Humility

Who were the Problem Children?

A group of three, no, four individuals serving directly under Lieutenant Sahyat and Mai’wen of the Third Seat. We were no ordinary soldiers, of course. Many within the Problem Children share a certain sin, a crime deserving of the utmost punishment. Yet it was through the king’s forgiveness that we may serve our sentence through military service. That was the gist of my understanding.

So why? Why was I so shocked at this sudden revelation?

I should have known that such a meager description failed to capture the nature of the Problem Children fully. We were no mere criminals, but monsters disguised as men. Derrick was one such monster.

To deflect not only Keresaspa’s blow, but my own as well…no ordinary man, no ordinary technique, could have performed such a feat. Derrick’s feeble body wasn’t up to par. Thus, there was only one answer — this man is not Derrick.

“Both of you, the examination is over.”

“...”

Was it fear that sealed my lips, preventing me from meeting the man’s demand in kind? No, certainly not. I had faced death far too many times to fear such a confrontation. It must have been an emotion humans called “awe.”

“Hey…” From the corner of my eye, Keresaspa, having recovered from the redirection, brought herself up on one knee, her mien ferocious. “What do you think you’re doing, Derrick?”

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon — an overwhelming pressure emanated from the two beasts, restrained though they be.

“You of all people should know of a warrior’s pride, Derrick of House Foster. Am I to assume that you as well wish to challenge me?”

“...”

No reply. His face was expressionless, unmoved as a great mountain.

Lieutenant Sahyat approached the three of us with an aggressive expression, like an owner berating their pet. “Stand down, Keresaspa.”

“...”

A deafening silence. A terrible standstill. Our battle came to an end, yet it seemed like the tension only rose .

Murky grey clouds obscure the sun’s light, raining down countless droplets from above. They pittered and pattered atop the water’s surface, yet failed to penetrate the barrier.

Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter.

“I…”

My words were caught in my throat. What could ease the tension of the situation? If my duty, my obligation to become the Legendary Hero, were true at heart, then something like this could be resolved with a simple matter of words.

But what was there to say?

I am not my father. I did not shine as he did. I did not attract others as naturally as he did. I was not as well spoken as he.

It was the difference between a child and an adult, a father and a son. Experience was a requirement in heroism, something I surely lacked.

Lieutenant Sahyat was the first to break the silence.

“Do not get carried away, brat. You aren’t a warrior anymore, not under Wisterian authority. You are but a slave of the king’s will, and nothing more.”

Biting words. Words meant to pierce the heart, to shackle a wild beast.

“Lieutenant…with all due respect, but do you truly believe any of you can contain me? Have you taken my generosity for weakness?”

A foolish choice! What was the Lieutenant thinking, provoking Keresaspa in such a manner? Was she so certain in her own strength, her own authority, that she could spout such reckless words?

I needed to come up with a solution quickly and efficiently.

Should I force them to submit with power? No, of course not. Physical confrontation would only exacerbate the issue. While I cannot say that I’m particularly loyal to Wisteria as a nation, I would prefer to stay within its good graces.

Negotiation? Was that option available to me? I’m afraid not. I possess neither the charisma nor the experience of someone like Atreides. My attempts at easing the hostility would likely be dismissed without a thought.

“...”

Seconds stretched to minutes. Minutes stretched to hours. Who knew that 2 measly seconds could pass so slowly?

“—!”

It was then, half a heartbeat later, that I discovered my answer. This could not be considered a surefire method. Hell, the chance that this would work was rather low, but I had no choice.

I quickly got off my knees, stood, and approached the ensuing maelstrom. This is my last option.

“I’m sorry,” I said, standing between them and bowing deeply, my voice heavy.

“...Huh?”

“It was my fault. I’m the one who got too emotionally invested in the fight. If I had controlled myself, this situation would not have occurred. Please do not take this out on Keresaspa.”

An apology.

My father once told the tale of a great warrior, Pinius La’Rou of Westchester, in which the titular hero faced a dilemma.

It was said that during the Age of Heroes, before Wisteria's inception as a nation, Westchester stood on the brink of collapse. Among the various Cheritous tribes inhabiting the land, Westchester was the least numerous, with ill-equipped men and little territory.

The crimson banners of Rone. The beast-riders of Akkah, and the silent black fleet of Theryvs.

