《Blood, Sweat and Mana》


 Cold

    Cold. That¡¯s all I could feel


    ...


    It wasn¡¯t just the air¡ªit was in my bones, my muscles, my very soul. The kind of cold that just hurts is relentless, like a thousand needles piercing your skin. Darkness surrounded the room, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint, flickering light of a dying torch mounted on the damp stone wall. The air reeked of mold, blood, and something metallic, like rusted iron. Chains rattled as my body swayed limply, the iron shackles biting into my wrists, raw and bleeding. My arms were numb, my legs useless. I hung there, too weak to struggle, too weak to care.


    How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months?


    Time was meaningless here. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing somewhere in the room. My thoughts swirled endlessly in the void, a chaotic mess of memories and regrets. How did I end up like this? I tried to think, really tried to think and piece it together, but even that felt like a monumental effort. My mind was a fog, a haze of pain and exhaustion.


    I was so cold.


    It was so cold I couldn¡¯t feel the cuts and bruises on my body. The cold was all-consuming, drowning out everything else. My skin was pale, almost translucent, and my breath came out in shallow, visible puffs.


    Why? Why was I here?


    Was it because I saved that girl in my previous life? Or because I tried saving another one in this world? Was she even alive? Not that it mattered now. I hope she¡¯s safe. I hope she made it out. She wouldn¡¯t last here. Not in this place.


    The silence shattered as slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stone stairs. Each step was like a hammer striking an anvil, reverberating through the chamber. My heart, sluggish and weak, began to pound in my chest. I didn¡¯t want to see who it was, and I didn¡¯t want to hear their voice, but I had no choice.


    ???: ¡°You know,¡± the voice said, calm and almost casual, ¡°none of this is really your fault. It was always going to end this way. You never could¡¯ve guessed it¡¯d be me. It¡¯s in my blood, after all.¡±


    The figure emerged from the shadows, their face hidden behind the flickering torchlight. They spoke as if we were old friends as if their words would mean something to me. But they didn¡¯t.


    As if we could ever be friends.


    ???: ¡°I don¡¯t enjoy this, believe it or not. But you killed the king but you did kill the king, after all. That counts for something, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    I tried to speak, but no words came. My throat was dry, my voice stolen by the cold and the pain. I wanted to kill him. Strangle him. Tear his flesh from his bones. But I couldn¡¯t. My muscles were numb, my strength gone. All I could do was hang there, shivering.


    It¡¯s so cold.


    The figure stepped closer, holding up a blade that glinted in the dim light. It was a cruel-looking thing, jagged and serrated, with a hilt wrapped in worn leather.


    ???: ¡°This was my father¡¯s sword,¡± they said, turning it over in their hands. ¡°It gets the job done. It doesn¡¯t kill quickly, but it speaks volumes.¡±


    ???: ¡°I was gonna kill you, but I have better plans for you.¡±


    They ran the blade down my arm, cutting shallow but deliberate lines. Blood welled up and dripped to the floor, but I didn¡¯t feel it. I didn¡¯t feel anything. The cold had stolen even that from me.


    ???: ¡°Do you want to hear its story?¡± they asked, smiling like they were sharing some profound wisdom. ¡°About the blade?¡±


    Like I gave a damn.


    They kept talking, their voice yapping on about their father, the blade, and some great war. This monologuing was annoying. I wanted to laugh, but my body wouldn¡¯t let me. This guy¡­ he was so¡­ cringe.


    It¡¯s so fucking cold.


    As the figure monologued, my mind drifted back to the moment that started it all¡ªthe alley, the girl, the fight that changed everything.


    As the figure in the dungeon monologued, my mind drifted back to the moment that started it all. The cold I felt now was nothing compared to the icy dread that had gripped me that day in the alley in my previous world.


    I wasn¡¯t anyone special.


    Just a guy who liked to fight. No grand ambitions, no dreams of glory¡ªjust the thrill of fists colliding and the rush of adrenaline. It was fun. I loved it. My bros said I was a prodigy, training with them and all. My foster family? Not so much. They said I should quit boxing. Maybe because they didn¡¯t want me getting hurt. Unfortunate. I wasn¡¯t even boxing for real, though. There were no fight clubs at my school. Plus, I was still in high school. Even still, I¡¯d go to the gym and spar with my gym bros.


    It happened on a Monday morning. Felt like any other day. I didn¡¯t go to the gym on Mondays¡ªschool came first. As I walked past an alley, I saw her. A girl from my school, cornered by three shadowy figures. Looks like she was getting robbed. Not my problem. This narrow alley reeked of trash. Is this bitch stupid? Why would she go down here? She was probably taken here. No way she would have willingly walked down here. I was trying to think what could be past this alley, but I was drawing blanks.


    A girl, clutching a small bag, found herself cornered by three shadowy figures. One of the muggers grinned as he flipped a knife in his hand. For some reason, I decided to listen in. Maybe I was bored. This could definitely entertain me. Or perhaps I was making sure this girl got away with just her bag robbed.


    Mugger 1: ¡°Don¡¯t make this hard, lady. Just hand it over.¡±


    Girl: ¡°Please¡­ I don¡¯t have anything valuable¡­¡±


    Mugger 2 snarled, looking up and down at the girl¡¯s body.


    Mugger 2: ¡°Then we¡¯ll take something else.¡±


    The third mugger, silent but menacing, cracked his knuckles as he blocked her only escape. The girl¡¯s breathing grew shallow, panic overtaking her. These men were all over her. Damn it, I can¡¯t let this go on any longer. I need to stop this.


    But¡­ should I?


    My feet felt stuck to the ground, my mind racing. This wasn¡¯t my fight. This wasn¡¯t my problem. I didn¡¯t even know this girl. She could¡¯ve been anyone¡ªa stranger, a classmate, someone I¡¯d passed in the hallways without a second glance. Why should I risk my neck for her? For what? A pat on the back? A ¡°thank you¡± that wouldn¡¯t mean anything in the grand scheme of things? I wasn¡¯t a hero. I wasn¡¯t even a good person. I just liked fighting. I like to watch it and spar a little. I''ve never actually been in a fight.


    But then I looked at her. Really looked at her. Her wide, terrified eyes, the way her hands trembled as she clutched her bag to her chest like a shield. She was just a kid. Like me. And these men¡­ they weren¡¯t just robbing her. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they loomed over her, their grins too wide, too hungry. This wasn¡¯t going to end with her losing a few bucks and her phone. This was going to end badly. Really badly.


