Albert had heard about the humans who could fly on swords. They were from a distant land, and the best of the best even ascended to godhood.
To think that the dragon had made Valentius into one was a sobering thought.
No one chose Albert as their hero. He was the healer. His party had taken him along on quests just because his blood was like a health potion.
And…
He shook his head like a wet dog! No, he wasn't going to think about Bartolomeo! The bastard was dead!
Dead!
"Albert?" Valentius' hand was over Albert's shoulder without touching it. Albert could see the concern in the brown eyes, which were staring at him so as if their owner wanted to bundle him up and protect him from the world.
Albert had never understood Valentius.
The boy was bullied. Always wore clean, but tattered clothes.
Albert would have laughed at his enemy if he had gone through what Albert had gone through.
