After the grueling battle with the bear in the dark depths of the mine, Guto emerged victorious but not unscathed. His chest bore a deep scar from the bear's final, desperate attack. With pain coursing through him, Guto knew he needed to tend to his wounds.
Gathering medicinal herbs he had learned to identify with Throel, Guto fashioned makeshift dressings to staunch the bleeding and prevent infection. The task was a painful one, but he gritted his teeth and worked methodically, knowing that survival depended on it.
Once the dressings were in place, Guto made the arduous journey back to the village. The lantern's flickering light guided his way through the labyrinthine tunnels of the mine until he finally emerged into the open air.
The village, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, seemed like a distant sanctuary after the horrors of the mine. Weak and weary, Guto stumbled into the heart of the village, where concerned villagers quickly took notice of his condition.
Word spread like wildfire, and the villagers rallied to help him. They offered herbs, bandages, and words of encouragement as they tended to Guto's injuries.
Exhausted and in pain, Guto eventually succumbed to slumber, the healing embrace of sleep carrying him away from the physical and emotional turmoil he had endured.
After an entire day of sleeping. In the midst of the night, Guto was jolted awake by the clamor of a fierce struggle. His eyes snapped open, and he sprang to his feet, pain forgotten in an instant.
Under the veil of the moonless night, the village had gathered in a circle around a dimly lit clearing, torches casting flickering shadows that danced in time to the mesmerizing rhythm of drums. Chants in an ancient, unfamiliar language filled the air, their haunting melody stirring a sense of both anticipation and trepidation.
Erik stood at one end of the clearing, a warrior of the village. His heart pounded in his chest as he adjusted the grip on his daggers, their blades gleaming faintly in the firelight. Beside him, Guto watched silently, his expression an enigmatic blend of concern and doubt.
The drums pounded with a relentless intensity, setting the tempo for the duel that was about to unfold. Erik had been trained by Guto, honing his skills in the art of combat, and now it was time for him to prove himself.
His opponent, a seasoned warrior with countless battles etched into his scar-ridden flesh, awaited Erik's first move with a steely resolve. The villagers, with their painted faces and fervent devotion, watched the confrontation, their chants growing louder and more fervent.
Erik moved with a grace and fluidity that betrayed his youth. He weaved through the shadows, his movements calculated and precise. The skills Guto had imparted to him served him well as he danced around his opponent, delivering swift strikes and nimble dodges.
As the duel continued, Erik's confidence grew. He executed the techniques he had learned with a precision that was nothing short of impressive for only 2 days of training. The drums' rhythm quickened, matching the intensity of the battle, and the crowd's chants grew frenzied.
But then came the pivotal moment, a moment that would decide the fate of the duel. Erik found himself locked in a close-quarters struggle with his opponent, their blades clashing in a symphony of steel. It was the perfect opportunity to employ one of Guto's lessons.
Guto had taught him the art of distraction, the importance of using every tool at one's disposal to gain an advantage. In this case, it meant reaching for a handful of sand concealed in his pocket and throwing it into his opponent's eyes, blinding him temporarily.
Erik's hand reached for the sand. Doubt and fear crept into his mind, and in that brief moment, with a lightning-fast strike, the seasoned warrior delivered a fatal blow to Erik's chest.
Erik staggered back, clutching the wound with disbelief etched across his face. The crowd fell silent, the drums' rhythm abruptly halted, and the chanting ceased. In the eerie stillness, Erik's strength waned, and he collapsed to the ground, his life force slipping away.
As he lay there, gasping for breath and fading into the embrace of death, his gaze wandered over the faces of the villagers who had gathered to witness his duel. In their eyes he saw admiration.
But when his eyes finally settled on Guto, standing at the edge of the clearing, Erik's expression shifted. His fading gaze met Guto's with a look of betrayal, disgust, and anger.
The drums began to beat once more, their mournful rhythm echoing the final moments of Erik's life.
As Guto walked alone with the sound of the drums still echoing through the village, he thought to himself 'Why did he hesitate?'