    But if I stepped in¡­ if I did something¡­ what then? There were three of them. Bigger, meaner, and probably armed. I was just one guy. Sure, I could throw a punch, but this wasn¡¯t the gym. This wasn¡¯t a sparring match with my bros where we¡¯d laugh it off afterward. This was real. And real fights didn¡¯t end with handshakes and water breaks. Real fights ended with blood, broken bones, and worse.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    I glanced around the alley, my heart pounding. No one else was coming. No heroes, no cops, and no good people just walking around saving the day. Just me. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That''s all. If I walked away now, no one would blame me. No one would even know. I could go home, pretend I never saw anything, and live my life like nothing happened.


    But¡­ I¡¯d know.


    I¡¯d know I could¡¯ve done something. I¡¯d know I chose to be a coward. And that thought burned worse than any punch I¡¯d ever taken.


    And besides this could be good practice¡­ I hope


    Then I acted.


    ¡°Three grown men, ganging up on one girl? Just let her go.¡±


    The muggers turned around and saw me standing there, hands in my hoodie pocket. I felt nervous. I shouldn¡¯t have done this. I should¡¯ve just minded my own business.


    Mugger 1: ¡°Who the hell are you supposed to be?¡±


    Mugger 2: ¡°You her boyfriend or something?¡±


    All three muggers laughed.


    ¡°Not even close, man. Just let her go or¡­ or else¡±


    Good one¡­


    Mugger 2 scoffed, picking up a rusty pipe.


    Mugger 1: ¡°You picked the wrong alley, kid. Walk away before you get hurt.¡±


    I hesitated, my jaw tightening. Why¡­ was it because this was my first match-up? My first real fight? A 3-on-1. This is unfair, but the rush I felt¡­ It was good, it felt really good. I sparred with people, but this would be my first fight, my first real fight, and sparring with people never felt like this. The girl¡¯s terrified eyes hit me like a truck, and the weight of guilt if I left her to be assaulted¡­ I wouldn¡¯t want it on my conscience. That¡¯s the excuse I told myself, but now I really wanted this fight.


    So I clenched my fists.


    Mugger 2: ¡°You¡¯re dead, kid. You¡¯re gonna wish you¡¯d kept walking.¡±


    I gritted my teeth.


    Mugger 2 cursed and swung first, a rusty pipe arcing through the air. I barely dodged, the pipe grazing my arm as I stumbled back. My footing was off, but I recovered quickly, ducking another swing of the pipe. I threw a quick jab, my fist connecting with Mugger 2¡¯s cheek. The man staggered but didn¡¯t go down.


    Damn it, I can¡¯t be this terrible.


    The first mugger joined in, slashing with his knife. I managed to sidestep, but the blade caught the edge of my hoodie, tearing it. That was my favorite hoodie. I countered with a wild hook, hitting the mugger¡¯s jaw. Pain shot through my knuckles.


    Shit, shit, shit. Haven¡¯t punched that hard in months.¡±


    Have I been slacking at the gym? There¡¯s no time for regret now. I have to focus.


    Mugger 2 grabbed me from behind, locking me in a bear hug. Fucking shit. I struggled and gritted my teeth as the other two closed in. I slammed my head backward, connecting with the mugger¡¯s nose. The grip loosened just enough for me to break free.


    Damn, I¡¯m already feeling tired.


    The third mugger cracked his knuckles and charged. I wasn¡¯t fast enough. A heavy punch caught me in the ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. I managed to stay on my feet. I clenched my fists tighter, shaking off the pain.


    Can¡¯t stop now. She¡¯s still here. Damn it.


    Is this bitch stupid? Why is she still here? Don¡¯t worry about her. Focus.


    The third mugger came at me again, but this time I was ready. I stepped in close, dodging the swing and driving a sharp elbow into the mugger¡¯s stomach. A knee to the face followed, sending the man crashing to the ground.


    One down.


    The other two hesitated now, their confidence shaken. My ego never felt better.


    Mugger 1 muttered a curse and grabbed the knife again, lunging at me with a wild slash. I barely managed to sidestep, feeling the blade edge graze my side. A sharp sting followed, and I glanced down to see a thin line of blood soaking through my hoodie. Shit. That was too close.


    I didn¡¯t have time to think. Mugger 1 came at me again, slashing horizontally this time. I ducked, the blade swinging over my head, and countered with a quick jab to his ribs. He grunted, stumbling back, but he didn¡¯t go down. Instead, he smirked, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.


    Mugger 1: ¡°You¡¯re gonna regret this, kid.¡±


    My chest heaving. My arms were already burning, and the adrenaline was starting to wear off. This wasn¡¯t like sparring at the gym actually it was nothing like sparring. These guys weren¡¯t pulling their punches, and neither can I.


    Before I could catch my breath, Mugger 2 charged at me from the side, swinging the rusty pipe. I barely had time to raise my arm to block, and the impact sent a jolt of pain shooting through my forearm. I cursed, stumbling backward, my arm throbbing.


    Mugger 2 didn¡¯t let up. He swung again, and this time I couldn¡¯t dodge fast enough. The pipe connected with my shoulder, and I dropped to one knee, gritting my teeth against the pain. My vision blurred for a second, and I shook my head, trying to clear it. I couldn¡¯t afford to go down now. Not here. Not like this.


    I forced myself back to my feet, my legs wobbling beneath me. Mugger 2 raised the pipe for another swing, but I lunged forward, tackling him around the waist. We hit the ground hard, the pipe skittering out of his grasp. I scrambled on top of him, pinning him down with my knees, and landed a punch to his jaw. He groaned, his head snapping to the side, but he wasn¡¯t out yet.


    Before I could hit him again, a sharp pain exploded in my side. Mugger 1 had kicked me, hard, and I rolled off Mugger 2, clutching my ribs. The air rushed out of my lungs, and I gasped, struggling to breathe. Mugger 1 loomed over me, the knife in his hand, his face twisted into a sneer.


    Mugger 1: ¡°Should¡¯ve stayed out of this, kid.¡±


    He raised the knife, and I reacted on instinct, kicking out with my legs. My foot connected with his knee, and he stumbled, the knife slipping from his hand. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and grabbed the knife before he could. I didn¡¯t want to use it¡ªI didn¡¯t even know if I could¡ªbut I wasn¡¯t going to let him stab me with it either.


    Mugger 1 lunged at me again, and I sidestepped, slashing wildly with the knife. The blade caught his arm, and he yelled, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, and he backed away, his bravado faltering. Good. Maybe now he¡¯d think twice.


    But I didn¡¯t have time to celebrate. Mugger 2 was back on his feet, and he tackled me from behind, sending us both crashing to the ground. The knife slipped from my hand, and I twisted, trying to break free, but he was stronger than he looked. He pinned me down, his hands closing around my throat, and I choked, clawing at his arms.


    My vision started to darken, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I couldn¡¯t breathe. I couldn¡¯t think. All I could do was wiggle, desperate to break free. My fingers found his face, and I dug my nails into his eyes. He screamed, releasing me, and I rolled away, gasping for air.


