Spoiled “Hero”

I was an orphan of a mountain village, slowly starving to death, as nobody really had enough to feed an extra mouth.
That was when Master found me.
He was a hermit, trying to find rhyme and reason in how life worked, far away from secular worlds, trying to find his own way.
He broke his own training in order to take me in, and started to teach me.
Why did he do so?
I don’t know.
I was just happy that someone wanted me, needed me, and gave me roof over my head, and food.
I had chores to do, water his garden up in the mountains, take care of his study, clean the training room, cook and so on.
What I didn’t know how to do, he taught me.
And when I was old enough, he started teaching me about cultivation of the body, mind and soul.
Wasn’t anything much, but I could feel the changes.
The running up and down the mountains wasn’t that tiring, I could think more clearly, and learn more and more.
It was blissful.
Years passed, but my Master changed not, and after the age of 20, I haven’t aged either.
We lived blissfully in the mountains, one with nature, I have even managed to befriend an owl, and a bear family.
Then later on, Master took on other people, disciples like me.
They started with chores, and when they got old enough, I started to teach them the basics, before Master taught them the true teachings.
And then, he found a genius, a youth, and took him as his last disciple.
He needed not to do chores, and was taught by Master from the very first day.
Master spoiled him rotten, giving him artefacts, and all the techniques.
He was proud in our presence but we cared not, he was young.
Even the youngest disciple before him was with Master for at least three decades, so a youngling, barely a decade old…was not someone who could anger any of us.
And Master taught him everything.
If it weren’t for his inherent laziness, and pride, he could’ve bested all of us in a mere decade or so…
But he loved the flashy moves, rather than the techniques that were good, yet hard to master.
He learnt a bit of everything, but anything “ordinary” was quickly put aside by him.
And when he learnt Master’s final technique… he left.
He left to roam the world.
Master chuckled, and let him leave.
But we still had our concerns, and some of us had connections to the outside.
And what we’ve heard…was not good.
He did whatever he wanted, going around wantonly using his strength to get what he wanted.
Free food, lodging, women, he got everything by showing his “strength”, and occasionally dealing with a bandit or a beast.
His behaviour was a mockery to our Master’s  name, and we wanted to bring him back, lest he caused any real trouble.
As the eldest I volunteered, and my 3rd disciple sister offered to help.
We went after him, but he always escaped.
Threatening commoners, using his moves in inns, houses, letting us deal with the aftermath.
And obviously, we wanted him back, not hurt or killed, so we couldn’t really use our strongest techniques on him.
Strangely enough, we were seen as villains.
And he was the hero of the story.
His charm was always high, and his theatrics always good.
He fooled the populace into thinking we are a secret organization, trying to silence him.
He wasn’t that far away from the truth, but still.
One day, we will catch this spoiled “hero”, and he shall learn that actions have consequences.

Published by omnithenerva

Wannabe fiction writer. In love with mythology, and fantasy themes.

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