The sound of an axe splitting wood echoed in the stillness of the morning. Leon's strikes were methodical, each swing a testament to years of physical labor. The chopped logs fell into neat piles at his feet. With the task complete, he ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair and set the axe aside. His day was just beginning.
He made his way to an isolated corner of the village, a patch of uneven ground surrounded by old trees and overgrown shrubs. This was his sanctuary—a place where no prying eyes could judge him, where the villagers' whispers couldn't reach. Here, he trained.
Leon drew his battered sword and took his stance. He squared his shoulders, his feet planted firmly on the ground. His movements began slowly, deliberately, as if imagining an opponent before him. Then, he launched into a flurry of strikes, his blade cutting through the air with precision.
Each swing was calculated, each movement flowing into the next. He stepped forward, feinting an attack, then pivoted as though dodging a counterstrike. His breathing quickened as he added more force to his attacks, the blade whistling in wide arcs. He practiced thrusts, overhead strikes, and sidelong cuts, mimicking a deadly duel against an invisible foe. The sun climbed higher, and Leon's body gleamed with sweat, but he didn't stop. He pushed harder, his frustration fueling his relentless drills.
By the time noon approached, he was exhausted but satisfied. Sheathing his sword, he returned to his small home. After a quick wash, he strapped on his armor. It wasn't ornate, just simple leather reinforced with metal plates, but it gave him a sense of purpose. His sword, now cleaned, hung at his hip as he stepped out into the village square.
The square bustled with activity. Vendors called out, women exchanged gossip, and children darted between the stalls. But as Leon strode through, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations quieted, and people averted their gazes. Some villagers hurriedly stepped inside their homes, slamming doors behind them. Others stood frozen, their faces tense with fear and disdain.
Leon noticed all of it—and ignored it. His face remained impassive, his head held high as he walked through the square. Their fear amused him. Let them cower, he thought. It didn't matter. He had no use for their approval.
When he reached the east gate, Arden was already waiting. The vice leader of the guards was leaning on his spear, his lean frame relaxed but alert. Unlike the broad-shouldered Rodrick, Arden lacked the muscle of a seasoned fighter, but his sharp eyes and calm demeanor made him an effective guardian.
"You're late," Arden said without looking at him.
"I was training," Leon replied, his tone indifferent as he adjusted his armor.
Arden smirked faintly but said nothing. He leaned back against the gate, gazing at the forest beyond.
Leon studied him for a moment before breaking the silence. "How's the family?"
Arden raised an eyebrow but didn't seem surprised. "Same as always. My wife keeps reminding me I'm not home enough, and the kids keep reminding me why."
Leon's lips twitched in what might have been a smirk. "How old are they now?"
"Darren's nine, the twins are six." Arden shifted his spear to his other hand. "Darren wants to start training. Says he'll be stronger than me someday."
Leon snorted. "He might be right. You don't exactly set a high bar."
"Careful," Arden said with a dry chuckle. "The only reason I tolerate you is because I know you're too young to have kids giving you headaches."
Leon shrugged, leaning against the gatepost. "Not my problem. But if he does start training, don't go easy on him."
"I won't." Arden's tone softened slightly. "But I don't want him doing what I do. Guard duty's not exactly a glorious life."
Leon tilted his head. "Better than farm work. At least you have a purpose."
Arden didn't respond, his gaze distant as he looked toward the forest. For a moment, the two stood in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between them.
The east gate was a sturdy wooden structure reinforced with iron. Beyond it lay the forest—a dark, sprawling expanse that stretched to the horizon. This was the most dangerous side of the village. The forest teemed with monsters, predators lurking in the shadows, waiting for anyone foolish enough to enter.
"Quiet day so far?" Leon asked, breaking the silence.
"For now," Arden said. "But it's always quiet until it isn't."
They stood there for hours, exchanging occasional words as they kept watch. The sun hung high, casting dappled light through the trees, and the village behind them buzzed with faint activity.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the forest. Both men tensed, their hands moving to their weapons. A figure stumbled out from between the trees—a man, covered in blood, his clothes torn. He was on his knees, clutching a shield in his left hand. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror.
"Help… help me," he croaked, his voice barely audible.
Leon and Arden exchanged a glance, their hands tightening on their weapons. The air grew heavy with tension.
"Stay sharp," Arden said. "Could be a trap."
Leon nodded, his gaze fixed on the man. "Or he could already be dead and doesn't know it yet."
The man collapsed, his body trembling as he tried to crawl forward. Blood smeared the dirt beneath him, and his shield clattered to the ground. Arden moved first, stepping cautiously toward the man with his spear raised.
"Stay here," he ordered Leon without looking back.
Leon didn't argue. He watched as Arden approached the injured man, his movements deliberate and measured. Kneeling beside him, Arden placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully lifted him to his feet. The man groaned in pain, leaning heavily on Arden for support.
"He's alive," Arden said. "But barely. We need to get him to the doctor."
Together, they lifted the injured man, Arden supporting him as he staggered under his own weight. Blood dripped onto the ground as Arden began walking him toward the village healer.
Leon remained at the gate, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he watched the forest line intently. The shadows between the trees seemed darker now, alive with an unseen menace.
"Leon," Arden called over his shoulder, "keep an eye on the gate. We'll figure out what happened once I get him to the doctor."
Leon nodded, his sharp gaze never leaving the forest. "I'll stay. Tell someone to find Rodrick. He needs to know about this."
A young boy, one of the few villagers brave enough to linger nearby, scurried forward at Leon's command. "Go to Rodrick," Leon told him, his voice cold but firm. "Tell him an injured man came out of the forest. He'll know what to do."
The boy hesitated for a moment, his wide eyes darting toward the bloodied man Arden was carrying. Then, with a quick nod, he ran off toward the barracks.
Leon's grip tightened on his sword as he stared into the gloom of the forest. The air felt heavier now, charged with an unspoken tension. Something had driven that man to the edge of desperation, and whatever it was, it hadn't followed him out.
Not yet.