The battlefields of Mordhau were not for the faint of heart. Blood stained the earth, the screams of warriors echoed through the winds, and the clang of steel rang out like a symphony of chaos. Yet among the carnage, one figure stood as a constant presence — Homelander, a mercenary known for his unyielding strength, skill with a sword, and a pair of boots so infamous that they were as much a part of his legend as his blade.

Homelander wasn’t born into nobility or fame. He had once been a common soldier, just another face in the endless wars that tore across the land. His reputation had come from years of battle, but what truly set him apart from others were his boots — old, tattered, and a bright yellow that made them impossible to ignore.

These boots, however, were not a random purchase or a careless decision. They had been a gift from a friend. A dear friend, one who had fallen beside him in battle. A friend whose memory Homelander held onto, even in the darkest of times.

It had all started years ago, in a small village not far from the blood-soaked fields of Grad. Homelander had been part of a mercenary company, a ragtag group of soldiers-for-hire. It was in this company that he met REDACTED, a man of humour, warmth, and a fearless nature that could rival anyone. REDACTED was the kind of man who always had a joke ready, who made others laugh even in the middle of chaos. And like Homelander, REDACTED had been a fighter at heart. They became fast friends, trusting each other with their lives in countless battles.

It was during one such battle in Totenwald, in a dense forest where the trees were thick with fog, that their fates would change forever.

The enemy’s ambush was brutal. REDACTED and Homelander fought side by side, cutting through enemy lines like a storm. But the battle was turning against them. REDACTED, ever the brave one, had charged headlong into a group of enemy soldiers, his sword slashing fiercely, but he was overwhelmed. Homelander, caught in the chaos, fought his way toward his friend, but by the time he reached him, it was too late.

REDACTED was already lying on the ground, his life slipping away. He reached out with a hand, grabbing Homelander by the arm, his eyes filled with both pain and defiance.

“Homelander...” REDACTED gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Take my boots.”

Homelander was stunned. “What? No, REDACTED... you’re going to make it. We’ll get you out of here.”

But REDACTED shook his head weakly. “I won’t make it. You know that. But those boots...” he smiled faintly, the pain clear on his face. “They’re lucky. They’ll carry you through the battles ahead. Take them... and don’t forget me.”

With that, REDACTED’s hand fell limp, his breath coming to an end. Homelander, his heart heavy with grief, took the boots — those yellow, worn-out boots that had seen so many battles before. They were old, stained with the blood of past fights, and covered in mud from the wars they had fought together. But to Homelander, they were a symbol of everything REDACTED had been — a symbol of friendship, bravery, and sacrifice.

From that moment, Homelander wore the boots in every battle that followed. The world may have seen them as strange, dirty, and a constant source of ridicule, but to him, they were a cherished memory, a connection to the friend he had lost.

As time passed, the yellow boots became more and more infamous. They were always covered in dirt, the bright color faded from constant wear, and they became stained with the blood of both foes and friends. But Homelander never washed them, never replaced them. They were his way of honoring REDACTED’s memory. They were his reminder of the man who had given him his life, quite literally, and of the bond they had shared.

One day, while preparing for a raid on a rival lord’s castle, Homelander’s boots once again became the subject of mockery. The camp was filled with mercenaries, all preparing for the battle ahead, when HDbug, a sharp-tongued bug with a reputation for his biting humor, couldn’t resist.

"By the gods, Homelander, did you steal those boots from a trash heap?" HDbug laughed, his voice loud enough for everyone in the camp to hear. "What kind of warrior wears shoes like that? Are you trying to blind your enemies with the sheer ugliness of them?"

The laughter spread like wildfire, and the camp erupted in jeers. Homelander’s face hardened, but he didn’t flinch. He had endured worse. He had faced ridicule, sneers, and mockery from every corner of the world. But it was this laugh that stung, because it came from someone he had considered a friend.

“HDbug, you think you’re funny?” Homelander’s voice was calm, but there was a cold edge to it.

HDbug, still smirking, stepped closer, making sure everyone was watching. “I’m just saying, you look like a walking joke. You should be wearing those boots for a circus, not a battlefield.”

The laughter only grew louder. Homelander stood still for a moment, the laughter echoing in his ears. Then, slowly, he looked down at his yellow boots, worn and battered, and a faint smile crept across his face.

“No,” Homelander said quietly, his voice carrying over the laughter. “These boots were my friend’s. And I wear them to honor him.”

For a moment, the camp fell silent. The laughter stopped. HDbug blinked, the smirk on his face fading. He had been prepared to taunt, to humiliate, but something in Homelander’s words hit him harder than any arrow could.

“I didn’t know,” HDbug muttered, his tone now far less mocking. “I’m... sorry, Homelander. I didn’t realize.”

Homelander’s gaze softened, and he gave a brief nod. “REDACTED was more than a friend. He was my brother in arms. These boots may be dirty, but they’re all I have left of him. So, laugh if you must, but they stay on my feet, because they mean more than any armor or weapon ever could.”

The camp, once filled with mockery, now simmered with a different kind of respect. Homelander had not only proven his strength on the battlefield but his strength in character. His loyalty to his fallen friend was something that even the most hardened warriors could understand.

The battle that followed was fierce. The enemy’s forces were strong, but Homelander fought with a ferocity born of his grief and love for his lost friend. His sword cleaved through the opposition, his yellow boots carrying him across the battlefield like a storm. Every step he took, every enemy he felled, was a tribute to REDACTED.

When the battle finally ended, and the dust settled, Homelander stood victorious, his boots caked in blood and dirt. He looked down at them once more, a small, quiet smile on his lips.

“REDACTED,” he whispered, “I won’t forget you.”

And from that day forward, the yellow boots were no longer the subject of ridicule. They became a symbol of Homelander’s strength, his loyalty, and the love he had for his fallen friend. The legend of the dirty yellow boots spread far and wide, not as a joke, but as a reminder that true warriors fight not for glory, but for the ones they love and the memories they carry.

As for HDbug? He never laughed at Homelander’s boots again. In fact, he even asked to borrow them once, but Homelander just gave him a look, saying, "You’re on your own with that idea."

And so, the dirty yellow boots became a legend, and Homelander’s name was remembered not just for his skill with a sword, but for his ability to turn mockery into victory.

- Homelander