The Last Hero

Chapter Two

Present Time

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Six years since he was summoned and four since he was cast aside. He had nothing left. No friends. No ideals. No anything. The only way he found he could earn coins consisted of two ways. And only two.

Either he lived alone in the mountains, hunting for food and then selling the animal pelts for ridiculously low prices, or he fought in the arenas. This way he at least got a few more coins.

Either way, the people that controlled the market's and the arenas all stole from him. He found that he did not care even if they did so. He has finally seen the harsh cruel nature of the humans of this planet and to be honest, he cared less for them than he did for a single copper coin.

He resolved to use both methods of payments. Every time he would come down from the mountains he would fight in the arena for a few days then return to his crudely made log cabin to live out the rest of his days.

In the four years since he defeated the Demon King, none ever showed him kindness. No men, no women, and no children. After all, children are taught the ideals of their parents, willingly or not.

He made a name for himself as the fighter that cares little if his opponents lived or died. He had long since cast aside his Hero getup in favour for a more simple tempered black leather armour. It consisted of leather trousers, a hooded long sleeved jacket, and a set of black gloves. This covered his appearance enough. The final touch to his uniform, was the new black obsidian short sword that he managed to salvage from the late Demon King.

It was one of the items he never really told anyone about. He just kept it in his storage until he had need of it.

He found using this visage made his life easier, he received a few more coins and found he made a few acquaintances along the way. Although he refused to let himself get attached, knowing their true nature. He found some semblance of joy. However little it was.

He quickly became the fighter to see within the arena, and his strength became renowned. So much so that nobles began to make their appearances during his fights. He completely disregarded their presence, but the anger he felt was still there. No matter how much time passes, his anger will always remain.

His use of technique and power made him a sight to behold. That and the fact that he had not used any of the skills from his past during his fights. He knew that would be a sure fire way to recognise him by. After all, he did flaunt his skills when he was still considered the Hero.

His day was going smoothly as he fought the last match he would have to for a few weeks. After this he will be able to go back to his shanty cabin and rest. He can finally be alone.

He currently fought a barbarian criminal that had the skull of what looked to be a boar sitting atop his head. It was his makeshift helmet. This criminal stood two meters tall and had an over abundance of muscles. He only wore a leopard pelt skirt and leather strapped boots. His body riddled with scars he received from his numerous fights.

In his hands he wielded two battle axes that were both double sided. Both had string wrapped around their handles for better grip.

He blocked a horizontal blow to his right side with his short sword as he caught the right arm of the barbarian that was attempt to bring his other axe in a vertical swipe down upon his head.

The crowd cheered for he fight and Caden knew that if he wanted the most money, he had to make the fight prolonged and above all, interesting.

Although he never let a single fighter ever wound him nor did he allow them to tarnish his armour. He still let them get close. It gave the audience what they wanted. And they wanted to see Caden get hurt. Every time he came close the crowd cheered louder.