    I didn¡¯t have time to recover. Mugger 1 was back, his face twisted with rage, and he swung at me with a wild punch. I ducked, but he followed up with a kick that caught me in the stomach. I doubled over, the world spinning, and he grabbed me by the hair, slamming my head into the wall.


    Pain exploded in my skull, and I slumped to the ground, my vision blurring. I could hear the girl screaming, but it sounded distant, like she was miles away. My body felt heavy, my limbs refusing to cooperate. I tried to push myself up, but Mugger 1 kicked me in the ribs, and I collapsed again, coughing up blood.


    Mugger 1: ¡°You just don¡¯t know when to quit, do you?¡±


    I spat blood onto the ground, my vision swimming. ¡°Just give me a goddamn second,¡± I muttered, forcing myself to my knees. My body was screaming at me to stay down, but I couldn¡¯t. Not yet. Not while she was still here.


    Mugger 1 raised his foot to kick me again, but I caught his leg, yanking him off balance. He fell to the ground with a grunt, and I crawled on top of him, my fists flying. I didn¡¯t even know where I was hitting him¡ªhis face, his chest, his arms¡ªI just kept swinging, fueled by desperation and rage.


    Finally, he stopped moving, his body going limp beneath me. I slumped back, my arms trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. But the fight wasn¡¯t over. Mugger 2 was still there, and he wasn¡¯t happy.


    Mugger 2: ¡°You¡¯re dead, asshole. Dead.¡±


    He charged at me, and I barely had the strength to raise my arms in defense. His fists pounded into me, each blow sending fresh waves of pain through my body. I couldn¡¯t fight back. I could barely even stand. But I couldn¡¯t give up. Not yet.


    With the last of my strength, I grabbed whatever was on the ground and threw it in his face it was a glass bottle. He stumbled back, clawing at his face with the glass pieces, I seized the opportunity. I grabbed the rusty pipe from the ground and swung it with everything I had left. The pipe connected with his head with a sickening crack, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.


    I stood there, swaying on my feet, the pipe slipping from my hands. My body was a mess of bruises, cuts, and blood, and every breath felt like a knife in my ribs. But I¡¯d done it. I¡¯d won.


    Panting, I wiped blood from my lip. The alley fell silent. The woman stared at me, her expression a mix of gratitude and shock. I avoided her gaze.


    Damn, she¡¯s kinda cute.


    Now that I had a moment to really look at her, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the details. She had long, straight black hair that fell just past her shoulders, slightly messy now from the struggle, with a few strands sticking to her tear-streaked face. Her glasses¡ªthick, black-framed it gave her a distinctly nerdy look, but in a way that was oddly endearing. Behind those lenses were wide, dark eyes, still shimmering with fear and relief, but also a sharpness that hinted at intelligence. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, and her cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline and the cold.


    She was dressed in what looked like a school uniform¡ªa white blouse with a small, crooked bow at the collar and a pleated skirt that fell below her knees. Her bag, clutched tightly to her chest, was covered in pins and patches of things I didn¡¯t recognize¡ªanime characters, math equations, and what looked like a logo for some ll just sci-fi show. A total nerd, but in a way that made her stand out. There was something about her¡ªan awkward, bookish charm that made her seem both fragile and fiercely determined at the same time.


    Her lips were trembling as she tried to speak, her voice soft and shaky. ¡°Thank you¡­ I don¡¯t know what I would¡¯ve done if you hadn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    I cut her off, not because I didn¡¯t care, but because I didn¡¯t know how to handle gratitude. Especially from someone who looked like her. She was the kind of girl who probably spent her weekends buried in books or binge-watching obscure shows, not getting caught up in back-alley muggings. And yet, here she was, staring at me like I¡¯d just saved her life. Which, I guess, I had.


    She hesitated but nodded, clutching her bag tightly as she hurried past me.


    Maybe I should¡¯ve asked her out or something¡­


    Once she was gone, I exhaled heavily, the adrenaline fading and the ache in my ribs settling in. I should¡¯ve just kept walking. But no, gotta play the good guy, right? Even though I thought this, it still felt good¡ªboth fighting and saving that girl.


    That makes this worth it. Maybe.


    I got up, ready to limp back to my quiet, uneventful life. But I heard something. Footsteps. Quick, angry footsteps. Come on. I turned just in time to see the muggers returning, but this time, one of them had a gun.


    Mugger 2: ¡°You¡¯re dead, kid. Should¡¯ve minded your own business.¡±


    The mugger raised the weapon. I had no time to react, no time to dodge. As if I could dodge a fucking bullet or even block it. The gunshot echoed through the alley. Pain erupted in my chest, and I collapsed, blood pooling beneath me. The world spun, and my vision blurred. I was cold. So, so cold.


    Really? Now this is how I go?


    I clutched my wound, my knees buckling. I¡­ I collapsed to the ground, the world spinning. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and sticky, against the cold pavement. I felt everything. The mugger didn¡¯t stay and fled. I hope they¡¯re happy.


    ¡­


    I lay there, my breathing shallow. The pain was fading, replaced by a strange numbness. I¡¯m cold. My vision blurred. I¡¯m cold. The sunlight above me looked like it was flickering, like dying stars. It¡¯s getting so, so cold.


    All for some girl I don¡¯t even know. It¡¯s cold. I closed my eyes. It¡¯s cold. The cold creeps into my limbs.


    Maybe next time¡­ I¡¯ll pick my fights better¡­


    The gunshot echoed, and I collapsed, the world spinning as blood pooled beneath me. I thought of the girl¡ªher wide, terrified eyes, her trembling hands. Was she safe? Did she even remember me? The cold crept in, deeper and deeper, until there was nothing but darkness. And then¡­ warmth. A strange, golden warmth that pulled me into a place I didn¡¯t understand


    The cold lingered, clinging to me like a second skin, but it was different now. It wasn¡¯t the biting, not the numbing chill of blood loss. This was¡­ deeper. Emptier. Like I was floating in a void where time and space had no meaning. I couldn¡¯t feel my body anymore. I couldn¡¯t feel anything. Just the cold, and the silence, and the faint, distant echo of my own heartbeat fading into nothing.


    Was this death?


    It had to be. There was no pain. Just¡­ nothing. And yet, I was still aware. Still thinking. Still remembering. The girl¡¯s tearful ¡°thank you¡± echoed in my mind, a faint, flickering light in the endless dark. I hoped she was okay. I hoped it was worth it.


    Then, slowly, warmth began to seep into the void. It started as a faint, it felt like the first rays of sunlight. It grew brighter, and warmer, until it enveloped me completely, chasing away the cold and the darkness. I didn¡¯t understand what was happening. Was this heaven? Some kind of afterlife?


