The dusk approached.
The sun slowly descended toward the dark horizon.
The group decided to camp in the sprawling plains under a sky adorned with the first stars.
The guardians lit the fire, which devoured the wood and emitted rhythmic crackles that filled the air.
They divided into three groups and set their helmets aside.
They brought out chunks of meat to roast over the fire, which danced like free spirits in a nighttime ballet.
The men sat leaning on the grass, speaking in voices filled with joy and noise, their laughter scattering amidst the roaring cold breezes.
In contrast, Syron placed his sword across his chest and sat alone, leaning against a cold tree while gazing at the star-studded sky, where the stars were scattered like tiny jewels on a dark canvas.
He wanted to join their conversations but didn't know how to do it. If he went over and remained silent, it would be even more awkward.
But I am silent…
That is my eternal flaw… silent.
Whether victorious or defeated…!
Steadfast or shaken…!
Anxious or optimistic…!
It wasn't just my flaw but that of many others.
Sometimes, he found solace in his solitude, far from the noise and superficial talks, far from dull jokes, clashing opinions, and, most importantly, the endless problems. Here, beneath the sky untouched by human rules, he felt a rare freedom.
Despite belonging to a modern world bustling with technology and noise, he cherished these simple moments that offered his soul fleeting peace. A quiet voice echoed in his mind, asking, "How are those fools now? Have they forgotten me?"
"People change… will I change too?"
His memory brought back images of his friends, their laughing faces. He wanted to cry, feeling a weight in his chest, but he suppressed it quickly.
"If I ever change… what will I become?"
As his eyes tracked the stars' movement, he fell into a slumber he didn't realize was coming, sinking into an old mirage.
Suddenly, strange sounds, like something scraping, jolted him awake.
He opened his eyes slowly to find a pair of glowing red eyes, larger than anything he had ever seen, staring at him with an eerie intensity that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
The massive creature slowly opened its mouth, revealing sharp fangs dripping with viscous fluids under the dim moonlight. At that moment, his limbs felt an inexplicable heaviness, as though they were frozen in place.
Before Syron could comprehend what was happening, a silver arrow shot out with lightning speed, striking the creature's head with deadly precision. The giant fell silently before him.
Syron snapped out of his shock at the sound of something massive hitting the ground.
A sharp, jarring noise tore through the cold silence, shaking him to his core, almost making him collapse alongside the beast.
As he opened his eyes again, he found himself amidst a nightmarish scene. The sky, despite the radiant full moon, seemed like a sinister veil forewarning something ominous.
Around him, the corpses of massive creatures lay scattered in grotesque poses, their limbs torn apart, some still twitching in their final spasms. Thick pools of blood mixed with the stench of decay and fear burned his nostrils and choked his breath.
"Mark... it's my turn now!" came the voice of one of the guardians, brimming with confidence.
He stepped forward with steady strides toward three creatures, their deep growls resonating in the surroundings like the echoes of nightmares. His long sword gleamed, its metallic surface reflecting the fierce glow of the moon, as if thirsting for blood.
The creatures charged all at once, their wild eyes glowing with hunger and madness, their fanged mouths dripping with frothy saliva.
The guardian stood motionless, unmoving.
Only at the last moment did his feet move, accelerating as the creatures drew near. In a single swift motion, he severed the head of the first creature. Blood sprayed out like a black fountain, splattering his face and clothes with warm, thick droplets.
He leaped with inhuman agility over the second beast, driving his sword deep into its back. The creature's scream was like the sound of a man boiling alive in hell, making Sayron shiver involuntarily. The beast thrashed wildly in an attempt to break free, but its gaping wound only grew larger with each violent movement until it collapsed, lifeless, into a pool of blood and ruin.
Sensing the danger, the last creature tried to flee. The guardian grabbed a bow and arrow from his back, firing a shot that struck the beast's hind leg, though it still managed to escape.
"Hahaha, you lost, Rico. Drinks are on you next time," one of the guardians teased with a smile.
Rico cursed silently. "Damn it."
Under the canopy of twinkling stars, the black streams of blood flowing over the grass glistened visibly, while the beasts' carcasses lay scattered across the area.
Sayron approached one of the fallen creatures slowly, his breath harsh beneath the cover of his black armor. It was the first time in his life he'd seen such a thing: a long face with protruding fangs and a massive body that could easily weigh dozens of kilograms. From what he remembered, these creatures were rare in the western plains due to a lack of food.
"It was called a Krythor, if I recall correctly. Are they migrating?"
"Lord Sayron, you're awake!" one of the guardians approached Sayron quietly. It was Marco, the one who had fired the arrow at the creature near Sayron.
From his voice, he seemed younger than the others.
"I apologize. We wanted to handle this without any fuss, but the men got a bit too excited," Marco touched his head apologetically.
"Why didn't you station scouts around our perimeter? They could have dealt with them quietly," Sayron reprimanded the guardian in a low but sharp voice, trying not to reveal his fear.
Although he felt a pang of guilt for his reaction, his life had nearly ended moments ago.
"Well..." Marco bowed his head, struggling to find words.
"Lord Sayron, don't blame the boy," a massive man interrupted their conversation as he approached Sayron. It was Barbon, the leader of the guardians. "We did send three scouts around the camp, but they vanished."
"What? Vanished? How is that possible?" Sayron was stunned by this revelation.
