It made him feel… conflicted. Elation would have likely been a more proper response at such a surge in ability, even from those who had never been particularly interested in the gods like himself. But it reflected a rather worrying amount of power vested in Apollo. Sure, he was a god, but he should have only had a relatively small number of worshippers, given the Legion’s limited time in this world. Was he really capable of handing out reality-defying powers like this? Or did he really like Marcus that much?

The latter was worrisome in its own right. He’d never been under any illusions that the gods were perfect, of course, but still. Surely it wasn’t a good idea to make him even more persuasive. Not with the trouble his abilities already got him into.

Then again, perhaps that was the point. Apollo did say that watching him was entertaining.

Shaking his head, Marcus simply let it be for now. Either way, he rather hoped that being chased by mobs wouldn’t become the norm. Unless they began to include mobs of beautiful women. Then perhaps he’d make an exception.

“Milord! You were fantastic in that battle!”

His attention was snapped back to the present by Abel’s shout and the clomping of hooves. The boy was beaming as he did his best to keep his horse going. The poor mount was frothing as it struggled to keep up with the Legion’s marching pace on its own, especially without the magically paved ground they usually left behind themselves. They were attempting stealth, after all.

The boy blushed. “I hate to bother you, milord, but…”

“Ah, my apologies.” Marcus quickly sang an [Inspirational Song] to invigorate the beast. Hopefully it would have an easier time for the rest of the march.

“Oh! Thank you, milord.” Abel dipped his head in gratitude. “I’m unworthy of your generosity.”

Marcus waved him off. “As if I’ll allow you to fall behind in a place like this. I’d much prefer it if my squire didn’t end up as a tasty morsel in the belly of some beast, thank you.”

The boy preened at being called his squire. As much as Marcus had tried to leave the boy behind, the failure of his efforts was simply undeniable at this point. Abel was his responsibility, whether he liked it or not. And although he very much didn’t like it, he couldn’t help but admire the boy’s persistence at least a little bit.

Sighing, Marcus fell into step beside the boy’s horse. It felt a bit awkward, craning his neck to look up at his own squire, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Come to think of it, where were you during that battle?”

For a moment, he feared the boy would admit to being on the front lines or some insanity like that. But the reddening of his cheeks made it abundantly clear that was not the case. “I, uh… I stayed with our things, milord.”

The admission filled Marcus with relief proportional to Abel’s own embarrassment. “I see. Good. I was worried I’d need to drag you back from the warfront. Your job right now is not to fight, but to learn,” Marcus tried to rein in his enthusiasm. “The more you learn, the better chance of your class being a useful one.”

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The boy nodded, but seemed unconvinced. Marcus continued. “Which begs the question… What have you learned recently?”

The boy lit up. “Sir Manius taught me some swordplay. Sir Tullus also gave me some advice on riding, and I’m learning how to properly assemble a tent from the others. Oh, and I learned much from watching milord during the battle! Your bravery was incredible!“

It was just as he thought. These men were liable to turn the boy into a Legionnaire before long. Though he glossed over the boy praising his running away for dear life as “incredible bravery.” It seemed that he’d seen what he wanted to see.

“I… I know that I’m not very capable yet,” Abel admitted reluctantly. “But I’ll unlock my class soon enough! And with your guidance, I’m certain that it’ll be a powerful one! Then I’ll be able to fight, too!”

The boy’s eyes blazed with an intensity that made Marcus hide a grimace. He was enthusiastic, that was for sure. Enthusiastic enough to throw himself into the line of fire at the first available opportunity. Luckily, that wouldn’t be for a little while yet, but once the kid did come of age…

Marcus suppressed a grimace. Suddenly, his taking care of his “squire” felt a lot less optional. If he didn’t prepare this kid, then he may well do something bold, brave, and stupid without having the strength and skill to back it up. Something that Marcus very much didn’t want on his conscience.