    The warmth grew brighter, pulling me into a world I couldn¡¯t comprehend. I felt weightless, formless, as if I were floating in a sea of light. And then, suddenly, I was no longer floating. I was crying¡ªa loud, piercing cry that wasn¡¯t mine. Or was it?


    I blinked, my vision blurry and unfocused. Shapes moved around me, shadows shifting in the warm, golden light. I heard voices¡ªmuffled, frantic, but unmistakably human. A man¡¯s voice, deep and urgent. A woman¡¯s voice strained and trembling. I couldn¡¯t make out the words, but the tone was clear. Fear. Relief. Desperation.


    My vision sharpened, and I saw him¡ªa man with black hair, his face streaked with soot and sweat. His eyes were wide, frantic, but there was a fierce determination in them. He was holding something tightly against his chest. No. Not something. Someone. Me. I was the baby.


    Reincarnated?


    The thought hit me like a thunderclap, sending a jolt of disbelief through my tiny, fragile body. This couldn¡¯t be real. It had to be a dream, a hallucination, some kind of twisted joke. But it felt too real. The warmth of the man¡¯s arms, the rough fabric of his cloak against my skin, the acrid smell of smoke and ash filling my nostrils. This was real. I was alive. Again.


    The man¡¯s grip tightened as he ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind him, I caught glimpses of chaos¡ªflames licking at the walls, smoke billowing into the sky, people screaming and running in every direction. It was a nightmare, a scene straight out of hell. And I was right in the middle of it.


    The woman¡¯s voice grew louder, more desperate. She was running beside the man, her face pale and streaked with tears, but there was something different about her now. Her eyes, once filled with fear and love, had shifted. They glowed faintly, a haunting crimson that cut through the smoke and chaos. Her fingers brushed against my tiny hand one last time, and I felt a surge of something¡ªlove, fear, protectiveness. It wasn¡¯t mine. It was hers. But it was overwhelming, all-consuming.


    Please,¡± she begged, her voice trembling. ¡°Just keep him safe. Let him live.¡±


    The man¡ªmy father¡ªdidn¡¯t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he cradled me tightly against his chest. But then the woman stopped running. She turned, her body trembling, her hands curling into claws. Her skin seemed to ripple, dark veins spreading like cracks across her pale flesh. Her once-human form began to twist and shift, her silhouette elongating, her movements becoming unnaturally fluid. She was no longer just a woman. She was something else. Something monstrous.


    ¡°Go!¡± she roared, her voice now a monstrous growl. ¡°I¡¯ll hold them back!¡±


    The man hesitated for only a second, his eyes flickering with pain and resolve. Then he tightened his grip on me and kept running, his breath ragged, his heartbeat pounding against my tiny body. I wanted to scream, to cry out, to ask what was happening. But all that came out was a weak, pitiful wail.


    Behind us, the woman¡ªor whatever she was now¡ªlet out a roar that shook the air. I twisted in the man¡¯s arms, my blurry vision catching glimpses of her as she charged into the flames. Shadows moved in the smoke, figures emerging with weapons drawn. They were hunters, their faces masked, their blades gleaming in the firelight. The ghoul met them head-on, her claws slashing through the air, her movements a blur of speed and ferocity. Screams echoed¡ªsome hers, some theirs¡ªas the battle erupted in a storm of blood and fire.


    The man ran faster, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his arms trembling as he held me close. The sounds of the fight grew distant, but the image of the ghoul¡ªher crimson eyes, her desperate scream¡ªburned itself into my mind. She wasn¡¯t just a monster. She was my mother. And she was sacrificing herself for me.


    The world around me blurred, the flames and smoke fading into a haze of light and shadow. My eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of the man¡¯s chest and the rhythmic motion of his running lulling me into a strange, uneasy sleep. But before I drifted off, one thought lingered in my mind, sharp and clear.


    What kind of world had I just been born into?

 Mercy is a Luxury

    Fifteen years had passed since I¡¯d been reborn into this world, and still, the memories of my past life clung to me like shadows. The gunshot, the blood, the cold pavement¡ªit all came back in nightmares that left me drenched in sweat.


    But this life wasn¡¯t all bad. In fact, it was better than the last.


    For starters, I had a family. It was just my father, but he was a good man. Quiet, though. We didn¡¯t talk much, but I could tell he cared. He worked the farm from dawn till dusk, his hands calloused and his back bent from years of labor.


    Our village was small, a handful of people clinging to the edge of the wilderness. It was a place for washed-up legends¡ªclans that had once been great but were now little more than memories.


    The Knights of the Silver Order? They were just old men now, muttering about their ¡°golden days¡± over watered-down ale at the tavern. The Crystal Ascendants? A bunch of hermits brewing questionable potions in their crumbling towers. And then there was us¡ªthe Downhornes. Once, five of us could¡¯ve taken over a village. Now, it was just me and my father.


    The other reason this world was better? No school. I was barely homeschooled, which suited me fine. The language here was close enough to what I¡¯d known in my past life, but the writing was a mess of symbols I couldn¡¯t decipher.


    There was no TV, no YouTube, no games¡ªjust farm work and training. But that was fine. It gave me time to focus on what I loved most: boxing.


    We also had a church here. Not my thing. Pretty sure they hated me and my father, though I didn¡¯t know why. Last week, I found their symbol¡ªa flame inside a circle¡ªscratched into our barn door. When I asked Father about it, he just wiped it off and told me to forget it.


    My days were simple: farm work by day, training by dusk. Today, I was hoeing the field while Father tinkered in the shed. The last time I¡¯d walked in on him, he was sharpening his sword¡ªa relic from his knight days. I¡¯d never seen him use it, but he polished it like it was made of diamonds. Maybe he was saving it for a rainy day.


    My day was interrupted by loud voices.


    ¡°Well, well, look who it is¡ªEdward Iceborne, the failed wizard,¡± one of the bullies sneered.


    I looked up. Three kids had cornered Edward near the river. His robes were singed, his hands blistered and raw. He was muttering spells under his breath, but nothing came of it.


    Edward Iceborne. His family, the Icebornes, had once been legendary ice mages. Now? He was the village joke, the guy who¡¯d abandoned his birthright to chase fire magic.


    Magic in this world was simple: if your family was good with ice, you were good with ice. Fire? That was a different story.


    Edward raised a trembling hand. A pathetic flicker of flame sputtered in his palm before dying. The bullies roared with laughter.


    I shook my head. Why bother with fire when you were born with ice? Last life taught me: stick to what you¡¯re good at. But hey¡ªnot my problem.


    This time, I wouldn¡¯t stick my nose where it didn¡¯t belong. My last life had taught me that too.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never make it into the wizard academy with that little spell,¡± another bully taunted.


