"It's going to rain," I muttered, tilting my head back to scan the overcast sky. The heavy gray clouds loomed like a shroud, thick and ominous, pressing down on the winding path we traveled.
The wheels of the Duke's ornate carriage creaked over the uneven dirt road, the sound punctuating the otherwise suffocating silence. I rode just behind Captain Edwin, who kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, his eyes scanning every shadow. Alexandra rode on the opposite flank, her expression hard but unreadable as she adjusted the grip on her lance. The tension was noticeable. None of us spoke.
The path wound like a serpent through dense woods, the canopy above barely letting in the waning sunlight. Every tree seemed to loom, every branch clawing at the sky as if the forest itself were warning us. I tightened my grip on the reins of my horse, my unease growing with every step.
Then, as I predicted, the first droplets fell. At first, they were sparse, tapping lightly against the leaves, but soon they turned into a steady downpour. Rain streaked down the polished metal of our armor, and the air grew colder, carrying with it an almost unnatural chill.
A shiver rippled through the company, though no one admitted to it aloud. I could see it in their faces, though also in Edwin's tightened jaw, and in Alexandra's clenched fists. Even the horses felt it, their ears flicking nervously, hooves skidding slightly in the mud.
And then I felt it: a weight in the air, like the world itself had stopped breathing. It pressed on my chest, making my pulse quicken. I wasn't alone in sensing it—every knight around me froze, their fear laid bare in their wide eyes and pale faces. It wasn't the cold causing the chill. It was something deeper. Primordial.
A sound broke through the rain, faint at first, like a whisper carried on the wind. It grew louder, a low rumble that vibrated through the ground. My gaze snapped to the tree line ahead.
From the shadows, he emerged.
The man—if he could even be called that—was immense, his towering frame cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim light. His hair was a black buzzcut, while muscles rippled beneath scarred skin, each representing battles fought and won. His upper body was bare, revealing a network of jagged scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms. His lower half was protected by crude armor, a mix of metal and leather that seemed more ceremonial than practical.
He didn't need full armor. His body itself was a fortress.
But it was his face that was the most unsettling. His blood-red eyes burned like a bloodthirsty beast, their crescent-shaped pupils as sharp and cold as a blade. They were unsettling enough, but as I watched, the sclera of his eyes darkened, turning pitch black. His pupils shifted, glowing the same deep wine purple as the jagged, rock-like exoskeleton that began to spread across his face.
The dark exoskeleton seemed to grow from a single hole in his forehead, expanding outward like a living thing. It was jagged, unnatural, almost like volcanic rock, and it formed a mask over the upper half of his face, stopping just above his mouth. From the top of his head, two horns spiraled outward, adding more to his already horrifying appearance.
My stomach churned as I gripped my sword's hilt, my knuckles whitening. The rain seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the single figure standing before us. Whatever he was, he wasn't human anymore.
"Hold your ground!" Edwin barked, his voice cutting through the fear like a blade. But even he couldn't mask the tremor in his tone.
The man's gaze swept over us, his lips curling into a chilling smirk. I tightened my grip, my heart pounding against my ribs. This wasn't a fight we were prepared for.
The moments after the man stepped onto the battlefield were a blur of terror and chaos. His aura was overwhelming, an oppressive force that clawed at my very soul. As it washed over me, I felt my strength falter, my vision dimming to black. I hit the ground with a dull thud, the sound of my own heartbeat deafening in my ears.
But it wasn't over.
A spark deep within me refused to give in. My eyes shot open, barely seconds later, and I found myself gasping for breath. The scene before me was carnage.
Captain Edwin, locked in a desperate struggle, swung his blade, but the man caught it bare-handed, shattering the sword as though it were glass. Edwin's cry of pain and despair filled the air before he was silenced, his body falling limp to the ground.
I tried to rise, but the suffocating weight of his aura pressed me back down. Darkness took me again.
When my eyes fluttered open once more, the world spun. Alexandra's sword flashed in the rain-soaked gloom, a beacon of hope as she lunged at the man. For a brief moment, it seemed like she might be able to hit him. But with a movement so fast it was almost imperceptible, he sidestepped, grabbing the sword mid-thrust and twisting it out of her grasp. I screamed her name, my voice drowned out by the sound of steel meeting flesh.
Darkness took me again.
When I awoke this time, the Duke's carriage was splintered wood, and the man held the Duke by the throat. The rain streaked down his face, washing away the blood of his victims. I couldn't move, my body trembling as I tried to crawl forward, to do something, anything. The Duke's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, and I felt a scream rise in my throat, but my vision dimmed once again.
The last time I came to, the battlefield was silent. I was on my knees, the rain soaking through my armor, and before me lay Alexandra. Her chest barely rose, her hand slightly limp. Her eyes stared at me with nothing but love.
"NO! NO! NO! PLEASE!" My voice cracked as I reached out to her, my trembling hands brushing against her bloodstained armor. "YOU'RE EVERYTHING I HAVE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!"
…
(Present Day)
[You have achieved an Incredible Feat!]
