The black blood flowed like a stream, its sharp, unpleasant smell filling the air. Arat felt his life draining away with each drop that fell. Since his last bloodlust, every ounce of blood had become precious.
Arat then grabbed the three bottles that he had put near each other and drank them one after the other, he felt his hair and nails growing longer.
Soon after, the black liquid began to mix with a yellowish tint and started to harden around his wound. During this process, Arat remained completely motionless; it felt as though molten candle wax was being poured onto his wound. The pain left him paralyzed, his arms and legs limp and lifeless.
"The healing feels almost as bad as the dying."
Arat murmured in a weak voice, barely loud enough for even himself to hear.
The warmth around his wound had changed, and the pain in his chest had nearly vanished. Arat, who was lying on the wet stones, had almost drifted off to sleep. After a while, he opened his eyes and sat up, still aware of his wound but feeling that the burning had subsided.
"Ahhh, it feels like I got hit with one of Grandpa's strikes."
He looked at his chest. The small hole had been completely sealed, and when Arat touched it, he felt no pain.
"I did it. I saved myself."
What I need to do now is find some water and food to replenish my blood and stamina.
Arat looked down at his stomach, now feeling the hunger that the wound had masked before.
Well, water I have plenty of. As for food, I can find some berries and fruit in the forest. Hunting, however, is a different story. My biggest concern, though, is the remaining knights.
Arat's gaze shifted to the steel sword lying beside him, its blade dull in the fading light but still menacing. The weapon's edge was stained with dark-red, dried blood, and the leather belt attached to it was soaked and stiffened, almost fused to the sword from the blood that had seeped into every fiber. The sight of it stirred a mix of emotions within him, dread, resolve, and a creeping sense of responsibility.
I should use it, if things get ugly.
His fingers twitching at the idea of gripping the hilt again. The weight of the sword had always been a comforting burden in his hands, a symbol of the strength he needed the most now.
I'll need to swing it a bit once I regain my strength
he resolved, imagining the feel of the weapon slicing through the air, the reassuring thud of it connecting with an enemy. The thought gave him a strange comfort, even as his body ached. He knew he needed to be ready, not just for himself, but for whatever lay ahead in the forest where danger lurked behind every shadow.
"I'm thirsty."
Arat slowly stood up, his movements careful and deliberate as he assessed the state of his body. He stretched his arms out, testing the flexibility of his joints, then cautiously bent his knees, ensuring that his legs could bear his weight. Each motion was met with a dull ache, but nothing sharp or unbearable. He could move freely enough. The wound is sealed.
running his fingers gently over the hardened surface where the injury had once been.
I think in three to four days, my internal organs will be fully mended. Until then, I have to be carefull to not reopen it.
Satisfied with his self-check, Arat turned and made his way to the entrance of the cave. The air was cool and damp, carrying the sound of trickling water. He approached the waterfall that cascaded from the rocks above, its clear stream pooling into a small, shallow basin at the cave's mouth.
Arat cupped his hands together, forming a bowl, and reached out to catch the cold, fresh water as it fell. The liquid pooled in his palms, crystal clear and icy, before he lifted it to his lips. He drank deeply, savoring the refreshing chill that coursed down his throat, feeling it revive him from the inside out. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a simple pleasure he hadn't appreciated until now.
"I couldn't imagine a day that simply drinking water would feel this good."
Arat rested until nightfall, allowing the cool darkness to settle over the land as he conserved his strength. As the last traces of daylight vanished, he rose to his feet and prepared himself for the night ahead. He armed himself with the steel sword, securing it firmly to his side with the leather belt he had just finished cleaning along with the sword, scrubbing away the last remnants of dried blood. The weight of the weapon against his hip brought a sense of readiness.
He made his way toward the cave's entrance. The night air was crisp. But the lack of light did nothing to hinder Arat's vision. His eyes, sharp and keen, pierced through the darkness with ease. He could see the smallest details in the landscape before him, the subtle bumps and ridges in the bark of trees, the intricate veins on the leaves that rustled softly in the night breeze.
The world outside was a tapestry of shadows and silhouettes, yet to Arat, it was as clear as day. Every detail was etched in his mind, every movement in the forest registered, as if the darkness itself was an ally, not an obstacle. He moved cautiously, aware of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
He took a glance from behind the waterfall, peering into the dense forest beyond. The sound of the cascading water filled his ears, but he focused on the world outside, scanning the trees and shadows for any signs of movement.
Satisfied that the area was clear, Arat approached the stepping stones that led down from the cave's entrance. He climbed down carefully, each step deliberate and measured to avoid slipping on the damp, moss-covered stones. When his foot finally touched the ground, a subtle shift occurred within him, his senses sharpened, attuning to the environment with heightened awareness.
Not far in the distance, a flicker of light caught his eye. He froze, narrowing his gaze as he identified the source. Firelight, wavering and steady. Torches. His heart quickened as the realization dawned on him.
"There are still people here?"
He whispered, a surge of anxiety coursing through his veins.
No, they're searching.
The presence of the torches meant only one thing. He was not alone, and those carrying them were likely hunting for someone.
Going any further is risky, I should wait here and watch for them to go away, they will need to sleep eventually.
Arat waited behind the boulders near the lake, his body tense yet controlled as he crouched low, blending into the shadows. The large rocks provided decent cover as he kept watch over the area. He remained still, his breathing slow and measured, listening intently for any sounds that might signal the approach of the torchbearers.
The night was eerily quiet, with only the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the waterfall. The silence was broken only by the persistent growling of his empty stomach, a reminder of his dire need for food and the toll his ordeal had taken on his body.
