"Where am I?"
The words echoed around him like a distant echo. The place around him was engulfed in darkness; nothing could be seen except for a faint patch of light under his feet. He lifted his head, trying to explore his surroundings, but all he encountered was an endless void of darkness.
He took a few steps forward, but it felt as though he hadn't moved at all. The ground beneath his feet hadn't changed, and the patch of light remained stationary, almost mocking his attempts.
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" Suddenly, a deep, calm, yet terrifying voice shattered the silence, though it seemed somewhat familiar.
Syron was briefly startled. "Who are you? And where is this place?"
The question echoed, as if the walls themselves were repeating it, despite there being no walls.
"Do you deserve to be called a hero?"
A chill ran down his spine, but before he could think, the voice asked again.
At that moment, memories began to slowly fall upon him. He saw fragmented images: the scene of Mark falling to the ground after he stood between him and his sword.
"No… no… it wasn't my fault… it wasn't me," Syron clutched his head in pain.
The images of the Guardians appeared before him, one after the other, falling to the beasts' claws. Their screams echoed in his ears, again and again and again.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry."
"You are the cause of their death… they are my death now because of your decision. Have you forgotten?"
In that moment, he felt as if the light under his feet was slowly fading, and the darkness around him began to close in, as if trying to swallow him whole. Then he heard a voice he would never forget, no matter how long he lived.
"You've disappointed me, my son… again."
"Dad!" He lifted his head. "It's definitely his voice."
"...Is it you?"
Syron moved forward slowly at first, then picked up speed, running through the void, shouting loudly, "Where are you?"
"You're alright."
Suddenly, he woke up, opening his eyes to find himself in a small room. His face showed intense confusion, and his heart was pounding loudly.
He quickly glanced around, then noticed his hand outstretched in the air as though trying to grasp something invisible.
"Is your temperature high… were you chasing a girl in your dream? Why are you panting like that?"
Syron turned his head quickly toward the voice to find a group of men looking at him strangely, their faces filled with doubt. One of them whispered.
"Has he regained consciousness?"
"We can hear your heartbeat… was it beautiful?"
Dream! Was all of that just a dream? He was still dazed.
"Hmm... I don't think he hears you," a woman slowly approached him. Despite her appearance suggesting she was in her thirties, she was quite beautiful. She moved her hair behind her ear lightly and placed her hand on his forehead.
With a quick motion, Syron grabbed her wrist tightly while his eyes remained unfocused.
"This hurts… could you let go of my hand?" Her face showed that she was struggling to hide the pain. She tried to pull her hand back forcefully, but it was in vain.
"Sir... please?" the woman asked, her face showing impatience.
Crack! The woman swiftly pulled her hand away and slapped him hard.
The room fell silent. Syron released her hand and placed it on his cheek. "That hurts."
"Did you regain consciousness? I apologize for the slap, but it was part of the treatment."
She turned her back to him, holding her wrist as she spoke, "He's fine now... If you need anything else, you can come to me." She left the room without looking at anyone, but the others could tell she was scared.
"Barbon… Knut… Durtun… Aryos… Thiron... you're alive." Syron smiled as he repeated their names proudly.
"Yes, we're fine... but the others..." Barbon lowered his head in shame, while the others' faces changed. He was the leader of the Guardians, and it was his responsibility to bring them all back alive.
"Why the sorrow? They're still here," Syron pointed to his head. "This is what they would have said to us." He tried to smile, but the sorrow was evident in his eyes. He was the one who caused their deaths; it was his decision to head to the city.
"We are also part of the Rimel family, and this is our duty," Knut placed his hand on his chest and spoke.
"By the way, where are we, and how long have I been sleeping here?" Syron changed the topic.
"Well..." Barbon hesitated to speak. Usually, he was very direct in his words.
Something had happened. His instincts were sending strong signals.
Barbon explained everything that had occurred since they were in those plains...
Syron furrowed his brows, his face paling significantly. "I'll go take a walk outside."
"But..." Some of them wanted to say something, but they chose silence.
He tried to stand using his right hand but felt nothing. He looked at it bitterly and stood with his other hand. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, which appeared to have been treated over the three days he had spent here. However, there was still pain and traces of wounds on his body.
Next to his bed, his sword lay by his side. He glanced at it but did not take it with him. He grabbed a coat that was hanging by the door, wrapped it around his body, and left.
Outside, the area was filled with guards. About every ten meters, there was a guard, which made sense, considering that this place was the main hall of the city of Redem and given the recent turmoil.
Syron moved between the guards, sensing some unease from them as he passed, but he didn't care.
He continued walking until he exited the place. The large and small buildings stretched out before his eyes. The area wasn't protected by a wall like the Rimel family estate, because it would be foolish to attack this city with two large families protecting it.
But it had already been attacked.
According to Barbon's words, three days ago, Barco had saved him and brought him back to the city, along with the White Banner Guards and a small group of mercenaries, leaving the rest of the mercenaries to face the Kretors led by a man from the Wasteland.
It was shocking how the battle ended after only two hours. It turned out they had a leader who was stationed at the back. After killing her, the beasts in the plains scattered.
Upon Barco's return to the city, the situation was immersed in chaos. Many officials and military leaders were killed, and some of the remaining mercenary leaders in the city had their throats slit. What made it even more confusing was that these assassinations had been carried out in complete silence, leaving no trace of their perpetrators, plunging the city into a state of heightened emergency.
To handle this situation, Barco sent distress messages to the Rimel and Syorn families. The Syorn family responded quickly and sent several teams.
As for the Rimel family, they remained silent and showed no reaction. However, the situation in the city was relatively stable, thanks to the presence of several Guardians and a powerful knight whose strength alone was equivalent to the combined strength of the teams sent by the Syorn family. Even though they were injured, they still provided some stability.
"Market," Syron didn't notice that he had reached a crowded market, with goods ranging from food products to weapons and armor.
Despite the crowd, there was a noticeable tension in the air, and several patrol teams were present.
"Is this him?" Some whispered as they observed Syron passing by.
"Yes, the famous knight! I heard he's crazy, he killed his companions."
"It was also said that he killed his family when he was young."
Syron continued walking, listening to every sentence entering his ears. He remained silent, not reacting, but secretly mocking them in his heart. Because every word they spoke was behind his back.
People always talk, whether what they say is true or false. That's how they are; if you're strong, they talk behind your back, but if you're weak, they don't care, they insult and beat you because they know you won't respond.
They respect the strong to their face and insult them behind their backs, while they humiliate the weak in front of them and spread rumors behind their backs.
But are they wrong? Of course not.
If you're strong enough, you can at least stop them from speaking like this to your face. But behind your back, everyone talks.
Syron took several rounds around the city, visiting shops and stalls to ease his mind a little. He returned to his room in the evening, but none of the Guardians were there.
He knew that if he stayed awake and did nothing, he would think about every event. He lay on the bed and decided to sleep early.
"Isn't it too early to sleep?" Normally, when someone hears a strange voice in their room, they are startled and jump up, fearing harm.
But Syron was different because he knew that if this person meant to harm him, they wouldn't start with words. He slowly got up from his bed and saw someone dressed in black sitting in a chair.
"We meet again, my friend."