He strolled alongside her, reluctant to share his sorrowful tale, yet it was undeniable. His brother had passed away, and now his brother's children were gone too. The grandchildren were out there somewhere, residing in the capital, living in the estate he had entrusted to them. However, he never set foot there; he never paid them a visit. He wanted nothing to do with any of them. It may sound harsh, but people died around him. He could save towns, cities, and kingdoms, yet those closest to him always ended up disappointed. Besides, they were better off without him. He wouldn’t be the great uncle they expected, the legendary figure they had heard stories about. He knew they were teenagers now, growing strong, becoming knights and heroes in their own right. Perhaps when he finally passed away, one of them would rise to become a sword saint, after all, they shared his blood. Even if they were better individuals than he was, with stronger hearts, they might excel in this line of work far beyond his capabilities.
"Of course they like me, what’s not to like? These little rascals come in handy," he said, shooing them away. He despised spirits; dealing with them made him feel terrible. They were the dead, the people he had failed to save, the untold part of the hero's narrative. He only addressed problems after they arose, never before. He couldn’t foresee the horrors before they struck; people had to die, villages had to burn, before he became aware. Innocent lives were lost so he could save more, and that was the part of being a hero that no one discussed, the death that precedes his efforts to prevent further loss. "I am not violent!" he shouted, waving her off. How dare she! He was… well… perhaps she had a point. He did have anger issues, and he enjoyed a good fight and brawl. Nothing brought him joy quite like beating someone up, except maybe being pinned down in the bedroom by a beautiful woman on top of him. "I see, huh? No, you don’t! You don’t understand what I’m talking about!" he laughed at her.
"The great sage hailed from another realm, distinct from ours. I know, it sounds absurd, but the more I journeyed alongside him, the more my faith in him grew. He possessed a strength that surpassed mine in countless ways, kindness, gentleness, wisdom, and he crafted so much for us. Life has not been the same in his absence. I believe that in time, people will doubt his existence, just as I sometimes do."
As he exhaled, he recalled that the chopsticks were a gift from a remarkable man. Even though he had them on him and had already repaired them without her knowledge, he simply desired new chopsticks from her, a present from a lovely lady was indeed a splendid gift. "I mentioned this before," he chuckled, waving his hand in the air, a few strands of her hair caught in his fingers as he swiftly tucked them away, free souvenirs, the hair of a lady, a win. "There’s no man like me out there." If she inquired in the right places, not in throne rooms, schools, or similar venues, but in bars, underground markets, or brothels, she would grasp his meaning. He was the sword saint, the world’s greatest hero, yet also the finest lover across the lands, a bane to married men as he whisked their wives away for an unforgettable night.
“Hm.” As he stepped into the inn, he surveyed the surroundings. Towering over everyone else, he was dressed differently; while others wore traditional attire, trousers, shirts, armor, he donned a robe. With short hair and a neat beard, his red locks cascaded down to the back of his legs as he dashed toward the chopsticks on display, his single eye widening in excitement as he beheld them all, struggling to choose.
“Buy them all for me! What you broke was priceless; it will take all of these to replace them.”