While Nostra and Anfar were only just awakening, Bayos was already face-to-face with an ancient mage.
They found themselves transported to a quiet, cozy tavern in the heart of the grand city of Fendras. Bayos sat across from the old man, and their gazes met in a silent duel filled with hidden intentions. The old man did not avert his eyes, studying Bayos intently, while Bayos stared back, as though trying to decipher what secrets lay behind the mage's inscrutable expression.
On the table before them were dishes of juicy meat, fresh vegetables scented with herbs, and jugs of wine that glimmered in the tavern's light like rubies, evoking memories of Fendras's cool evenings. For a moment, Bayos's gaze lingered on the intricate patterns on the table, appreciating the mastery and warmth of the hands that had crafted this piece of art.
Fendras, known as the City of a Thousand Fiery Spires, gleamed through the windows, its lights reflecting in rivers and lamps like a precious stone. Tall towers topped with magical fires reached toward the stars, their colorful lights flickering in the evening air. The city's sounds—children's laughter, merchants' loud voices, rhythmic footsteps, and distant music—filtered into the tavern like a true symphony of the night.
Bayos suddenly sprang up, instantly drawing his sword and pointing it at the old man. His heart was pounding. A single thought flashed through his mind: Where are the others?
He looked around, but Anfar and Nostra were nowhere to be seen, and this feeling of emptiness and uncertainty slowly transformed into anger.
– Old man, where are my brother and friend? What did you do with them using your magic? Answer me! – His voice was like a thunderclap rolling through the night.
Bayos's aura flared up, releasing a wave of energy that seemed to engulf the tavern, thickening the air. People froze, their eyes widening with fear. Even the battle-hardened mercenaries felt a chill of terror, as if facing a force beyond their strength and experience. All eyes turned toward the upper floor, where Bayos stood, his blade pulsing with a noble blue energy, dazzlingly bright.
This was something new for Bayos. After enduring three brutal trials in the Sleeping Giant tavern, he had acquired a power that had once seemed impossible. Each trial had been a brush with death, but he had survived and received his reward, breaking one of the ancient seals on his heart. Now this long-dormant power had awakened for the first time, filling the space around him.
The old man watched him closely, his eyes glinting with a mysterious light, as if they held the reflection of millennia of accumulated wisdom. There was something unfathomably calm in his gaze, yet at the same time disquieting—a blend of compassion and hidden threat. Bayos felt as if the old man could see right through him—every fear and doubt. This person was more than just a mage; in his gaze lay a strength and depth of knowledge that surpassed Bayos's understanding.
– You sought an opportunity, and here it stands before you, – the old man's voice was quiet, but it held genuine authority, and Bayos instinctively tensed, sensing the tension.
– I asked you, where are my brother and friend! – Bayos's aura sharpened like a beam, all his power focused on the old man as if every bit of his energy sought to destroy the lone figure before him.
The old man felt the pressure but only smiled slightly, his gaze full of interest and mild irony, as though the whole scene was more amusing than intimidating. Internally, he mused, This young man… he has no idea how vast his power truly is.
– Enough, Bayos, – the old man paused, then sighed before speaking more seriously. – I owe your teacher. He asked me to teach you a lesson and offer a chance. But it seems you might not need my help after all.
Upon hearing this, Bayos slowly lowered his sword, his aura fading along with his mounting fury. No one in the city knew their names or that they had left the temple. Bowing out of respect, he asked,
– If you are here at my teacher's request, then what of Anfar and Nostra?
– I gave them a chance to attain what you have already acquired—strength, and possibly something more. Whether they will take advantage of this chance is another question, – the old man shook his head, his gaze carrying a mix of ironic amusement and respect for their efforts.
With these words, he poured himself a bit more wine, and Bayos, recognizing the lack of threat in the mage's words, relaxed slightly, allowing himself a light smile.
– I believe in them. They'll make it. If you are truly from my teacher, then I am at peace.
