Looking at me was an exceptionally handsome, tanned youth with golden eyes and medium length slightly curly black hair. At that time, I was busy being vain while staring at the Skamander river under the night sky. 

Today was my first day in the city of Jericho and the time was around three hours before midnight. After leaving the inn, I had gone around the city to get a grasp of general affairs and market prices. When I got back to the inn for dinner, I had pork chops with sautéed vegetables, buttered bread, and tomato soup. I also spent 3 nummi on good alcohol. Maybe not the best use of my money, but I have no regrets. 

I could see a few people strolling by the riverside, but it was overall quite empty. Although I would like to say the city was silent, I could hear drunken guffaws and the occasional bickering couple. 

It had only been ten weeks since the final battle against the evil god Ahriman took place. Five weeks after that I returned to the Iasor capital of Megara with the other heroes. I spent two weeks there attending diplomatic talks about land partitions, talking with nobles, and attending Mikhael’s wedding. Though, I’m not sure whether to call it a wedding or a number of weddings. There was one ceremony, one groom, but five brides. 

After the wedding, I said my goodbyes, weaseled a reward out of Emperor Alexios, and found a convenient job that would take me into Stygia. 

“To think my life had changed so much in two years,” I mentally complained. 

Around two years before the final battle at Argopolis against Ahriman, I was chosen to become a hero. Being chosen as a hero seems like an incredible experience, which it was. But fuck was it surreal. 

Not only had I been warped thousands of miles from my local temple to a totally different temple, but I immediately received a briefing from a divine spirit that sounded like a cheery secretary. On top of that I was given a stupid amount of power unbeffiting of a 17 year old. Pinching and slapping myself garnered no result other than pain. 

It was at the temple of the sun goddess Sol that I met my comrades for the next two years.

Shirin, 18 years old, the hero of the shield and a daughter of Emperor Hormzid Zayid and a concubine.

Aethel, 17 years old, the hero of the bow and a member of a powerful orcish noble family in the kingdom of Cerdan. 

Florence, 16 years old, the hero of healing and the daughter of a petty elven king in the western part of the world. 

And Mikhael, 17 years old, the hero of the sword and a farm boy from Aeolia. 

Out of five heroes, three out of four of the mortal races were present. Only the beastfolk weren’t represented and this was probably due to their lack of political presence in the world. More importantly, all the heroes were attractive young people. 

I honestly don’t know why the benevolent gods choose heroes using this criteria and it continues to boggle my mind. Maybe it’s symbolism that the younger generations are ready to take responsibility for the world that will soon be theirs. Or perhaps the benevolent gods just want to see young good looking people beat up bad guys. 

The group dynamic set in about an hour after we met. Shirin was the musclehead, Aethel the cold and aloof loner, Florence the sweet innocent person who had to be protected, while me and Mikhael contested the leader role. Just like the stories grandmother told me, perhaps too much like those stories. 

At that time I was annoyed that some nobody like Mikhael thought he could be the leader. I was more intelligent, far more experienced in martial arts, and just as good looking and manly.

I still remember some of the insults I would fling at him while wearing a smug smile. 

“You being chosen as a hero seems like a joke.” 

“Don’t drag us down, if you do something stupid I won’t help you.”

“Hero of the sword, shouldn’t you be the hero of the pitchfork?”

Ironically enough, I discovered that my divine arm actually had a pitchfork form. I remember throwing a fit for a week after that and lashing out at Mikhael even more. I also loathe to admit that I made so many lame remarks. Well I did get funnier after a while, but that was a solid year too late.

Honestly, I was insecure about my position among the heroes. I was barely above Mikhael in the pecking order, so I tried to prop myself up by putting him down. My family was at the very bottom of the nobility, a retainer house to a lesser lord. Adding insult to injury, I was the fifth son. I was raised with the sole purpose of being a soldier for the ruling dynasty of the Southern Marches, the house of Hayan. Although I knew that I was very much in the wrong, I just lashed out at him in an attempt to feel better.

Yet that charming bastard just laughed me off. He just winked and smiled at me. It was so elegant you would believe that he was a prince. 

Things continued like that for more than a year. Me and Mikhael cemented our position as rivals. I would challenge him to duels and question his decisions whenever I had the chance. My only saving grace was that I never did this when we got into actual danger. 

 At first I took pride in my martial knowledge, but I was too stupid to consider an important part of a hero’s power. Actually, I was just too stupid at the time. During the time of their quest, heroes learn their various skills at an accelerated rate, roughly eight times faster than usual until a three year limit. Even though I was still the best fighter, I felt a creeping despair as the gap between me and Mikhael narrowed. My ego took another blow when Mikhael discovered he could use magic.

