Adventurers arrived that morning. Loud boots on stone roads. Careless laughter that cut through the calm air. Eyes that looked down, as if the people of Mirevale were beneath them. They wore shining armor and glowing marks, symbols of favor from the astral beings. Proof that the world had chosen them, while Mirevale remained forgotten.
"What is this place?" one of them laughed, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "Do they really send scum here?"
Another snorted. "No marks. No mana. No classes. How are these people even alive?"
Their voices carried across the town square. Merchants stiffened behind their stalls. Parents pulled their children closer.
The adventurers walked as though they owned the square. One kicked a loose stone, sending it skidding across the ground. A child carrying bread froze in place, eyes wide. At the last moment, the child stumbled aside as a heavy boot landed where he had been standing.
Kael saw it all. He had been stacking crates near the market, his hands sore from work. When the adventurers arrived, his movements slowed. His body tensed.
Trouble.
"Hey, brat," one adventurer said, nudging a fruit stand and sending apples rolling across the ground. "Ever thought about leaving this place?"
Kael looked up slowly.
He shook his head. "No."
The man blinked. "Huh?"
"I like it here," Kael said calmly. "It doesn't have people like you."
The square fell silent. The adventurers turned to him, faces darkening. The air seemed heavier.
"What did you say, you brat?" one snapped. "You like it here?"
Kael met their eyes. He did not back down.
Before anything else could happen, a change swept over the square.
No sound. No light. Just pressure.
It pressed down like a weight on the cobblestones. Conversations stopped. Even the wind stilled. A shadow stretched across the ground.
Kael felt it before he saw him.
He is here.
A man walked into the square. No weapon rested at his side. No armor covered his body. No glowing mark adorned his skin. Yet with each step, the space around him seemed to bend. It was not fear he carried. It was a certainty.
The adventurers stiffened.
"Leave this place," the man said quietly.
His voice was calm. It did not need to be loud.
One adventurer scoffed, though his hand trembled slightly. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The man stopped.
"I am Alaric," he said. "Ruler of this kingdom."
The words were simple, but their effect was not.
The tallest adventurer staggered as if something invisible struck him. Another fell to one knee, pale, strength draining without a wound. Kael watched, frozen.
So this was the Hero of the Misfits.
"This is Mirevale," King Alaric continued. "As long as I am here, you will not mock nor harm its people."
Silence followed. Pride cracked. Fear crept in. The adventurers exchanged glances and then, without another word, left. Their laughter was gone, replaced by heavy, hurried footsteps.
The square slowly breathed again. Dust settled. Children peeked out from behind stalls. Merchants bent to gather fallen goods. A quiet laugh broke through. Life returned, as it always did.
Kael found himself walking toward the king, heart racing.
"King Alaric," he said hesitantly. "You didn't even touch them."
The king's eyes were warm, steady.
"Power isn't always about magic or force, Kael," Alaric said softly. "Sometimes it is about choosing to protect."
Kael nodded. He did not fully understand, but something settled in his chest, warm and steady.
Alaric placed a hand on Kael's shoulder. "Take care of your people," he said. "That is enough." Then he turned, his presence fading quietly.
Kael watched him go. Even without marks, without magic, Mirevale had a hero.
For the first time, Kael felt proud. Not of strength, but of peace.
Far beyond the quiet streets of Mirevale, whispers traveled. Humiliation lingered. Pride festered. The world outside had taken note.
But here, in the forgotten kingdom, life carried on.
And for Kael, that was enough.
(End of Chapter 2)