In the forest, the clash of blades echoed as two men fought fiercely, their knives flashing in a relentless duel.
The thin, muscular man, holding his knife in a reverse grip, laughed with exhilaration, clearly enjoying the battle against the bleeding slave, who had an arrow lodged in his leg and shoulder.
The bleeding man was Ton abandoned by his companion.
Knowing he had been left behind, he chose to fight the raiders, fully aware that survival was unlikely.
Dodging another arrow aimed at him, Ton lunged at the thin muscular man, re-engaging in the knife fight.
He had no choice—
—if he stayed at a distance, arrows would rain down on him, but if he stayed close, the bowman would hesitate to shoot.
The fight had dragged on for over fifteen minutes now.
With his legs weakening and blood pouring from his wounds, Ton was like a mouse cornered by a cat, unable to feign death without sealing his fate.
The bowman released another arrow, this time aiming for the thin muscular man's foot.
The man dodged it effortlessly.
"What the hell, man? Are you blind?"
"How much longer are you going to play around? I'm done with this. I'll go hunt the escaped slaves instead."
As the two raiders argued, Ton seized the moment to catch his breath, watching them curse at each other.
When the bowman finally left, Ton lunged at the thin muscular man, aiming his knife at the man's neck.
The muscular man smirked, sidestepped the attack, and drove his knee into Ton's abdomen. Ton coughed up blood but stubbornly pressed on, slashing wildly.
In a blur of motion, the thin muscular man retaliated, slashing Ton's arms and leaving a series of small, non-fatal wounds.
Despite the growing number of injuries, Ton refused to fall, his determination unwavering even as his body weakened.
...
As the bowman moved through the forest, searching for the hidden cave where the remaining slaves were hiding, he spotted a small, blood-soaked figure slowly approaching him.
The bowman relaxed, thinking his hunt was nearly over. What threat could a child possibly pose to an adult like him?
"Kid, where's the other slave with you?"
Confident and unafraid, he walked toward the child to capture him.
"He's dead."
The bowman frowned, confused.
He remembered clearly that the escaped adult slave had only a minor wound on his hand—nothing fatal enough to kill him.
The bowman froze, a sense of dread creeping over him.
He looked at the child, who was smiling eerily, as if studying its prey.
The bowman reached for the knife at his waist, but his hand wouldn't obey.
It fell limply to the muddy ground, useless.
...
A piercing scream echoed through the forest, startling birds into flight.
The two men locked in combat paused and turned toward the direction where the bowman had gone.
Suddenly, a child emerged from the bushes, clutching a knife and the severed head of the bowman.
The thin, muscular man felt an unsettling danger radiating from the child.
Reacting quickly, he drove his knife into the chest of Ton.
Ton's eyes bulged as he clutched the wound, pressing weakly with his hands to slow the bleeding and buy himself more time.
He tried to shout a warning to Anik, but his ruined lungs left him voiceless.
The thin muscular man recognized the child—it was the same one he had reported to his leader, the one who had displayed strange behavior before losing consciousness.
The thin muscular man reached for the shortsword strapped to his back with his right hand, while holding a knife in a reverse grip with his left.
He stood poised like a battle-hardened veteran, his stance reflecting years of life-and-death struggles.
His expression turned serious as he faced the child, knowing the bowman's overconfidence had led to his death at the child's hands.
Anik and the thin muscular man locked eyes, each studying the other's slightest movements, ready to react in an instant.
"I should've beheaded you when I had the chance, like your father... maybe," the man taunted.
Anik's calm demeanor shattered, his emotions spiraling into madness as his eyes glowed a deep crimson.
The thin muscular man was taken aback, his shock evident.
"Never expected to find a Barbarian in this forest, and a child at that."
Anik charged at the man, wielding the knife he had taken from the bowman.
He leaped into the air, slashing downward like a sword, but his movements were predictable, and the thin muscular man, a seasoned veteran, saw through them easily.
With a swift sidestep, the man dodged and, in a flash, slashed Anik's arm and shoulder.
Had Anik not twisted his body at the last moment, his head would have been severed.
Anik tumbled to the ground but quickly sprang back up, rushing at the man again.
He slashed, kicked, and punched, but none of his attacks landed.
"A child is still a child. Even if you're a Barbarian or a Berserker, you can't match me. You lack experience."
After dodging Anik's stab, the thin muscular man struck Anik's back with the hilt of his shortsword, slamming him to the ground.
Without hesitation, he followed up with a kick, sending Anik rolling to a stop beside the bowman's severed head.
"Surrender, kid. You're still useful. You could join us! Barbarians are rare these days. Even I don't know how to become one. With you in our ranks, we'd be unstoppable!"
As the thin muscular man daydreamed about the future they could have if Anik joined them, Anik suddenly grabbed the bleeding head of the bowman and charged again.
This time, Anik hurled the head at the man, who laughed at the desperate move.
With a quick tilt of his head, the man dodged the decapitated head, only to see Anik leap into a slashing motion.
The man smirked, his years of experience telling him the child was feinting.
Sure enough, Anik threw the knife, which the man easily deflected with his shortsword.
"What a fo—"
Before he could finish, a blood-like thread burst from his chest.
Shock spread across his face as he tried to pull the thread free, but Anik yanked something in the air, and the thread was violently ripped from his body, causing him to stagger.
"You... are... not... a Barbarian?"
The thin muscular man stared at the gaping hole in his chest, searching for his missing heart.
He dropped to his knees, smiled faintly, and locked eyes with Anik.
"I... really... should... have... killed—"
With a thud, he collapsed, his face etched with regret as he breathed his last.
Anik, panting heavily, moved slowly toward the adult slave.
The blood from Anik's wounds began to clot, the bleeding stops as his injuries healed completely, leaving no scars behind.
Kneeling beside Ton, Anik placed a hand on Ton's punctured chest.
Ton looked at Anik, a weak smile spreading across his face.
He was relieved that Anik had survived, believing his sacrifice was worth it.
Anik tried to heal Ton's fatal wound, but before it could fully close, Ton lost consciousness.
Anik gazed at him one last time, unsure if he was still alive.
Wiping away his tears, Anik stood, walked to the lifeless body of the thin muscular man, pulled its dead body, and picked up the bowman's decapitated head.
Blood trailed behind him as he walked away, leaving a crimson path in his wake.