《VALGARD》


 Valgard - The Forest - Chapter 1

    2 Months Ago


    Valgard gazed at the lifeless bodies of the yellow-caped men, his eyes vacant. The body next to him, the one he was kneeling beside, belonged to Anton. Anton, who had taught him everything he knew when Valgard had joined the Golden Claw seven years ago, and who had been like a brother to him.


    After crossing the river tainted by the poison of Pollum, and a few days away from Elebamachos, they had found him in the forest where he had been hiding. The full moon had just begun to light up the forest through the branches of the trees. The cold ground, covered with fallen dry leaves, lay beneath the corpses, and all of their faces had begun to frost over.


    The man who had protected him, who had stopped the other Claw members from bullying him, who had taught him to swing a sword and throw a javelin, now lay at Valgard¡¯s feet, his spirit gone. His leather chest armor was cracked, and a large hole had been torn through the center. The hole was now filled with the javelin that Valgard had thrown only moments ago. Just as Anton had taught him, it was a clean shot that pierced the heart. The pain was brief¡ªan almost instantaneous death, barely lasting a few seconds.


    As if it weren¡¯t him who had taken Anton¡¯s life, Valgard pressed his hand over the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood. His eyes were wide enough that the tears would have fallen, had they not been trapped behind his eyelids. Anton¡¯s face was so blurred for him now that it was almost unrecognizable. He clenched his teeth as if he wanted to break them, and a soft groan escaped him.


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    ¡°I didn¡¯t want this. I swear, I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry, Anton. I¡¯m sorry. Please forgive me. Please.¡±


    He hoped, with all his heart, that Anton would take one last breath, look up at him, and say that he forgave him. He wanted Anton to say that everything would be alright, that he wasn¡¯t to blame for any of this. But Anton¡¯s lips didn¡¯t move. Not a single breath escaped him. The only sound that filled Valgard¡¯s ears was the cold winter wind, howling through the forest.


    The other two bodies were strangers to him. They were so young, probably around the same age Valgard had been when he first joined the Golden Claw. They were likely the recruits Reiner had gone to bring in from nearby villages before Valgard had started running from the Claw. They had their own stories, their own hopes¡ªand all of them remained unfinished. Valgard made sure of that. Did they know why they were trying to capture him? Did they understand what they had died for?


    If he could fix this situation, he would have done it without a second thought. But there had never been a choice where both his sister survived and he didn¡¯t have to abandon his comrades. He had made a choice¡ªa selfish choice. A choice that would save one life now, but might cost dozens later. A choice that had torn him from his identity, from his family, and from the friends he had once known. A choice that, though he wasn¡¯t sure it was the right one, had set him on a path from which there was no turning back. For Valgard, there was no going back.


    Desperately, he lifted his head and looked at the moon, now high in the sky. It seemed as though the moon had risen just for him that night. As if it knew what was about to happen, as though it wanted to witness the blood on his hands more clearly, to see the lives he had taken. It hung full and bright in the sky, as if it had always known.


    ¡°Please forgive me,¡± he whispered, barely audible.


    This time, he didn¡¯t ask for Anton¡¯s forgiveness.

 Ragnar - The Coliseum - Chapter 2

    The daylight that slipped through the iron bars created a yellowish-red hue on Ragnar¡¯s closed eyelids. He rubbed his eyes and forced them open.


    ¡°Our turn is coming up,¡± said Namor, his voice rising with a noticeable tremor of seriousness. He had thrown his white doctor¡¯s mask at his feet and still kept his hood up, thus hiding his face from the piercing gazes in the dim environment. In his hand, he held a makeshift bow made from bone. As he sat in the corner, he carefully tightened the string, drawing it taut with steady hands.


    Vicar grunted in approval. He was standing beside Ragnar, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed, and his gaze was distant. His long brown hair and unkempt beard were tangled together, his thick eyebrows nearly covering his face like a shield. The man''s eyes and nose were barely visible beneath the mess of hair.


    Ragnar turned his head to the left, staring down the long tunnel that led to the Coliseum. Through the iron-engraved gate, the sound of clashing swords, desperate screams, and the roars of the cheering crowd merged together. From a distance, the sounds radiated a wild, exhilarating energy.


    Soon, that gate would slowly rise. Either a warrior, bloodied weapon in hand, would enter, or two guards would rush in, dragging the body of a fallen fighter behind them. The gate would close again, the screams from the arena would momentarily subside, and then, most likely, a fat man with a belly the size of a horse¡¯s arse would step into the center of the arena to announce the next team.


