Lyclean (2): What Makes a Hero?
The condition of a hero—what could it be? Immense strength and a body capable of felling even the mightiest monsters? Wisdom and shrewdness to unravel countless riddles? Or perhaps abilities far surpassing those of ordinary folk? No. Even without such things, one can still become a hero.
In my view, the true mark of a hero lies in the heart that yearns to help others. A heart that cannot abide injustice. A heart that places others above oneself. Without such a spirit, no matter how exceptional the being, it cannot be called a hero.
That is why, among the myriad heroes etched in history, I hold Lyclean above all others. True, he had his wild days, even beating a friend to death in a drunken rage—a deeply flawed man. But when I reflect on his final choice, he is undoubtedly the hero of heroes.
After years of tutelage under numerous masters, Lyclean came of age and set out on his own. Armed with a wooden club harder than steel and a bow that would never break—gifts from his teachers—he made for his parents' home.
He had left to study under great masters renowned for their prowess. His steps light with excitement, he hurried back to his village. But what met his eyes upon arrival was a scene of utter devastation.
Not the work of monsters, but the scars of human weapons. If there was any silver lining amid the misfortune, it was that while their possessions had been looted, no lives were lost. Likely the work of bandits or a band of deserters.
Rushing to check on survivors after years away, Lyclean soon found his parents—penniless, but alive. His family had once been wealthy, known throughout the village and beyond. But to nurture his prodigious talent, they had summoned many masters, expending a fortune in the process.
Their efforts had not been in vain; Lyclean absorbed every lesson and grew strong. Yet even that wasn't enough for his parents, who squeezed out their last coins to send him studying in Minoa itself, all in hopes he'd rise even higher. Small wonder the house was stripped bare.
And now, in this dire state, raiders had turned their village into a slaughterhouse. Witnessing the tragedy, Lyclean...
...was seized by rage, his reason half-flying out the window as he pursued the footprints left by the marauders, charging off madly.
Even in his fury, the tracking skills from his masters served him well. Following the trail, he stumbled upon a band of several hundred deserters. Clutching his club, he plunged in alone.
Before long, not a single survivor remained among them. A young hero, freshly independent, had massacred hundreds of soldiers single-handedly.
That was the first deed of this young legend.
"Lyclean was the human who bore Baal's soul?"
"That's right."
The Dragon Maiden said it casually, but it hit me like a thunderbolt. Who was Lyclean? If you named the greatest hero among legends, he'd top the list—a hero of heroes.
"Hard to believe."
"Mm. Most folks say that. I get it."
Baal's existence tied to a titan like Lyclean? Utterly baffling.
"No need to delve into Lyclean's tales, I suppose? His heroic exploits are famous enough."
Books sanitizing his adventures into fairy tales were perennial bestsellers across eras. I'd grown up idolizing them since childhood.
But...
"His existence is beyond doubt, yet his feats spark endless debate. The four commonly accepted ones aside, every other tale varies wildly by region. If possible, I'd hear your take in detail."
"Feats?"
"Yes. With regions claiming different deeds beyond those four... I'd value your perspective."
"Mm... Lyclean's feats. Not hard to share, but... as an archaeologist, shouldn't you uncover them yourself?"
I shook my head at the Dragon Maiden's words.
"I'm no fool to ignore the answer standing right before me."
"Mm. Fair enough. It's not that grand anyway."
She folded her fingers one by one as she spoke.
"First off..."
Having beaten the deserters and recovered their loot, Lyclean lashed their wagons together with rope and hauled them back to the village. Thus, the villagers reclaimed their stolen grain and wealth.
All praised his name. Facing his parents—the ones who had poured out their fortune for his education—he saw contentment in their eyes, satisfied simply that he had grown strong.
But Lyclean couldn't just leave them like that. Not after their every sacrifice for him.
At dawn the next day, he departed. Destination: the prosperous city-state of Armen, home to the world's richest man.
What should have taken over a fortnight, he crossed in a mere four days, heading straight for the grandest house in the city.
The abode of the world's wealthiest, as rumored. His master, King Asterios of Minoa, had told him plenty.
'The pig who hoards silver coins. Orcus.'
Asterios's benefactor. One of twelve exceptional souls chosen by that unnamed great being. A pig beastkin who lent silver at interest, amassing ever more. Ruthless in his pursuits, he'd earned many enemies—until one day, he changed completely.
With his skills, Lyclean figured he could wring a fortune from him.
Facing Orcus...
"I've heard tales of you. Studied under that bull-head, eh?"
"Bull-head..."
No one but this pig would dare call a warrior-king like Asterios that.
"Well, if the rumors hold, I can line up work for you. But to prove you're worth it... a little test."
"A test? What must I do?"
Orcus pondered, then clapped as inspiration struck.
"Good with numbers, are you?"
"Numbers...?"
"Got a pesky problem. Solve it, and I'll pay handsomely. Deal?"
Lyclean nodded slightly.
"What sort of problem?"
"Nothing much. Just counting gets a headache."
Orcus led him off.
"Here we are."
They arrived amid rows of identical buildings.
"This is...?"
"My warehouses. One's got a tricky issue."
He pointed to a nearby door.
"Counting the stuff inside's no picnic. If you're as great as they say... you can handle one warehouse, right?"
Lyclean snorted softly. Just counting items? Child's play.
"Solve it, and I'll pay big—plus introductions. Bail, and you work for me. Don't worry, fair wage. Can't mistreat that bull-head's pupil or he'll come ax-swinging."
Ignoring Orcus's cackle, Lyclean gripped the warehouse latch.
"Ah! Wait—!"
Too late. The door flew open—
Bang! Rrrumble!
—and an avalanche of silver coins poured out, burying him.
"What in the...?"
"Silver coins, as you see. Filled to the brim. Eight such warehouses... a lot, eh?"
"How'd you even fit this many?"
"Roof slits. Fed 'em in bit by bit. Anyway, your job: rough count's fine. And if you're quitting, say so quick. Got plenty for a talent like you."
Orcus strolled off lightly.
Alone, Lyclean eyed his retreating back, tempted to grab a hoard and bolt... but that'd tarnish his master's name. He stayed.
Thus began the count of the world's richest man's silver.
"I know that tale well."
"Mm. Perfect for touting Lyclean's wisdom. Couldn't skip it—great teaching moment too."
Counting coins filling a massive warehouse. At first glance, what's impressive?
But its true value: the first recorded instance of precisely measuring volume.
"No need for details then."
"He measured the warehouse dimensions and coin pile height for approximate volume, divided by one coin's volume for the tally."
"Spot on."
"But it baffles me. People back then lacked concepts of area and volume, no?"
The Dragon Maiden shook her head.
"Of course not. That knowledge existed; just not well-recorded. Lyclean learned it somewhere. The hook was counting the richest man's hoard—that stuck as his feat."
A hook, indeed. As a kid, I'd obsessed: How many coins? How rich is he? Every child dreams of that filled vault upon hearing it. Stresses wisdom's worth.
"Truth is, it's his pettiest deed. Too famous to omit."
"Mm. True."
A tale to teach kids "Even heroes studied hard!"—fine for education, but modest as a heroic feat.
"Next, then."
"As quick as you can, please."
The Dragon Maiden nodded faintly.
