As it turned out, thinking of building my own personal empire served quite well to distract me from the absolute torture that was being paraded around the city.

  Seriously, if I wasn’t absolutely certain I’d done the right thing hiding my identity as a Champion before, I was now. I couldn’t even imagine being regularly trotted around cities on a parade float, on display like some trophy. No matter the benefits.

  Judging by her facade of a smile, neither was Aerion. Being in the limelight freaked her out—something we shared in common.

  It was like ants under the skin. I didn’t mind social gatherings—with good friends, they could even be fun, sometimes. But as the center of attention? All those eyes on us, marveling at the feats we’d pulled off or judging us for not protecting their loved ones… If only they knew just how close to death we’d come. If only they knew how lucky we’d gotten, barely pulling through.

  That was the crux of it, really. The pressure. Sure, I put a lot of pressure on myself—always had—but that was me. There were few things I hated more than people telling me what to do. Few things I hated more than expectations and the horrible knot in my chest when I inevitably didn’t measure up. Didn’t people understand that?

  I didn’t need to be a Champion tasked with saving the world to know that you could never measure up. Not to your parents. Not to the bright, wide-eyed people looking at me like some kind of savior.

  “It’s the hope you impart that’s valuable,” Sinclair said as he waved, smiling. The Baron had good instincts, I had to give him that.

  “Hope is a dangerous thing,” I said, also waving and smiling as our float proceeded down the road with much fanfare. Trumpets, dancers, flower throwing. The full monty. “That’s the sort of thing that gets starry-eyed kids killed.”

  “And how many more would die if they never fought at all? How many more would have perished had they not fought tooth and nail against the Cataclysm’s forces?”

  I bit my lip, feeling copper in my mouth. It was an impossible question. And because both sides of the argument had merit, you were damned either way. Inspire hope in a kid who goes off and dies? His mother hates you for life, wishing you’d never existed.

  Save the world? Did your best to minimize casualties? Sorry, but a million people died anyway. How are you going to look the bereaved families’ in the eye and say you did the best you could? That their kid died for a worthy cause?

  Saving the world was hard enough without that baggage. Be it in the workplace or an alcoholic father or here, there was no crime quite like hard, honest work. No punishment harsher than the one reserved for good intentions. I hated it with every fiber of my being.

  And yet, I continued to wave. Because humoring Sinclair had done us a lot of good so far, and I doubted that funnel was bound to stop anytime soon. In our plight against the Cataclysm, I’d take every advantage I could get.

  Like fresh, uncultivated land a stone’s throw from the capital.

  Now, I wasn’t a fool. Despite Sinclair not having any details of said land, it wasn’t hard to guess how bad it really was. No land that close to the capital went uncultivated. Not in a medieval society like this one.

  Which meant the soil was probably rotten for farming, too boggy for ranching, and too out of the way to serve as a trade hub.

  Which honestly suited me just fine. All I really needed was a field to set up an obstacle course on and a whole bunch of training dummies. Preferably training dummies on rails or something else that moved.

  And since Rogar wanted to leave Basecrest to make a name for himself, I supposed we could construct a forge and a few houses. Nothing fancy, just enough to be comfortable. Even without major roads, I was sure I could hoof any wares Rogar had to sell over to the capital or another town. Wouldn’t be long before his talent—and new status as a delving smith—would attract buyers.

  Luckily, the sorts of people who bought high end, functional weaponry tended not to have much issue getting to remote locations. In fact, the remoteness might even enhance the reputation of Rogar’s wares.

  Because if games had taught me one thing, it was that humans always coveted rare things. Even when that rarity was purely artificial.

  The procession continued through Basecrest’s major arteries, and while there weren’t that many of those, we traveled at a crawl so everyone could get a good look.

  We finally came to the spot where Rogar, Philip, and Richard were, and Aerion and I waved, perhaps a little more heartily than normal.

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  I couldn’t be sure, but I could swear I saw Richard sniggering.

  The parade finally ended at Dominion’s temple, where a massive crowd of onlookers had gathered.

  Aerion and I left our float and climbed up the stairs to the top of a wooden platform that was visible to the whole wide area.

  “Do you think we can do it?” Aerion finally asked. She’d been silent the whole time.