    They all laughed. I looked around, wondering why I was the only one who had to witness this.


    ¡°Begone, and trouble me no more,¡± Edward said, his voice trembling.


    ¡°Or what? You gonna hit me with a fireball?¡± the bully mocked.


    Before I could decide whether to intervene, a voice cut through the air like a whip.


    ¡°HEY! GET OFF MY PROPERTY NOW!¡±


    The bullies froze. My father stood at the barn door, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. For a retired knight, he had lungs.


    ¡°Shit, it¡¯s the Downhorne! Run!¡± one of the bullies yelled.


    They scattered like rats.


    Father stormed over and slapped the back of my head¡ªthe kind of slap you give a dog that ate your dinner.


    ¡°Where you just gonna stand and watch him get beat up, Clancy? Make sure he¡¯s okay now.¡±


    ¡°Father, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°No buts. Do it now.¡±


    I scowled but obeyed. Edward was already on his feet, brushing dirt off his robes. His glasses were cracked, but his pride was worse.


    ¡°Hey, man, you good? You need any help?¡± I asked.


    He hissed at me like a snake. ¡°Spare me the hero act. Even the rats fleeing your barn know better than to play dumb. Vermin can smell the rot in your bloodline.¡±


    I blinked, taken aback. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m just trying to help. If you don¡¯t want it, I¡¯ll be on my way.¡±


    As I turned to leave, Edward spoke again.


    ¡°Have you ever asked your father why the elders cross the street to avoid his shadow? Why your mother¡¯s bones are buried beyond the Hallowed Veil, where even the Church¡¯s zealots won¡¯t tread? Ask him¡­ and watch how fast his sword handshakes.¡±


    I turned back to him, my patience wearing thin. ¡°What¡¯s your problem? You¡¯re just asking to get messed up, you know that? And how do you know about my mother?¡±


    Edward laughed mockingly. ¡°Finally curious? The Church talks about you half-demons. You¡¯re all power and no show, in my opinion. Your mother was a ghoul¡ªa Duskweaver. The villagers called her a curse. And your father?¡± He leaned in closer. ¡°He called her his wife. Imagine the scandal.¡±


    ¡°Why should I believe a washed-up wizard who can¡¯t even use his ice powers?¡±


    Edward¡¯s eyes flashed with rage. ¡°You think I¡¯d waste ancestral ice on gutter trash? Save your concern for when I stop holding back.¡±


    ¡°Sure, buddy. You¡¯re just a madman. Get outta here.¡±


    ¡°Or what? You¡¯ll bleed on me? Your shadows already writhe like snakes, boy. That ¡®witch-blood¡¯ isn¡¯t just in your veins¡ªit¡¯s screaming to get out.¡±


    I stepped closer, ready to throw him out, but Edward snapped his fingers and yelled, ¡°Fyr¡¯andel!¡±


    Ice shackles clamped my wrists. Edward¡¯s breath misted, but his hands trembled faintly.


    ¡°The hell¡­? Quick to freeze when you¡¯re cornered, huh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being cautious. I know I shouldn¡¯t mess with whatever you are. All the wizards and mages see what circles around you. You¡¯re not something to mess with.¡±


    ¡°What the hell¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    Edward turned to leave. ¡°It means you¡¯re a natural disaster wearing boots, Downhorne. And when you finally erupt? Don¡¯t expect anyone to mourn the rubble.¡±


    ¡°What a bitch,¡± I muttered as he walked away.


    And with that Edward Iceborne has left my farm.


    I honestly have no idea what that guy''s problem was or why he knew so much about me but apparently, the church is spreading rumors. He knew stuff I didn''t even know myself, but to think that my mother was that well-known¡ªI''m realizing it now. So why do I care so much? I mean¡­


    It''s not like I knew her, but she''s my family, even though in my past world, I never knew what a family was. These emotions I''m feeling¡­


    This sucks I should ask my father about this.


    After finishing my chores, I found Father in the barn, sharpening his sword. The rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone filled the air.


    ¡°Father,¡± I said, my voice cutting through the silence, ¡°who was my mother?¡±


    The scraping stopped. For a moment, the only sound was the creak of the lantern swinging overhead.


    ¡°Why are you asking about her?¡± His voice was low, guarded.


    ¡°Because I deserve to know. Everyone in this village looks at us like we don¡¯t belong. Like we¡¯re cursed. So tell me. Who was she?¡±


    He set the sword across his knees, his calloused fingers tracing the blade¡¯s edge. His jaw tightened, and when he stood, his shadow loomed large against the barn wall.


    ¡°Sit down, Clancy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stand.¡±


    He nodded as if he¡¯d expected that. His steel-gray eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unreadable.


    ¡°The Hallowed Veil,¡± he began, his voice rough, ¡°that¡¯s where she¡¯s buried. She saved my life, you know. I was on a mission, fell into a cave so deep I thought I¡¯d never see daylight again. And there she was¡ªher true form, ghoul-like, terrifying. But she didn¡¯t attack. She healed me. Nursed me back to health. And in that moment¡­ I felt something I shouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    He paused, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the sword.


    ¡°Your mother wasn¡¯t like other women. She was strong. Fierce. And she had a power I couldn¡¯t understand. The Church called her a demon. The villagers called her a curse. But to me¡­ she was everything.¡±


    ¡°What happened to her?¡±


    His knuckles whitened around the sword¡¯s hilt. ¡°I convinced her to leave the cave with me. I told her to take human form, to come with me. And like the fool she was, she did.¡±


    He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the barn¡¯s shadows.


    ¡°The Church doesn¡¯t tolerate power they can¡¯t control. When they found out what she was, they declared the Downhornes traitors. Gave us a choice: hand her over, or burn with her.¡±


    My stomach churned. I¡¯d always thought the Downhornes disbanded because they were outdated, not because of¡­ this.


    ¡°Our clan split,¡± he continued. ¡°Half said I should sacrifice her. ¡®For the greater good.¡¯ The other half stood with me. We fought. Brother against brother. Blood soaked these hands long before the Church¡¯s enforcers arrived.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s your fault the Downhornes are no more.¡±


    He flinched but nodded. ¡°We were losing. So she¡­ she made a choice. She unleashed the power inside her. Tore the Church¡¯s soldiers apart. Saved what was left of us. But she never returned. She was gone. And our clan scattered. Ashamed¡­ because of me.¡±


    He set the sword down and walked to the far corner of the barn, where a locked chest sat beneath a layer of dust. He opened it and pulled out a blade¡ªsimple, unadorned, and utterly ordinary.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you train,¡± he said, his voice softer now. ¡°I never wanted this for you, but you¡¯re a born fighter. So I made you this.¡±


    He handed me the sword. I turned it over in my hands. It was well-made, sure, but¡­ basic. No engravings, no magic hum, no glowing runes. Just steel and leather.


