Fate
I don't know if I believe in it.
If it exists, then it's nothing but a cruel, twisted force, dragging people into nightmares they never asked for.
Two weeks ago, I was a nobody—a simple lumberjack living in an isolated village, my world no bigger than the trees I cut down. Now? I stand in a place I can't explain, surrounded by things I shouldn't have survived.
A weaker man would have broken.
But I didn't.
Every scar, every wound, every moment of suffering—I see it now. Life had been preparing me for this. Beating me down, shaping me into something that could endure.
And I have.
I don't cling to the past. I don't waste time on regret.
Maybe that makes me reckless. Maybe it means I have a death wish. Or maybe I've just accepted the truth—there's no going back.
And even if there was…
I wouldn't change a damn thing.
-----------
Three days have passed since I left Eldraen.
Three days—the exact time it takes to reach The Bastion.
In those three days, I've learned a lot. About them. About how they fight, how they think. And, most importantly, about the things they aren't saying.
The blonde beauty is Freya Aelthar. Strong. Sharp. The kind of person who moves with purpose, like she's always one step ahead. I won't lie—I enjoyed my time with her. There's something about the way she carries herself. Confident. Calculated. Like she already knows the outcome before the battle even starts.
Then there's Gabriel. Red eyes. Hair slicked back into a bun. A cocky bastard who seems to exist just to piss me off. Every time we talk, it turns into an argument. Every glance feels like a challenge. I swear, if looks could kill, we would've both dropped dead a dozen times by now.
And yet…
As much as I hate to admit it, I'm starting to get him. There's something familiar in the way he acts. The way he grins before throwing an insult, the way he moves like he's always ready for a fight.
Despite all the bickering, all the tension hanging between us like a drawn blade…
I can't shake the feeling that, somehow, we understand each other.
And that might be the most dangerous part.
In these days, I've told them my story. From the moment I left my village to what happened in Eldraen. And every single time, the reaction is the same.
"You really are a good storyteller. I almost believed you killed the Barak, hahahaha." [Gabriel]
The bastard pisses me off.
He didn't believe a word I said—not me, not the two guards. But Freya… she was different. She didn't laugh. She didn't mock me. No, she looked… excited. Like she was living the best moment of her life.
"It seems like I found a diamond." She said.
"Don't tell me you believe him?"
"Why not? I'm very sure of his skills."
"Those trashes in Eldraen were nothing compared to a Barak. And also… HE IS NOT EVEN AN A RANK
There's a lot I don't get. First mana, now this A rank.
The conversation went like this: Gabriel tried his best to convince her that I was lying.
But that doesn't matter now.
What matters is something I've learned. A crucial detail. Something that's been gnawing at me, tormenting me since it happened.
I finally know who the bastard was. The one who destroyed the ship and nearly left me dead on the coast.
It's him—the cold bastard known as The Leviathan's King.
(Seriously, who came up with this name?)
Let me explain. Gabriel and Freya were talking about it:
In this world, there are ten people—the most dangerous, the most wanted. Men so powerful, so elusive, that not even entire nations could catch them. These ten are known as…
The Ten Tyrants.
And guess who The Leviathan's King is?
Yeah, you guessed it. Another tyrant. One of the three rulers of the sea.
And somehow, by some twisted stroke of fate, I managed to stumble right into his path.
"That must be traumatizing," she said, her eyes softening with genuine sympathy.
(So damn pretty.)
"Well, I do pity you… but I still have my doubts about how you survived that," Gabriel added, his voice laced with skepticism.
"COME ON! Can't you at least believe me on something?"
"NO! I totally believe you're a liar."
"Tss."
The conversation dragged on like that…
The hours were passing… untill…
In the distance, something enormous loomed on the horizon. As we drew closer, a strange pull in my chest told me—this was it. This had to be The Bastion.
We were getting closer. And we got close enough for me to get a good look.
As they reached the massive gate, the sheer scale of The Bastion became overwhelming. Towering walls of dark stone, shaped into an imposing octagonal fortress, loomed high into the dimming sky, their surfaces worn yet unwavering against the test of time. There were no trees, no signs of life nearby—only open ground and a heavy, suffocating air filled with the scent of metal and dust.