For a mortal to be able to use magic is incredibly rare, with even the magically inclined elves producing one mage among a hundred. Magic is performed by using the body as a conduit for atmospheric mana, then concentrating mana at a focal point like the fingers or tip of a wand to create a natural phenomenon. Or at least that’s what every mage says. I wouldn’t know since I don’t have an inkling of magical capacity. 

Although magic bypasses energy requirements, certain magic still requires raw materials. Such is the case that fire magic requires not only mana manipulation but also uses the caster’s body fat and sugars as fuel. In addition, mages can only manipulate one element out of five. These are fire, water, wind, earth, and lightning. Lastly, the capability of a mage is based largely on natural ability with training and research composing around twenty percent.

Mikhael just so happened to be an exceptionally powerful lightning mage, even taking into account how being a hero boosted one’s magical capability. Within weeks of discovering his magical talents, our duels would begin to shift in his favor. At that point I lost my role as the best fighter in the group. I became relegated to being a tactician and even then Mikhael had the final say. 

Things never improved for my ego. When we began taking action against the armies of Ahriman, Mikhael got placed under the spotlight even though I was the one who had made the plans. I wanted to be praised. I wanted to be the hero of the day. But no matter how hard I tried, I just felt like an accessory. 

Then there was the group romance. Naturally you would think that if there were three girls and two guys I would stand some chance. I couldn’t even call what happened a competition. 

Mikhael’s relationships could roughly be described like this: violent muscle woman- conquered, cold and detached orc- ice queen to awkward girl, cute elf- head over heels, a princess of one of the largest empires in the world- willing to give up her royal status, arrogant daughter of a big-wig general- now interested in interclass romance, jealous and obnoxious rival- currently questioning his sexuality. I felt like a man dying of thirst watching another man drown. 

I believe that it was around that time I found out that my powers as a hero gave me immunity to STDs from cheap prostitutes. Well I might be exaggerating too much. The problem wasn’t about getting laid. There was no real disparity between me and Mikhail in that regard. I just couldn’t maintain stable relationships like Mikhail. 

Things went even further downhill after the siege of Gorgion castle, which is around one hundred and fifty kilometers south of Jericho. When we were collecting spoils, I happened upon a beautiful golden cuirass. Now, I did actually get it checked by priests and mages from the allied armies. However, they couldn’t turn up anything so I decided to wear it. 

The curse on it was a slow acting poison, which managed to slip under the noses of the allied armies’ magical security. It was as though a small voice had lodged itself in my head. Slowly prodding me to lash out. Telling me how I was right and everyone was wrong. Scary how constantly hearing lies can make them sound like truths.

Three months after putting on the armor, I took part in the storming of the city of Beroea. My mind became a haze. All my pent up anger and feelings burst out from me like a dam overflowing. My mind clouded by rage, I indiscriminately hacked my way through the enemy garrison including those that tried to surrender. I even slew a number of allied soldiers that tried to stop me. I can’t even remember their faces. All I saw was a sea of red.

By the time the other heroes managed to subdue me, I had killed around fifty people, knocked Shirin unconscious, and impaled Mikael.   

Everyone chalked it up as the effect of the cursed armor since it had turned a very suspicious shade of black. Compared to mortal magic, it seems that the magic wielded by the gods could do so much more. 

Despite what I had done, I was more or less let off. Just a slap on the wrist and looks of disapproval. I still wonder why they made such a decision. Did they believe in my innocence, or was I kept around because I was useful? Still, my reputation did plummet and I got the villainous title “the Butcher of Beroea.” 

But my fellow heroes didn’t condemn me. Mikhael, who I almost killed, just pat me on the back with a look of sympathy. That hurt the most.  

I think that people didn’t know that the cursed armor drew on negative feelings. They must have thought it was a fire that burst out of nowhere. But I had already laid the kindling long ago. 

Ever since that incident, my relationship with the other heroes changed. I mellowed out quite a bit. I outright quit dueling and harassing Mikhael. It was to the point that I suddenly had a bunch of free time on my hand. When I wasn’t out helping the allied armies with different jobs, I found myself actually enjoying my time with the other heroes. 

They might have considered me a friend before that, but I only accepted being a friend from that point. Even if we were fighting a war, I felt truly happy. Trading jokes, talking about our goals, and accidentally cockblocking Mikhael. I feel that this was only possible because I never really hated Mikhael. I never hated him, I just wanted to be him. 

But to think I became known as the Butcher of Beroea, all because I threw a giant tantrum. Even for an emotionally unstable teenager I was pathetic. I thought I was some great hero, but in reality I was just an asshole with power.