Three days of travel passed uneventfully.
The clear path stretched ahead, bordered by sparse trees and the occasional cluster of wildflowers.
Navatar's steady gait was my only companion, his steps light yet deliberate, leaving faint impressions in the dirt.
Up ahead, a lone figure emerged on the trail.
As I drew closer, his details became clear.
He wore a weathered straw hat, its edges frayed and uneven, shielding much of his face from view.
A bronze bell hung loosely from his sash, its soft chime carried faintly by the breeze.
His black robes draped heavily over his frame, tattered and smeared with dark stains.
Strapped to his side was a curved blade, its hilt bound in dark, cracked leather.
Even within its sheath, the weapon radiated a quiet menace, as though it could cut through the air itself.
I slowed Navatar, letting him approach cautiously. Travelers on this path were rare, and something about this one felt... wrong.
As we passed, the man lifted his head slightly, revealing hollow, sunken eyes. His voice broke the stillness, hoarse and unsettling.
"Have you seen the Goddess of Peace?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and strange.
I turned to respond, but before I could—
His blade flashed in an arc, flying straight for my neck.
I threw myself flat against Navatar's back, narrowly evading the strike.
The blade passed so close I felt the air ripple, and for a moment, it seemed as though the sky itself trembled.
Luck—pure, dumb luck—was all that saved me.
I unsummoned Navatar in an instant, landing lightly on the dirt road.
My rusted blade was in my hand before I had time to think, its weight a small comfort against the overwhelming tension.
The man stood motionless, his now-unsheathed blade glinting faintly in the dim light. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
"You dodged that..." His voice was low, more thoughtful than angry. "Even holding back, that's impressive. And yet, you haven't even obtained the Divine Resonance."
"I don't know what that is," I replied, steadying my breathing. "But I don't intend to fight an injured man unless I have to."
He tilted his hat back slightly, studying me with a sharp, almost predatory gaze. "You've seen too much and understand too little. Go. Leave this path and pray you never learn what lies beyond."
Before I could respond, he vanished. One moment he was there, and the next, the trail ahead was empty. My eyes couldn't follow his movements at all.
What a humbling experience.
I hesitated to summon Navatar again after that, my thoughts spinning as I continued on foot.
Whoever that man was, his power was on a level far beyond mine.
The Song, the essence that connected all living and non-living things, existed within everyone—except him.
Or rather, his was so vast I couldn't even perceive it.
For the next several hours, I kept walking, replaying his words in my mind.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, I finally arrived at a small village.
Its wooden buildings were humble but sturdy, lanterns glowing faintly against the encroaching night.
Smoke from chimneys carried the faint scent of roasted meat and bread, making my stomach growl.
Despite the war, the village seemed untouched. No guards patrolled the streets, and no soldiers loomed nearby. It was quiet—too quiet.
I found an inn near the center of the village, its door creaking softly as I stepped inside.
The innkeeper, a stout man with a graying beard, greeted me with a tired nod.
After paying for a room, I climbed the stairs and collapsed onto the bed, my body heavy with exhaustion.
Sleep came quickly, but it didn't last.
A scream tore through the night, sharp and panicked.
I jolted awake, grabbing my blade as I rushed to the window.
Flames lit up the streets below, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Soldiers in crimson and black swarmed the village, their weapons gleaming as they tore through homes, dragging out anyone they found.
A small army.
I sprinted downstairs, the innkeeper nowhere in sight. Stepping outside, I was met with chaos.
The enemy soldiers moved with ruthless efficiency, their actions deliberate and merciless.
They set homes ablaze, cut down anyone who resisted, and tore through the streets like a plague.
For a moment, I froze.
The screams around me were deafening, chaos unraveling in every direction.
Flames devoured homes, their embers crackling in the air, while the panicked cries of villagers were drowned out by the clash of steel and the guttural roars of invaders.
I couldn't move. I couldn't think.
But then something deeper stirred within me—a defiance against this slaughter.
My lips began to move, almost instinctively, as I started to sing. The Song wove through me, faint and imperfect, but it was there, pushing me forward.
