The night erupted into chaos.
Torches shook in trembling hands as villagers rushed to the broken fences. Children were pulled into huts. Old warriors who had long since retired picked up rusted blades with grim determination.
Fear was everywhere.
Real fear.
Not the political panic of nobles in marble halls. Not the distant rumors of war whispered in warm taverns.
This was survival.
Ren stood in the center of the clearing, watching the scene unfold. The fire beside him crackled softly, completely indifferent to the coming danger.
"How many?" someone shouted from a tower.
"Too many!" came the desperate reply.
Then the howls began.
Low. Hungry. Relentless.
Dark shapes burst from the treeline like living shadows. Dozens of monsters charged across the open ground, their glowing eyes fixed on the fragile settlement.
The first impact shattered the outer fence.
Wood splintered like dry bones. Villagers cried out as beasts forced their way inside, claws tearing through everything in their path.
Ren's hand tightened around his rifle.
He had a choice.
Walk away.
This was not his village.
These were not his people.
The kingdom that had summoned him was already celebrating another false hope. No one knew he was alive. No one would blame him for disappearing into this world and living only for himself.
A monster lunged toward a young boy frozen in terror.
Ren moved without thinking.
Thunder exploded through the night.
The creature's head vanished in a burst of light and blood before it could reach its target. Shock rippled across the battlefield as both villagers and monsters turned toward the source of the deafening sound.
He stepped forward from the shadows.
The rifle glowed faintly in his hands.
"Stay behind me," he said calmly.
Another wave of beasts charged.
He fired again.
And again.
Each shot was precise. Each movement controlled. Years of helplessness had carved patience into his soul, and now that patience became lethal focus.
But the more he fought, the more something inside him began to stir.
Resentment.
Every roar reminded him of the wasteland where he had been abandoned. Every drop of blood recalled the moment he had died alone beneath the snow.
Why was he protecting others again?
Why was he risking his second life for a world that had already rejected him once?
The system panel flickered before his eyes.
—RESENTMENT LEVEL RISING.
—WEAPON POWER INCREASING.
His shots grew stronger.
Monsters were blown apart by sheer force. The ground trembled with each thunderous discharge from the divine rifle. Within minutes, the battlefield became a field of smoking corpses.
Silence slowly returned.
The surviving villagers stared at him in awe — and fear.
He had saved them.
But he did not feel like a hero.
The old village leader approached cautiously, lowering his weapon.
"You… protected us," the man said.
Ren looked at the frightened faces around him.
People who had also been rejected. People who had been forced to survive without help.
They were not the ones who had betrayed him.
The capital was.
The throne was.
The false hope of heroism itself was.
A cold understanding settled deep within his heart.
"I will not save kingdoms," he said quietly.
The words felt heavier than any weapon.
"I will grow stronger. I will decide my own purpose."
The villagers remained silent, unsure whether they were listening to a savior… or the beginning of a legend far darker.
Ren turned his gaze toward the distant horizon.
Somewhere beyond the mountains lay the palace that had thrown him away like a mistake.
His lips formed a faint, emotionless smile.
"If the world remembers me," he whispered,
"it will not be as their hero."
The fire behind him crackled softly as a new path was chosen.