Jacob found the strategy of the Vermillion Tyrant bold and even smart. But it wasn’t sustainable on the long term. One of the main reasons the Vermillion Tyrant was actually a bad leader was because he seemed to think everyone should live by his own standards.

When he had declared war to the entire world, he had done so with a precise plan in mind. The problem with that plan was that the Vermillion Tyrant expected everyone to try as hard as he did.

For all it sounded like a very lousy reason to lose an intercontinental war, that’s what happened. He won many battles, but his Empire started crumbling because other humans, unlike him, were fallible. They were greedy, scared, weak.

Hektor was none of those things.

And he had led his warriors with such a fervor that they had started climbing higher and higher on their Cultivation path. Some of his warriors were, incredibly, at the Oriole Realm.

To Jacob, though, that ‘incredibly’ was wrong, a mistake, an imprecision.

They had reached the Oriole Realm because they had pushed every limit, every boundary, and fought impossible fights.

“They will snap, Hektor. They will, like they did in your past life. You cannot bend and bend those people, trying to mold them in a mini-you. It doesn’t work. We know that.”

Hektor finally made an expression of anguish.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Jacob shrugged, “it’s still useful. Pulling this under the right circumstances can make people advance by leaps and bounds. But you shouldn’t expect everyone to just follow your steps every single time. They need rest, they need a place to call home. You know, you pretty much made the same mistake Alexander the Great made. With the difference that his soldiers tried to murder him multiple times when they were unsatisfied. No one among your men could hope to murder you and that put them between a rock and a hard place.”

The greatest hero – the greatest until he was slain by the greater greatest – looked down. He had lived for so long. So, so long.

And he had never stopped fighting for one second. He had always been there, trying to save humanity. He had everything a person could hope for.

The greatest talent.

The greatest grade of constitution.

The greatest charisma.

The greatest looks.

And wasn’t it ironic that the man pointing out the mighty flaws in his behavior, as such man had already done in their past life, was none of those things.

That man was the least talented.

That man had the weakest body.

That man was grumpy and hard to love.

That man’s looks were quite poor.

But the crook felled the hero, donned his cape and made a new story out of it, less glorious, but more heroic.

Hektor started crying aloud, sobbing and lounging to hug Jacob.

How could he have been so blind? Why did the man’s words only made sense after he had stabbed his heart? Couldn’t it have been sooner?

Oh, but tragedy had to play in its ways.

And Fate loved its tragedies.

…

Jacob was awkwardly returning the hug, hoping the Vermillion Tyrant would remember the difference in strength and not squeeze him to death.

Jacob could understand in part what the man was feeling; in the end, Hektor did have all human qualities brought to the extreme, but that was true for his emotions too. The guilt that riddled the man after failing miserably had to be enormous.

What happens when you know you are a hero, when you play the role better than anyone else, and then still fail?

What would have happened before the Walls of Troy if Achilles had died against their prince? How would the battle have played out? Would the Acheans have backed out, scared that if even Achilles could be felled when he was supposed to win they were all going to die?

A hero is a hero in memory more than facts. They loved the Vermillion Tyrant, their hero, because he could inspire with simple words, because even before seeing what he was capable of, he simply projected an heroic future in front of them, one that had the same actors of epic poems.

In a way, Frederick had reminded Jacob of the Vermillion Tyrant. They had been similar under certain aspects, even if Fred had never been close to the other’s level.

The point was, to Jacob, that heroes died a dog’s death.

If Homer ever existed, he probably saw Achilles being skewered by arrows the first day they assaulted Troy. Then, after dragging the corpse away to give it a final rest, the legendary poet took away all the arrows but for one in his heel. There, Homer saw something, something no one else could have seen.

And then, not through reality, but through what people would one day need to fight more desperate battles, he saw and wrote of a hero, a man who had climbed all the way up to Troy’s impregnable walls only to die the most tragic death after the victory. Because if indeed heroes needed to die after, they still needed to die.

Because no one could see the pathethic performance that would happen once the dust settled.

“Oh, Jacob!” the man wailed.

Why is he like this? Why couldn’t have I gotten a silent warrior? Are people with great talent all lunatics, is that a thing?

“Come on, Hektor, we have so much work to do. I’m sure this time we will save humanity, alright?”

Hektor immediately recoiled and asked with puffy eyes. Still beautiful eyes, but puffy nonetheless.

“Do you truly believe we could?” Hektor said with such passion that Jacob blushed.

“I do, Hektor. We will save humanity. Trust me,” Jacob said attempting a slight smile.

“I do,” the man looked so intensely at Jacob that the latter started backing up a bit before being kissed on the lips or something like that. He had no idea what Hektor could do in such pregnant moments.