Zephyr watched the scene unfold with growing dread. Right before his eyes, the bald man plunged his dagger into a mercenary's neck. The man collapsed, choking on his own blood until he breathed his last.
Zephyr's heart trembled as a chilling truth hit him…
That could've been him.
His fear deepened as the brutal warrior raised his axe again, aiming for Jones's throat. But before the blow could land, Commander Arlond rushed in, blocking it with his black sword.
Suddenly, a voice cried out from behind:
"Watch out, boy! Behind you!"
Zephyr spun around, startled, only to see an enemy charging toward him, sword in hand and murder in his eyes.
Frozen in place, Zephyr stumbled backward, panic rising in his chest.
The enemy raised his blade high—
But before he could bring it down, two arrows whistled through the air.
One pierced his shoulder.
The other sank deep near his stomach.
The man dropped to the ground but didn't surrender. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, dragging his body forward with grim determination.
He was going to kill Zephyr no matter what.
Zephyr, sprawled on the ground, stared at the man in horror.
Something dark began to stir within him…
A wish. A desperate, ugly wish.
He wanted this man to die so he could live.
It was the first time in his life he'd wished for someone's death.
But wishes don't always come true.
The man rose again, limping forward, raising his sword for the kill.
Zephyr scrambled to find the dagger Jones had given him earlier. His fingers finally wrapped around the hilt. He waved it wildly in front of him, screaming:
"Stay back! Stay back! STAY BACK!!"
The dagger slashed the man's flesh in shallow, aimless cuts as Zephyr's hand shook uncontrollably.
He kept swinging, screaming, almost unconscious of what he was doing.
Then… silence.
His mind returned to him, and he found himself staring at a bloodied body, riddled with cuts and scars, its eyes wide open… lifeless.
The dagger slipped from his fingers.
He crawled backward, sand scraping beneath him, frozen in shock.
That man had been alive just moments ago.
But fear had turned Zephyr into something he never thought he'd become.
A killer.
A harsh metallic clash snapped him out of his daze. He turned toward the sound and saw Arlond and Jones locked in battle with the bald man.
Sparks flew, weapons clashed faster than Zephyr could follow.
Only flashes, glints of steel, and violent impacts.
Arlond and the bald warrior stood tall, staring each other down, their wills clashing as fiercely as their blades.
But the staring didn't last long.
Arlond suddenly pressed forward, his strikes faster and more precise.
The bald man answered with brutal ferocity, a wild grin stretching across his scarred face.
"It's been a long time," he chuckled, "since I fought someone who mattered. This is fun!"
Arlond pushed harder, unleashing a flurry of complex attacks.
Then, breaking the rhythm, he landed a powerful kick directly to the man's knee.
The brute stumbled but quickly regained balance, the savage grin never leaving his face.
A grin born of bloodlust.
Their duel became a whirlwind of violence, so fierce that anyone who dared approach was sure to die.
Arlond's face remained cold.
The bald man's glowed with unhinged glee.
While their battle raged on, the rest of the battlefield was nearing its end.
The attack on the enemy's horses had shattered their momentum.
And more than anything—
Zakrox had begun to move.
He stalked the battlefield like a shadow, loosing arrows with terrifying precision.
Each shot found its mark.
One hit—one kill.
The mercenaries began to shift their focus toward the final clash:
Their commander versus the infamous war criminal—a man with a five-hundred-gold bounty on his head.
Enough to live a year in peace… if they survived.
Jones had crawled away from the center, breathing heavily, groaning:
"Damn… I think he broke one of my ribs with that kick."
Then—footsteps.
Heavy and slow, crunching through the sand.
Zephyr looked up to find Zakrox standing behind him, bow in hand, his gaze fixed on the duel.
Then, the assassin looked down at Zephyr.
And then at the mutilated corpse beside him.
"Not bad, kid," he said flatly. "You're a coward, but at least you saved yourself.
If you hadn't fought, you'd be dead."
Zephyr said nothing.
But the meaning in Zakrox's words was clear.
He'd left that man alive on purpose…
To test him.
To force him to kill.
Was this what survival meant in this world?
To live, you had to become a monster?
Zephyr didn't want to accept that…
But reality had drawn its blade.
Then Zakrox said:
"Keep watching that fight… Watch the clash between energy users.
You might learn a thing or two."
Zephyr blinked.
Energy users?
What did that mean?
But Zakrox didn't answer. He just stood there, watching the duel, unmoved.
By now, the grin on the bald man's face had faded.
Only seriousness remained.
Arlond's face was still unreadable.
Blades collided again and again. The war criminal finally shouted:
"With power like yours, why the hell are you just a mercenary commander?! DAMN IT!!"
Zakrox replied quietly:
**"Lesson two, Zephyr…
In our world, only one thing matters—winning.
Honor, principles, morals? Lies.
The truth… is life or death."**
He drew an arrow slowly, placed it on his bowstring, and began to pull.
His eyes never left the fight.
At the same moment, as if sensing Zakrox's intent, Arlond surged forward, a heavy strike knocking the axe from his opponent's hands.
The weapon flew into the air—
Zakrox fired.
The arrow cut through the sky like a flash of judgment, curved in flight, and sank deep into the war criminal's neck—
right through the lung.
The man's eyes widened.
He tried to speak…
But he couldn't even breathe.
And then—
Arlond's black sword came down in a final arc—
And took off his head.
Silence.
Everything stopped.
Only the hot desert wind remained, whispering across the sands…
And the soft, final thud of a severed head hitting the ground.