The guardians were the second most powerful unit in the clan. Each one was trained in multiple disciplines, with a single guardian capable of equaling three to four well-trained guards. And now he was saying that three of them had disappeared.
"Did you find any trace in their assigned area?" Sayron asked, realizing it was a foolish question.
Barbon shook his head in denial, offering no further explanation.
"One more thing. We'll hold a meeting to decide our next course of action, and your opinion is important." Without adding further details, Barbon returned to the other guardians with Marco.
Despite Barbon's few words, Sayron understood the situation clearly—it was dire. His skills as a knight were now in demand.
From his memories, Sayron recalled that Krythor beasts lived in large groups, and what they had encountered now was just a small roaming pack.
More precisely, they were scouts, which meant the rest of the pack was nearby. And with the sudden disappearance of three guardians, it implied a stronger enemy was in the area.
Sayron took a deep breath, feeling that the situation was grim. This was his first expedition, and now his life was at risk. He didn't even know how to fight properly.
His mindset was that of the modern age, not the medieval era of battles and wars.
Sayron approached the group of guardians, feeling the sharp tension in the air. The group made way for him, showing their respect.
They waited for him to speak, but he remained silent, as Barbon stepped into the center and spoke firmly, "Everyone knows our current situation, so let's not prolong this. There are three solutions to this problem. First, we return to the clan and report the situation. Second, we continue our journey and face the Krythor swarms and the hidden enemy."
Barbon paused briefly, looking at Sayron and the other silent guardians. "The third option is to head to the city of Redem, gather some information there, and then proceed to our destination. Since the situation is urgent, the highest authority among us will make the decision from now on."
Barbon nodded toward Sayron, prompting everyone to turn their attention to him as well.
Sayron was shocked by Barbon's final words. While technically true, he wasn't a leader—just an ordinary student. But he couldn't bring himself to admit that.
Trying to take a serious stance, Sayron stepped forward slightly and spoke calmly, "Our situation isn't normal; I can feel it. Perhaps if we all stand together, we can survive the impending flood of beasts. But how many lives will we lose as a result? And we don't even know what happened to our brothers—whether they were taken by a man or a beast—but I'm certain it was powerful. Thus, I propose we head to the city of Redem."
His words were mostly nonsense, filled with fabricated sentiments about feeling and brotherhood. He was simply scared and cared about nothing more than his safety.
The group agreed with Sayron's proposal—not because he was the leader, but because his decision was logical. Returning to the clan would mean failing the mission and facing punishment, while continuing on the same path was pure foolishness, as they'd be surrounded by hordes of Krythor. The most sensible option was to head to Redem.
Under the cover of the dark night, the group prepared their belongings in heavy silence, straining their ears for any surrounding sounds, their hearts filled with dread. Each passing minute brought the beasts closer to them.
Fortunately, their horses were unharmed, still strong and ready to gallop. Sayron mounted his white horse, his muscles tense and his breathing slightly uneven. They set off toward the distant city of Redem, about six hours away—a journey fraught with danger.
The horses galloped wildly, their hooves pounding the ground, leaving a cloud of swirling dust behind under the faint moonlight. They continued this frenzied pace until dawn's first light began to seep into the sky, illuminating Sayron's anxious face.
Then, without warning, eerie sounds pierced the air, resembling the groans of the dying.
"Uggghh... uggghh..." Hearts jumped, and chills crawled up their spines like tiny blades climbing their necks. Sayron turned quickly, his eyes burning with a glow of danger, to see a thick cloud of dust rising behind them.
The horses were whipped harder, racing against time—for life or death.
The howls of the beasts grew louder, causing some of the horses to rear in panic, throwing two of the guardians from their backs in a moment of weakness.
"Anyone who wants to die can go back and help them!" Barbon shouted sharply, urging his horse forward with force.
The guardians turned, their breaths ragged, to see the two fallen comrades standing in the middle of the plains like statues of stone.
No screams!
No cries for help!
No glances of blame toward anyone!
It was as if they knew this was the end. Slowly, in perfect harmony, they drew their swords while the beasts' cloud approached closer and closer.
Behind them, the remaining guardians watched in silence—not out of fear but out of respect.
They removed their helmets and tossed them behind as they marched forward with heavy steps, continuing their journey in a silence that shook the heart. This was the ultimate form of respect, offered only to heroes.
In that moment, Maron broke the silence with a somber voice. "Ronin... did I ever tell you that I dreamed of becoming one of those heroes whose stories are told after they're gone?"
Ronin didn't immediately reply, but when he did, his voice carried something between pain and pride. "No... you didn't. But I see it now, clearly—a hero is being born here, even if our names are forgotten."
Maron smiled, a sorrowful smile filled with acceptance. "But... what if no one remembers us? What if all this ends and only silence remains?"
Ronin closed his eyes for a moment, as if the surrounding silence had become part of his soul, then replied quietly, "Maron, true heroism isn't in being remembered. It's in standing tall, even when you know no one will remember that you stood."
Maron raised his eyes to the sky and murmured painfully, "I just don't want to be forgotten, discarded without leaving a mark."
Their eyes met briefly, and then they both laughed—a short laugh, not of joy but of defiance against a fate that had trapped their dreams between death and oblivion.
As the beasts drew closer, that sorrowful laugh rose above the wind before the plains swallowed it into silence forever.