They drove me out of the village. No matter how hard Gans tried to make them let me stay, it didn't work.
I had seen firsthand how cruel and terrifying demons could be… but I also learned that humans could be just as monstrous—sometimes even worse.
One thing became clear to me: no matter how polite, calm, or civilized people may appear, in times of fear and pressure, they reveal their true selves. And that face… is so horrifying, even demons would be ashamed to wear it.
As I walked away from the village, I burned those faces into memory—those awful, twisted grins they wore while watching me leave.
Looking back at them, I made myself a vow:
[No matter what happens, I'll never again stand by and watch someone I care about die. I'll never let anyone fall into such despair again. And I will never—never—wear the face those people showed me today.]
That vow etched itself into my soul forever.
Carrying my grief, sorrow, and aching body, I left the village behind. Gans's sword hung at my side, swaying with each step.
I kept walking without pause—I knew I needed to reach the city as quickly as possible. I couldn't afford to rest, not when there was a chance the demon might return.
Eventually, darkness fell. I realized I wouldn't make it to the city before night. If I lost the road in the dark, it would be as good as death. I considered finding a hut or cabin nearby where I could rest for a bit.
But this was demon territory. No one would live here willingly.
Strange, though… If this place is so dangerous, why didn't my parents ever leave? I should've asked my mother when I had the chance.
Ah. She's gone…
For some reason, my heart still refused to accept it. I kept imagining she was alive. It all felt like a nightmare—a terrible dream I'd soon wake from. I wanted to pinch myself and open my eyes in my bedroom, to see her walking in with her warm smile, waking me up gently.
But this was no nightmare. This was reality—bitter and inescapable. A nightmare ends when you wake. But reality… must be accepted.
It was past midnight. The moon and stars glimmered above, their light trickling through the leaves. The forest looked strange under their glow—quiet, ghostlike.
I stuck to the road, afraid to stray into the shadows. The darkness around me was heavy, but the moonlight offered just enough guidance.
Suddenly, I heard rustling in the bushes.
[What now? A wild animal?] I thought, drawing my sword and facing the noise.
The rustling grew closer. My grip tightened. My arms trembled.
[If it's a predator, it'll charge me as soon as it sees me. I have to strike first. If it's just an animal... well, maybe I'll have dinner.]
The sound was right in front of me now. I braced myself and swung the sword the moment something burst from the bush.
[It was… a puppy.]
My blade stopped inches from its tiny head, and I dropped the sword in shock. It was small, scruffy, and kind of adorable. I crouched down.
"Hey, little guy. Come here."
The pup limped toward me. I saw scratches on its sides, its fur matted and dirty.
He must've been attacked by bigger dogs, I thought.
I pulled a small piece of bread from my pack and offered it.
"You look even worse off than I am. Here, have this."
As he approached, something bothered me.
What's a puppy doing out here? In the middle of the forest? At this hour?
A thought struck me like lightning: What if the demon sent it? What if it's a scout?
I hesitated with the bread still in hand. The puppy stepped forward—and suddenly bit me.
I cried out, stumbling back. Blood seeped from my hand.
I snatched up my sword and slashed at it. The blade only grazed its eye—it yelped and backed off, then let out a high-pitched howl.
A warning call.
I looked at my bleeding hand, my mind racing.
[I need to run. Now. If the dogs are here, the demon can't be far behind. I can't escape on the road—they'll catch me. My only option is the forest.]
[Even if I get lost… it's better than dying at the hands of that thing.]
With that thought, I darted into the forest.
As I ran, I quickly lost sight of the road. Then, from behind me, I heard barking—dozens of them. The howls grew louder, closer. There were too many. Far too many.
Then suddenly, all the barking stopped. Silence. An eerie, unnatural stillness fell, as if the ground itself had swallowed the hounds whole.
Confused by the sudden quiet, I froze and focused. I sharpened my hearing, trying to understand what was happening.
That's when I heard them—soft, rapid footsteps, rustling through the trees. The dogs were circling me. They weren't chasing anymore… they were flanking. From my left, they sprinted past. I had seconds to act.
Only two paths remained: forward, or to the right.
My brain refused to think—panic gripped it. So I trusted instinct, clenched my sword, and sprinted forward.
