Varian slowly opened his eyes, feeling the warm touch of the sand and the coolness of the waves brushing against his skin. The sky above was clear, and a few nearby trees swayed in the breeze. At first, he didn't understand where he was, but as he stood up, his face still covered in sand, reality struck him: he had survived. After swimming until exhaustion, he had finally reached solid ground.
Relief began to fill his chest, and an involuntary laugh escaped his lips.
"Pfff... hahahahaha!" He laughed, lying on his back in the sand, arms stretched out, looking up at the sky.
"I escaped!" he thought, trying to stifle his laughter. The feeling of freedom was almost indescribable. The exhaustion that had consumed him just moments before seemed to vanish, replaced by a renewed energy. He had seen the blue sky after nearly 15 years, imprisoned in a stone cell. Small drops of tears formed on his face.
He got up, his feet sinking into the sand for the first time in his life. The new texture, soft and unfamiliar, made him hesitate for a moment, but soon he was on the move, walking along the beach, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear.
The joy was uncontrollable. Varian started running along the beach, laughing to himself, the sound of his laughter echoing between the trees and the sea. Everything felt perfect in that instant: he was free.
"Hahahaha!" Varian laughed, his body vibrating with euphoria.
However, suddenly, as if time had frozen, Varian's smile disappeared. His eyes locked onto something ahead. There, not too far away, stood a group of men. They were watching him from a distance, their expressions a mixture of surprise and even suspicion. Varian quickly examined their clothes; they didn't seem like soldiers. Perhaps they were guards from a nearby village. There was also a man tied up, his face rubbed into the sand, and a grave dug beside him.
His heart raced.
"Hm... damn it..." he muttered, feeling his cursed reality return.
The joy that had filled him moments before now evaporated, replaced by apprehension. Varian had just escaped a nightmare, and the last thing he wanted was to be captured again.
Varian looked around, still trying to process what had happened. He had escaped from Tartarus prison, but now found himself in an unexpected situation. Not far from him, a fierce-looking man was watching him with interest. He wore unusual armor and had piercing green eyes and golden hair with streaks of brown. Although his appearance suggested that of a warrior or soldier, his posture was almost elegant, reminiscent of the many times Varian had seen Nathan.
"Hello, stranger," the man spoke with a confident voice. "Normally, I'd ask who you are, but judging by your tattered clothes and the fact that Tartarus prison isn't far from here, I'll ask instead: what do you intend to do?"
Varian didn't respond immediately, still absorbing the situation. The man before him seemed articulate despite his intimidating appearance. After a few seconds of silence, the man continued,
"As for me, I'm William, mercenary and captain," he said, his voice calm but full of authority.
William spoke with a surprising elegance for someone with such a fierce expression. Varian, still processing the situation, remained silent. William, however, seemed comfortable with the lack of response and carried on, as if telling a casual story.
"I came to this island to bury one of our own alive." William pointed to a man chained on the ground, his shirt stained with blood, evidence of a recent beating. "He tried to take most of a stolen treasure for himself. And since we had agreed to divide the loot, I can't let that go unpunished."
William smiled as he explained the situation, as if narrating something trivial. Varian attentively watched the man lying on the ground, who groaned softly, while William continued his story:
"Some of his most loyal friends insisted I forgive him, saying the gold would pay for his sick mother's medicine," he sighed, still speaking in a controlled tone. "But I can't just let him go. If he had come to me, I might have allowed him to take a bigger share. But he chose to steal, and I'd lose the respect of my men if I forgave him without punishment."
William gave a fearless smile, as if he were about to reveal a grand plan.
"And that's why you're a fortunate find." He said, looking directly at Varian, his hand resting on his chin.
"Excuse me?" Varian asked, raising an eyebrow, confused by what this could mean.
"You give me the chance to show mercy to Hidalgo, that worm with his face in the sand," William said, pointing at the man chained on the ground. "Without appearing weak. And the boys will still shake off the heavy mood with a little fun."
Varian furrowed his brows, trying to understand where this was leading.
"And how exactly would I achieve that?" Varian asked, suspicious.
"You and Hidalgo will fight to the death." William explained with a carefree smile, as if discussing the weather.
Varian raised his eyebrows in disbelief. The proposal seemed absurd, but he realized William wasn't joking after all.
"If Hidalgo wins, he will be accepted back into the group," William continued, as if explaining a basic rule of a game. "If you win, he will have had the right to trial by combat, even though he doesn't deserve it. And of course, you will take his place in the group."