[Experience Points worth your actions have been allocated]
[You have been gifted the title: Unfortunate Leader of Revenge]
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[Title - Unfortunate Leader of Revenge]
[Description: This title is bestowed upon those who have led others down the arduous path of vengeance, not for their own desires, but for the fury and justice sought by their followers. The Leader of Revenge embodies the calculated resolve and steadfast guidance required to harness the raw emotion of retribution, transforming it into an unstoppable force. Those who bear this title do not act as executioners of their own sorrows but as the weavers of their comrades' feuds. With unflinching determination, they rally the wounded, the wronged, and the broken, forging them into a unified force that strikes with precision and purpose. The title is both a representation of their mastery of leadership and a warning to those who would invoke the wrath of those they lead.]
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[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
[You have leveled up!]
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"Ophelia? Are you alright?"
The voice cut through the fog of Ophelia's thoughts, snapping her back into the present. Blinking rapidly, she realized she was standing on the edge of the battlefield.
"Yeah," she murmured, her voice hollow. She looked up at Alexandra, who stood before her, her face streaked with blood, eyes filled with concern.
Ophelia's gaze drifted past Alexandra, over the aftermath of the battle. The ground was littered with the bodies of bandits, their blood staining the earth. The moment the Bandit Leader fell, the tide had turned. The remaining bandits had been swiftly taken care of.
She walked through the battlefield, her steps almost ghostly as she moved past the fallen, her boots barely making a sound. The faces of the dead were frozen in terror or pain, but Ophelia's mind was elsewhere. She approached the Chief, who was now slumped against the stone wall, his bloodied form still exuding an odd sense of satisfaction. He had unleashed all his fury on the bandits, and now, with his chest heaving, he gave a tired but content smile.
Ophelia passed him without a word, her eyes focused on the Bandit Leader's corpse. This man—this man, the one who had taken Alexandra and her new friends from her before she had regressed, was finally dead. The closure she had sought for so long was not hers to claim with a sword stroke. She wasn't foolish. At her current level, she wouldn't have even been able to draw blood. But his death... it didn't matter who dealt the blow.
She turned toward Alexandra, who was still watching her. "Hand me your sword," Ophelia said, her tone calm, though her insides churned with something darker.
Alexandra hesitated, confusion flashing across her face, but she handed the sword over. Without another word, Ophelia took it, using the momentum to thrust it deeply into the Bandit Leader's chest, the force of it pushing the blade through blood-soaked flesh.
The battlefield fell into an uncomfortable silence as Ophelia gripped the hilt, her face calm, a strange satisfaction in her eyes. She pulled the sword out and, without flinching, reached her bloodied hand into the chest of the fallen leader. The crowd around her watched, recoiling in disgust and confusion. With steady hands, Ophelia dug around in the corpse until she found what she sought.
The heart.
She pulled it out, the grotesque squirming of the blackened organ making everyone around her step back in horror. The heart pulsed with a disgusting life of its own—twisting, wriggling, as though it were alive.
Ophelia, undeterred, squeezed it tightly, crushing it in her hand. As she did, a grotesque black worm, slick and squirming, burst free, its jagged, worm-like body writhing in her grip.
The surrounding onlookers recoiled, their faces twisted in revulsion. But Ophelia stood still, her expression unreadable, as the worm bit into her fingers. Pain was a distant concept now. It was just another part of the plan.
"Captain Edwin," she called, her voice sharp as steel. "Take this. Make sure it doesn't die."
Edwin hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between Ophelia and the squirming creature, but he eventually took it from her hand, his fingers trembling as he held it. His expression was one of disbelief and confusion, but he followed her orders.
The remaining bandits had all been confirmed dead after some additional stabbing from the Holy Knights and Beastmen, and the Beastmen's corpses were being gathered. With the gruesome task complete, they made their way back to the village, where the older villagers and children awaited.
The reunion was heartwarming, a bittersweet moment of relief in the aftermath of such violence. But Ophelia knew time was of the essence.
She turned to the Chief. "I'll be using your house for a while," she said, her tone blunt. The Chief, though tired and covered in blood, nodded silently.
With Captain Edwin trailing behind her, Ophelia entered the Chief's house and closed the door behind them. She grabbed the worm from his hands, her movements quick and efficient.
"Stay out. No one enters until I come out," she ordered. Captain Edwin, though still unsure of the whole situation, nodded and positioned himself outside the door.
Inside, Ophelia removed her bloodied shirt, leaving only a bra made of bandages. She could feel the worm's squirming presence in her hands as she pressed it to her bare chest. The worm seemed to react instantly, its vitality returning as if feeding off her energy. The feeling was unnatural as if the creature was digging into her very soul. However, Ophelia remained unmoved by the sensation, her breath steady, though her body began to tremble with the immense pressure it caused.
The worm burrowed deeper, and Ophelia could feel it wriggling through her body. Her vision blurred, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she felt it make its way toward her heart.
Her knees buckled. Blood poured from the gashes in her chest, her body collapsing to the floor.
She was going to faint—she could feel it. The world around her spun. But she remained alive, even as the dark edges of unconsciousness began to pull her under… and then, she flopped to the wooden floor unconscious, a grin on her face.