I blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The corpse of the old man, the one I had beaten to death with my bare hands, now lay in pieces, diced as if by an impossibly sharp blade. His severed arm from earlier now seemed like just the beginning of his dismemberment. I didn't remember doing that.
Did I faint?
[You woke up only five seconds later. The nanomachines have restarted your body.]
Thanks, Delilah.
I struggled to my feet, my body still aching from the fight. That yellow aura he had wielded… I could still feel the faint traces of it in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood. My head was spinning, and for a moment, I wondered if I had actually been killed and this was all some twisted hallucination.
But then I heard her voice.
"Whoa~ it is a surprise you're still alive, kid."
I turned to face her, the source of the voice. A woman stood at the edge of the ruined throne room, her dark hair flowing in the faint breeze that slipped through the cracks in the walls. She wore light armor, sleek but practical, and the way she carried herself screamed experience. Her sword was still drawn, its edge gleaming with the faint residue of the aura that had cleaved through the old man like butter.
"My name is Zatria, wandering knight." She casually sheathed her sword, her eyes appraising me with mild curiosity, as if she'd just found something unexpected.
I wasn't sure how to respond. My mind was still reeling from the fact that I had just been moments away from death, yet here I was—still breathing, my body somehow spared from the final blow.
"Ron," I said, my voice hoarse. "Rondell."
She raised an eyebrow. "Ron, huh? What are you doing in a place like this, taking on bandits way out of your league?"
I clenched my fists, feeling the ache in my knuckles. The memory of my fight with the old man flashed in my mind—the intensity, the rage, the raw, desperate struggle. I was ready to die back there, yet somehow, I hadn't.
"I came for revenge," I muttered, my throat dry.
Zatria's expression softened just slightly, though it still held that air of amusement. "Ah, revenge. It always brings people to strange places." She glanced at the remains of the old man. "That aura you were using… you're not trained in it, are you?"
I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out what her angle was. "No. It just… came to me."
"Hmph. Figured as much." She looked me over, her gaze lingering on my injuries before returning to my eyes. "You're lucky. You'd be dead if I hadn't stepped in. That old bastard wasn't going to stop."
"I could've handled him," I shot back, though even I wasn't convinced by my own words.
Zatria smirked, her eyes glinting with something between amusement and approval. "Sure, kid. You handled him just fine." She gestured to the diced corpse at our feet. "But I didn't cut him up for fun. If you want to take the path of a knight, you've got a long road ahead. You see, knights are stubborn people."
I frowned, shaking my head.
"No, he was a bandit, not a knight."
I had always adored knights, held them on a pedestal too high for scum like this to ever reach. The thought of comparing the two was almost offensive.
Zatria's smirk widened at my words, as if my indignation amused her. "Knights, bandits—it doesn't matter. When someone knows how to wield aura, they're dangerous. Titles don't mean much when it comes down to survival."
I frowned, still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. "I should've killed him. I landed the blow, I felt it. But he kept moving, like it didn't even matter…"
"That's aura for you," Zatria replied, her tone casual, though there was something dark beneath it. "When someone has enough will, enough experience, their aura can keep them going long after their body should've given up. It's like their spirit refuses to let them die. You see it often in warriors who've been through enough battles. This old man… he was ready to drag you to the grave with him."
And some foolhardly old man it was… and here I thought the elderly possessed more compassion in them.
I glanced down at the diced remains of the bandit, unease gnawing at me. "So, what was that? Some kind of last stand?"
Zatria nodded. "Pretty much. His aura was still active, even after he was mortally wounded. It's a last-ditch effort, a way to turn the tide even when the body's breaking down. Scary, isn't it? The older they are, the more they know how to manipulate it."
I shook my head, frustration bubbling up again. "He was already too injured to fight properly—he was missing an arm when I found him."
"True," Zatria agreed. "But that didn't make him any less deadly. In fact, a cornered animal is often more dangerous than one with all its limbs intact." She stepped over to the old man's remains, nudging them with the toe of her boot. "He was already on his last legs, but you were still lucky I showed up when I did."
I let out a slow breath, trying to quell the confusion and anger still swirling inside me. I was unsatisfied. There was this hollow feeling gnawing at me—my revenge had been taken away, snatched from my grasp.
As we exited the ruined throne room and stepped outside, the carnage became more apparent. Corpses lay scattered, brutally slaughtered, blood painting the ground in uneven strokes. It was a massacre.
The wandering knight, Zatria, casually remarked, "They weren't really much of a challenge."
I sighed again, the weight of it all sinking deeper. The satisfaction I'd been craving was nowhere to be found. Life felt meaningless in this moment, with my revenge stolen from me. There was supposed to be a release, some closure, but instead, there was only emptiness.
Zatria suddenly turned to me and asked, "Hey, kid, do you know what knights are?"
Her question caught me off guard, pulling me out of the dark thoughts clouding my mind. I frowned, unsure where she was going with this.
"A dream, I guess," I answered, my voice quieter than I intended. "I've adored them since I was a child."
Zatria smiled faintly, as if amused by my response. "Well, basically they're people who wield aura," she said, lifting her hand. A faint glow appeared at her fingertips—blue and purple, swirling together in a quiet display of power. "In my entire life, you're the first I've seen this young to wield it… though it looks rather problematic."
I glanced at the aura dancing on her fingers, trying to reconcile my own strange energy with what she was showing me. Was mine really that different?
She mounted a horse waiting just outside the gates, the creature stamping its hooves impatiently. "Come on, I'll give you a ride." She offered her hand to me, her slim frame betraying none of the power I could feel radiating from her every movement.
I hesitated for a moment, then took her hand and jumped onto the back of the horse. The warmth of her aura lingered on my skin, an odd contrast to the cold emptiness inside me.
As we started moving, I couldn't shake the old man's words from my mind. "The old man called my aura fake. What did he mean?"
Zatria's expression darkened slightly. "Old man? That was Hans, kid. He almost made it to the Revered Ten, you know? He was a former knight, but things went wrong for him at some point, which led to his banditry."
I blinked in surprise. Hans had been a knight? It made sense, I guess, with the way he fought.
"As for your aura being fake," Zatria continued, her tone thoughtful, "I think I have an idea… Kid, how about I make you a proposition?"
"What is it?"
"Attend the Free Knights' Academy," she said, glancing back at me over her shoulder. There was a gleam in her eyes, like she was offering something more than just training. "You'll learn more about aura, and maybe… find some answers."