A haze clung to the battlefield-like clearing around the structure, making it feel like they had stepped into a realm where the world outside no longer existed. The evening light faded into a cold twilight, the last remnants of sun swallowed by the fortress's towering silhouette.
Freya and i, stepped forward. With a deep breath she screamed.
"OPEN THE F*CKING GATE!!"
The massive doors groaned, gears turning, unseen mechanisms shifting. Slowly, the entrance parted, revealing an endless darkness beyond.
A shiver crawled up the Reynar's spine.
He hesitated, voice almost lost in the heavy air.
"What is… the Bastion?
No one answered.
They stepped inside.
As they stepped through the massive gates, the air grew heavier, thick with the scent of sweat, iron, and burning wood. The moment the doors shut behind them, it was as if they had entered another world—a brutal, unrelenting world where warriors were forged in blood and battle.
The central courtyard stretched wide, a vast battlefield surrounded by towering stone walls. The ground was hardened earth, scarred with countless footprints, bloodstains, and the marks of past skirmishes. This was the heart of The Bastion, the proving grounds where soldiers trained, fought, and rose through the ranks.
At its center, warriors clashed in fierce combat—sparring, testing their strength, or engaging in official tournaments. Some wielded swords, others fought barehanded, their bodies moving with practiced precision. Spectators lined the edges of the field, some shouting encouragement, others silently studying potential rivals.
Encircling the arena, massive stone barracks loomed like silent sentinels, their weathered surfaces etched with symbols of past victories. Fires burned in metal braziers outside each building, casting flickering shadows across the stone pathways.
The architecture was harsh and functional—no embellishments, no unnecessary luxuries. This was a place built for war.
To the left, a training ground stretched further, where recruits drilled relentlessly. Dummies, shaped like monstrous creatures, stood in rows, riddled with deep cuts and scorch marks from attacks. Veterans barked orders, their voices sharp as steel.
Some soldiers were approaching us. We dismounted, and they led our horses toward the stables… I assumed.
I was too absorbed in the view to care. It was… disgusting. I hated this place the moment I set eyes on it.
"What the hell is this place?" I yelled at Freya.
"It's The Bastion. The number one military training camp in Zendia," she replied, unfazed.
"Military what?!" I shot back, incredulous.
"Quiet down, men," Gabriel ordered sharply.
"Shut up, you!" I snapped back, already done with this whole situation. "I'm leaving!"
Just then, an older man approached. His white hair and beard stood out, but it was the deep scar over his left eye that really caught my attention. He wore a black uniform, a coat draped over his shoulders like it was part of some formal attire.
He stopped right in front of Freya, his gaze heavy and unyielding.
"Sergeant Freya, you're late. And who is this?" He glanced at me with a look that could pierce through stone.
Immediately, everyone raised their right arms and pressed their fists to their chests in salute.
"Captain, this is Reynar. A new talent I've discovered," Freya explained, her voice steady.
"Talent?" The captain's tone was skeptical, his gaze sweeping over me dismissively. "Doesn't seem like much of a talent to me."
"Shut up, you old man," I shot back without thinking.
The entire group froze, eyes locked on me as if I'd just set off a bomb.
"Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?" the captain growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Should I?" I scoffed, meeting his glare head-on.
"I am the Captain of the Bastion—"
"Yeah, yeah, I don't care," I cut him off. "Anyway, I'm leaving."
Freya shot me a stern look, her hand grabbing my arm with surprising strength. "Reynar, apologize."
I jerked my arm away, not in the mood for this. "I don't apologize to anyone."
But Freya wasn't having it. She stepped in front of me, blocking my exit. "Listen to me, Reynar. You're in his territory now. Show some respect."
I was about to fire back, but the captain's glare never wavered, and something in his eyes made me hesitate. He was no ordinary old man. Something about him felt… dangerous.
Freya continued, her voice softer but still firm. "You're not leaving."
"Well, I am."
"If you leave now, you will never find the truth about your parents' death."
I froze. The words hit harder than I expected.
"What does that have to do with the Bastion?" I asked, still trying to push back.
"It's the only way to get strong enough to face what's coming." Her voice was low, intense. "You don't even know the half of it."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my frustration giving way to curiosity.