    "When Felduin fell, two brave warriors escaped the plague: Ragnar of Felduin, and Doctor Namor of Felduin. Did they survive because they were truly great warriors, or did they cowardly run away, abandoning the battlefield? We will all find out. And let¡¯s not forget, Vicar of Bavisbach! A savage from the cursed lands of Selemene! A barbarian!¡±


    That¡¯s how it would go, Ragnar thought. At least, that¡¯s what he expected. He cleared his throat and spat out the phlegm that had built up in his throat.


    They shouldn¡¯t have been here. The war in Felduin had been nothing short of a massacre. The city had fallen and disappeared within hours. The infected had never come together to attack a city before; in fact, no one had even seen them unite. But that day, like a tsunami, they had torn through the city walls and flooded the streets. Neither the guards nor the knights had stood a chance. Felduin¡¯s mothers, panicked, had tried to run to their homes to save their babies, only for the walls to collapse around them. As they tried to take their babies from their cradles and flee, the infected had slaughtered every soldier in sight. There was no time run.


    Namor and Ragnar had been among the rare few to survive that massacre. They had met while watching their homeland¡¯s destruction from the forested hills just outside the city.


    Shared trauma often brings people together.


    From that day on, they had traveled together. Going from town to town, doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Eventually, they had met Vicar at an inn.


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    Vicar didn¡¯t speak much, and when he did, it was usually curses. He wasn¡¯t much for philosophy either; he was a strong man, a true brute. Most importantly, he was a man who followed orders. He did what was asked of him without much questioning. Ragnar and Namor hadn¡¯t particularly liked the man, but they figured they would need brawn over brains, so they brought him into their fold. This had happened two years ago.


    Now, their not-so-glamorous careers as adventurers seemed to be coming to an end.


    Elebamachos, located to the northwest of the massive lake at the center of the empire, was a city that had long passed its glory days. It was very close to Pollum. Pollum, a city cursed by the plague, had fallen many years ago. After Pollum¡¯s fall, the villagers around had fled to the city, seeking refuge in the only place that still stood nearby: Elebamachos. Its massive walls and tall watchtowers had been the last bastion of safety from the plague-infested creatures that had invaded Pollum.


    The city was now packed with refugees. People who had once hoped to find shelter behind the city¡¯s walls now found themselves unable to even find a roof over their heads, and were forced to pitch tents outside the city¡¯s safe walls.


    Within the surrounding villages, which still held some inhabitants, there was no government or military presence left. Bandits had raided the villages, extorting the remaining villagers, and those who were strong enought to resist the bandits were often attacked by the disorganized plague victims from Pollum. It was a lawless, dark place, with every corner smelling like filth. It was a perfect place for adventurers looking to make a quick buck. Ragnar and Namor had thought the same. They didn¡¯t take long to learn just how dangerous the place really was.


    Years ago, after Pollum fell, a small castle on the main road between Pollum and Elebamachos had been abandoned by its lord. The castle, now a ruin, was a perfect hiding place for the bandits extorting the villagers. The captain of the Watch had offered a 1000-dinar reward for a team that could clear out the bandits. Ragnar and Namor hadn¡¯t thought it would be a difficult task. Their pockets were empty, and they needed the money.


    And it turned out to be a relatively easy job. Before nightfall, they had snuck into the ruin. They quickly neutralized the small group of bandits hiding inside and began looking for loot. Tired from the fight, they decided to spend the night in the ruin, which already had a camp set up.


    One would expect a team that had been on the road for two years to be smarter, but when they slept, the bandits who had gone out to collect their tolls returned to the camp. They tied up Ragnar and Namor and Vicar, then set off to sell them to the Coliseum at dawn.


    The Coliseum was a fate worse than death, especially when you were sold as a slave. The rich aristocrats who bought you would make you fight until they had made enough money off you. Of course, they decided how much money that was. Then they would determine the amount you would need to pay for your freedom, and until you gathered that sum, you had to keep fighting. And of course, you weren¡¯t paid for any of the fights you won.


    That¡¯s how they had ended up in this rat hole. After losing their homes and friends, the lives they had clung to, hoping everything would get better one day, had ended up in a sack of filth.


    Ragnar cracked his fingers. The gate at the end of the tunnel was slowly rising. Two guards were dragging a body by the ankles, pulling it inside. The noisy crowd had grown quieter. As Ragnar¡¯s eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight at the end of the tunnel, he saw the scene he had been waiting for. Behind the soldiers dragging the body, in the exact center of the Colosieum, stood a fat man, his arms spread wide toward the cheering crowd.


    "When Felduin fell, two warriors managed to escape the plague..."

 Ragnar - The Monster - Chapter 3

    "...and on the other side, a madman who believes himself to be a nobleman from Morchima, Vaelen! Beside him, the northern barbarian Ulfrik, who can barely speak our language!"


    When Ragnar and his team reached the center of the coliseum, the cheers, which had started as the fat man introduced Vaelen and Ulfrik to the crowd, turned into laughter.


