Three days passed ⏳.
Aren healed.
Not through magic ✨.
Not through potions 🧪.
His body simply refused to remain injured.
The arrow wound closed slowly… stubbornly… like flesh offended by the idea of weakness 💢.
Pain lingered.
But pain had never been a reason to stop.
And Aren—
did not rest.
He listened 👂.
Not to monster rumors 🐺.
Not to quest gossip 🗞️.
To her.
Her name spread easily.
Lyris Vael'Thora 🌲🏹
• Daughter of a Rank Five Guild Master 👑
• Elite archer 🎯
• Spoiled 😏
• Violent 💥
• Calls others "insects" 🐜
• Injured over thirty adventurers 🩸
• Protected by her guild 🛡️
• Never punished 🚫
Every detail was noted.
Not emotionally.
Not angrily.
Precisely 🎯.
Aren stored information the way hunters memorized terrain.
Where to step 👣.
Where not to hesitate ⚠️.
By the third day, Mira leaned across the counter, voice barely a whisper 😟.
"Aren… please don't do something stupid."
He didn't respond.
His eyes were on the door 🚪.
Timing mattered ⏱️.
THUD 💥
The guild doors slammed open.
Conversation shattered.
Lyris walked in like the world had been waiting for her entrance 👑✨.
Hands on hips.
Chin raised.
Confidence spilling like poison 😏☠️.
Her eyes locked onto Aren instantly 🎯.
"You," she said, smiling like a predator 🐍.
Aren didn't move.
She stepped closer.
Slow.
Enjoying it.
"So…" she purred, voice dripping amusement,
"you wanted to kill me?" 😌
Aren blinked once.
That was enough.
"You thought you could fight me?"
"A beginner?"
"A child?"
"A brainless giant?"
"A slow-thinking barbarian?"
"A walking tree?" 🌳
"A—"
She didn't stop.
Words poured out like sharpened glass 🩸.
Insults refined over years.
Perfected for humiliation.
Minutes passed ⏳.
Ten.
Twenty.
Aren stood still.
Not clenched.
Not shaking.
Waiting.
One by one, adventurers slipped out 🏃♂️💨.
No one wanted to witness what came next.
Mira crouched behind the counter, face buried in her hands 😖.
Finally—
Lyris exhaled sharply.
"Hmph. Consider yourself warned. I will not tolerate—"
She turned.
Walked toward the door 🚪.
Stepped outside—
BOOM 💥💥
A massive steel training weight dropped from above.
The size of a horse 🐎.
It slammed into her.
The ground trembled 🌍.
Dust exploded into the air.
Lyris didn't move.
She was already unconscious 😴.
Silence swallowed everything.
Slowly…
Every head turned.
Toward Aren.
He stood there calmly.
A rope in his hand 🪢.
Like he had just finished ringing a bell 🔔.
No rush.
No excitement.
He walked outside 🚶♂️.
Lifted the weight effortlessly 💪.
Then—
He tied her.
Not tight.
Not cruel.
Perfect 🎯.
No angles.
No leverage.
No slack.
Arms bound.
Legs secured.
Bow removed 🏹.
Arrows scattered.
Escape was not an option 🚫.
He dragged her back toward the entrance.
The old man appeared instantly 🧓.
Gray hair.
Heavy presence.
Eyes sharp like blades ⚔️.
"Aren."
Aren stopped.
"Inside the guild," the old man said calmly,
"you may do whatever you want."
He pointed toward the outside 🌑.
"But beyond that door… not one step."
Aren nodded.
He picked Lyris up—
and carried her back inside 🏋️♂️.
Mira nearly fainted 😳.
Aren grabbed a bucket 🪣.
Filled it with water 💧.
And—
SPLASH 💦
Lyris woke, gasping.
"W–WHAT—?!"
Before she could move—
Aren lowered her into a large wooden barrel 🛢️.
Her head stuck out.
Body trapped.
One small hole below for air 🌬️.
She thrashed.
Furious 😡🔥.
"LET ME OUT OR I SWEAR—!"
Aren placed the lid loosely on top.
Sat down.
And calmly ordered—
"A glass of milk." 🥛
Mira handed it to him with shaking hands 😰.
He drank.
Slowly.
Peacefully.
The guild watched in frozen silence 🧊.
Lyris screamed.
"YOU FILTHY HUMAN! RELEASE ME! YOU—YOU—LET ME—LET ME—!!" 💢
The barrel rattled violently 🛢️💥.
Aren took another sip 🥛.
Unbothered.
The old man sighed.
"Next time," he said quietly,
"use a smaller weight."
Aren nodded.
Lyris screamed again 😡.
And in that moment—
Everyone understood something.
The spoiled elf had finally met someone she couldn't control.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't cruel.
He was patient 😌🌑.
And patience—
was far more dangerous than rage 🔥.