" The Knight!"
Parkwa's voice rose dangerously in the air. "What are you doing? We are the forces of the Rimel family, we've come here to help!"
But Sayron remained unmoving, his cold eyes directed at the White Banner forces, who could barely hold their ground against the massive number of Krychors. His bloodstained sword was raised in the air, as though declaring war against anyone who approached.
Parkwa took a step forward, his anger boiling in his chest like fire, and shouted sharply, "Lower your sword, knight, or consider this an act of betrayal to the Rimel family!"
Anger wasn't his only drive. His mind was working quickly, thinking of how to protect himself before his superiors if this rescue failed. The sound of scattered swords around him didn't stop his tangled thoughts; he was making the most of his words in this situation.
In front of dozens of witnesses, who would accuse him later? On the contrary, he would deserve praise for sacrificing his men for the Rimel family.
"He's just... protecting me." Suddenly, among the piles of corpses, a faint, broken voice emerged, weak yet deep.
All eyes suddenly turned to the source of the voice. It was a man who seemed barely able to stand. He leaned on his broken sword, using it as a cane. His armor was shattered and full of cracks, his face reflecting excruciating pain.
Parkwa frowned slightly, trying to understand the new scene, before speaking softly, "You're one of the guardians! What are you doing here? And what do you mean he's protecting you?"
The guardian smiled bitterly, his steps unsteady as he couldn't even stand up straight for a moment. He turned toward Sayron, who remained silent, and spoke in a voice weighed down with burden.
"I was suddenly attacked by one of the Krychors. Before I realized what was happening, my arm was broken and my armor was shattered, as you see. I couldn't even raise my sword."
His voice was raspy but filled with painful truth. He glanced long at Sayron, his gaze filled with deep sympathy, as if seeing something in him that others couldn't.
"They killed many of the guardians in front of him... and in front of my eyes too. But... his arm was severed while defending them. I saw him change in that moment. It's like he carried a heavy guilt since then."
His eyes and broken voice conveyed the raw sincerity to everyone.
The words came slowly from his lips, while he fought the pain. Slowly, he gestured toward Sayron and said, "He's just... protecting me. He doesn't know anything else now but that."
Parkwa felt some doubt and empathy. The scene in front of him was too complex for him to understand easily. A broken man protecting another broken man amidst corpses and dismembered bodies.
He turned toward his soldiers, who were waiting for his decision in silence. Parkwa opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know what to say.
Though his decisions were often harsh, he remained human after all. He stared at Sayron and the guardian for a long moment, his thoughts tangled within him. "Strange... even the strongest, the one everyone fears, has such morals." He felt conflicted, clenching his teeth, trying to suppress his thoughts. "This is truly absurd..."
"Take him down! But don't let him get hurt, we're here to save him, not kill him!" This time, Parkwa didn't shout; he spoke calmly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
The soldiers advanced cautiously, raising their heavy shields and moving slowly around Sayron. They formed a tight circle around him, closing in step by step. Meanwhile, Sayron stood motionless, his eyes shifting from one soldier to the next, as if measuring them.
But when they got too close, he suddenly moved. His black sword sliced through the air, striking one soldier in the leg. The soldier screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his blood-covered leg.
"Now! Grab him!" Parkwa shouted.
The soldiers rushed forward together, some leaping with their heavy shields toward Sayron, attempting to subdue him. They moved as a single mass, initially succeeding in disarming him and knocking him to the ground. But Sayron didn't stop resisting, thrashing violently, trying to break free.
One of the soldiers who held him down screamed as his hand trembled, "Damn! Why is he so strong?!"
The other soldiers barely managed to hold on.
But suddenly, the black lines covering Sayron's body grew denser, moving as though alive. His chest rose and fell violently, and then he let out a terrifying scream, his voice echoing like the roar of a beast more than a human.
In an instant, he exploded with strength, his body trembling slightly before hurling the surrounding soldiers away. Some collided with each other, while others fell into piles of corpses.
Sayron stood, panting heavily, grabbing one of the fallen swords and advancing unsteadily. His face grew paler, his eyes now tinged red and filled with uncontrollable rage, as he began swinging the sword wildly, trying to kill anything in his path.
Parkwa stood watching the scene, his face grim but trying to stay composed. His hand tightened around the sword's hilt, as if preparing to make a decisive move.
Before he could speak, the guardian appeared, moving heavily but determined, clenching his teeth as he moved.
The guardian shouted weakly but firmly, "Don't interfere! I'll stop him."
He ran toward Sayron, who was heading straight for one of the terrified soldiers. Sayron raised his sword high, and when he was about to stab the soldier, the guardian jumped between them.
The sword pierced the guardian's chest deeply, blood gushing out, red and hot, soaking the ground beneath him. But he didn't fall.
He stood there, despite everything, as if asking death to pause for a moment.
Sayron froze in place.
The guardian turned to him, his eyes exhausted, but holding a real warmth even in the face of the end. He smiled, despite the tremors in his lips, and the blood that dripped from his mouth down to his chin.
"Sayron..." the guardian said in a rasping, faint voice, barely reaching him, "You did what no one else could. You protected me... from everything."
The guardian closed his eyes for a moment, as though gathering what little strength remained to say his last words. He opened his eyes again and looked at Sayron.
"Don't blame yourself... if I had a choice, I would do it all again. Thanks to you, I lived longer than I deserved." He smiled a faint smile. "You... you are a hero, Sayron. You were never the cause of my death... but my life."
The soldiers, who had been fighting moments ago, froze in their places, whether they were trying to subdue Sayron or fighting the Krychors. They all briefly glanced toward the scene.
Even Parkwa, whose usual shouting filled the air, stood silently. His hand, which had been gripping the sword, relaxed, his eyes fixed on the guardian and Sayron, with a strange, complicated look full of pity and respect...
The guardian, his breaths weakening, raised his trembling hand with difficulty to place it on Sayron's shoulder. "By the way... my name... is Mark."
With one last smile, his hand fell, and his breath faded, his body retreating backward.
"Aaah!" Sayron collapsed to his knees, his scream deafening and full of pain, as if it were tearing his soul apart. He grabbed his head and screamed loudly, as though he had lost his mind.
Even the Krychors, those monsters that only knew how to kill, stopped for a moment, their savage gazes tinged with a fear that was unfamiliar to them. Their attacks became hesitant, and their brutality lessened.
"Why are you still standing there?" Parkwa, who usually shouted when giving orders, spoke calmly. "This is our chance to subdue him. Don't let his sacrifice go to waste," he said as he was the first to move forward.
The soldiers moved steadily behind him, forming a new circle, but as soon as they reached him, Sayron collapsed to the ground, unconscious…
…
The sound of horses' neighing echoed across the plains, accompanied by the sound of hooves stomping on the wet earth beneath them. The wind carried the pungent scent of blood, a heavy smell that made some of the men curse under their breath.
The group appeared from behind the hills, a diverse mix of warriors. Some wore new silver armor, while others wore thick, modest yet flexible leather.
At the front was a man who stood out from the rest. On a red horse, he sat steadily. He wore a simple sandy robe and light leather that allowed him full mobility, with a scarf wrapped around his face and neck.
At the top of a low hill, the group paused for a moment. In front of them stretched strange plains, filled with Krychors. Their massive bodies moved chaotically, and their disturbing cries filled the air.
The warriors froze for a moment, their eyes on the scene. Some looked grim, while others remained silent, their faces frozen.
The man with the scarf looked for a brief moment before letting out a short sigh.
"Oh! This number of them... It's a major tribe," he said, then, with a cold smile, added, "It seems Parkwa will pay double for my services today."