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 above 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 strode inside like the building existed for her entrance.
Hands on hips.Chin raised.Confidence spilling from her like poison 😏.
Her eyes locked onto Aren instantly.
"You," she said, smiling like a predator that had spotted prey.
Aren didn't move.
She stopped a step away, clearly enjoying herself.
"So," she purred,"you wanted to kill me?"
Aren blinked once.
That was all the encouragement she needed.
"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.
Insults poured out like a practiced art.
Every slur elves had invented.Every word sharpened for humiliation.
Minutes passed.Ten.Twenty.
Aren stood perfectly still.
Not clenched.Not shaking.
Waiting.
One by one, adventurers quietly left the hall 🏃♂️.No one wanted to be nearby when something snapped.
Only Mira remained, crouched behind the counter, face buried in her hands 😖.
Finally, Lyris huffed.
"Hmph. Consider yourself warned. I will not tolerate—"
She turned.
Walked toward the door.
Stepped outside—
BOOM.
Something massive fell from the second-floor balcony.
A steel training weight.
The size of a horse.
It struck her cleanly.
The ground shook 💥.
The guild jumped.
Lyris didn't.
She was already unconscious.
Silence swallowed the hall.
Slowly, every gaze turned toward Aren.
He stood calmly, rope in his hand, as if he had just finished ringing a bell 🔔.
No rush.
No excitement.
He walked outside.
Lifted the weight off her without strain.
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 toward the entrance.
The old man appeared instantly.
Gray hair.Heavy presence.Eyes sharp.
"Aren."
Aren stopped.
"Inside the guild," the old man said evenly,"you may do whatever you want."
He pointed 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 threw it.
SPLASH.
Lyris woke gasping.
"W–WHAT—?!"
Before she could react, Aren lowered her into a massive wooden barrel.
Her head stuck out.
Her body trapped.
One small hole near the bottom for air.
She thrashed.Threatened.
"LET ME OUT OR I SWEAR—!"
Aren placed the lid loosely on top.
Sat down.
And ordered a glass of milk 🥛.
Mira handed it to him with shaking hands.
He drank calmly.
The guild watched in silent horror.
Lyris screamed.
"YOU FILTHY HUMAN! RELEASE ME! YOU—YOU—LET ME—LET ME—!"
The barrel rattled.
Aren took another sip.
Peaceful.
The old man sighed.
"Next time," he said quietly,"aim the weight smaller."
Aren nodded.
Lyris screamed again.
And for the first time in years—
Everyone understood something.
The spoiled elf had finally met someone she couldn't control.
And he wasn't angry.
He wasn't cruel.
He was patient 😌🌑.
And patience, everyone knew,was far more dangerous than rage.