Ethan's blade pierced clean through the Shadwalker's skull.
The beast gave a final, guttural hiss before collapsing in a heap of shadow and broken flesh. Ethan froze, his chest heaving as he stared at the corpse. For a moment, his grip tightened on the hilt as if afraid to let go, as if the monster might rise again at any second.
Arthur stepped forward, silent as ever. He watched Ethan without judgment, then gave a single, small nod.
The first kill was always the hardest.
Arthur had seen it many times before—the way a person's eyes changed after crossing that threshold. It was a line no one could retreat from once crossed, a moment that divided the inexperienced from those who had stepped into the world of blood and steel. For a warrior, hesitation could mean death. And hesitation always struck deepest at the first kill.
"This was only a beast," Arthur thought, watching the younger boy. "But even a beast is a step forward."