The dogs gave chase again. I ran with everything I had, but exhaustion quickly caught up. My chest burned, and every breath stung. If I didn't stop soon, they'd catch me.
I spotted a large tree and ducked behind it to rest and hide. I needed air. I needed to think. And if I had to run again, the tree gave decent cover.
Not long after I crouched down, the hounds arrived. With them came Baskervilel.
I watched from the shadows as the demon looked around, commanding his beasts with sharp gestures. The dogs sniffed the ground, searching for my scent. I saw one of them stop—it had caught my trail.
Then, the demon spoke.
"Hey, boy. Where are you hiding?" His voice was cold and amused. "I know you can hear me. There's no point in running. The same fate that found your mother waits for you—and frankly, that would be too kind for a coward like you."
He paused, then went on.
"Did you know? When you ran—when you abandoned her—your mother screamed your name. Over and over. She begged for you. But you weren't there, were you? What kind of useless, gutless, ungrateful son abandons his mother to die in agony?"
I clenched my fists. His words pierced deep, not because he was lying—but because I feared he was right.
"You watched her suffer," he said. "Watched her squirm in my hands. You didn't fight. You didn't cry out. You didn't even listen. What kind of son does that?"
I felt something wet on my face. I hadn't realized until then that I was crying. I didn't even know why. Was it his words? Or my own guilt?
"If you hadn't been born," he continued, "your mother might still be alive. Do you understand that? Her heart shattered the moment you ran. Tell me, how does that feel?"
Every word dug deeper into the wounds I hadn't even known I carried.
I tried to stay silent. I needed to breathe. I needed to focus. I needed to escape.
Then, one of the dogs picked up my scent and began to bark. My hiding spot was compromised. I had to act—now—or I'd be dead.
Baskervilel noticed. Calmly, he approached the tree. As he walked, he bit his own hand. Thick, dark blood poured down his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he molded it—shaped it—into a spear.
He crept toward the tree and drove the blood-spear behind it.
But behind that tree, he found nothing—only a cloak, smeared with blood, lying over an old leather pack.
The demon's eyes narrowed.
"Hmph. Smarter than I thought."
He turned to his hounds. "Find him."
By that point, I was already sprinting through the trees, sword in hand, heart hammering.
I shut his voice out. I didn't want to believe him.
Instead, I remembered the last words my mother ever spoke to me:
["Survive. No matter what—live!"]
That memory gave me strength. I would not let her sacrifice be meaningless. I would not let her death be wasted. She had given her life so I could keep mine—and so I would.
[I promise, Mother. I'll survive. I'll prove your death was not in vain.]
I ran and ran, until I could no longer hear the hounds. Only then did I feel a shred of safety.
In the middle of the forest, I paused. I couldn't keep running forever. Where would I go? How could I escape him?
That's when I saw it: a house.
Someone lives here! Maybe they can help! I thought, and made my way toward it.
But just as I approached, I let my guard down—and that was my mistake.
A dog leapt out of the shadows and lunged at me.
I had assumed I was safe. I was wrong.
And that mistake could cost me my life.
I noticed the dog attacking just in time and, with a swift motion, killed it using my sword. But it wasn't the only one. I realized that quickly enough.
As I tried to escape and create distance between me and the pack, they blocked every path I took. I had no choice left—I had to start killing them.
First one, then another, then the third—I cut them down one after another. But they were too many. I couldn't handle them all.
Suddenly, one of them lunged from behind and sank its teeth into my leg, dragging me down to the ground. My grip on the sword loosened, and it flew from my hand. The rest of them swarmed me, biting into my arms and legs, pulling from all sides like they wanted to tear me apart.
The pain was unbearable—I screamed with everything I had, hoping someone in the house nearby might hear me and come to help. But then, right above me, Baskervilel appeared… and all hope was lost.
"You're smarter than I thought, boy," he said. "Normally, if you insult someone's family or friends, they'll lose it. They'll fight blindly in rage just to protect their pride."
But Baskervilel didn't kill me immediately. Instead, he stepped closer and snapped his fingers. The hounds released me.
Despite the pain racking my body, I began crawling away.