The boy had mentioned guidance—something that Marcus hadn’t exactly been helping with as of late. Some of the Legionnaires had taught him a thing or two, but as competent as they were, they were just as likely to let him fight as well. But what was he supposed to teach the boy?

“Abel,” Marcus said suddenly. “Why did you want to be my squire?”

“Because you’re the hero that came to the aid of my house in our darkest hour.” The boy answered instantly. “Because I want to be strong like you.”

“I see. And what about my display indicates to you that I am a fighter of any sort?”

Abel blinked. “Well… because you’re strong. You’ve done so many other great things—I’ve heard from the Legionnaires. They respect you, and they’re great fighters, so…”

Marcus was already shaking his head. “It seems that you’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding. Tell me, have you ever seen me use my sword? Or a weapon of any kind, for that matter.”

“There has been no foe strong enough to force you to draw it,” Abel said seriously. Marcus’s face didn’t change, but internally he cringed. Is this how real heroes felt when he embellished their exploits a bit? Surely not. It didn’t help that the heroic event in question had seen Marcus standing on a rooftop well away from any fighting.

“That’s… not the reason.” Marcus drew in a breath, considering his words carefully. Best not to completely shatter the boy’s opinion of him. “I haven’t used a weapon because it’s not how I prefer to fight. I’m not as strong as a Legionnaire, nor as skilled in hand to hand combat. My true weapons are my words and my wit.”

It was a bit cliche, if Marcus was being honest. But given his read on the boy, it was the best approach to take.

Abel’s eyes widened in understanding. “Ah! Of course! But it’s clear that in your hands, those things are more fearsome than even a sword in my own untrained hands.”

Marcus sighed. “Not entirely untrue, but… I prefer to solve problems without having to run a man through, if at all possible. Which, given my skillset, does prove to be the case rather often. Which is why I ask again—why did you want to be my squire?”

Abel’s brow furrowed in confusion. Before he could open his mouth to answer, Marcus gestured toward the column ahead of them. “It seems to me as though you’d prefer a more traditional form of combat. If you wish to learn how to fight with a sword, then any one of the Legionnaires is bound to prove a better teacher than myself. If you desire to do battle astride a horse, I know cavalrymen that would be willing to teach you, especially if I put in a good word. There are all sorts of teachers available who can teach you how to fight, if you so wish. But I am not one of them.

“So, I ask you—what do you want to learn? Do you seek to fight on the front lines, to do battle like the warriors around us?” He motioned again to the mass of Legionnaires. “Or do you truly wish to follow in my own footsteps? If it’s the former, I will take no offense. I’ll even introduce you to a more proper teacher, if you so desire. But if you’d prefer the latter… well, it’s best that you know my limitations. And my personal… disinclination toward violence.”

Abel remained silent as Marcus finished his speech. In all honesty, he sincerely did hope the boy would reconsider his path. But either outcome would be alright. Either the boy would abandon his desire to throw himself heedlessly into battle, or he’d learn from someone who could actually make sure he survived.

“Think over it,” Marcus told him after a moment of silence. “I don’t expect an answer right away. I just want to ensure you have a clear understanding of what you want to do—and what I can and cannot teach. As I said, I’m more than happy to help you find a position among true warriors if you so desire.” One away from the front lines, he added to himself. Perhaps one of the officers could use an extra aide, though who knew if they would even accept a non-Legionnaire.

Marcus sang another [Inspirational Song] for the boy and his horse before quickening his pace. Best to give the would-be squire some privacy to think. But before he made it too far, Abel called out once more.

“Lord D’Angelo!”

Marcus looked back over his shoulder. Abel met his gaze with steadfast determination. “Milord… I still think you’re one of the bravest men I know. Even if you’re not a warrior, you’re still a hero!”

He smiled at the boy before turning forward once more. It seemed that it would take more than that to disabuse the boy of his flights of fancy. Ah, well. It honestly felt a little nice, having someone think so highly of him for once. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t be too disappointed in the coming weeks.

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