    Vaelen was a skinny, blonde, long-haired man, somewhat handsome. As he walked towards the center of the coliseum, he carried himself like a true nobleman. Ulfrik, on the other hand, was the complete opposite¡ªstanding at two meters tall, with short brown hair, and a bulky build. Despite his size, he appeared younger compared to Vaelen. Both of them, dodging the laughter and fruit peels thrown at them, made their way to the exact center of the coliseum, standing face-to-face with Ragnar and his team.


    "Three against two. Not very fair," Vicar said, forming a sentence much longer than expected from him.


    "Or maybe the two of them are as skilled as the three of us, my friend," Namor replied, pulling an arrow from his quiver and placing it on his bow.


    Ragnar had been smelling something foul ever since stepping onto the blood-soaked sands of the coliseum. It wasn¡¯t the scent of blood, dead bodies, or shattered organs¡ªno, this was much more disgusting, and at the same time, oddly familiar. While the crowd might have been oblivious to it, overwhelmed by the scent of sweat from the cramped spaces they were sitting in, for Ragnar, it was unmistakable.


    The fat man turned away from Vaelen and Ulfrik, addressing the crowd, arms spread wide. The coliseum was a circular arena, surrounded by marble seats where the audience sat.


    "Today, we have a surprise for you all!" he shouted. The crowd erupted in excited cheers.


    The man smiled, unbuttoning his shirt to let in a little air from the scorching sun. He scratched his hairy belly.


    "Our final fight will be unlike anything you''ve ever seen before! A spectacle, something you won¡¯t find anywhere else!" The man puffed out his chest proudly and spun around, his brown captain''s hat damp with sweat.


    "From lands not visited for years, a creature that lost its way and wandered into our trap!" He gestured towards a passage different from the ones Vaelen and Ragnar''s teams had emerged from.


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    "A creature bathed in the poisonous clouds Selemene unleashed over Pollum!"


    Ragnar''s eyes went wide. He turned his head to look at Namor. Namor¡¯s face was obscured by his white crow-beaked mask, but Ragnar could sense that his friend was just as shocked as he was.


    Ragnar¡¯s gaze quickly flicked to Vicar. The brainless fool was chewing his cud and staring blankly, waiting for the man to finish speaking. He looked as if he were silently saying, Stop talking and bring out the man we¡¯re going to kill!


    When Ragnar turned his attention back to the fat man, he caught a glimpse of Vaelen and Ulfrik drawing their weapons, looking fearfully towards the other passage. The skinny man drew two swords and twirled them expertly, taking up a defensive stance. The massive barbarian behind him carried a sword that was nearly as tall as Vaelen himself.


    "Allow me to introduce you to Pollum''s flesh-eating monster!" the man shouted. He was practically jumping with excitement. The crowd screamed with joy and anticipation.


    With those words, the door to the third passage was lifted. The crowd, overcome with excitement, screamed in ecstasy.


    First, four guards emerged from the dark passage. Each of them carried chains as thick as a human arm, and they moved in different directions, hanging the chains up with effort. Then, the creature they were holding in chains appeared, dragged along. It looked humanoid, but far larger and taller. Its left arm extended from its elbow into another arm, while its right arm was completely missing, clearly severed in some battle. Curved claws protruded from its fingers, and its black skin was riddled with deep, bone-exposing wounds, yet no blood leaked from them. Its jaw hung down to its chest, lined with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes were empty, devoid of spirit, as if it were a wandering soul. Despite this, it seemed aware of its situation, gripping the chains with its hands and trying to resist being dragged along.


    "Holy shit," Vicar muttered, pulling his shield and mace from his back.


    "So the stench came from you," Ragnar spat after clearing his throat. A mix of excitement and fear took over his body. It felt like a chance to take revenge for his home and family, yet he had seen these creatures tear armored knights apart before, and that image made the axe in his hand tremble with fear.


    The crowd groaned in disgust at the foul, corrupted form before them. The fat man laughed again. "Then let the game begin!" he yelled excitedly. As he spoke, the crowd, which had fallen silent, erupted into cheers once more. The man, clutching his belly with one hand, quickly ran toward the passage Ragnar had emerged from.


    With the man¡¯s passing, the gates Vaelen and Ragnar had come through slammed shut. The guards dragged the creature into the center of the coliseum. As it drew closer, it looked even more exhausted, as though it could barely stand. It constantly cradled its belly and held its head low. The guards released the chains and quickly retreated back to their passage, which immediately closed behind them.


    The crowd quieted down, suppressing their excitement, and waited for the first move.


    Ragnar pulled a dagger from his belt and held it in his left hand. He twirled the axe and dagger in his hands, leaning slightly towards the creature.


    It was personal now.

 Namor - The Plagued - Chapter 4

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