    ¡°I don¡¯t use a sword,¡± I said flatly.


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ll be good with it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good with my fists.¡±


    ¡°Fists won¡¯t stop a knight in full plate,¡± he shot back. ¡°Or a mage with a fireball. You think the Church fights fair?¡±


    I scowled but didn¡¯t argue. The sword felt heavy in my hands like it carried more than just its weight.


    ¡°Now you decide,¡± he said, his voice firm. ¡°You can hide like I¡¯ve tried to make you do. Or you can embrace what she gave you. But know this¡ªonce you step onto this path, there¡¯s no turning back. The Church will come for you. And they won¡¯t stop until you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ think about it.¡±


    He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip steady. ¡°Train. Learn. And when the time comes, fight. Not for revenge. Not for glory. For her. For us.¡±


    He hesitated, then added, ¡°In about a year, you¡¯ll set off to Valdoria. The king needs a protector for his princess, and I think you¡¯d be a good fit.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to tell you,¡± he admitted. ¡°But now that you know everything¡­ I think you¡¯re ready.¡±


    ¡°And the Church? What about them?¡±


    ¡°If they wanted us dead, they¡¯d have done it by now. They didn¡¯t wait for your mother. But if you stay here, you¡¯ll spend your life shoveling pig shit. Your choice.¡±


    I stared at the sword, turning it over in my hands. Protect a princess? I¡¯d never even left the village. But the blade, plain as it was, felt like a step toward something bigger.


    ¡°So let me get this straight,¡± I said, my voice tight. ¡°You¡¯ve been sitting on this ¡®honorable mission¡¯ while I¡¯ve been out here breaking my back?¡±


    His jaw tightened. ¡°The king¡¯s summons came last winter. I ignored it. But now¡­ you¡¯re stronger than I let myself admit. And Valdoria¡¯s court is the one place the Church won¡¯t dare strike openly.¡±


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    ¡°Why? Because they¡¯re scared of a crown?¡±


    ¡°Because the king has his own mages. Because the princess isn¡¯t just a girl¡ªshe¡¯s a symbol. And symbols are guarded.¡±


    I swung the sword experimentally. It felt awkward in my hands, but the weight was balanced.


    ¡°You think sticking me in a palace will stop the Church? They marked our barn. They¡¯ll mark me.¡±


    He stepped closer, his hand gripping my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll have allies. Resources. Here, you¡¯re a target. There, you¡¯re a shield. And shields¡­ they survive.¡±


    ¡°Like you did?¡± I snapped, yanking free.


    ¡°No,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I survived because of her. You¡¯ll survive because of you. To the Church, you¡¯re a weapon. To Valdoria, you¡¯re a knight. Choose the lie that keeps you alive.¡±


    The barn door creaked open, moonlight slicing through the dark. I stared at the sword. A year.


    ¡°What¡¯s the princess like?¡±


    His smile was grim. ¡°I heard she¡¯s a looker.¡±


    ¡­


    The days blurred into weeks, and the sword remained a dead weight in my hands - a clumsy, foreign thing that hung at my side like a guilty conscience.


    In the fields, my fists found their purpose. I crushed overripe apples one-handed, their sweet juice running between my fingers as the pulp yielded effortlessly. When the old plow horse kicked its stall, a single thump between its ears settled it faster than any bridle. Even splitting firewood became a game of knuckles versus grain - the satisfying crack of oak giving way under a well-placed strike.


    "Again," Father said at dusk, his voice cutting through my thoughts.


    The training sword felt like a betrayal in my grip. I swung, and the blade clattered against the dummy like a drunkard''s footsteps.


    "You''re holding it wrong." Father''s calloused hands adjusted mine, his fingers pressing my knuckles flat against the leather. "Your stance is too wide. You''re not a brawler, Clancy. You''re a swordsman."


    I wiped sweat from my brow, tasting salt and remembering the crisp snap of apple skin bursting under pressure. "I don''t feel like a swordsman."


    Father sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening. "You''ll get there. It just takes time."


    But time was a luxury I didn''t have. The summons to Valdoria loomed, and while my fists knew their language - direct, honest, brutal - this length of steel remained a stranger.


    When Father finally dismissed me, I walked the long way home. Past the orchard where my handprints still darkened the bark of the old cider apple tree. Past the blacksmith''s where I''d once, in a moment of frustration, bent a horseshoe back into shape between my palms.


    The sword at my hip bumped against my thigh with every step - a persistent, unwelcome reminder of the fighter I wasn''t, and the one I''d have to become.


    I set off on a jog through the village, hoping the rhythm of my footsteps would clear my head. But something felt off. The streets were quiet. No church ramblings echoed through the square, no children laughed or played in the dirt. It was as if the village itself had gone silent, holding its breath.


    As I rounded the corner near the river, I saw him¡ªEdward Iceborne, hunched over the water, muttering spells like a madman. His robes were singed, his hands blistered and raw.


    ¡°You!¡± he snarled, lobbing a feeble fireball at my feet. It fizzled into smoke. ¡°Come to laugh? To sneer at the failure?¡±


    ¡°The hell¡¯s your deal, bro?¡± I asked, crossing my arms.


    He ripped off a glove, revealing cracked, blistered skin. ¡°Look at this! Fire eats. It doesn¡¯t care about lineage or discipline¡ªit¡¯s a rabid dog. And I¡­ I fed it my birthright.¡±


    ¡°Sucks to be you,¡± I said, shrugging. ¡°I don¡¯t care about your little problem. Thought you wanted nothing to do with me.¡±


    ¡°You ignorant swine,¡± he spat.


    ¡°Well, screw you too,¡± I shot back, turning to leave.


    ¡°Wait!¡± he called, desperation creeping into his voice. ¡°The Cairn¡ªit¡¯s a crucible of raw magic. I can rebuild what I¡¯ve lost there. And you¡­ you might finally understand something about your mother¡¯s power.¡±


    I paused, my curiosity piqued despite myself. ¡°And you just want me to help you? Sure, bud.¡±


    ¡°You think you don¡¯t need magic?¡± he sneered. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you haven¡¯t noticed the eyes on you. The summons to Valdoria? Every knight and wizard wants that spot. They¡¯ll kill you for it.¡±


    I clenched my fists, the weight of his words settling heavily on my shoulders. ¡°So, what? You¡¯re offering to help me out of the goodness of your heart?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m offering a trade,¡± he said. ¡°Help me navigate the Cairn, and I¡¯ll translate its secrets. You might learn something useful.¡±


    I hesitated. Magic could be useful. And if what he said was true about the competition¡­


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°But I better get what I¡¯m owed.¡±


    Edward smirked. ¡°Good. How reassuring. Dawn tomorrow. Bring your father¡¯s sword¡ªif you can lift it.¡±


    ¡°..." I couldn¡¯t say anything after that but he was already walking away.