Pinius La'Rou, then still a young commander, stood alone as the greatest warrior of Westchester, winning skirmish after skirmish through brilliance of mind and strength of body. His spear split mountains and cleared skies. His cavalry shook the earth and crushed invaders. Songs even described the man as a golden lion, blessed by the resplendent sun.

Yet even beasts bleed.

On the eve of the final siege, a high-ranking officer, Lord Cecil of Bradhurst, accused another commander of treason after a disastrous skirmish. Profanities were exchanged. Blades were drawn.

A third of the command tent had been slaughtered before Pinius himself had arrived. Many drew lines and affiliations, while others sought refuge beyond the walls of Westchester, where the fraudulent leopard, the savage lion, and the avaricious she-wolf threatened to swallow the tribe whole.

“Kill them!” demanded the noblemen. Cecil had murdered military officials, a crime befitting a long and painful execution. Indeed, his crime was heavy, yet Cecil also functioned as Westchester’s greatest Shield Commander, the final line of defense against foreign invaders. Without Cecil’s strength, it is unlikely that the nation would survive.

Thus, a dilemma emerged. Justice, or survival? Nobles demanded military justice, while soldiers demanded order. Cecil knelt before the warband in chains, his glare radiating with hate.

It was then that Pinius La'Rou descended from the fortress walls, lacking in armor and spear. The young hero walked before thousands of soldiers and stopped before Cecil, who was kneeling. Every man awaited judgment.

In an unprecedented display of humility, Pinius, the greatest warrior of Westchester, bowed. He lowered his posture enough that his forehead touched the mud.

"I have failed you, Cecil. I am sorry."

Silence transformed to outrage. "You dare debarse yourself before a traitor? For shame!" The crowds roared. Cecil, however, stared in disbelief.

"If punishment is required, then I shall bear the weight of my commander's sin after the war. Westchester cannot stand divided."

According to legend, silence consumed the battlefield for an entire minute. Cecil lowered his head, and from that day onward, Lord Cecil of Bradhurst never once disobeyed his leader again.

Perhaps I could raise my sword, but during times of great division, I must bear the shame of humility alone.

“Once again,” I begged. “Please forgive her, Lieutenant. I will gladly accept any punishment befitting the crime.”

“Oh…?” Atreides, standing apart from the rest of them, looked at me with intrigue.

Lieutenant Sahyat took a drag of her cigarette. “I understand your sentiment, Ereth, but it would be improper for me, a decorated soldier of the Wisterian army, to let go of such egregious offense. It would look rather poorly on me.”

…Not budging.

“Please.” I got on my knees and planted my forehead firmly on the water's surface.

“...”

Damn it all. It wasn’t working! Is there truly nothing I can do here?!

Just as I thought all hope was lost, a most unexpected figure raised his hand in protest.

“I second his movement. Ereth is correct.”

It was Atreides, the man donning the title of “Sailor,” who took my defense.

“There is no reason to escalate the situation any further. Any more and the local inhabitants will likely be affected. Even I can’t create a barrier over the entirety of the lake, Lieutenant.”

“Atreides…what are you planning?”

Ignoring Sayhat’s question, he turned his attention towards his next subject.

“And you, Keresaspa — I do apologize for cutting your bout short. I understand that to you, a member of the Pishdadi people, pride is among the finest of virtues, but alas, we must acquiesce to the whims of the nation just this once. We are problem children, are we not? We have resigned our will to this country of our own choice. We have none to blame but ourselves.”

“That name…I don’t believe I ever told you my lineage.”

“Well, I’m quite the geologist, or maybe a historian, and perhaps none of the above. I am but a humble sailor, pious and dutiful to my lord.”

“...As cryptic as usual, aren’t you?” Keresaspa sighed.

“I get that quite often. Has my charming personality done little to woo you to Ereth’s side?“

A reluctant silence, and then, a break.

“Fine. We’ll head back to the base for now. Just don’t make any more trouble.”

“Very well. I must postpone my duel with Ereth, even if it may infuriate me to no end.”

He did it…Atreides actually settled the dispute, all with a tongue of silver. It would be dishonest to say I wasn’t jealous, but I was also greatly indebted to him, admired him, and sought to emulate his manner of speech.

“Well?” Atreides said, extending his hand towards me. “Shall we go?”

Without a moment's hesitation, I accepted his offer, taking his hand in kind. “Yes. Let’s”