We didn't even slow down as we ran into the village.
The heat hit us first.
Then the smell of smoke.
Then the screams.
Houses were burning. People were shouting. And in the middle of the chaos, someone was standing there like a wall against the fire.
"…Uncle Friedric!"
He turned toward us immediately.
Uncle Friedric was Father's right hand.
He was also Frans's teacher.
And after Father, he was the second strongest man in the village.
If Frans was a harsh teacher—
Then Uncle was cruel.
Frans would always save me at the last moment.
Uncle would not.
He once left Frans alone in the deep forest for three days.
There were many times my brother came back from training and hunting with uncle covered in blood and wounds so bad I thought he might die.
But he always survived.
Because Uncle Friedric believed only those who survived were worth forging.
"Good. You're alive," Uncle said quickly. "Now listen carefully."
His eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
"The Empire has gone mad," he said. "They've started attacking us in full force."
"…Empire?" I whispered.
"There's no time to explain." He grabbed Frans's shoulder. "You two run. Now."
"Uncle, the village—Father—" Frans started.
"Follow the river," Uncle said. "Go to the Cave of Honor. From there, you can escape."
"I'm not leaving," Frans said immediately. "I'm going to the village. I'm going to help Father."
"No," Uncle said.
That single word was heavy.
"That will be my job."
Frans froze.
"You take Rick and go," Uncle continued. "Rick can't escape by himself. He was too young."
"…Uncle."
Uncle Friedric's expression hardened.
"There are around two hundred knights and mercenaries already here," he said. "And more are coming."
Two hundred…
My legs felt weak.
Frans clenched his fists.
He was fighting with himself. I could see it.
Uncle Friedric's expression suddenly changed.
No—
Not just his expression.
His eyes.
I noticed it a second later and felt my breath catch.
The blessed pupil of the Avenir does not appear at all times. It can be controlled through deep concentration, but it reveals itself when someone is overwhelmed by emotion.
Uncle Friedric's eyes had changed. The reason had to be the latter.
I understood.
This was not a small attack.
This was not something we could "somehow" deal with.
This was a catastrophe.
Then—
"FRANS! WE DON'T HAVE TIME!"
The ground shook in the distance.
Something massive was moving.
Many footsteps.
Too many.
Uncle Friedric grabbed Frans by the shoulder.
"Just go!" Uncle roared. "I will hold them back!"
For a moment—
Frans closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his decision was made.
"…Yes."
He grabbed my hand.
"Run."
And we ran.
Toward the river.
Toward the Cave of Honor.
Away from our burning home.
--
We ran.
If we walked, the Cave of Honor would normally take around eight hours to reach—assuming no beasts or monsters appeared along the way.
But we weren't walking.
We were running for our lives.
I don't know how long we ran.
An hour? Two? Maybe more.
It felt endless.
Somewhere along the way, my vision blurred.
I realized I was crying.
I tried to hold it in. I really did. I bit my lips, clenched my teeth, and tried to keep quiet—but the tears kept coming anyway, streaming down my face no matter how hard I wiped them away.
I didn't want to sob.
I didn't want to make any noise.
Frans was running in front of me, holding my hand, pulling me forward.
…He didn't say anything.
That alone felt strange.
Normally, if he saw me cry, he would mock me.
"What are you crying for?"
"Are you a man or a baby?"
"Keep crying like that, and you'll turn into a girl."
That was just how he was.
Strict. Annoying. Honest to the point of cruelty.
But now—
He said nothing.
He just kept running.
And then—
His grip on my hand tightened.
Just a little.
Not enough to hurt.
But enough to tell me something.
I'm here.
My chest hurt.
Not from running.
From fear.
From anger.
From helplessness.
Why am I so weak?
Why can I only run?
Why is everyone always protecting me?
My tears kept falling as I ran.
And with every step, one thought kept repeating in my head, louder and louder:
I don't want this anymore.
I don't want to be useless.
Suddenly, Frans stopped.
I almost crashed into his back.
"…They're fast," he said quietly.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
"It seems the scouts have already reached us."
"…Scouts?"
"There are only three," he said. "I can handle them."
My heart skipped.
"This will buy us some time."
He looked at me.
"Rick. Hide here. In the bushes."
I wanted to argue.
But I didn't.
…I just nodded.
Frans moved silently behind a large tree, his presence disappearing like mist.
I crawled into the bushes and held my breath.
Then—
I heard it.
Hoofsteps.
Three horses.
They were getting closer.
Closer.
And then—
thud.
Something fell to the ground.
A bloody head.
The moment the first scout's head hit the ground, the forest exploded into chaos.
"AMBUSH!"
One of them jumped off his horse, drawing a sword in a single smooth motion.
The other stayed behind and raised a crossbow.
"Tch—keep him busy!" the crossbowman shouted. "I'll put a bolt through his head!"
And then—
Frans exhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
I felt it before I saw it.
Frans's presence changed.
His eyes—
The Blessed Pupils of Avenir.
The moment Frans's eyes changed—
The world slowed.
To him.
Not to me.
But I could see it in the way he moved.
He rushed straight at the swordsman.
CLANG!
Steel crashed against steel.
The swordsman was good. His stance was tight. His strikes were sharp and fast.
But to Frans—
They were slow.
Too slow.
Their blades clashed again and again, sparks flashing in the shade of the trees.
"Damn it, you're fast!" the swordsman snarled.
Behind him—
Click.
The sound of a crossbow being loaded.
Frans heard it.
He stepped in, locked the swordsman's blade—
And kicked him hard in the chest.
The man flew backward—
And at that exact moment—
"DIE!"
Whoosh!
The bolt screamed through the air.
Frans twisted his body by a hair's breadth.
The bolt grazed his shoulder and buried itself in a tree.
"…Tch."
He was already moving.
I bet in the crossbowman's eyes—
Frans simply vanished.
"What—!?"
He appeared right in front of him.
Slash.
The man's right hand flew into the air.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
The crossbow hit the ground.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
"You bastard!" the swordsman roared, charging in desperately.
But the fight was already over.
Frans turned.
One step.
One strike.
The swordsman collapsed without even understanding how he died.
The one-armed crossbowman stumbled backward, screaming, his face pale, clutching the stump of his arm.
"Monster…! You're a monster!"
He turned—
And ran.
Frans didn't chase.
"…Go," he said coldly.
And the man ran.
Straight toward—
Me.
My mind went blank.
My body wouldn't move.
The scout saw me and laughed hysterically.
"A kid!? Out of my way!"
He raised a dagger in his left hand.
I tried to lift my sword.
My arms were heavy.
My legs wouldn't listen.
Move.
MOVE!
He lunged—
And I tripped.
I fell backward.
The blade came down toward my face.
I saw death.
Then—
No.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to be protected forever.
I don't want to lose anyone ever again.
Something in my chest burned.
I screamed—
And thrust.
The sword went forward.
And—
Stabbed.
The blade sank into his throat.
Warm blood poured onto my hands.
The scout's eyes widened.
"…Ah…?"
He collapsed on top of me.
Dead.
I lay there, shaking.
My first kill.
My whole body trembled.