"The dark figure you saw—it was a forbidden spell, something that not even S-rank warriors can handle. The user of that spell is most likely an enemy. And he's overwhelming strong." Freya's eyes locked onto mine, her gaze unwavering. "This is the only place where you'll learn to fight back."
I stood there in silence, the weight of her words sinking in. It wasn't just about my pride anymore. It was about something bigger, something that might finally give me the answers I'd been looking for.
Freya stepped aside, her voice barely above a whisper. "Make your choice, Reynar."
I glanced at the captain, then back at Freya. The thought of facing that figure, of finding out the truth about my parents… It was too much to ignore.
Freya stepped aside, waiting for me to make a decision, but before I could respond, the captain's cold voice sliced through the air.
"You think you can just walk in here because of some story about your parents?" The captain's eyes narrowed, a sneer forming on his face. "That doesn't work here. If you want in, you'll have to fight for it."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The captain stepped forward, his tone firm and unwavering. "It means you'll face one of my soldiers. If you win, you can stay. If you lose, you leave."
I felt my pulse quicken. "So, you're telling me I have to fight just to get a chance at training here?"
The captain didn't flinch. "That's how it works. We don't take weaklings, and we don't take pity cases. You either prove yourself or get out."
I turned to Freya, her face tense, but she said nothing. The other soldiers were watching closely, waiting for my response. It was clear this wasn't a suggestion—it was a rule.
"Fine," I muttered, irritation flaring in my chest. "I'll fight."
The captain gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Come with me."
Without another word, he turned and started walking. I followed, my steps heavy with anticipation. The tension in the air was thick, the eyes of the soldiers burning into my back.
As we moved forward, the surroundings opened up, revealing a massive stone arena in the heart of the Bastion. Towering walls enclosed the battleground, and the ground was scuffed and cracked—evidence of countless fights before mine.
"You'll fight here," the captain said, stopping at the edge of the arena. His voice carried a weight that made it clear he had seen many battles in this place.
I glanced around, taking in the scale of it. This wasn't just some casual sparring ground—this was a place meant to forge warriors.
"Mana and weapons are allowed," the captain continued, his tone unwavering. "Good luck."
Then, without warning, he gave me a shove, forcing me forward.
I caught myself before stumbling and clenched my fists, my blood pumping harder.
I wasn't just fighting for entry. I was fighting to prove I belonged.
I stood in the middle of the arena, arms crossed, watching as my opponent strutted toward me like he owned the place.
The guy was built like a damn boulder—tall, broad, and radiating arrogance. His short dark hair was slicked back, and he had the kind of smirk that made you want to punch him before he even spoke.
"So, you're the 'talent' Freya dragged in?" He scoffed, cracking his knuckles. "You look scrawny. This won't take long."
I exhaled sharply. Already bored.
"The name's Dain." He rolled his shoulders. "I'm an Enhancer. You know what that means, kid?"
(Nope. What the f*ck is an Enhancer…? Whatever, let's pretend I know.)
I stayed silent.
Dain stretched his neck, joints popping loudly. "Here's the deal, rookie. I'll give you one free hit—just so you know what you're up against before I break you."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Man, you talk a lot."
Dain's eyes flashed with amusement. "Hope you can still joke after this."
With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged. The ground cracked beneath his feet, dust kicking up as he closed the distance between us in an instant. His fist came straight for my face, packed with enough force to send an ordinary man into the afterlife.
But to me?
Too slow.
For a moment, I wasn't in the arena. I was back in the forest, facing the Barak. That massive, hulking monster. Its unnatural speed. The way its claws had shredded through trees like paper. I had barely survived that fight—it had pushed me to my limit.
Compared to that nightmare… this guy was a joke.
Dain's fist was still coming at me. I could see every muscle in his arm tense, every vein bulging under the strain of his big, scary enhanced power.
It was honestly pathetic.
As his fist neared, I stepped forward. Before he could react, my hand shot up and grabbed his face.
His cocky expression twisted into shock.
Then, with all the force of a falling mountain, I slammed his head into the ground.
The impact was thunderous. The stone beneath him shattered, cracks spiderwebbing outward as dust and debris exploded into the air. Soldiers flinched.