Varian considered this for a moment.
"And if I win, but don't want to join your group?" Varian asked, curious.
"We kill you and find someone else to replace Hidalgo," William responded naturally, without hesitation.
Varian raised his eyebrows in surprise. The proposal was brutal but straightforward. He thought about his chances and finally replied:
"Seems fair," Varian said. "I guess I was born to be a mercenary. And I'd be delighted to kill your friend, the 'Worm.'"
Varian clasped his hands together, making an ironic gesture of acceptance. William observed for a moment and then laughed, appreciating the enthusiasm of the recently freed prisoner.
"Hahaha..." William laughed. "I like your spirit."
However, William made sure to warn Varian:
"By the way, Hidalgo is one of the best swordsmen in our crew."
Varian raised an eyebrow, scoffing at the warning.
"Hm... Seems like you don't get out much, do you?" Varian responded with a rare smile on his face, his voice dripping with confidence.
For a brief moment, William looked at him with disbelief, but soon burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha! Release Hidalgo!" William ordered. "Return his sword... And let the fun begin!"
Varian watched as the men freed Hidalgo from the chains and handed him a sword.
A sword was then tossed in Varian's direction, its blade firmly embedding into the sand, revealing his appearance for the first time. With dark hair and blue eyes, if one looked closely, they could see a hint of green in the middle of Varian's eyes.
Aside from his ragged appearance, it didn't seem to hinder his functionality. The claymore, though heavily used, still showed signs of quality craftsmanship despite the worn blade. It had a long, dark hilt with a classic silver, battered guard—simple and reliable, as it should be.
Varian felt the weight of the sword in his hand after picking it up.
"Hm..."
Varian had learned everything Nathanael could teach him about swords. Though trained with smaller weapons, Varian could still wield a claymore effectively.
Hidalgo, the man who had received the sword, was approaching. He wielded a bastard sword, similar in length to the claymore.
Despite walking with a slight limp, he didn't appear to be an amateur. His face bore a serious expression—he was coming to kill me.
He didn't seem to carry anything other than the sword.
The wind blew gently, lifting grains of sand that floated between Varian and Hidalgo. The circle of men watching the confrontation fell silent, eager for the outcome. No armor, no shields, just swords in hand and the skill acquired from past battles.
Hidalgo, still panting from exhaustion and desperation, held his sword with a shaky grip. He lunged first, thrusting toward Varian's chest. Varian immediately reacted, twisting his body to the side and parrying the strike with the flat of his claymore. The sound of clashing blades echoed in the air.
Both warriors retreated, adjusting their stances. Varian kept his focus. He knew Hidalgo was dangerous, but the desperation in his opponent's eyes gave him an advantage.
Hidalgo launched another attack, a powerful diagonal slash. Varian raised his claymore, blocking the strike with precision. The force of Hidalgo's blow pushed Varian back a few steps, but he maintained his balance. Hidalgo's eyes were wild, desperate to survive. He spun around, attempting a horizontal slash, but Varian ducked swiftly, feeling the wind of the blade pass over his head.
Varian seized the opportunity. He lunged forward with a direct thrust toward Hidalgo's torso. Though desperate, Hidalgo managed to parry the blow with difficulty, but the impact made him stagger backward, nearly losing his balance.
The fight remained evenly matched. Hidalgo's strikes were strong but lacked precision due to the tension and fear gripping him. Varian, on the other hand, moved with the calm of someone trained by an experienced master. He dodged, blocked, and responded with calculated attacks, testing Hidalgo's defense without overexposing himself.
The sound of swords clashing echoed as they exchanged blows. Sweat dripped from their faces, mixing with the sand's dust. Varian observed Hidalgo's rhythm, noticing the small hesitations between his strikes—clear signs of a man losing control.
Hidalgo charged again, this time with a vertical slash aimed at Varian's head. In a swift motion, Varian sidestepped and, with a nimble spin, counterattacked, aiming at Hidalgo's exposed flank. The mercenary blocked it, but his body was beginning to feel the toll of the battle.
Varian pressed on, increasing the speed of his attacks. His sword moved fluidly, almost as an extension of his body. He made quick, direct cuts, forcing Hidalgo to retreat further and further, growing more exhausted with each step. The desperation on Hidalgo's face deepened with every second, and his movements became less effective.
In a moment of distraction, Hidalgo attempted a desperate strike, a wide slash that left his left side completely unprotected. Varian saw the opening and, with precision, delivered a powerful strike against Hidalgo's sword. The impact was enough to knock the blade from the mercenary's hands, and he let out a frustrated shout as he saw his only defense fall into the sand.