The old man smirked, squinting slightly, as if guessing his thoughts, and asked,
– And what if I'm deceiving you?
Bayos looked at him, his eyes flashing.
– A master of your level has no need to lie.
The old man nodded with a slight smile, his eyes softening, almost as if acknowledging Bayos's perception. Suddenly, he sighed and turned his gaze to the street, his eyes narrowing as though he saw something important known only to him.
Outside, the crowd was stirring—an indistinct tension ran through it, the sounds growing louder, building into a powerful resonance that seemed to penetrate the very air, making it vibrate.
Bayos also looked out the window. The voices on the street grew louder, filled with an inexplicable anxiety, as though thousands of people were simultaneously sensing the force of an invisible wave. Bayos noticed a man and a woman standing at the center, as if everything happening revolved around them.
The old man abruptly turned his gaze back to Bayos and, in an unexpectedly soft tone, asked,
– Tell me, have you ever loved anyone?
Bayos froze, not expecting such a question. A faint blush appeared on his face, and he looked away, feeling his answer would be inadequate.
– No... I've always been training, – he replied shortly, his voice quiet but firm.
The old man continued to look at him with a warm smile, but a shadow flickered in his eyes, as if he knew something Bayos had yet to learn.
– Love is a complex thing, – the old man said, slowly lifting his glass.
– It's like this wine: bitter and sweet at once. And life... even more bitter.
He pointed to the man and woman standing on the street. Bayos looked in that direction once again.
In the center of the crowd stood a tall man and a woman.
The light from multicolored lanterns reflected in the woman's eyes like precious gems, their rays playing over her golden ornaments, giving her an enigmatic, mesmerizing look. Her figure was proud and confident, her features sharp and clear, like one who is accustomed to making decisions.
– That's Henbrand, – the old man said, noticing how intently Bayos was studying the man. – One of the strongest mercenaries. Strong, determined, choosing the path of solitude for himself.
The old man glanced at Bayos with a faint sadness.
– But it seems today, his heart has decided otherwise.
Henbrand stood before her, and his entire world, built on strength and solitude, began to crumble under the weight of her silent gaze. The ice around his heart started to melt, and he suddenly realized that this moment would change everything.
Fearing the moment might disappear like morning mist, he acted, blocking her path. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, his voice filled with barely contained nervousness:
– Beautiful lady! When I saw you, your radiance entered my soul. You became a light in my darkness, filling the emptiness I didn't even know existed. You are not only beautiful—there is a strength in you that draws me...
Henbrand's voice shook; for the first time, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. His face reflected a mix of determination and fear—the fear that her response might shatter all his hopes.
The old man, watching the scene from the tavern window, shook his head and, turning to Bayos, said,
– Look, Bayos, love without true understanding and respect becomes a capricious and destructive force. Even the greatest warrior can lose composure and fall victim to his own feelings. Do not let your emotions become your weakness.
Bayos nodded silently, his gaze growing thoughtful.
Henbrand took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully to express all the feelings overflowing in his heart.
– All my strength and glory are nothing without you, – he added, his voice filled with sincerity, as though his entire life had culminated in this moment.
– I know we barely know each other, but my heart cannot remain silent. Please, accept my feelings, accept my love!
The woman Henbrand addressed as his "beautiful lady" looked at him with an inscrutable expression. Her cold, clear eyes seemed to cut through his words, leaving no trace of joy or surprise. A faint furrow on her brow, barely noticeable, spoke more of curiosity than of any response.
– Love? – her voice was cold, like a wind from distant northern mountains.
– What is it? You want me to accept your love, but where is it?
Her words struck like an unexpected blow, painful and sudden. For a moment, Henbrand felt as if the ground was slipping away, as though every bit of his assurance was melting, leaving him defenseless. But summoning his resolve, he could not retreat, not now, when he had opened his heart to her.
He quickly removed his magical iron bracers—symbols of his endurance and strength, of what made him unyielding and indomitable. Handing them to her, he said:
– This is my resilience. I give it to you. This is my love.