    The next morning, I found Edward at the village¡¯s edge, clutching a charred spellbook and a pouch of ash-colored herbs.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± he said, not looking up.


    ¡°Shut your ass up,¡± I shot back. ¡°You¡¯re the one needing my help, remember?¡±


    Edward sniffed. ¡°Charming. Try not to faint when the Cairn¡¯s shadows start singing.¡±


    And with that, we started walking toward the Cairn. It was a long walk, and I hoped I¡¯d get what I needed out of this mess.


    We walked in hostile silence. The forest died as we walked. No birds. No wind. Just the crunch of dead leaves and Edward¡¯s spells fizzling into smoke.


    "Give it up," I said. "Your fire¡¯s gone."


    He whirled, eyes wild. "You think I wanted this? To watch my family¡¯s legacy crumble because I dared want more?"


    I shrugged. "Should¡¯ve stuck to ice."


    His laugh was razorblade. "Spoken like a man who¡¯s never hungered."


    He shoved me out of the way. The fuck is his problem?


    I shoved him back, moving in front of him. ¡°Touch me again, and I¡¯ll fuck you up. I¡¯m sick of your shit, Iceborne. Why do you hate me so much?¡±


    Edward stopped abruptly, his voice icy. ¡°I don¡¯t hate you. I despise what you represent. A farm boy with no understanding of the world, stumbling into power he doesn¡¯t deserve. You¡¯re special because of your mother¡¯s blood, but you don¡¯t use it. You¡¯re a curse with no meaning. A walking reminder of everything the Church fears¡ªand I see you waste what you could do, training with no end goal, just for the thrill of it.¡±


    I stepped closer, fists clenched. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m the curse? You¡¯re the one who burned through your own magic because you couldn¡¯t handle being an Iceborne. Don¡¯t blame me for your screw-ups.¡±


    Edward laughed bitterly. ¡°You think I wanted this? To be a failure? To watch my family¡¯s legacy crumble because I dared to dream of something more? Fire was supposed to be freedom. I thought long and hard about it until I realized it would burn through me¡ªthat I couldn¡¯t handle the heat. Tell me, why are you going to protect the princess? Do you know her? Are you trying to restore your family¡¯s clan, like the rest of the knights here? Or is it for fame and glory? Or maybe you¡¯re just doing it because you have nothing better to do. If I had what you had, I wouldn¡¯t waste it like you. I would do so much more¡ªmore than you could ever think of. I would be the best.¡±


    I paused, my anger flickering. ¡°Yeah, well¡­ maybe you should¡¯ve stuck to what you were good at. Like I do.¡±


    Edward sneered. ¡°Stick to what I¡¯m good at? That¡¯s rich, coming from a boy who swings his sword like a wild dog. Do you think brute force will save you when the Church comes knocking? When the other knights and wizards at Valdoria see you as nothing but a threat?¡±


    I glared. ¡°I don¡¯t need magic to handle myself. And I don¡¯t need your lectures.¡±


    Edward leaned in, his voice low. ¡°You¡¯re wrong. You need everything. That¡¯s why you came with me, isn¡¯t it? They¡¯ll tear you apart piece by piece until there¡¯s nothing left. And when they do, you¡¯ll wish you¡¯d listened to me.¡±


    I shoved him back. ¡°I don¡¯t need to listen to a washed-up wizard who can¡¯t even cast a proper spell. You¡¯re just mad because you¡¯re useless without me.¡±


    Edward¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Useless? Perhaps. But at least I¡¯m not blind. You think the Cairn is just a pit of magic? It¡¯s a trap. The Church uses it to lure in fools like you¡ªand like me. But if we¡¯re clever, we can turn it against them.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Clever? You? That¡¯s a first.¡±


    Edward ignored the jab. ¡°The Cairn¡¯s magic is raw. Unfiltered. If I can siphon even a fraction of it, I can rebuild what I¡¯ve lost. And you? You might finally understand something.¡±


    I paused, my curiosity piqued despite myself. ¡°Something?¡±


    Edward smirked faintly. ¡°It means you¡¯re more than a farm boy. You have something in your blood, Downhorne. And if you¡¯re too stubborn to see that, you¡¯ll die ignorant.¡±


    I glared. ¡°I¡¯m not ignorant. I just don¡¯t need some pompous wizard to tell me who I am.¡±


    Edward shrugged. ¡°Believe what you want. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡±


    ¡°Sure, bud.¡±


    As we approached the Cairn, the ground began to crack and crumble beneath our feet. The air grew colder, thicker, and harder to breathe.


    Edward stopped suddenly, his voice low. ¡°Do you hear that?¡±


    I paused, listening. ¡°Hear what?¡±


    Before Edward could answer, the ground erupted. Skeletal hands clawed their way to the surface, followed by hollow-eyed skulls and rusted armor. Dozens of skeletons rose from the earth, their movements jerky but deliberate. At the center of the ruins stood a figure cloaked in tattered robes, their face obscured by a hood. It raised a gnarled staff, and the skeletons lurched forward, weapons in hand.


    ¡°The fuck? There are skeletons in this world?¡± I muttered.


    ¡°This world? There¡¯ve always been skeletons. This is no time for jokes, Downhorne,¡± Edward snapped.


    ¡°Alright, alright. Skeletons shouldn¡¯t be that hard of a fight.¡±


    The skeletons came in waves, their hollow eyes burning with unnatural light. My father''s sword felt like a stranger''s hand in mine - all wrong angles and hesitation. The blade clattered against a ribcage, sending shockwaves up my arms that made my teeth rattle.


    "Stop flailing like a tavern drunk!" Edward''s voice cut through the chaos. "That steel''s not a club!"


    I barely dodged a scimitar swing. The wind of its passage stirred my hair. "Then why does it hit like one?" I spat, wiping sweat from my eyes. The sword''s grip was slick now - with my blood, not theirs. The damned thing had given me blisters through my calluses.


    Dark energy crackled as the necromancer''s staff flared. I threw myself sideways, feeling the spell sear the air where my head had been. The stench of burnt hair filled my nostrils.


    "¨ªss brotna!" Edward''s voice cracked like thin ice.


    A frost spike impaled two skeletons mid-lunge. Edward collapsed to one knee, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from his nose onto the charred pages of his spellbook.


    The sword grew heavier with every parry. My shoulders screamed. This wasn''t fighting - this was drowning in dry bone. When the next skeletal blade came, mine moved too slow -


    Clang.


    The impact numbed my fingers. The sword spun away, landing point-down in the dirt, vibrating like a struck bell.


    The skeletons paused. Almost...smug.


