text: You shake your head slightly, before shrugging. There's not much you do in your day to day life, and at the very least, this is something. "Bertrand," you say. "Get to packing my things. I'm going to Castle Oren at dawn." Your servant seems very surprised by this, but immediately leaves the room to get a knapsack for you. He comes back not long after and begins packing the essentials: changes of clothes, a tinderbox from your dresser, and lantern oil, along with some of the bread and wine he came to give you.
  
  He nods to you, taking the knapsack. "I'll pack it in your carriage, sir. In the morning we'll go." With those words, he leaves the room. You sigh, before popping open the remaining bottle of wine and beginning your daily routine. By nightfall, not a drop remains of the wine nor a crumb of the bread. The weight of the situation hangs heavily on you: tomorrow, you're going to leave your home for the first time in years to fight a war that isn't yours to fight for a man who will never care for you. It's enough to make you reconsider your plans. Almost.
  
  At least, this is something you can use your talents for. Twenty years and your blade hasn't tasted a drop of blood. You feel as though you're getting rusty, that your time is long past, and it would be best to turn this offer down... No. You need to prove to yourself that you can still do this. Age means nothing for a person with your raw strength and skill, and you could kill four times as many men as a soldier half your age and twice your size. You were always told that you had a warrior's heart. Soon, you shall reaffirm it once and for all.
  
  When the sun dawns on the horizon, you get up and get dressed into practical clothing. Then, you grab your old sword, giving it an experimental swing at the air. It's large, only a bit shorter than your tall frame, and almost as wide as your torso. A greatsword that no man but you could wield. After hooking it onto your back, you head down to where your carriage is stored. Bertrand is already there, waiting for you in the driver's seat. "I packed some of my things as well, sir. Hope you don't mind me coming with you," he says. You nod, getting into the passengers seat. He spurs the horses into action with the reigns, and the two of you begin the ride to Castle Oren.
  
  You pass through a town on the way there and pass by several small hamlets. The sun is high in the sky when you see something on the horizon: a group of men sifting through a broken down carriage on the road. The men are dressed in fur and hides, and have chipped and dented axes at their sides. Highwaymen, bandits who prey on anyone daring to go from one place to another by the main roads. It makes you sick just looking at them. Then, you hear a woman's scream from the carriage. A noble lady in fine clothing runs from the carriage, screaming all the while. The highwaymen chase after her, abandoning the carriage.
  
  You grip your blade...
  > You ... Then let it go. Best to get out of here while they're gone.
  Your hand falls from your sword. "Let's go, Bertrand. We've got time while they're distracted to beat a hasty retreat."
  
  "But sir," Bertrand begins to interrupt before you silence him by holding up your hand.
  
  "I don't want to hear it. Get going."
  
  Hesitantly, Bertrand nods and spurs the horses on. They walk past the overturned carriage and continue down the road. The woman's screams penetrate the otherwise silent countryside, until they are finally silenced.
  
  Nightfall comes sooner than you'd like. You're forced to set up camp for the night along the road, but you can see Castle Oren in the distance. You'll be there not long after you get up in the morning.
  
  Your blade rests in your lap as you clean it with a rag and some water. Bertrand stirs the fire with a stick, then frowns at you. "We should have helped her."
  
  "Hrm," you hum.
  
  "The man I agreed to work for would have saved her. What the hell even happened to you?"
  
  You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't know. I'm just not that kind of man anymore." You pause, and trace a finger along the flat of your blade. "... Just an old dog called in to do the king's dirty work. Nothing more, nothing less. There's no more heroes in this world Bertrand, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner life gets easier."
  
  "You don't know what you're talking about."
  
  A mirthless chuckle escapes your lips. "Maybe I don't. Can you blame me, though? I'm just a bitter old drunk. It'd be best if you just ignored what I say."
  
  Bertrand sighs. "... I should be turning in now. I suggest you do too." He gets up from the fire and lays down on a blanket he has sprawled out, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep in moments. You watch his sleeping form for a moment, before setting your sword down and laying on your own blanket. Though you toss and turn for a bit, exhaustion takes over and you fall into your first dreamless sleep in years.
  
  In the morning, you and Bertrand pack your things up and begin the last stretch to the Castle.