  “So the pressure got to you, too, huh?”

  “Perhaps a little. Fighting the Cataclysm… I knew it to be a colossal undertaking. I knew the risks. The difficulties… But this?”

  Aerion instinctively reached out for my hand, but quickly withdrew when she remembered we were literally being watched by thousands.

  “Hate to be the breaker of bad news,” I said as Sinclair introduced us with much pomp and circumstance. Re-introduced, rather. Everyone knew who we were by this point. “But there’s no good solution other than ignoring it. Just tune it out. Focus on the task at hand. Chip away at that wall bit by tiny bit, and you’ll eventually get there.”

  Aerion said something, but her words were lost when Sinclair motioned to me.

  Oh, no. No no no no!

  “And now, our saviors would like to address the city.”

  Don’t you dare, Sinclair!

  “It is with the highest honor that I bring you Greg and Aerion!”

  The cheering was so loud, not one soul heard the string of expletives I hurled at Sinclair.

  — —

  This is not happening. This is NOT happening!

  My legs were stone as I dragged myself to the dais. The hell was the Baron thinking? Springing a speech like this without informing us?

  I glanced at Aerion. My elven friend was normally pale, but she’d gone full White Walker now. She had to be hating this as much as I was.

  I locked eyes with the Baron and gave him a look. The You Owe Me look. Sinclair just smiled back. Little prick.

  My traitorous legs carried me up to the podium and soon, the greatest Trial of my life was upon me.

  I looked out over the crowd of thousands. Starry-eyed believers. Naive fools. Well, Sinclair. You put me on stage. You never told me what not to say.

  Big. Fucking. Mistake.

  “People of Basecrest!” I called out, my voice amplified by the same magic Sinclair used to project his voice. Probably the Boonworthy nearby who was staring daggers at me.

  “I’m afraid the good Baron has it all wrong. We are not your heroes.”

  The crowd that had been hooting and cheering fell deathly silent.

  Good. Let them meet their heroes.

  “We are not the gods’ chosen,” I lied. “We are not infallible, nor are we invincible. I could fall off this stage and die! I could be killed tomorrow by monsters. I’m the same as you. I grow old, I grow tired. I bleed. Yes, I possess a Blessing, but so what? I’m hardly the only one. Hardly the strongest among them. Isn’t that right, Aerion?”

  “I-it is,” Aerion chimed in, recovering quickly after a moment of surprise. “We just did what we could. Nothing more. Without the Champions, we’d never have defeated the Trial.”

  “That’s right,” I said with a nod. “I know you all came here hoping for some grand speech. Some words to rouse you to fight the Cataclysm. But know this. There is no glory in death. None of you—yeah, I’m talking to you hotheads out there—not one of you is unkillable. Should you fight? If the alternative is death, or the loss of your loved ones, sure. Fight! But fight smart. Use your head. Come up with a plan. Rely on your fellow people. Leave your egos at home. Then, and only then, will you have a chance.”

  “Homes can be rebuilt,” Aerion said, sounding much more comfortable. “Shops repaired and cities re-founded. Not lives. Lives disappear, and nothing you ever do will bring them back.”

  I turned, surprised to hear so much emotion from Aerion. That surprise only redoubled when I saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. This wasn’t some generic message. This was personal. She was thinking of Emma. Of everyone else she’d lost along the way.

  I found her eyes and nodded.

  “So, I guess what we’re trying to say is… Don’t be a hero. Don’t be another statistic. I’m not telling you to die. I’m telling you to live. Be smart, protect what needs protecting and abandon the rest. Maybe then we can all pull through this in one piece.”

  I didn’t bother to wait out the silence. I turned from the podium and walked back to Sinclair, who looked very much like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

  “Your fault,” I said. “You should never have—”

  Sinclair never heard my next words. They were drowned out by the sort of din of cheers, claps, and hooting you could only get from thousands of souls, all showing their guts, all at once.

  I turned back to the crowd. My brain refused to make sense of this situation.

  “Well,” Sinclair said, patting my shoulder. “Unconventional, to be sure, but it seems you’ve quite the knack for oration.”

  “They’re insane,” I muttered. “They’re all insane.”

  Congratulations! Passion has increased from 20 to 23! (Max: 24)