Robin's blade slowly lowered.

Hard man.

Worse then the rest.

The man who had saved her life---

He couldn't be described in such a way. There was no way he could. He found her struggling, clinging to life, her skin stretched over her bones, and took her in and gave her a future.

Gifted her with the tales of legendary heroes. Filled her with lofty ideals that motivated her whole existence.

The idea of being a hero. Of earning the praise of the masses. Of standing up for the weak and defenseless.

These core concepts formed the very center of her being.

Her grip on the hilt of her spada faltered.

Worse then the rest.

The warm eyes, the gentle voice in which he spoke to her, that took a firm edge when she was training---

That couldn't be.

There was no way.

Despite the fact that she recognized the style. Despite the fact that the timeline added up. Despite the fact that their names were the same---

There was no way such a thing could be true.

Robin's grip on the hilt of her blade grew firm again.

"Y... you're lying," she said, though it was as if she wasn't addressing the bandit directly any longer, "There's no way he was---Worse then the rest? That's... that's a lie, if I've ever heard one!"

... The Old Man had lost an arm. He'd never told her why, he'd lost it before they first met. The Old Man knew how to fight in such depth. He'd never told her why, so she had assumed he had some background as a knight or something like that as she'd grown older.

But she never sought to pry. She thought he'd tell her, in due time.

[b]Worse than the rest.[/b]

Her Old Man was a hero. There was no way he could be described like that.

So it had to be a lie. That was the only way, right?