Himmel walked back to the battlefield. Ash and soot filled the air, the remnants of what had once been a place of fire and chaos. All that remained was a single skeleton—the skeletal remains of a teacher, her bones twisted and turned to iron from the overwhelming backlash of the spell. Even from a distance, Himmel recognized her. It was Kimpa. He approached slowly, every step heavy with sorrow and respect, bidding her farewell.
But something else caught his eye. Etched into the forehead of the bones was a word: "Grugalor." She wasn't the only victim. Rumbleback's blade, its edge ripped out, had been taken—Grugalor had claimed the prize.
His father's signature. In that instant, all thoughts of his primary mission evaporated. "Fuck the heirloom, fuck that village, I'll kill them all," he vowed. Kimpa would not be disrespected. The sacrifices of the herd and Riaz would not be in vain.
Returning to the village, Himmel went straight to the barrels of alcohol. He intended to sell them, make money, and from there, move from dungeon to dungeon, city to city, building his strength. But when he opened the barrels, they were empty. The surfaces were undamaged, yet each was open, the contents gone.
He walked to the village center and saw the townsfolk, drunk and staggering from his drinks. If he were even one level higher, every Orc here would be dead. But he wasn't. Each of them was at least level 2, some level 3. Even if they were only farmers or civilians, he would lose.
Instead, he went to the armory, gathering gear, then moved into the war room. As he picked up a few materials, a voice called, "Ay, Himmel?"
Texan and Abbot entered, their faces a mix of guilt and uncertainty. "What happened, man?" Abbot asked, approaching. Texan followed.
Himmel's glare froze them in place. "Where the hell were you two?"
They stammered. Texan spoke first: "Ay, man, we were fighting the guards… then reinforcements showed up." Himmel didn't believe a word. "And what's with the new bow and the scroll in your hands?" His stare could have cut steel.
"Um, dude, lo—" Texan tried, but Himmel interrupted. "Despair, Slow, Blindness." Three curses, and the duo froze, powerless.
"No more lying. What did you two do?"
Texan faltered. "Look, you never directly told us we had to come back instantly."
"And my fireballs?" Himmel demanded.
"You never gave us a signal we had to follow either."
Himmel shook his head in disbelief. "Take your faults. Admit you betrayed me and our men. Then, after you admit your wrongs, repent to me by truly trusting each other, by truly working together."
Texan sighed, reluctantly apologizing. Abbot followed with a small nod. Himmel lifted the curses. Texan walked out first, attempting to flee. But the curses struck again—blindness, slowness, despair—and Himmel's voice echoed:
"Take your faults. Admit you betrayed me and our men. Then, after you admit your wrongs, repent to me by truly trusting each other, by truly working together."
Texan yelled curses back, defiant. In a blink, Himmel's blade swept like a cleaver. The head of Texan tumbled to the ground.
The chant repeated: "Take your faults. Admit you betrayed me and our men. Then, after you admit your wrongs, repent to me by truly trusting each other, by truly working together." Was it divine judgment, or the curses driving him to madness? Either way, he felt the weight of guilt.
The third time, the words carried clarity. The curses fell, and Texan finally rose to help Himmel pack items. Abbot, already assisting, joined in. Even after betrayal, redemption was possible. The group couldn't remain idle. "The war ended, but they will come here and ransack everything."
Himmel took all precious items: a new blade, his old axe, maps, and a backpack of necessities. Abbot and Texan collected useful weapons and armor. As they watched the drunk villagers, Himmel memorized every face. When the day came, he would make them pay.
They departed, heading northwest, keeping to the shadows of the forest. Once a safe distance was reached, Himmel began to meditate while walking.
"Hey, Himmel. What the hell are you doing?" Texan asked.
"Warrior classes rely on versatility. I was simple-minded, creating an ultimate specifically for war. That will no longer suffice. I've tapped into the mana within me; it has forgotten the previous ultimate. To exact my revenge, I must reconstruct it. Most warriors could not do this—once an ultimate is imprinted, it is permanent. But I never truly imprinted mine. I will craft a perfect ability, one that places my power above any soul."
"So… how long?"
"Probably a month. For that entire month, I'll be vulnerable—without an ultimate skill."
Texan and Abbot were stunned. Even after betrayal, Himmel could make himself this vulnerable and remain unshaken.
Their journey led to a level 2 beast—a magnificent lion, mane flowing golden, body large and proud, its potential untapped. Abbot approached it cautiously, speaking with authority and charisma. "Hello, prince. Our journey will be dangerous but fruitful. Join us."
The lion's gaze softened, his instincts swayed by Abbot's words. With a low rumble, he accepted, joining the group as a formidable ally.
"Ha! My first tame! Perfect," Abbot laughed, grinning.
"Oh… I thought you wanted to subclass as a mage," Texan asked, confused.
"What do you mean?" Abbot questioned.
"Well, Kimpa said claiming a creature as a tame forces your class into the Tamer subclass." Abbot's eyes widened in shock.
"Wait… what? I've never heard of that!"
"Maybe it's because in the Elve Kingdom, learning magic is easier, so the info isn't necessary."
"No. I didn't spend 200 years hoping to be a mage just for it to vanish because of some clause I never learned!" Abbot's breath quickened, his mind reeling.
"I'm an elf. My strength grows slowly. In dungeons where I'd be most effective, my talents are inactive. And now I must remain a tamer my entire life!" His voice rose with frustration.
"Yo, Abbot, chill. It's not that serious. There are items that can reset your class," Texan tried, but Abbot didn't hear him.
"You know what? I'm glad those orcs died. I don't care I didn't see the fireballs. I should've returned, but I stayed silent, letting Texan take the blame. I'm glad all those orcs died because of me. Fuck it—my life is ruined. I'll take both of you with me."
Abbot pounced backward, bow drawn, aiming at Texan. Texan barely dodged, weaving into the bushes. Abbot searched for Himmel—but he was gone, vanished mid-speech, as expected.
"Leo! Find them!" Abbot commanded. The newly tamed lion prowled, sniffing for a trail. It pounced at a bush and impaled the would-be king, who screamed, "Fuck the lion, I'll kill you, Himmel!"
Abbot pulled back his bow, arrow aimed at Himmel. Just as he released, a voice cut through: "Turn around, bow-boy." Abbot spun, firing randomly. Texan dodged and landed a blow to his solar plexus. Abbot stumbled, disoriented and in pain.
A sharp pain exploded in his head; blood blurred his vision. Himmel loomed above him, the sharp butt of his axe lodged against his skull.
"I really did hope you and I could've mended the bonds of elf and orc," Himmel said.
Abbot fell, blood trickling from his head, motionless.
"Himmel… why did he do that?" Texan asked, unease in his voice.
"I don't know, Texan. It's in his nature to act idiotic. He always thought he could do no wrong."
"He never apologized. He didn't try to get me back to the battle. He never cared about the lives of the orcs he sacrificed. Even when you held us in that tent, he used that silence as consent."
They hoped it didn't have to end this way.