Without giving him time to react, Varian swiftly advanced. He spun the claymore and, with a controlled blow, struck Hidalgo's chest with the flat of the blade, knocking him to his knees. The tip of the claymore was soon pressed against the throat of the defeated mercenary.
Hidalgo was breathing heavily, fear and exhaustion clear in his eyes. Varian looked down at him, his chest rising and falling with his own heavy breathing, but his gaze was steady and determined. He had won.
The silence that had overtaken the beach was broken only by the distant crashing of the waves. The mercenaries who had watched the battle stood in shock, unable to believe what they had just witnessed. Varian, the stranger who had emerged from the sea, had defeated one of their best fighters.
William appeared disappointed with Hidalgo, though no one could see it clearly.
Without removing the blade from Hidalgo's throat, Varian leaned slightly forward and spoke calmly:
"If you raise your sword again... I won't give you another chance to surrender."
Hidalgo, defeated and exhausted, lowered his head to the sand in submission.
"William, let Hidalgo live," Varian began, his voice firm but not arrogant. "He's already suffered enough with the thought of being buried alive. Those who wanted him punished are satisfied, and those who called for mercy will have their chance."
Varian took a deep breath before completing the thought:
"And by keeping both me and Hidalgo alive, you'll have two skilled fighters at your side. That will surely strengthen your crew."
William scratched his beard, looking thoughtful, a complicated expression on his face as his sharp eyes assessed the situation. He glanced at the men around him—more than a dozen—waiting for a sign of consensus. One by one, the mercenaries nodded silently. Then, William looked to the man beside him, likely his first mate. The first mate also nodded in approval.
"Very well," William said, rising slowly from the rock he had been seated on. "It's decided."
His first mate, after taking a long swig from his flask, asked in a gravelly voice, his curious gaze fixed on Varian:
"And what's your name?"
Varian responded without hesitation:
"Varian."
"A good name," the first mate muttered with a slight smile before finishing his drink and tossing the flask aside.
"The party's over, boys. Break camp and get ready to set sail," the first mate ordered as he stood up from the rock.
At that moment, Hidalgo, still on the ground, extended a trembling hand toward Varian. The blade was no longer at his neck, but the weight of what had just happened still hung between them. His eyes met Varian's, filled with sincerity and gratitude.
"I swear on the corpses of my kin, and on those still living, even if they're on death's door," he said hoarsely, "I will repay this debt."
Varian stared at him for a moment, evaluating his words. With a touch of irony, he replied:
"I hope you do. As you can see, I need all the help I can get."
He extended his hand, a gesture of acceptance. Hidalgo grasped it firmly, pulling himself up with a nod of thanks. The bond between them was sealed, as strange and unlikely as it was.
Later that evening, Varian, now freshly shaved and with his hair cut—though still somewhat disheveled—stood on the deck of the ship, watching the horizon. The island and the prison of Tartarus, his former nightmare, were fading into the distance as the ship sliced through the turbulent waters. With each mile traveled, the sense of freedom grew stronger within him.
He didn't know what the future held, nor did he have a clear plan for what to do next. But there was an unshakable certainty in his heart: he would rather die than return to that cursed prison. The thought made him clench his fists in determination. The people around him, mercenaries and pirates alike, were clearly not of good character. Their suspicious glances and cynical smiles reminded him of that constantly. Yet, for now, it didn't matter. Varian knew he would repay his debt to them, and when the time came, he would leave that dark world behind.
In the quiet of the evening, Varian pulled a small map from within his cloak. His fingers traced the simple, rustic drawing—the legacy of Nathan, the old man who had taught him more than just swordsmanship. The map was his only clue, the path to the next chapter of his journey.
"Lion's Cradle" was written in worn letters at the top of the small, sketched island.
"Hm... could someone really be imprisoned indefinitely just for gold?" Varian asked himself as he felt the wind blowing across the horizon. He knew he should find out more about it.
"Well... here I am, aboard a mercenary ship, heading from one uncertain destination to another equally unknown. I wonder what to do from here; I have no idea where to go or how to act, now that I've finally escaped that prison. Part of me longs to disappear from the world, while another part... hm... maybe it's better not to write what I truly desire." He sighed, exhausted.
"I'm tired, irritated, and deeply disappointed with this world. I need to stop thinking about it. First, I must settle the debt with William, and perhaps after that, I'll search for the treasure..."