A few coughed. One muttered, "Holy shit…"
I shook dust off my hand and stepped back. Dain was out cold, his body half-buried in the crater I had just created.
I stretched my arms, cracking my neck. "Oh, come on. Was this my fight, or my F*CKING WARM-UP?"
My eyes locked onto the old man.
"Hey, old bag! Don't even think about underestimating me again."
Silence filled the arena. The dust from the impact still hung in the air, settling slowly over the unconscious lump that used to be Dain. The soldiers watching from the sidelines exchanged uneasy glances.
Freya was the first to break the silence. She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Reynar… you were not supposed to kill him."
I rolled my eyes. "He's not dead. Probably."
A muffled groan rose from the crater. Dain twitched, barely conscious, but nowhere near getting up.
The old man, the captain, let out a grunt. He wasn't impressed. If anything, he just looked more annoyed. "Lucky hit," he muttered. "You barely know what mana is, and yet…" He sighed and turned toward the watching soldiers. "Someone drag Dain out of the dirt before he sinks into it."
A couple of guys hesitated before hurrying over to peel their comrade off the ground. I could hear him mumbling something about "not being done yet," but considering the way his legs wobbled, he was about as dangerous as a drunk toddler.
The captain's gaze snapped back to me. "You won the fight. You proved your strength. But that's not enough."
I crossed my arms. "Is that not how this works?"
"You think brute force is everything?" He shook his head. "Power without control is nothing but wasted potential."
Freya, still looking vaguely like she wanted to strangle me, stepped in. "That's what the Bastion is for, Reynar. Strength is just the beginning. You need to learn how to use it."
I scoffed. "Seemed like I used it just fine."
A sharp whoosh cut through the air. I barely had time to react before the old man's hand was inches from my face.
I jerked back just in time—barely. A rush of wind followed his strike, and for a split second, I swore I saw something ripple in the air around him, like reality itself had shifted.
…The hell?
"See?" He lowered his hand, stepping back. "You felt that, didn't you?"
I clenched my jaw, not liking where this was going.
"That was mana," he said. "I barely used a fraction of it. You dodged, but if I'd been serious, you'd be eating dirt next to Dain."
Freya crossed her arms. "You may be strong, Reynar. But strength without knowledge is a blade without an edge."
I hated to admit it, but they had a point. Dain had been nothing. But that move just now? I hadn't even seen it coming.
I exhaled sharply. "Tch. Fine. Do i have your approve to stay??"
The captain nodded, satisfied. "Welcome to the Bastion."
After that, Freya and Gabriel explained how the Bastion worked.
It wasn't just some military camp—it was a proving ground, a place where people either became warriors or died trying. Four paths existed within the Bastion, each more insane than the last.
Scouters were the lunatics who hunted monsters in enemy territory before they could reach civilization. They worked in small elite squads, sneaking through the dark like assassins. Apparently, they had the highest mortality rate, which really made me question why anyone would sign up for that willingly.
Sentinels were the front-line defenders—the shield that held the line when monsters attacked. Unlike Scouters, they worked in larger groups, holding fortresses and cities, keeping people safe. A 'safer' option, though safe was a relative term in a place like this.
Wardens were the brainy ones, the researchers who studied monsters, developed new weapons, and messed around with magic. They weren't just scholars, though—some worked directly on the battlefield, testing their crazy theories in real combat.
Then there were the Pioneers, the real maniacs. These guys went straight into the Chaos Continent, wandering into the unknown, looking for lost knowledge, ancient ruins, or whatever else was out there. Some came back with valuable intel. Most didn't come back at all.
The ranking system was just as brutal. Newcomers like me started as Cadets, the lowest of the low. Survive the first phase, and you became an Initiate, meaning you weren't completely useless but still had a long way to go. After that, you became a Veteran. Veterans were the seasoned warriors who had survived long enough to prove their worth—still training but one step away from walking a path. The real test came after that—only those who proved themselves got the chance to walk one of the four paths. From there, if you lived long enough, you might become an elite warrior.
At the top of it all was the Captain of the Bastion, the one who ran this whole operation, and above even them, the High Commander, the legendary figure who led the fight against the horrors of the Chaos Continent.
As Freya and Gabriel went on, I could only think one thing.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?