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 the adult slave 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, the slave 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, the slave 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, the adult slave seized the moment to catch his breath, watching them curse at each other. When the bowman finally left, the slave 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 the slave's abdomen. The slave coughed up blood but stubbornly pressed on, slashing wildly.
In a blur of motion, the thin muscular man retaliated, slashing the slave's arms and leaving a series of small, non-fatal wounds. Despite the growing number of injuries, the slave 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 the adult slave. The slave'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 the child, 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.
The child 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.
The child'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 [1]in this forest, and a child at that."
The child 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 the child's arm and shoulder. Had the child not twisted his body at the last moment, his head would have been severed. The child 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 the child's stab, the thin muscular man struck the child's back with the hilt of his shortsword, slamming him to the ground. Without hesitation, he followed up with a kick, sending the child 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 the child joined them, the child suddenly grabbed the bowman's head and charged again. This time, the child 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 the child leap into a slashing motion. The man smirked, his years of experience telling him the child was feinting. Sure enough, the child 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 the child 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 the child.
"I... really... should... have... killed—"
With a thud, he collapsed, his face etched with regret as he breathed his last.
The child, panting heavily, moved slowly toward the adult slave. The blood from the child's wounds began to clot, the bleeding stops as his injuries healed completely, leaving no scars behind.
Kneeling beside the slave, the child placed a hand on the man's punctured chest. The slave looked at the child, a weak smile spreading across his face. He was relieved that the child had survived, believing his sacrifice was worth it.
The child tried to heal the slave's fatal wound, but before it could fully close, the man lost consciousness. The child gazed at him one last time, unsure if he was still alive. Wiping away his tears, the child 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.
[1] It's the lowest class of demons who follows Abyssal Demon God of Neglect.