Elina looked at the bracers offered to her, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint, almost disdainful smile.
– This? – her voice was dry and detached.
– You wish to prove your love with metal? It's just an object.
Hendrand was taken aback by her reaction, his face flushed with heat. Those bracers were worth a fortune; they could buy a mansion, secure a comfortable life for many years. But her indifference and dismissive words brushed aside his gesture as if it were trivial and insignificant.
He then removed his golden sabatons, enchanted to grant him magical speed and agility in battle. They embodied his persistence, his determination to achieve his goals. Offering them along with the bracers, he said:
– This is my persistence. I give it all to you, because this is my love.
Elina looked at him, her gaze remaining cold and indifferent, like still, impassive water.
– Please, step aside, – she said evenly. – I am not interested in your "love." You're merely in my way.
Her words struck him like a blade piercing his heart. Hendrand's world began to crumble; he felt the overwhelming weight of helplessness and loneliness, but he still clung to a sliver of hope. Kneeling, he reached for his magical pouch filled with gold and silver coins earned through years of bloody battles, and laid it beside his other offerings. His voice was now quiet, resigned:
– My lady, this is my honor as a mercenary. I give it all to you. Doesn't this prove my love?
Elina looked at him, her brows slightly furrowed, lips drawn into a thin line. The chill in her gaze was unrelenting.
– No, – she replied, without a hint of hesitation in her voice. – Don't trouble me; step aside.
Inside Bayos, something tightened. He struggled to look away, unwilling to witness how a legendary warrior, a man who had never bowed, suddenly crumbled under the weight of some unknown force. In Bayos's eyes, there was a mixture of pity and fear of how easily one could lose oneself in pursuit of another's heart.
Her indifference was a wall, an insurmountable barrier, cutting down every effort he made to prove his sincerity. Hendrand, realizing that neither his fame, nor strength, nor magical artifacts, nor even his devotion could melt the ice in her heart, lowered his head. Everything that defined his essence was rendered useless against the cold detachment of this woman.
The old man in the tavern took a deep breath and spoke softly, addressing Bayos:
– Look, Bayos, true strength isn't found in gold, in weapons, or in glory. Real love doesn't demand proofs; it simply is. Those who try to buy it with things will inevitably lose. Understanding this is what makes one truly strong.
Bayos nodded, his gaze fixed on Hendrand, his expression thoughtful. What he saw wasn't just a rejection; it was a profound lesson that would leave a mark on his heart.
Hendrand felt his panic mounting. A storm of fear raged within him, but he desperately tried to maintain the fragile composure that was about to collapse.
A last flicker of hope urged him to take more desperate measures, to offer more, hoping that somewhere, at some moment, Elina would appreciate his sacrifices.
He quickly removed his golden rune armor, long adorned with protective magical symbols. Placing it on the ground with his trusty sword—the weapon that had saved his life many times, his most reliable ally—he surrendered these as well to her, ready to give all for her love.
– My lady, – his voice trembled with despair, his eyes filled with tears he struggled to hold back. – This is my confidence. Thanks to it, I've always emerged victorious. I give it to you, for it is my love for you!
Elina took a deep breath, her eyes remaining cold and unreadable. She looked down at him, not as a strong warrior, but as a frightened, vulnerable man. Her gaze burned him with its icy detachment, a wound worse than any physical blow.
– Hendrand, to express your love for me, – her voice was soft, yet cold and indifferent, – you've given up your resilience, your persistence, lost your honor as a mercenary, and even your self-confidence, – she looked him over with disdain.
– But what I see now is just a pitiful man. Stand up; I cannot accept your love. I have more important matters.
Her words struck like a hammer—sharp and devastating. For a moment, Hendrand felt empty, like a hollow shell drained of life. His despair grew with each passing second, unable to comprehend that his sacrifices—the bracers, the sabatons, the gold, the armor—meant nothing to her. These were not just items but symbols of his strength, all that made him who he was. Yet to her, it was all worthless.
