Requiem Of A Failed Hero

In a place void of people, the remnants of an avalanche left devastation in its wake. Splintered trees, and the dead bodies of animals stuck out from the snow, as the first rays of the sun fell upon the mountain cliff

A four-toed print could be seen stamped on the snow and right beside it was a trail of blood that followed every pair of the four-toed print.

And tracing the blood and print further led to the monstrous figure of a black-skinned figure, with its mane thicker than that of a lion, its bloodshot eyes were somewhat lazy and sleepy and a pair of dirty-brown tusks protruded out of its mouth.

The beast breathed in paces as it slowly walked forward, hauling a body that had been inhumanly clobbered to a disproportionate form.

-huff-

-huff-

The beast's breathing got even more intense as if its breathing was getting very stressful as the seconds tick. It paused, abandoning the leg of the disproportionate corpse it was hauling and helplessly sinking to its knee.

The head of the beast slowly dropped and purple-colored fluid began to pour out of its nose and mouth –continually for a few more minutes.

The beast finally collapsed to the ground.

[You have defeated a snow troll]

The silky voice sounded like it was being blocked by a thick wall and sounded so far. Perhaps it was because Raith's consciousness had drifted that far.

He could barely breathe, but he was still alive. The amalgam of pain that surged through his entire body as he hung onto the tiny thread life offered him at this moment was enough to kill him, to begin with.

If death was an option for him, he would have chosen it right then. From that instance when a fucking useless lost and forgotten archon chose him.

In a world like Therut. A world of the best technological advancement that could ever have been dreamt of. But that advancement was owed greatly to the eight archons that stood as a pillar of foundation and excellence for this new world.

After the desolation of the three realms which was caused by the great war between the primordials and the archons. The archons gathered whatever was left and built a world out of it. A world that was sealed away from the ruined realms, a world that defined beauty and elegance.

The structures were of the best minerals and resources and not to say... were municipal.

The archons having to retreat into a deep slumber left an essence of themselves called dust.

Dust was passed down to every being that desired to be a hero, regardless of their race or status –a noble profession where one is chosen by an archon and awakens 'the world's voice' after receiving the archon's dust–this voice guides and teaches them how to make use of 'dust'

All for the sake of protecting the peace of the world.

When every child reaches the age of seventeen, they pass through the archon's trial to obtain dust after being chosen by an archon.

Everyone always prays to be chosen by a major archon.

But the worst happened to Raith, a child that was born to the wealthiest noble in Pomei Empire.

He struggled to close his eyes as much as he struggled to open them.

He was suddenly chosen by the death archon. A forgotten archon that was so useless that even his essence had entered eternal rest.

Whatever dust Raith received made him just a little bit stronger than normal beings. He was the weakest hero to have existed and was a stigma of disgrace to the family, which eventually led to his expulsion.

No one wanted anything to do with him. Association with a hero blessed by the vestige of the death archon was deemed to be taboo by the archons.

He should have just died from that moment. Every moment from that day he got chosen two months ago had been a torment.

He still managed to think about a thing or two but still couldn't ignore the waves of throbbing and nauseating pain that pulsed within his abdomen and under his skin.

Fighting through the pain was becoming increasingly difficult.

If there was going to be a miracle now is the time.

The hankering gaze in his almost closed eyes was enough to tell even a passerby that he was wishing to be saved. The bangs of his jet-black hair were drenched in the blood that covered his face and wetted his eyelashes.

The beating from before must have been very intense.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to deal with it so calmly. It was the first time that he tried hunting alone, he had to make a living for himself after all.

With the ability of dust. Heroes were the only ones that could hunt the terrors that lurked in every corner of the world.

The truth was the archons did not do a very good job eradicating threats but left it to the heroes since they lost too much from the war with the primordials.

Hunting these terrors however was how they could survive – lower-level heroes that couldn't amount to much after being chosen by minor archons had no choice but to live off the money earned from completing submitted quests from civilians and cities, selling terror parts like the hides, horns and in extreme cases were they meet stronger terror that provides expensive resources and meat.

[You have met the first requirement]

The voice was beginning to become torn in Raith's face —his consciousness sank deeper as he struggled to bring it back to the surface.

[You have died]

[Congratulations!]

[You have met the first condition]

[You have received a perk 'devourer']

[You have received a title]

['One who devours death']

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