"Son, do you know what time is?"
Standing on the balcony of the tall building, the gentle wind played with his coat.
"Time?"
The father smiled softly, then pointed toward a nearby high school. "Yes, time. Do you see those boys?"
Jackson observed the area for a moment. "Which ones do you mean, Dad?"
The father placed his hand on his son's shoulder and pointed to several spots. "All of them. Look at those playing ball in the back, that small group sitting under the wall, and finally, that group walking together. Do you see them?"
The father paused, seemingly lost in old memories. "Son, do you know what they all have in common?"
Jackson thought for a moment. "They're all teenagers?"
The father chuckled lightly and said, "Yes, they're all young, but that's not what I mean. What binds them together isn't their age—it's the moments they're living right now.
"Those laughs, the jokes, chasing after small dreams, mocking time, even skipping school... These aren't just fleeting actions. They're their lives forming before their eyes, moment by moment. These are tiny fragments of time flowing like a swift river, never to return."
The father looked at Jackson, his eyes glowing with intensity. "Imagine, son, that one day you'll stand where I am now and wish you could hold onto those moments." He moved his hand forward, as if trying to grasp something invisible.
"You'll wish the laughter never faded, that the days didn't slip through your fingers like water. You'll discover that time isn't just hours and minutes—it's life itself, the only thing that, once spent, never comes back."
He fell silent for a moment, then added, his voice a mix of longing and regret: "Time, my son, is both the greatest miracle and the harshest tyrant. Seize it. Live every moment as if it were your last. In the end, we won't remember the things we owned but the moments we lived—the simple, fleeting moments that hold more meaning than we ever imagined."
"Son, do you know what kind of time remains etched in your memory forever?"
---
The neighing of horses echoed across the grassy plains, but with every passing second, their pace slowed. The horses had been exhausted for some time, yet their acute sense of death approaching drove them to keep running.
The beasts drew nearer and nearer. The horses, their strength drained, collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily.
Barbon lifted himself and spoke loudly, raising his sword in the air. "Let's kill these pests!" His voice was devoid of emotion. "Let's hang their heads on the city walls! Let the world know we were here!"
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
The guardians echoed his words loudly, their cries not mere words but born of their pride and honor.
"Either we die as men or perish on that road. A man without the courage to die does not deserve to live," Barbon's shouts grew sharper with each second as the beasts closed in.
The guardians stood tall—not just because of Barbon's words, but because they had a knight among them. The strength of knights was unmatched by ordinary men. They were, quite literally, standing at the pinnacle of the world.
Moreover, they believed in themselves. Relying on others in life-and-death situations only hastened one's demise.
Sairon didn't know the thoughts of the guardians, but he was sure of one thing now—if he didn't fight, he would die.
Shink!
A sharp sound came from behind. Sairon grabbed his sword and unsheathed it, his eyes shining in silence, drawing the attention of the other guardians and amplifying their enthusiasm.
The group of guardians stood tall. After Sairon drew his sword, he tried to focus on the memories of the original Sairon fighting some beasts in the past.
Twenty-four had left the tribe. Now, they were down to nineteen, and soon, perhaps none would remain alive.
When the guardians began to draw their swords from their sheaths, the enemy was about a kilometer away. However, by the time their weapons were fully drawn, the gap had shrunk to just 500 meters. As they finished forming their battle formation, the monsters were already upon them.
Life or death!
The swarms reached their perimeter, their massive bodies shaking the earth with every step as their roars echoed through the surroundings.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
The ground exploded under the crushing weight of the monsters' feet, their charge like a raging flood. Their gaping mouths exhaled foul breaths, and their sharp fangs gleamed ominously. The monsters were countless, moving in dense hordes, their deafening roars filling the horizon like rolling thunder while the earth quaked beneath their advance.
Sairon gripped the hilt of his sword with trembling hands. This was the first time he had ever raised a blade against a real enemy. Before his eyes, the monsters drooled profusely, their eyes locked intently on him.
It was truly terrifying!
When Sairon finally decided to move, it wasn't a conscious choice but an instinctive reaction. His feet shuffled forward with difficulty. But the predator wouldn't wait for its prey to be ready. The massive beast lunged with surprising agility, its eyes blazing with ferocity.
Sairon raised his sword high, and in the moment he felt the blow pierce the Kreithor, it was overwhelming.
At that moment, Sairon was in the center, enveloped by an unnatural heat so intense it felt as if his blood was boiling within his veins.
Every strike!
Every swing!
It felt exhilarating.
Every blow from his sword left a deep wound in the monster's body. His movements became faster, stronger, and more precise. The sword danced in his hands as if it were a part of his body, slicing through the monsters piece by piece.
"Is this what power feels like?" he smiled with exhilaration.
The monsters' blood erupted like a crimson fountain, splattering in all directions, staining his face and body, creating a grotesque scene of chaos and destruction.