He collapsed to his knees, his face twisted in pain, but within that pain was a final glimmer of resolve. Conflicting thoughts tore through his mind: could this be the end? Would he lose her without ever winning her love?
He was ready to do anything to change her mind, willing to prove his sincerity at any cost. He couldn't bear to let this feeling that had sustained him for the past days disappear without ever coming to fruition.
The crowd on the street began to gather around them, captivated by the sight of a mercenary kneeling before a woman, his wealth and enchanted armor scattered around him. They stood in tense silence, witnesses to a tragic scene unfolding.
Elina, ignoring the crowd, looked at him coldly. She slightly lifted the corners of her mouth, and in her eyes, there was something predatory, as though she was relishing his downfall.
– Hendrand, if you love me so much, – she said with a barely visible smile, devoid of warmth, – remove your spiritual heart so I can see it.
For a moment, Hendrand froze, engulfed by waves of doubt and terror. He knew that his spiritual heart was more than a symbol of strength; it was his true self, his essence that kept him grounded through the toughest trials. His spiritual heart was what made him Hendrand, giving him his strength and will.
This act was not just a sacrifice—it was a renunciation of himself. He stood at the edge of his own abyss, unsure if he could take this final step without losing himself.
His heart pounded furiously, as if warning him, pleading with him to stop. But, looking into Elina's cold, merciless eyes, he realized he had no choice.
He saw not only indifference in her eyes but contempt, a force that obliterated everything he once believed in. If he wanted her love, he would have to prove it not with words, armor, or gold, but with his very soul.
With a faint tremble, he reached for his chest. His fingers dug deeper, feeling the cold and darkness seeping into his body as if life itself tried to hold him back. The world around him seemed to freeze, time itself pausing, and he reached through the haze for the most precious part of himself.
His spiritual heart was warm, softly pulsating, reminding him he was alive. It was his inner fire, his ambitions, dreams, fears, and hopes. For a moment, he paused, holding his heart in his hand, feeling its warmth, feeling it pulse with life.
One more second, and he wouldn't have been able to let go. But, gathering his will, he extended it to her, his eyes glistening with a final glimmer of hope that this offering might change her.
Elina watched coldly, without the slightest tremor. She saw him pull out his spiritual heart, saw his pale face, his quivering lips. Everything that once defined this man—all his strength and will—melted away before her eyes, leaving only love and despair.
– Here, – his voice quivered as he held out his heart to her, – this is my essence, it's all I have. Please, accept it; accept my love.
Unmoved, Elina took his spiritual heart in her slender fingers, her gaze still cold and distant. She tucked the heart beneath her cloak, her actions filled with indifference, as though it were a meaningless gesture.
Hendrand felt the connection to his heart beginning to sever, something within him fading. He realized that he had given all he had for a love that now seemed to destroy him.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed, his face drained of color, an unspeakable horror in his eyes. He knew he had lost something irreplaceable, surrendered his essence for a love that was an illusion.
– Now I can have your love, can't I? – he whispered, his voice trembling like a faint whisper.
Elina looked down at him, her gaze as cold as icy mirrors.
– Even if you offer me your spiritual heart, – her voice was an unfeeling verdict, – it doesn't change my answer. You've given me everything you had, but my answer is still no.
Her words struck him like lightning. His face grew pale, his eyes filled with unfathomable pain and horror. Everything that had once given him strength now lay in her hands, and he realized he had made an irreversible mistake. He had given himself up for a hollow specter, one that never belonged to him.
His body grew weak, his arms dropping limply. He felt his life and soul draining away, dissolving into a void he could never fill. He collapsed onto his knees, looking into Elina's cold eyes, and whispered:
– Why? I loved you so much... why are you killing me?
His words echoed through the street, filling the onlookers with an involuntary sense of dread. He cried not only from physical pain but from the soul-rending agony that love had turned into darkness, consuming him completely as he realized his feelings had only destroyed him.
