The sword that once kept countless people away was completely destroyed, and black and gray dust was scattered all over the place. Oliver bent down and picked up the gem above the powder. He clutched it tightly, as if to calm the burning pain.
Godwin was expressionless, staring at Oliver—eyes green like dead leaves, hopelessly hoping that he would take back what he had said. But Oliver just stood there, looking at him with the kind of eyes he didn't like the most. There was no hatred, contempt, pity, or schadenfreude on the pair of green eyes that were close to him. Oliver Ramon looked very calm, with a tinge of sad calm.
The gray fog gradually dissipated, the sun was streaming down the edge of the huge dragon breath stone ball, and the sky turned blue again.
"Countless people have challenged this sword." Godwin resisted the exhaustion and emptiness of the swarm, and stood precariously. "Countless people, countless strong people. It must have some undiscovered secrets, it can't be just like this..."
"Even if the whole world agrees, a lie is still a lie. As far as I know, my dad at least personally beheaded an innocent man, the father of a little girl. I don't think he ever forgot about it, I Confirmed that remorse. If the content of the spell was correct, he couldn't have felt the pain."
"My dad... My dad never doubted the nobility of Flint Lopez. My dad was convinced that he was just being eroded, beaten, and left the world. Before that, Flint Lopez Pez is an unblemished hero, no doubt about it."
There are heroes in this world, at least once. Warm, not confused, sun-like hero. Godwin was so convinced. They always have a smile on their face, rise up in the mud, never get frustrated or hesitate. Those legendary heroes struggled from the ashes and lived like a blaze.
Noble and pure.
But he is still troubled by the pain of unknown origin deep in his heart, he is not open-minded enough, he is not firm enough.
He's not enough... well.
Flint Lopez is the legend closest to him. He had read Flint's letters to his father, and had heard his father describe everything Flint had done. The legend of the Tin Soldier spread all over the continent, and even if the brilliance was finally destroyed by reality and tainted by rumors, he believed, like his father, that Flint Lopez was a perfect hero.
Yet if what Oliver Ramon says is true. So was it the same sword that Flint was holding when he wrote those warm and happy letters home? Godwin suddenly wanted to laugh a little. He has done everything he can to become as good as Flint Lopez once was, or even better than Flint. But now it seems that his shadow, his signpost, may be a phantom that never existed.
"No flaws? No." Oliver shook his head decisively. "It's not what you said. My father would bark at the neighbor's dog when he drank too much. Dirty clothes would be thrown everywhere, and he would start messing about halfway through the bookkeeping. He also always forgets to return books to the library on time. He occasionally gambles with people in taverns, or pretends to be a bard, helps people sing unpopular love songs to girls, and even gets washed a few times because of it. Foot water. I'm more inclined to think he's… always been. If there's a blemish, I could list you a hundred. At least I don't think a blow would force him to smear honey on the bard's stool."
"He's made a lot of mistakes, and he's embarrassed to laugh when he makes them. He's headstrong, rambunctious, and quick-tempered." Oliver pursed his lips. "...And cruel enough to have his son kill him himself, without even bothering to explain. This is the Flint Lopez I know, the owner of this sword."
Godwin was in a trance.
The wounds caused by the battle just now were still bleeding, but he was unaware. For the first time, the head of Horizon forgot to straighten his back. He fell down like a collapse, half kneeling on the ground strewn with ashes.
"You don't understand. He has to be a hero. If he's not even..." He inserted his holy sword Dawn into the cracked stone platform, supporting his weak body, his voice full of bitterness.
"Hey, Godwin." Oliver crouched down in front of his only remaining blood relatives, his voice very soft. "Why are you fighting?"
"In order to save the weak and protect mankind, isn't it obvious?"
"Do you like this?"
"It's not a matter of liking or not, that's right. It's the duty of those who have the power."
"Then what do you like?"
"… "
"I've been saved, by a lot of people. To be honest, in terms of 'power', they sucked. But they did save me. So I sometimes think, maybe it's not about power-- They're my heroes, and I'm not going to ignore that just because they're bad or weak. And they're not going to sit on the sidelines because they're not strong enough..."
"So why is it 'obligation'? Isn't it strange to ask others to sacrifice and give for granted simply because of their kindness or strength? If you have received favors, it is completely understandable to return kindness, but you are not like that. Case."
"I don't think I've done anything wrong." Godwin gritted his teeth. "Even with innate strength, there is a corresponding responsibility. I have to save those..."
"I respect your opinion," Oliver whispered, "but I personally think... it's not that complicated."
Oliver can indeed understand the other party's thoughts, and he thought the same way a long time ago. Naturally believe all the information given by the outside world, fit yourself into a powerful definition that exists, and think that is the truth of the world.