"You've surprised me," he continued. "My words should've filled you with rage and hatred. But instead, I see none of that in your eyes. I see only the will to live—your desperate struggle to stay alive. What is it that gives you such a craving for life?"
I heard his question, but I didn't want to answer it.
"Seeing how badly you want to survive… I almost feel pity for you," he said with a cold smile. "But I don't intend to go hungry tonight."
Baskervilel flipped me onto my back, forcing me to look up at the sky. I had no strength left to move. The pain made me crave death—death seemed like the easy way out. But if I gave in now, my mother's sacrifice would've been in vain. And I couldn't let that happen. I had to survive. No matter what.
As I stared up at the sky, thoughts filled my mind:
[Is this really how it ends? Was everything I did for nothing? Why am I so weak? If only I were strong like in my father's tales... If I had magic or even just a bit more strength, maybe things would've been different. Maybe my mother would still be alive. Maybe I'd be in my warm bed right now. If I had just one more chance… I'd give everything to become stronger.]
Baskervilel raised his spear, aiming it directly at my heart. It was over.
But then, one of his dogs barked sharply.
"What is it?" Baskervilel turned to look.
From the shadows, an old man appeared. He had a sword at his side and a long beard streaked with white. His clothes were worn, but he walked with strength. The dogs rushed him.
With a single, clean strike, the old man split them in half.
Baskervilel roared.
[What the hell? You can't even kill one old man?!]
He sent the rest of the hounds after him.
The old man cut through all of them like they were paper.
I didn't understand what was happening. But the sight of this old man walking calmly toward the demon—his eyes filled with fury—sent a chill down my spine.
When most of his dogs were dead, Baskervilel decided to attack himself.
"You'll pay for that, old man! I'll kill you and feed your flesh to my beasts!"
Baskervilel lunged first, but the old man deflected his attack effortlessly. Then Baskervilel struck again. Just as he was about to land a blow, he blinked—and the world spun. In that fleeting moment, he saw his own head lying on the ground.
With one masterful stroke, the old man had severed his head so swiftly that Baskervilel hadn't even realized he was dead.
Even with his head detached, Baskervilel's voice snarled from the ground.
"You damn old man! I'll kill you! My dogs will—!"
But then, the old man summoned a green flame from his hand. He cast it onto the demon's body, his severed head, and the corpses of the hounds. They all burned away in emerald fire.
I could only sit there and watch, unable to move from the pain of my wounds. The old man turned and walked toward me.
As he approached, my vision darkened. I lost all feeling in my body. The last thing I saw before blacking out… was the old man standing tall, surrounded by green flames.
Some time passed.
I slowly regained consciousness. When I tried to move, the pain from my injuries stopped me immediately.
I was lying somewhere unfamiliar. The cloth I had used to cover my eyes was gone.
I looked around but moving my head sent a sharp pain through my skull—it felt like my head would split open.
That's when the old man walked into the room. He stepped inside, set a pot over the fire, and began cooking something.
He was muscular, broad-shouldered, clearly strong despite his age. His hair and beard were streaked with gray. His clothes were old and simple. When he spoke, his voice was calm and clear.
"Your head hurts?"
"Yes… Where am I?"
"My cabin. I rescued you from that demon last night and brought you here."
"Thank you... for saving me, sir."
"Name's Valorant. Just Valorant will do."
"I'm Attu."
"What are you doing out here? Why aren't you at home?"
"I don't have one anymore."
"What about your parents?"
"They're gone. The demon you killed… he destroyed our village. He killed my mother. My father disappeared six years ago."
"I see…"
Valorant grabbed a bowl and ladled soup from the pot, then handed it to me.
"Eat. It'll give you strength."
"Thank you. By the way, where's my sword?"
"Somewhere safe. Next to mine."
I ate the soup he gave me. It was delicious. Maybe because I hadn't eaten in so long… or maybe because Valorant really knew how to cook. Either way, it tasted like the best thing I'd had in ages.
Once he stepped out, I slowly got up. My body ached all over, but I managed to reach the door. I opened it and stepped outside.
Valorant was chopping wood in front of the cabin.
"Where's my blindfold?" I asked.
"Why do you need it?"
"Aren't my eyes frightening to you?"
"No."
"In that case… teach me swordsmanship. And teach me the magic you used—that fire."