She looked down at Evryn with a warm expression. "I really hope you feel better. Maybe my words helped even a little?" She flashed him a bright smile, eyes closed, her happiness radiating from the heart.
Pushing herself off the wall, she turned back toward the funeral. "I hope to see you again—tomorrow, or whenever! You're a really cool guy." She waved before walking off, her smile lingering in the air, a fleeting warmth against the encroaching night.
Evryn's eyes widened slightly. That smile—it was genuine. Comforting. Safe.
"Bye," he muttered, watching her disappear into the distance.
He looked down, replaying their conversation in his mind.
Be nice to everyone you meet, huh…
A small smile crept onto his lips. Not forced. Not hollow. Just real.
Taking a deep breath, Evryn sat up, brushing the dirt off his clothes.
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, inhaling deeply before slowly exhaling.
When he opened them again, one thought was clear in his mind.
He needed to be stronger. Strong enough to protect those he cared for.
Without hesitation, he turned and headed toward the outskirts of the village—toward a quiet place near the forest where no one would disturb him.
As the wind whispered through the trees, he slowly pulled his sword from the back of his coat, gripping it firmly in his left hand.
Then, he swung.
For the past twenty minutes he had done nothing, but swung the sword, nothing on his mind but pure concentration.
…
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Metal plates shifted in the woods. Something—someone—was watching him.
Evryn turned his head, staring into the forest's depths. Then, a glow—red, piercing—locked onto him from the darkness.
A shape emerged. Heavy. Armored. A cape dragging behind.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The figure stepped into view. A skull-like visor, a single red eye burning through the dark. Black armor, dented and scarred, each mark a story of survival.
The man saw the sword in Evryn's grip. He didn't hesitate.
A cold, distorted voice seeped through the helmet. "You are Evryn?"
Evryn tensed. His grip on the sword tightened. A strange sensation crawled through him—fear, excitement, something else.
"Y-yeah…? What's it to you?"
The armored man didn't answer.
"Good."
He stood still for a moment. Then-slowly-his hand reached beneath his tattered cape.
A moment later, a massive greatsword tore free.
The blade of the sword was massive, slightly curved, with jagged edges—evidence of its relentless sharpening through countless battles. The metal was dark, almost weathered, with a blackened sheen that seemed to absorb the light. This was no ordinary weapon. It had decapitated and slain many, its blood-stained history now carried by its owner.
The hilt was wrapped in worn leather and cloth, streaked with dried blood from past engagements. Subtle markings adorned it—symbols of victories long past. The crossguard was angular and sharp, designed to cut with brutal precision.
He held the sword effortlessly in his right hand. Its weight? Easily over 300 pounds. A weapon this massive was not to be taken lightly.
Evryn braced himself, his stance firm, ready to fight. He wasn't about to back down—not this time. No matter how overwhelming the odds, Evryn couldn't bring himself to yield. Surrender wasn't in his nature. It never had been.
Especially after the words he had heard from Eira: "Until death, all defeat is psychological."
Evryn breathed steadily, despite the nervous energy clawing at his chest. He had to keep a cool head—one mistake, and it was over.
For a moment, they stood still. Seconds stretched into eternity. The man wasn't moving, just waiting. Watching.
Evryn hated it.
Swoosh!
The armored figure lunged—his massive sword coming down with terrifying force.
Evryn barely reacted in time, throwing himself backward.
Thud!
The blade struck the ground like a meteor, sending a tremor through the earth.
Evryn's eyes widened. How much force did that take? Who was this guy?
No time to think. The man's sword lifted again, swinging hard toward Evryn's left—too fast to dodge.
Clink!
Steel met steel. Evryn's sword barely blocked the strike, but pain shot through his wrist like lightning. The sheer impact sent him spinning.
He barely caught himself, his left foot locking into the ground. His arm throbbed.
This guy hit like a truck. No—worse. He hit harder than the behemoth wolf. How the hell was that even possible?!
The man advanced again, relentless. This time, Evryn braced himself.
Clink!
He struck back, his sword meeting the greatsword head-on—
And it did nothing.
Evryn's blade was sent flying, spinning through the air before stabbing into the dirt.
He barely had time to react before—
WHAM!
A brutal kick slammed into his ribs, sending him rolling across the ground.
Evryn gasped, coughing, his body screaming in pain.
The man didn't rush him. He just… walked. Slow. Methodical. Like Evryn was nothing more than an insect about to be crushed.
Move.
Evryn pushed himself up and ran.
His sword. He needed it.
Slash!
Agony.
The greatsword's tip scraped across his forehead, nearly splitting his skull open. Blood poured down his face, blinding him.
Evryn stumbled, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
He lunged for his sword, fingers wrapping around the hilt—
And fell to his knees.
Through the haze of pain and blood, he saw it—
The greatsword, coming down.
A killing blow.
Evryn stared into the man's helmet, locking eyes with him—pure determination and hatred burning in his gaze.
The sword stopped.
The man loomed over him, blade poised for the final strike. Blood ran down Evryn's face, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
But the strike never came.
The man's vision blurred. For a moment, he wasn't looking at Evryn anymore.
He was looking at himself—years ago.
A boy, no older than Evryn, stood before him, gripping a sword with trembling hands. His black hair was messy, his gray eyes burned with raw fury, defiance. He was coughing blood, yet still, he aimed his weapon straight ahead.
"I'll kill you!" the boy had screamed.
The man blinked, and the vision shattered. Evryn was there again, still breathing, still staring at him with that same look.
That same fire.
He gripped his sword tighter, but his hands wouldn't move.
Because for the first time in years—maybe decades—he saw himself in someone else.
Evryn's breath was ragged. His thoughts were scrambled. Why hadn't the man finished him off?
Then—
BOOM!
An explosion ripped through the village. A split second later, blaster fire erupted, cutting through the night.
Screams.
Children. Families.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Flames roared, devouring everything in their path.
Evryn's head snapped toward the chaos, eyes wide with horror.
"No!"
Yet the man didn't move. He didn't even glance at the destruction—his gaze remained locked onto Evryn, unreadable beneath the visor.
The screams grew louder. One by one, voices were snuffed out.
People were dying.
Evryn didn't hesitate. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the man, he forced himself to his feet and sprinted toward the burning village.
The armored figure remained still. Only when Evryn disappeared into the inferno of war did he finally turn his head—watching as the carnage unfolded.