The ground beneath them turned into a pool of blood, and the monsters' bodies lay scattered around—some dismembered, others still groaning as they bled out in a desperate battle.
Kill!
He saw his comrades swinging their swords, sweat and blood flying with each strike. The scars of the monsters' claws were evident on their damaged armor.
Barbon shouted as his sword cut through the monsters, "Don't lose formation!"
The monsters' bodies piled on top of one another. The guardians climbed over the fallen, blood pouring through the gaps in their battered armor. The monsters leapt over their injured and dead brethren, desperate to attack their prey by any means.
Even a fool could see that something was unnatural. Usually, when Kreithor swarms migrate, they attack only nearby prey. If they fail, they simply move on.
Amid this chaos, Sairon felt something strange stirring within him—a power that felt like an inexhaustible wellspring of energy. His hands trembled with the intensity of the sensation, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light as he raised his sword with hands pulsating with strength. In that moment, he realized he was no longer just an ordinary fighter; he had become a part of the carnage, a part of the bloody whispers that enveloped the battlefield.
He raised his sword high, his eyes fixed on the approaching beast, his mind filled with defiance. But he didn't realize that one moment of recklessness would cost him dearly.
From among the scattered corpses, a wounded monster suddenly lunged forward, sinking its fangs into Sairon's arm and ripping it off with brutal force.
"AAARRRGHHH!"
The sound Sairon made was more of a groan than a scream, the pain searing through his entire body. His blood sprayed with each breath, and a bitter sense of betrayal consumed him.
The beast had torn off his arm savagely, and the blood flowed uncontrollably, as if the pain itself was turning into an overwhelming darkness.
He fell to his knees, blood pouring profusely.
"Am I going to die here?
Is this my story?
This is ridiculous!"
His scream echoed through the battlefield like the cry of a dying soul.
The monsters didn't let the opportunity slip away. One Kreithor leaped forward, sinking its fangs into Sairon's body and dragging him away.
One of the guardians shouted in a choked voice, unable to hide his shock, "No… not now! We can't lose you, Sairon!"
But Sairon could no longer hear them. It felt as though everything had gone silent, except for the sound of his own heartbeat, which was fading fast. A single tear rolled down his bloodstained cheek, and he whispered in his final moments, his voice barely audible, "If this is my fate… tell them I wasn't afraid… tell them I fought with everything I had…"
Tears streamed from his eyes, not of weakness but of profound despair and sorrow. This was a moment of collapse, not just physically but mentally as well.
The guardians were struck by overwhelming shock. Their strongest fighter was in the jaws of the monsters as they fought among themselves over him.
The knight, a symbol of strength and dominance, had been defeated by a lowly creature by having his arm severed. It was the most absurd thing anyone could hear.
"Do not despair! Our knight has fallen, but this is not the end!" Barbon pulled himself together and began shouting until his voice threatened to tear apart.
He pointed his sword forward and screamed:
"Fight, my soldiers!
Advance, my soldiers!
Kill, my soldiers!
Earn your honor, my soldiers!"
The guardians launched into a mass slaughter, leaving Sairon in the clutches of the monsters. It wasn't betrayal but a logical choice under the circumstances.
All they could do was avenge him and retrieve his body if they managed to survive.
While the guardians waged a brutal massacre, drenched in blood, Sairon slowly slipped into unconsciousness. It was a natural result of losing so much blood.
Killed once. Is this the second time?
Do I deserve this? Maybe.
A perfectly pathetic end… at least I tried. Haha.
Sairon blacked out at that moment.
The guardians roared as they swung their weapons, "Kill these vermin!"
"Mark, behind you! Watch out!" one of the guardians shouted, panting.
Mark turned to find a group of monsters about to pounce on him from behind. He gritted his teeth and tried to leap onto the monster's back.
BOOM!
Another monster blindsided him, sending him flying far away from his group.
"Ugh, did I break my arm?!" Mark landed on the corpse of a monster, lessening the impact, but the previous strike shattered the bones in his left arm, and blood dripped from his mouth.
"Help Mark!" Someone shouted, though Mark couldn't tell who it was. He was grateful nonetheless for the attempt to aid him.
But everyone was too occupied and exhausted from the relentless slaughter of the creatures before them.
Mark gripped his sword with his other hand, aiming it at the oncoming monsters. "Ronan, Mark, I'm coming for you!"
"Come on, you filthy beasts," Mark growled, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the advancing creatures. "At least I'll take one more of you with me before I go. Hahaha!"
The monsters snarled and drew closer, drooling blood and saliva. The distance between them was now just one meter.
WHOOSH!
At that moment, something leapt onto the monster's corpse, reducing it to a bloody pulp. The two other monsters quickly approached the body—WHOOSH! Both fell silent with a single effortless swing.
Mark's mouth hung open as he stared at the figure standing amidst the foul spray of blood.
"You… you…?"