Elina looked down at him, her face barely softening in a fleeting hint of pity. It was the faintest illusion of empathy, and then it vanished as she regarded him like something insignificant, beneath notice, like a trivial thing undeserving of respect.
– Hendrand, I didn't intend to kill you, – she said calmly, – but you stood in my way.
Her words resounded with finality, like a sentence handed down. It was over. His love had become his demise, and he faded, slipping into an eternal stillness, becoming only a shadow, a fleeting memory of who he once was.
One of the men in the crowd looked at Hendrand's lifeless body and sighed in regret:
– They say that a woman can be the downfall of even the mightiest of men…
Thus, one of the greatest mercenaries met his end—a victim of his own obsessive love. His tragedy lingered in the minds of those who had witnessed it, a bitter reminder that true love should elevate and enrich, not devastate and empty. Losing oneself for a fleeting feeling had led him to his death, leaving behind only a void no one could ever fill.
Bayos watched the scene through the tavern window, something heavy pressing on his chest. He couldn't look away from the scene unfolding in the street. Hendrand's cry, full of pain and despair, echoed within him, tearing at his own soul.
Bayos felt a blend of pity and fear welling up within him, and the faces of his own loved ones and friends flickered through his mind. He understood that Hendrand, with all his passion and faith in love, had become a disturbing warning, both frightening and profound.
A tense silence surrounded him, a whirlpool pulling everything inward. His gaze fell, his eyes clouding with realization. What he'd once thought of as a bright and strengthening force, love, had now revealed itself as the cause of Hendrand's downfall.
It was as if the familiar world around him shifted, its edges sharpening into something frighteningly clear. Bayos began to understand: love, a feeling he had never deeply pondered, now seemed a destructive force, a weapon sharp enough to sever everything in its path.
He turned slowly to the old man, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with the bewilderment of someone who had glimpsed an unknown truth for the first time:
– Now I see… what you meant, – he whispered, choosing his words carefully, as though afraid they might dissipate and disappear.
– Love can be dangerous if reason is forgotten. I saw him lose everything he held dear… and it's terrifying.
The old man listened closely, his eyes reflecting both sorrow and gentle wisdom. There was a sadness there, the look of someone who had long understood human nature and all its frailties. He nodded, his face somber and serious.
– That's right, my boy, – the old man replied, his voice soft but firm.
– Love is a powerful force, immense in its strength. It can inspire us to greatness, but it can also lead us to ruin. Remember, love should be a light guiding you forward, not a darkness that consumes you. Forget that, and love will become your weakness.
He paused, looking back out the window where the crowd was slowly dispersing, leaving Hendrand alone on the ground, in the cold of indifference. The city seemed to absorb the sorrow, etching its memory into every stone, leaving a haunting bitterness in the air.
The old man continued, his voice lowering as though speaking to himself:
– Each of us has our own path, and we alone decide how to use the power we're given. Love can become an anchor pulling us down if we lose sight of who we are. Never forget that, Bayos.
Bayos listened, his heart heavy with reflection. He realized that even the strongest among them could be fragile. It became clear that his journey held not only battles with enemies but inner struggles that could prove far more dangerous and destructive. He nodded in silence, taking the old man's words as a lesson, as a piece of guidance he would carry with him always.
– And now, – the old man smiled, his voice regaining its previous lightheartedness, – I think it's time we continued on our way. Your opportunity awaits, and we must be there to meet it.
– Very well, – Bayos replied quietly.
He lifted his eyes, a new resolve evident in his gaze. This lesson would stay with him, becoming a part of him forever, and he would never look at love the same way again. Bayos sensed that new trials awaited him, but now he felt ready to face them, keeping the wisdom of this day within his heart.
The old man stood, and Bayos followed, casting one last look at the emptying street. In the cold air mingling with the scents of Fendras, he felt a fleeting shadow of Hendrand linger. He sensed that this night had changed him forever.
They left the tavern, stepping into the silence of Fendras, filled with both the city's life and sorrow. With a firm resolve, Bayos took his first step into the unknown.