But unlike Godwin, who was fighting in the bloody storm, at that time he was not as tall as a broom, and only beat away two little bastards who lifted the little girl's skirt.
With his nose up, he rushed home with a branch, shouting "I am a righteous knight". After being blocked by his cabbage-washing father, young Oliver jabbed his father in the back with a stick.
"Oh." After listening to his son boast about his glorious deeds, his father just tossed the water and patted him on the head—in some sort of compliment or a wipe. "Good job."
"Righteous knight!" Oliver insisted.
"Why do you say that?" Flint raised his eyebrows.
"Because the strong I protected a weak princess from the mob, it was chivalry, everyone said so."
"What are you going to call yourself if it's some unlucky kid who has his pants ripped off, Ollie?" Flint looked at his son amusingly.
"Oh, then I have to take a look." Oliver didn't think much. "Men should stand up and resist, if the guy looks strong, I'm not going to help—"
"Well, if you switch places with this 'princess' today, it doesn't matter if she doesn't see it? Even if she could have helped you. Do you really think it's okay?"
"… Uh."
"I'll change the question. If it wasn't you who passed by today, and the other guy didn't lend a helping hand to the girl, would you think he's morally corrupt?"
"… certainly!"
"Even if he is weak and thin, his fighting power is not as good as a girl?"
Oliver didn't say a word, and he was completely dizzy.
"So I'm telling you to stay away from the bards, brat. Dad isn't saying you've done anything wrong, it's beautiful. But I'd rather you understand the basics than chivalry stuff. ."
"What basic?"
"Gender, strength, class aside." Flint continued to rub the cabbage from the water basin. "Don't think too much about it, if you just don't want to see 'compatriots in pain' then reach out. Of course, do what you can. Don't listen to those bastards bragging about princess knights, messy fate. Hey, where are you looking, I knew you were eavesdropping again."
Oliver shrank his neck. "But doesn't everyone say that? Powerful people always have to, uh, hold up the world..."
"Just listen to what others say? Wait until you understand the meaning of 'strong' before talking about it. Don't say 'can beat', or you will wash the rest of the cabbage."
"I don't know."
"When you see others in pain, do you want to help yourself?"
"Um."
"Then keep that in mind. Don't think about 'what others think it should be' and how others define this behavior. It's so easy to focus on useless information. Remember this 'want to help' mood enough."
"But it has to have a name, I mean, it has to be some kind of spirit..."
"My words only represent my own understanding." The memory's father pondered for a few seconds and smiled. "The rules are set by others, not your heart. Compared with a knight who sticks to some 'rules of justice'—"
"I would prefer you to be a 'gentle' person, son."
And Emmanuel Lopez took those rules and bound his own son into a cocoon.
Those "choices" that were supposed to give kindness and warmth were twisted into obligations. Godwin had been chasing after these, a perfect man who could not exist among humans. Someday, long in the future, Godwin may also be remembered as a perfect hero, no one will know the pain and emptiness of his eyes.
"Yes, I don't think it's that complicated," Oliver repeated, looking firmly into the other's eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just thought... Although it's a good thing to demand more of yourself, but how do you put it, maybe you're a little too demanding of yourself. Look, what's going on with Dad, I think It's okay if you relax."
"You could have done nothing, that's not a sin, at least that's what I think. And you're willing to stand up and help, that's already a big deal. Although I still can't agree with your style of doing things, it's one thing. code."
Godwin looked increasingly lost—the sun was sinking below the horizon, and sun-chasers had nowhere to go.
"I don't want to tell you what's right, I'm not qualified to teach you." Oliver lowered his eyes, "If you want to save everything, how about saving yourself first? You look... very painful. If you feel powerful If you have responsibilities, then you can hate me first before you hate yourself. It's true that I have more power than you, but I don't plan to take those 'responsibility'."
"you… "
"I'm a weak and selfish guy who doesn't think about what the world is like - see someone who can help, help, and that's enough."
Godwin stood up, still questioning and dissatisfied. Oliver also stood up and patted the armor on his body uncomfortably. He tried to give him a hug, only to give up before Godwin's icy air emanated from him.
"Oh, I have another word." Oliver said suddenly before turning around and stepping towards his companion. "You've done a great job, Godwin. Better than anyone I've ever met."
Godwin sighed and smiled slowly—a bitter, sad but gentle smile.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Although raw and reluctant, Oliver was familiar with that smile. He had seen it many times in his father's face.
Perhaps Godwin is closer to Flint Lopez than he himself thought.
"I have one more thing to say." Godwin retracted his sword into its scabbard, "...what's the matter with you and Nemo Wright?"
Oliver's emotion vanished in an instant—
The head of the tumbleweed raised his foot and ran away.