"Darn it! It's my fault we lost the Postknight scroll," Solis muttered under his breath, his legs pounding against the forest floor as he ran through the dense woods. "She told me to keep watch, to stay alert, and I blew it. I wasn't paying attention—and worse, I distracted her. I have to fix this, no matter what!"
Suddenly, a distant commotion caught his attention from the east. Instinctively, he veered toward the noise, weaving through the thick trees. When he reached the source, his heart sank. Pearl was cornered by a group of roblins, their sneering faces and jagged weapons making her struggle even more desperate.
The sight sent a chilling wave of déjà vu through Solis. For a brief moment, he was no longer in the present but reliving a memory—himself as a child, surrounded by wild wolves in these very woods. He remembered the paralytic fear that gripped him, the growling, the snapping jaws. His father had appeared then, cutting through the predators and saving his life. That day had planted the seed of his obsession with the Postknights, protectors who embodied strength and courage.
But now, he wasn't a helpless child anymore. And there was no one else coming to save Pearl.
His hands trembled, his legs felt like lead, and his mind screamed at him to run. "You'll only get yourself hurt!" it whispered. But deep inside, another voice rose—a fierce, unrelenting will. "Fight! Not for glory, but for her. Fight to protect!"
Solis clenched his jaw, drew his wooden sword, and charged.
The first two roblins didn't even see him coming. With precise strikes, he knocked them out before they could react. The dull thuds of their bodies hitting the ground drew the attention of three more, who lunged at him with snarling faces and crude weapons.
"Too slow," Solis muttered under his breath, ducking and weaving between their attacks with lightning speed. His training paid off as he swept his sword behind their knees, knocking them down one by one.
But the remaining four weren't as reckless. They circled him, their cunning eyes narrowing. With guttural cries, they aimed their crude weapons at his legs—a strategy meant to cripple his movement.
For a moment, pain flared, but it faded just as quickly. Solis gritted his teeth, standing tall even as their blows landed. His calf muscles, hardened from years of relentless training, absorbed the attacks. His leg bones, repeatedly strengthened by a cycle of breaking and rebuilding, held firm.
The roblins froze, their smug expressions replaced with confusion and fear.
"Surprised?" Solis growled, his voice low and threatening. He fixed them with a fiery glare, his confidence surging. "You jerks messed with the wrong people."
With a ferocious yell, he swung his wooden sword in a wide arc. The sheer force caught all four roblins, sending them sprawling. The sword cracked under the strain, splintering into pieces, but it didn't matter. The battle was over.
Panting, Solis surveyed the clearing. The roblins lay scattered and unconscious. Pearl was slumped against a tree, bruised but breathing. Nearby, the Postknight scroll glinted faintly in the light filtering through the canopy. Relief washed over him as he picked it up, tucking it safely into his satchel.
He turned to Pearl, her face pale and her body limp. Without hesitation, he knelt down, slipping her onto his back in a pack-strap carry. Her weight pressed against his aching muscles, but he didn't falter.
"I'll make this right," he muttered to himself. "No more screw-ups. I'll get us to the destination no matter what."
He tightened his grip on her and took a shaky breath, his legs trembling from exhaustion. "It's not far—just twenty minutes. You can do this, Solis."
With renewed determination, he began his journey again, his steps steady despite the pain. Each stride was a promise—not only to Pearl but to himself. He'd become stronger, not for glory or recognition, but to protect those who depended on him.