Despite the discomfort, Arat endured, his eyes fixed on the flickering lights in the distance. He knew that moving too soon could expose him. He had to be smart, waiting for the right moment to slip away unnoticed.
"Go and sleep already, damn it."
After an hour or two, Arat realized that the lights in the distance had begun to fade, their glow growing weaker as they moved farther away. He observed carefully, realizing that the torches were heading toward the village. Sensing an opportunity, he emerged cautiously from behind the boulders that had concealed him and crept closer to get a better look. The cover of night was his ally, and he knew they wouldn't be able to see him in the darkness.
As he approached, he saw the men more clearly, dressed in ragged and simple clothing. They carried torches and makeshift weapons: spears, rusty swords, pitchforks, and crude wooden clubs. The sight of them made Arat's mind race.
These are neither the female knights nor their male companions.
He quickly surmised their origin.
They must be from the village, helping the remaining soldiers search for me.
Arat's gaze shifted down to his hip, where his steel sword hung at the ready. He sized it up, feeling the reassuring weight of it as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. His grip tightened, and his green eyes locked onto the torches and the men holding them, calculating his next move. The night was still on his side, but he knew he had to act carefully; the odds were still against him, and any mistake could be fatal.
I can use this, if I were to go out for real, I doubt these people can even come close to the speed and movement of grandpa when he spared with me.
Arat decided it was time to stop scouting his pursuers and quietly moved in the opposite direction. As he navigated through the forest, every step was taken with caution, his senses on high alert. He knew that even without the glow of torches, danger could still lurk in the shadows. An enemy could emerge from the darkness at any moment.
If I can see at night, maybe those women can too. They looked similar to me after they drank those magical bottles.
The thought made him uneasy, as he recalled the way their eyes had gleamed with a predatory sharpness.
Satisfied that he was alone for the time being, Arat unsheathed his sword. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs, then swung the sword in a wide arc, slicing through the air with a sharp, practiced motion. He swung it again, and again, testing his strength, feeling the familiar weight and balance of the weapon in his hand.
"It's heavier than I thought. But its balance is remarkable."
He continued to swing the sword. The handle fit comfortably in his hand, shaped and worn from years of use, its craftsmanship completely unparalleled compared to the rough wooden sword he had trained with for so long.
Yet, as soon as this thought crossed his mind, an unwelcome image surfaced, one that sent a chill down his spine.
He remembered the corpse of the woman lying on the ground, her body crushed and broken, blood pooling around her in a dark, widening stain. Her white, lifeless eyes stared blankly at the earth, their once fierce gaze reduced to nothingness.
Arat's grip tightened on the sword as the memory lingered, a heavy weight on his conscience. The sword, though remarkable in its balance and craftsmanship, was also a reminder of the brutal reality he was now a part of.
Admits the midnight something caught his attention. A black object was swimming in the water. Seeing this Arat's eyes became full of excitement.
Arat moved his hands up as he held the sword pointing down its head at the water, patiently waiting and adjusting his posture and grip, stabbing the water, its color changed around the blade.
Bringing his sword out a fish was now stuck in it, waving its head and tail desperately, Arat held the sword with one hand and released the fish from his sword, grabbing its tail he swung the fish toward the stones nearby hitting its head against the rock as hard as he could. With first blow the fish became motionless.
"At least I have dinner tonight"
As Arat held the fish, preparing to clean it, an sound reached his ears. He froze, his body tensing instinctively, and his eyes narrowing as he listened intently. The blade in his hand, slick with the fish's blood, gleamed faintly in the dim light.
"I think an animal is there."
a voice whispered, its tone soft.
Arat's mind raced as recognition dawned on him. The sound was familiar. It was the voice of a woman.
Only yesterday, he had heard the sound of a woman's voice for the first time in his life, and it had left an indelible mark on his memory.
But this voice was different from the harsh, commanding tones of the armored women he had encountered. This one was softer, more tentative, and it stirred something in him that he couldn't quite place.
His senses heightened and his every nerve on alert. The forest seemed to hold its breath as he waited, listening for any further signs of movement. Then, another sound followed, this one heavier and lacking the gentleness of the first. It was rougher, carrying an edge that put him even more on guard.
"Don't worry, it's just a rabbit or something similar,"
the second voice said, dismissive and impatient.
"Let's get to our business now that those annoying adults have left."
Arat's grip on his sword tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. These voices, so different yet so familiar, filled him with a mix of curiosity and dread. He knew he needed to stay hidden, to remain unseen until he could determine who, these people were and whether they posed a threat. He then went behind a bush and staryed looking as he held some brqnches away from his face with his hand.
Arat saw a young girl, brown hair and a delcate face with baby fats, brown eyes and white skin. She was naked revealing her beauty. Next to her a boy with blue eyes and blonde hair streched a piece of fabric acting as the mattress on the ground.
"Ah, men. you are too simple"
"Oh, look who is talking, like it wasn't your idea to do it in the woods"
"that's only because I don't want to get caught, since you won't let go of me"
"Of course, I won't let go of you, my sweet"
The sounds of the moaning in pleasure started as the two youngsters started making love. Moving and twisting their naked bodies, Arat remained silent as he watched the two from a distant of about five meters, hiding behind the bush.
Their body odors stirred something dark within Arat, causing his demonic desires to surge uncontrollably. He could vividly imagine their taste.
Desperate to control himself, Arat closed his eyes, trying to shut out the overwhelming sensations. He forced his nose shut without using his hands, battling the primal hunger that threatened to overtake him.
In his struggle, his grip on the surrounding leaves slipped, creating an obvious rustling sound that cut through the still night air.
Wushhh!