I charged toward the nearest soldier.
He was mid-swing, his blade arcing toward a defenseless villager. Before he could strike, my rusted blade met his neck.
The weapon groaned in protest, its corroded edge barely slicing through his flesh, but I pushed harder.
With a sickening crack, his head came free, tumbling to the ground. The soldier's body crumpled, lifeless, and the villagers scattered in terror.
For a single breath, there was silence.
Then, slowly, they all turned to face me.
Every soldier in crimson and black—the entire invading force—shifted their attention to where I stood.
Their eyes glinted with malice, their blades dripping with fresh blood.
One of them, taller and clad in heavier armor, stepped forward, his voice a low, mocking growl.
"You've got some nerve, boy." He raised his blade, pointing it at me. "Killing one of ours with that rusted toothpick? You should've stayed hidden."
Another soldier spat on the ground, his sneer visible even in the firelight. "You think that makes you a hero? All you've done is make your death a little quicker."
A murmur rippled through the ranks, laughter mixing with the crackling flames.
But none of them moved.
They were waiting—waiting to see if I would fight or flee.
My grip tightened on the hilt of my blade, the rusted steel trembling in my hand.
I held my ground, meeting their stares.
The taller soldier smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Well? Let's see if you can back it up, little hero."
And with that, they began to advance.
The tall one stepped forward first, his heavy blade arcing down with crushing force.
I barely managed to parry, the impact reverberating through my arms as I staggered back.
He was strong—far stronger than the others—but his technique was unrefined, more brute force than skill.
I countered with a quick slash aimed at his midsection.
He sidestepped with surprising speed for his size, and before I could follow through, two more soldiers rushed in behind me.
I spun, narrowly avoiding the first soldier's swing, and deflected the second's blade with my rusted weapon.
Sparks flew from the clash, and my blade groaned under the pressure.
"You'll die here, boy!" one of them barked, thrusting his sword at my chest.
I sidestepped and drove my blade into his throat, the rusted edge catching against bone before tearing free. He crumpled with a choked gasp.
The second soldier hesitated just long enough for me to close the gap. I slashed upward, severing his weapon arm.
His scream pierced the air before I ended it with a swift strike to his neck.
The tall one didn't wait. He swung again, a wide horizontal arc meant to cleave me in two.
I dropped to the ground, his blade whistling over my head, and lashed out at his legs.
He jumped back, narrowly avoiding the strike.
"Not bad," he growled, gripping his weapon tighter. "But it won't save you."
The remaining soldiers pressed in. There were so many—far more than I had anticipated. Fifty men? How had an entire company slipped past unnoticed?
They came at me in waves, swinging wildly, their attacks fueled by bloodlust rather than discipline.
It was clear most of them hadn't mastered the Song.
Their movements were sluggish, their strikes predictable.
Still, their sheer numbers made it impossible to rest.
I weaved through them, deflecting blows and countering with strikes of my own.
Each swing of my blade became heavier, the rusted steel splintering more with every impact.
I took a glancing cut to my side, the pain sharp and immediate, but I pushed forward.
Another slash grazed my shoulder, and a third bit into my leg. My vision blurred for a moment as blood seeped from the wounds, but I couldn't stop.
I fought like a man possessed, singing under my breath to steady my movements.
The Song wasn't perfect—it faltered in my voice—but it guided me enough to keep me alive.
.
One by one, they fell.
A soldier lunged at me, his blade aiming for my chest.
I sidestepped and drove my weapon into his gut, twisting it before pulling free.
Another tried to flank me, but I caught him with a backhand slash, severing his arm.
The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the metallic tang of it. Bodies littered the battlefield, their lifeless forms a testament to my desperation.
Finally, only the tall one remained.
He stood among the carnage, his heavy blade resting against his shoulder, blood dripping from its edge.
His face was grim, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes.
I tightened my grip on my rusted blade, now chipped and dull from the fight. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one burning in my chest.
"I didn't expect a person of your prowess among these men," I said, my voice hoarse.
The tall one chuckled, low and menacing. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. The name's Ralzek. Remember it—you won't live long enough to forget."