CHAPTER 174: THE MOB’S BURDEN!

"You have helped us a lot," the woman said.

Kael stood in silence for a moment, staring at the sword she had placed before him.

It was longer than most blades he had seen, its edges dulled by time, its surface marked by faint scratches.

Despite its worn appearance, when he lifted it just slightly, the weight nearly pulled his arm down. It was far heavier than any ordinary sword.

His fingers tightened on the hilt, there was a little doubt in him.

(If this sword had belonged to a hero once before and to the future... then it’s not mine to carry. I have no place with their kind.)

The woman noticed his hesitation. Her eyes, weary and red from years of silent suffering, looked down at the blade as if seeing it for the first time again.

Her son, no more than nine years old, clung to her side, gazing at Kael with curious but hollow eyes, the kind of gaze a child should never have.

"That sword," she said slowly, "belonged to my husband."

Kael’s eyes flickered toward her. She swallowed hard before continuing.

"He never returned home. It has been nine years now... my boy was just born when he left. I don’t know if he lives or not. He used to tell me he worked under a guild, sometimes a contractor for bigger hands. But the truth... the truth is, I don’t know where he went or what he became. All I have left is this sword they gave me."

Her hands trembled as she touched the hilt gently, not to claim it, but as though she feared it would disappear one day.

"This southern village..." she looked around, "...we are all the same. Some have lost sons. Some have lost fathers. Some daughters. Everyone here carries a wound that never heals."

"We are forgotten. To the Council and to the Celestials, we are nothing more than waste. They never step foot here. To them, this village is just a wasteland of broken families."

Her voice hardened, filled with buried anger.

"Once... I went to the Council myself. I begged them for news of my husband. I pleaded like a fool. And do you know what they did? They treated me like a dog. Threw me aside. Tossed me back here with my son as if we were dirt beneath their feet."

She clenched her fist with tears in her eyes. "That day, I swore I would never beg again. If my husband still breathes, then he is somewhere far beyond my reach. If he is dead... then his spirit lies within this sword. Either way, the Council stole my answer, and I was left only with silence."

Kael’s gaze lingered on her face, then on the boy still clutching her hand.

The child stared at him, not with admiration or fear, but with an emptiness that unsettled him.

The sword’s weight pressed heavily in Kael’s palm, as if it carried not just steel, but the grief of a family, the silence of a husband who never came home, and the abandonment of a village left to decay.

He lowered his eyes.

(I never wanted to carry the burdens of others. My own life is heavy enough. And yet... this sword, this village, these people... they are pieces of a world abandoned, just like me.)

The woman’s voice softened. "You don’t have to keep it. But if you do... remember that it once belonged to someone who fought for something, even if the world has forgotten him."

Her son tugged lightly at her sleeve, whispering, "Mother... will he take Father’s sword?"

The woman didn’t answer. Her tired gaze returned to Kael, silently waiting.

Kael closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the cold weight of fate pressing against him.

The sword was not just a weapon—it was a legacy, a burden, a reminder of both strength and loss.

And whether he wanted it or not, it seemed that fate had already placed it in his hands.

The words of the woman echoed in Kael’s mind long after she had stopped speaking.

He stood still, holding the heavy sword in his hands, staring at its dulled blade as though it might reveal the truth she had buried inside her heart.

Her story was not one of glory or heroes.

It was pain, abandonment, and survival. A husband gone for nine long years, a child left without a father, and a village abandoned by those who should have protected them.

Kael clenched his teeth.

(The novel I read... it never mentioned this. Not once.)

He tried to recall the story. Every scene, every Chapter. The author had written of kingdoms, of heroes, of nobles with bright destinies, of great wars and battles where honor shined.

But this place—the southern village—was never described. The book never spoke of a wasteland where families were left broken, where children were abandoned, where women were treated like dogs by the council.

His chest tightened.

(So that’s it. I was nothing more than a mob character. A background piece. A small extra whose existence never mattered enough for the author to give detail.)

The realization stung, deeper than any wound he had taken in battle. If he had been written as an unimportant figure, then perhaps this suffering around him—the woman’s despair, the lost families, the silence of the wasteland—was never meant to matter.

In the story, only the shining heroes and villains had their struggles shown. The rest... were shadows. Forgotten.

But standing here now, with the weight of the hero’s sword in his hands, Kael felt a surge of anger building inside him.

(No. I won’t accept that. Just because the author gave me no importance doesn’t mean this life, these people, are worthless. If the heroes and nobles don’t see this village, then I will. If no one remembers their pain, then I will.)

His grip tightened on the sword’s hilt.

(This woman—her sorrow, her suffering—I will avenge it. Not just for her, but for everyone here who was treated as nothing. For the families who lost their loved ones, for the voices that were silenced in the wasteland.)

(I’ll carry this weight. But first, I need strength. Power to rise above the fate the author forced on me.)

Kael lifted his head, his eyes burning with determination.