The Cynic's Blade II

[WP] You are an ancient, sentient cursed sword known for corrupting even the most valiant and well-intentioned of heroes. However, you cannot corrupt the most recent hero whose hands you have fallen into - not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism.

*****

Ritter failed to receive his payment. The emissary sent to tell him that the deal has been changed was told that he would thus be keeping the jewels, as agreed upon in his initial contract. The emissary said that wasn't his problem. Ritter said that some of his payment would be going to the poor of this city who had been left homeless, fatherless, childless in this conflict. I told him that I knew this would happen, that they deserved to pay for their arrogance. He agreed.

The next day the emissary returned with the agreed upon leather sack of platinum and gold in exchange for the jewelry and golden cups and whatever minute treasures they kept without notice. Much of the money was given to the poor of the city, except for what he would need for his traveling expenses, a single gold coin would cover it once cut into silver.

"What you did was right," said the barkeeper as Ritter sat at the watering hole in the poorest part of town. "Most of those kids wouldn't have eaten in the best of times."

"Yeah," was his response, "I know what it's like to go hungry. Least I can do is not be a dick."

"Heh, if only every man thought that way," the barkeeper laughed in bitter contempt. "All this talk of demagoguery, but the bastard in charge can't stand to let a homeless man touch something they didn't even want, let alone pawn it off."

"Democracy."

"What's the difference?"

The wanderer chuckled, "Not much at all, from what I've seen. It's always 'for the people' until the guys in charge have to do things for the people. It's all the same. Tyranny, Demagoguery, Anarchy; Assholes will be assholes regardless of circumstances. Get me a refill."

"It's on the house, stranger."

"Don't need it to be. Just take it from the change."

"If you insist."

The conversation died, I took my chance.

"You are wise, Johanne. You have seen the highest highs, the lowest lows. You have starved and cried in a cold winter alleyway, you have rubbed shoulders with the greatest men of our time, you have slain street thug and tyrant-king alike with equal honour. Why? WHY DO YOU NOT DO SOMETHING?! ABOUT IT ALL?!"

He ignored me. He drank his last glass of low-quality ale, and he retired to his room for the last night before we left.

As he unsheathed me and placed me on the side-table, hilt towards the bed that he might quickly grab me in case of ambush, he sighed, and he gazed at me, his face neutral, his heart heavy.

"Y'know..." he said, "It's not hard to be a good person."

I had no response to this. In my millennium since I was forged, I was never at a loss for words. No man was too pure-hearted to resist me, no man so stubborn I could not break him. There was a piece of man known as the Fatal Flaw, which all of my kin knew how to exploit in the greatest of mortal and god since the day of our creation. And yet here I was, unable to respond. It was maddening. It was... Scary.

"Good night," he said before laying down to rest. His cold expression morphed into something that pained me to view. Pity. For me. A being built by evil. A minute kindness in my moment of vulnerability, never more painful a thing was there.

Damn this man. Even the brightest child of the gods could not be without a Fatal Flaw, that was simply the way of things.

The Fatal Flaw of Johanne Ritter? Something that broke him too many times before I had met him, something he and I both knew could not break him again. Here I was, an unstoppable force, him an immovable object.

He was too kind.

The morning came without incident. He left with one last shot of what he and the barman referred to as pisswater, "For the road" he said, and on the road we went.

He carried little with him. He had a small backpack that carried three days worth of basic provisions, atop it rested a small tent. It was designed to be slipped off in one swift motion in case of ambush.

I could say nothing. For hours, I was silent. Often I was used to constantly picking at a man's resolve with little things. But I was silent.

*****

TO BE CONCLUDED.

For the first time in a while, I find myself making a series again. Hope you all enjoy!