Chapter 12 - Strongest Parents Alive
"Mom!"
The word tore from my throat, raw and fractured, but it was instantly swallowed by a sound like a localized thunderclap.
"You will not lay a single hand on my children!"
My mother's aura flared orange as her voice thundered, vibrating through the fluid in my ears and striking the clearing with the force of a physical blow. The absolute millisecond her boot stepped forward, the earth beneath us visibly shuddered. Dust and ancient swamp moss violently erupted into the air around her ankles. With every single step she took, the sodden ground buckled, deep cracks splitting the dark soil as if the very forest itself were recoiling from her concentrated wrath.
The bandit leader blinked. For a fraction of a second, his predatory focus fractured. He stared down at the splitting earth beneath his leather boots, his scarred brow furrowing in brief, detached confusion.
"A barbarian," he scoffed under his breath, his tone dripping with dismissive irritation. "What a pathetic nuisance."
He flicked his gaze upward to track her trajectory, but he was already too late. My mother was already airborne.
She hung in the dim swamp light, a silhouette of pure, unadulterated muscle and blinding fury. Her massive battle-axe swung high overhead, casting a long, terrifying shadow that looked less like a weapon and more like judgment itself descending from the canopy. The leader's instincts finally fired; he violently yanked his curved falchion upward to intercept the trajectory.
BANG!
The acoustic detonation was staggering. The sheer kinetic energy of the impact drove the bandit leader straight down, his knees buckling violently as the swamp floor beneath him collapsed into a mini-crater of displaced mud and shattered roots. Sparks flew from the grinding metal like dying stars.
"You will not walk away from this alive!" Reyna roared. "YOU HEAR ME?!"
Without giving him a single microsecond to reset his posture, she threw her entire physical weight forward. The supposed Sword King; the man who had just effortlessly dismantled a Sword Saint, was physically overpowered, forced backward, and violently slammed into the churning dirt beneath her iron grip.
BWOSH!
The concussive wave of pressurized air washed over me, throwing a spray of cold water across my face. My head throbbed with a vicious, white-hot ache, my limbs trembling uncontrollably as a wave of acute dizziness threatened to take my consciousness. I fought through the neurological static, dragging my upper torso across the muck until I dropped heavily beside my sister's prone form.
"L-Lyra!" I gasped, my fingers desperately catching her shoulder. "Are you okay—? Are you hurt?!"
"Hush!" she hissed sharply.
She didn't look at me. Instead, she reached up, pressing a tiny, mud-stained index finger directly against my lips. Her golden eyes weren't filled with terror; they were wide, glittering with a bizarre, almost fanatic excitement. "Mama's fighting! Shut up, Kyro, I want to see this!"
The fuck..? What is wrong with this girl? The thought flashed through my analytical brain as a heavy bead of sweat rolled down my temple. She was almost murdered ten seconds ago, and now she's acting like she has front-row seats to a coliseum match? Is this the normal psychological baseline for people born in this world?!
Before I could even begin to process the absurdity, a massive, incredibly strong hand wrapped securely around my waist. A parallel hand sloped beneath Lyra's torso.
"Ah—!" I flinched, my defensive instincts causing me to tense, but the sheer velocity of the movement lifted us both entirely off the ground.
We looked up simultaneously. Looming above us was a mountain of quiet, absolute security.
"Father!" we cried out in unison.
The sudden influx of pure relief was staggering, washing through my chest like a cold wave over a dying flame. The raw, terrifying freeze that had locked my muscles vanished the moment I felt the solid, unmoving warmth of his presence. My body began to shake violently for a brief moment, not from of fear, but from the massive chemical aftershock of surviving a mortal threat.
Thorskil held us tightly against his flanks, one massive arm anchoring each of us against his chest.
"We saw a smoke rising from here. What are you two doing here anyway?" his voice said. It was calm, almost disturbingly calm. But his eyes told an entirely different story. His sharp, calculating gaze systematically scanned every single inch of our skin, flickering with a tightly restrained, feral panic as he checked for lacerations, fractures, or blood. "What are you two even doing out here?"
"We—um..." Lyra stammered, her tough facade instantly evaporating into guilty compliance.
Thorskil let out a long, heavy sigh that vibrated through his ribs against my cheek. "We will have a long conversation about this once we get home, understood?"
Lyra and I exchanged a brief, chastised glance before turning back to him with a quiet nod. Once satisfied that our structural integrity was intact, our father's focus shifted past us.
His eyes locked onto Reyna. And the entire atmosphere of the battlefield instantly changed.
BOOM! CLANG!
Reyna gut punched the bandit as his purple aura flared from the impact.
"Ugh!" He grunted, then that momentary stun was enough for Reyna to take advantage. She raised her axe and swung it to the man's chest, sending him a few feet away as he landed on his feet, but Reyna dashed ahead of him, her body low for a brief moment; a massive hand clutched onto the man's ankle as she violently raised her body, then pulling him with ease thanks to her strength and the momentum of the dash.
Her teeth were clenched, muscles bulging as she roared with each motion. With the fury of a rampaging beast, she slammed him against the ground. Once. Twice. Then again. Each slam shook the dirt and sent mud splattering in every direction. The sound of impact echoed across the forest swamp, joined by Reyna's guttural cries. Rage twisted her features; rage born from a mother's wrath.
With a final, explosive growl, she violently whipped her torso, hurling his entire body high into the air.
The bandit's frame twisted midair like a broken ragdoll, his orientation completely shattered. As his trajectory began to slope downward, my mother dug the heels of her leather boots deep into the earth, hoisting her battle-axe over her right shoulder. Her stance was perfectly solid, resembling a greek statue. No—my modern brain corrected the imagery instantly—she looked exactly like she was preparing to swing a baseball bat.
She swung.