    "Fuck you," I breathed. "And fuck this sword."


    I rolled my shoulders, letting fifteen years of muscle memory take over. The first punch shattered a skull like rotten fruit. Bone shards stung my cheeks.


    That''s when I felt it - the wind answering my exhale, carrying the next strike faster than my muscles could.


    Was this what magic felt like


    I slipped into my stance and dropped the sword, feet light, hands up. The first skeleton swung it''s sword at me, and I ducked under its blade, driving a fist into its ribcage. Bones shattered, and the creature collapsed.


    The wind picked up around me, though I didn¡¯t know why. I moved quicker, fists a blur, bones scattering with each blow. But every strike was painful.


    The first punch landed hard, shattering a skeleton¡¯s ribcage. The impact sent a jolt of pain shooting through my knuckles, the skin splitting against the jagged edges of bone. I gritted my teeth, shaking off the sting, and swung again.


    The second blow connected with a skull, the brittle bone cracking under the force. My hand screamed in protest, the raw flesh of my knuckles grinding against the rough surface. Blood trickled down my fingers, warm and sticky, but I didn¡¯t stop.


    The third strike was a hook to a skeleton¡¯s jaw. The pain was sharper this time, like fire racing up my arm. I could feel the skin tearing further, the bones in my hand protesting with every movement. But the skeletons kept coming, and I couldn¡¯t afford to slow down.


    Each punch was a piece of my skin, a fragment of my strength, for another enemy down. My hands were a mess, the knuckles raw and bleeding, the skin hanging in tatters. But the skeletons couldn¡¯t touch me.


    I ducked under a rusted blade, driving my fist into a skeleton¡¯s spine. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through my hand, but the creature crumpled to the ground. I spun, catching another skeleton with a backhand that left my palm stinging and slick with blood.


    The wind howled around me, carrying the sound of cracking bones and my ragged breaths. My hands were on fire, But I couldn¡¯t stop.


    The necromancer raised their staff, but I was already moving. I closed the distance in seconds, ignoring the screaming pain in my hands. A sharp jab to their ribs sent them staggering back, and I followed up with a quick hook to their jaw. The hood fell back, revealing a face twisted with rage¡ªand fear.


    ¡°Duskweaver filth!¡± the necromancer hissed. ¡°The Church will purge you just like your mother!¡±


    I didn¡¯t hesitate. I stepped in close, driving a brutal uppercut into their stomach. The necromancer doubled over, and I finished them with a devastating hook to the side of their head. They collapsed.


    The wind died down. The ruins were silent.


    I stood there, breathing heavily, my hands trembling. The pain was overwhelming now, my knuckles a bloody mess, the skin torn and raw. But the skeletons were gone.


    Edward stared at me, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°Interesting. I¡­ I¡¯ve never seen wind magic used like that.¡±


    ¡°Wind magic?¡± I asked, panting.


    ¡°Yeah. You used it to enhance your movements. You were like the wind. You were the wind.¡± Edward got up, brushing himself off. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky. That was raw instinct. And we still have him to deal with.¡± He gestured to the necromancer¡¯s crumpled form.


    The necromancers lay crumpled on the ground, their staff broken, their hood fallen back to reveal a face twisted with pain and fear. They weren¡¯t moving much, but their chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. Their one good eye¡ªthe other hidden behind a patch¡ªdarted between Edward and me, wide with terror.


    Edward stepped forward, his expression cold and unreadable. He raised his hand, and a small flame flickered to life on his thumb, glowing faintly in the dim light of the Cairn.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked, my voice sharp.


    Edward didn¡¯t look at me. ¡°Finishing this. He¡¯s a necromancer, Downhorn. A servant of the Church. If we leave him alive, he¡¯ll come after us. Or worse, he¡¯ll report back to them.¡±


    I stepped between Edward and the necromancer, my fists clenched. ¡°He¡¯s beaten. He¡¯s not a threat anymore. We don¡¯t need to kill him.¡±


    Edward¡¯s eyes flicked to mine, his voice icy. ¡°You¡¯re naive. This isn¡¯t a sparring match, Downhorne. This is survival. If you want to live, you need to stop hesitating. If he lives we die and our families then everyone we know and love¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hesitating,¡± I snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not a murderer.¡±


    Edward¡¯s lips curled into a bitter smile. ¡°No, you¡¯re just a farmboy playing at being a knight. But this isn¡¯t your village, and these aren¡¯t your rules. Out here, mercy gets you killed.¡±


    I glared at him, my jaw tight. ¡°We¡¯re not killing him. End of discussion.¡±


    Edward sighed as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. ¡°Fine. Have it your way.¡±


    For a moment, I thought he¡¯d backed down. But then he moved¡ªfast. He crouched beside the necromancer, his flame-covered thumb hovering inches from the man¡¯s face.


    The necromancer¡¯s eye widened in panic. ¡°No¡ªno, please! I¡¯ll tell you anything! I¡¯ll leave, I¡¯ll never come back! Just¡ªjust don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Edward didn¡¯t hesitate. He pressed his flaming thumb into the necromancer¡¯s eye.


    The necromancer screamed¡ªa raw, guttural sound that echoed through the ruins. His body thrashed, but Edward held him down with his other hand, his expression cold and detached. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and nauseating. The necromancer¡¯s screams turned into choked sobs, his hands clawing at Edward¡¯s arm, but it was no use.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I shouted, lunging forward. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?!¡±


    Edward didn¡¯t look at me. He kept his thumb pressed into the necromancer¡¯s eye socket, the flame sizzling as it burned through flesh and bone. The necromancer¡¯s screams grew weaker, his body convulsing, until finally, he went still.


    Edward stood, brushing his hands off as if he¡¯d just finished a mundane chore. The flame on his thumb flickered and died, leaving behind a faint wisp of smoke. He turned to me, his expression unreadable.


    I stared at him, my stomach churning. The necromancer¡¯s face was a ruin¡ªhis eye socket charred and blackened, the skin around it blistered and cracked. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, his body limp and lifeless.


    ¡°You¡­¡± My voice shook. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that. He was defenseless. He was begging for mercy.¡±


    Edward met my gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. ¡°Mercy is a luxury we can¡¯t afford. The Church doesn¡¯t show mercy. Why should we?¡±


    I took a step toward him, my fists trembling. ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡±


    Edward smirked, but there was no humor in it. ¡°And you¡¯re a fool. But at least I¡¯m alive. Let¡¯s see how long that lasts for you.¡±


    He started walking, leaving me standing there in the ruins, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. The necromancer¡¯s body lay at my feet, his face frozen in a mask of agony. I felt sick. This wasn¡¯t what I signed up for.


    I took one last look at the necromancer¡¯s body, then turned and left Edward trying to forget what I saw.