The next day, Mikhail found himself going through the motions like usual.
Wake up. Leave home. Train. Train some more. Go back home. Wash off.
But since it was Centrodia, the day of the Weekly Gathering, Mikhail skipped out on hunting.
As he laid down in bed, his eyes listless as he stared at the light of dusk coming through his tent from the sky above… Mikhail couldn't help but think back on the day. The profound silence that seemed to follow him throughout it.
Without his four friends, the day wasn't as boisterous.
With his monumental failing on the battlefield, faint whispers of a certain moniker began to pop up again.
"Harbinger of Misfortune, huh?" Mikhail asked himself silently.
Having failed to keep anyone on his battlefield besides himself alive was considered a monumental failure. And the people who had fallen… Their families were bound to be less than happy about what had happened.
