[Monologue: Not much related to the progression of the plot but to understand the implications and reasons behind the actions that some characters make. You can skip if you are not interested into something like this.]
The bar was quiet again.
The stool where Cedric had sat was tipped over on its side, but the man himself was no longer there.
His body was slumped against the counter, had already begun to crumble. Flesh flying away like ashes in the sky. His hair scattered into the air like strands of dust. Bit by bit, Cedric was dissipating into nothing.
Bright gleaming lights absorbed the bits and pieces of his soul, the aftermath of the cleansing of a corrupted being.
By the time I appeared back to the bar, only a faint outline of his body remained against the wood.
And then that too was gone.
What was left was a new bottle, resting neatly against the counter. It was shining like Sun but it's color was still pale. It was labeled blank but the surface was spotless. I put it among the other bottles on the shelf, just like all the others who had passed through here.
At this point, I am not even surprised.
Another story sealed in the glass.
Suddenly a faint sound rang in the air.
[USER: TENGAI MU]
[YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]
That was all.
No details. No numbers. No rewards.
The notification blinked once and then faded into nothing.
That's how its been for a while. I don't even know how long I have to keep doing this or what's the end of it.
At least give me some kind of reward , Mr. Almighty. Why are you so eager to ruin my mental state?
~sighh~
I stared at the bottle for a long moment before picking up the rag again. My hand circled slowly inside the glass Cedric had last drunk from. The surface of the glass was shining and looked clean but the rim felt different under my fingers.
Why?
Because glasses remember.
No matter how many times you polish them, no matter how many fires you burn them through, there is always something that lingers.
The lip of every glass remembers the taste of the person who touched it.
And Cedric was no different.
For an instant, I could almost see his reflection staring back at me from the counter. Not the knight in shining armor. Not the beast he later became. But something that lied in between that life of his.
A man with tired eyes. A smile stretched so long it looked real. The face of someone who had convinced himself first before ever convincing others.
And this is not me trying to justify him or create an emotional scenario to lessen his burdens. What I am saying is a truth that everyone should be aware of.
Because Cedric wasn't rare. He wasn't some cursed monster birthed by accident. He was ordinary.
They'll tell you he was cruel because of war.
They'll say he was merciless because of what he saw.
But that's not true.
Cedric had once been a boy just the same as me or anyone else.
He used to run through the fields outside his palace with a wooden stick in hand, pretending it was a sword. He used to sneak bread from his mother's plate when she wasn't looking. He used to laugh when he slipped in the mud and cry when the older boys shoved him down.
He dreamed of being strong.
He dreamed of being respected.
He dreamed of being the one people turned to when they were in need.
And doesn't that sound familiar?
How many of us once dreamed the same?
It didn't start with cruelty. It never does. It all starts with small choices.
The day he pushed down the boy who bullied him, and liked the way it felt.
The day he stole a loaf of bread, not because he was hungry, but because no one could stop him.
The day he told himself he was owed something for his suffering.
Piece by piece, he started building the mask around his face.
When his father died, he wore strength.
When his comrades died, he exhibited righteousness.
When his victims screamed, he cowered behind savior hood.
Until one day, he forgot it was a mask at all.
And maybe we tell ourselves that we are different. I wouldn't have become like him. Never ever.
But how many times have we called cruelty a burden?
How many times have we excused selfishness as survival?
How many times have we pressed someone down and whispered that they wanted it that way?
The shelves rattled softly. They looked eagerly at me. I could feel the strong emotions that they carried, each of those souls.
Each one held a long story sealed inside, just like Cedric's. Call it a dream, a sin or an excuse, but they carried them all.
And I could hear them.
Some begged for forgiveness.
Some begged to be forgotten.
Most begged to be remembered as better than they were.
I set the glass down. The bar fell silent. It was the slow music in the background that was keeping the room alive.
"Heroes," I muttered while staring at the shelves. "Everyone wants to be one. But every hero I've ever seen ends up the same. Covered in sins they once refused to be a part of."
Cedric wasn't unique. He was just loud enough, bloody enough, grand enough to make the rot impossible to ignore. But the rot was always there.
In the merchant who betrays and calls it clever.
In the lover who cheats and calls it passion.
In the parent who crushes their child and calls it guidance.
All are sins, wearing the mask of virtue.
Every. Single. Time.
The chandeliers flickered subtly. For a moment, the bar wasn't wood and bottles but looked like a long corridor lined with mirrors.
None of them showed Cedric.
They showed ordinary faces instead. A farmer. A soldier. A mother. A beggar. The kind of faces you'd pass in the street and never remember. Each one carrying the same feeling behind the eyes.
I closed my eyes to let myself feel the cool wind swerving inside the bar, calming down my nerves.
And the door to the bar creaked again.