The impact rang like thunder clap.
Her sharp axe struck the bandit across the chest, sending his body hurtling through the swamp. Trees splintered beneath him. One, two, three, four, until the fifth shattered like brittle glass. His body came to a brutal stop against the sixth tree, bark cracking under the force.
In that exact parallel instant, his protective Aura broke. It didn't just fade; it shattered with the distinct, crystalline acoustic of glass meeting stone, brilliant fragments of dark purple energy scattering into the gray mist like dissolving ash. He gasped violently, spraying saliva and dark crimson blood as he slumped limply to the base of the roots, his eyes wide in absolute, unadulterated disbelief.
My mother slowly straightened her spine, exhaling a hot plume of breath into the damp air. She casually wiped the back of her thumb across the bridge of her nose, scoffing softly as if she were merely brushing away the minor inconvenience of manual labor, her green eyes still burning with absolute defiance.
I stared, my jaw hanging completely slack. Beside me, Lyra's eyes were practically glowing with an intense, reverent awe.
"Mother is strong..!" Lyra whispered, her voice trembling with newfound respect
Thorskil chuckled low in his throat, a deep, resonant sound vibrating with immense pride. "Yeah. She really is."
Across the clearing, the shattered man stirred. Slowly, agonizingly, he dragged his broken torso upward, his curved falchion trembling violently within his grip. His bare chest heaved erratically. His Aura was entirely depleted, his physical stance sluggish and unbalanced. But it was the expression painted across his scarred face that revealed his true cognitive state.
It wasn't simple fear, but It was confusion.
"Argh... my speed... why is it..?" he muttered, glancing down at his sword arm as though it no longer belonged to him. "My body feels heavy... I couldn't react in time to that monster's attacks..."
He grimaced, his mind spinning out of control. I have fought and neutralized high-tier barbarians with absolute ease... why am I suddenly so sluggish? Why are my synapses failing to fire?
Then, his frantic eyes darted away from my mother, tracing the perimeter until they locked directly onto the man standing perfectly still in the distance, the man casually holding two children tucked securely under his arms.
T-Thorskil..?!
Thorskil wasn't even holding a weapon. The simple iron broadsword remained completely sheathed at his hip; he hadn't even resting his fingers on the hilt.
But the exact millisecond the bandit leader truly noticed him, like truly registered his existence, everything inside the clearing fundamentally made sense. The leader's jaw clenched tightly. This man had faced champions, imperial warlords, and knights blessed by ancient deities. Yet never in his entire life had his primal survival instincts screamed with such deafening, absolute terror.
The bandit's vision visibly spun, his head jerking as if the very ground beneath his feet had violently tilted on its axis. My father's presence was pressing down on him like an amplified gravitational well, rendering every single inhalation heavier, denser, and harder to process than the last.
Sword God's Authority.
An aura that did not radiate outwards but weighed inwards, like a mountain placed atop the spirit. A divine suppression born from the title of Sword God itself. It didn't matter if Thorskil stood still or moved. For those who recognized him as a threat, those who dared to stand opposed him in the battlefield, Thorskil became a living curse. Their bodies weakened, their strength would falter, their swings would slow, and their reactions dulled. Even their balance could shatter mid-battle, like standing on a ship during a storm.
He could toggle this power on and off like a light switch, and now, he's using it for Reyna to do the job while he makes sure the children are protected.
For Reyna, that pressure had become her boost.
Reyna's eyes locked onto the man again. She rolled her shoulders slowly, like a predator shaking tension from its muscles. Her grip tightened on the handle of her battle-axe, each finger curling with deliberate control. Mud squelched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, radiating fury.
The bandit staggered back, eyes flicking between Reyna and the looming figure in the distance.
"Thorskil...?" he breathed, the words barely escaping his throat as his face drained of all color, realization spreading through his psyche like lethal poison. "The... the Sword God is here...?"
His voice cracked completely, his psychological structural integrity imploding.
Panic crept into his tone as realization spread like poison. "That absolute scum... he sent us straight to our deaths...!"
He didn't waste another second. His head jerked toward the dense tree line to his left. He violently spun on his heel, abandoning all pride, and bolted at a dead sprint to escape the perimeter. But he didn't even manage to clear three meters. The Sword God's Authority violently surged like an unseen, crushing tide. The bandit leader's knees instantly buckled beneath him. His field of vision tilted violently as a massive wave of absolute vertigo struck his brain, dropping his physical frame face-first into the churning mud.
"Rghhh—!"
He groaned, clawing at the mud, trying to stand. His limbs trembled under their own weight, his strength leaking out of him like blood from a wound.
Then, a massive shadow fell completely over his form. Slowly, agonizingly, he tilted his head upward.
Reyna stood directly above him, her massive battle-axe raised high toward the canopy.
A faint trail of heat curled slowly from her powerful arms. Her green eyes, sharp and entirely devoid of warmth, glared down at him like a permanent sentence of absolute judgment. There was zero hesitation within her posture. No grand monologues and no cheap pity. There was only the feral and primal rage of a mother permanently neutralizing a threat to her offspring.
The bandit opened his mouth to scream something, anything, but the axe had already begun to fall. The blade swept downward like divine punishment, cleaving clean through flesh and bone. The sound tore through the clearing, not like metal striking metal, but like a wet crack of thunder, sharp and final.
"ARGHH—!"
The scream was short, what followed after was silence. Blood spattered the water and Reyna's apron. The body collapsed, split in two.
I flinched violently the exact microsecond it occurred.
My physical frame, still securely locked within my father's iron grip, experienced a sudden spike of adrenaline that sent my heart jumping straight into my throat. I squeezed my eyelids shut, really shut, right as the axe reached the nadir of its arc, desperately trying to shield my cognitive psyche from the reality of what was happening by simply cutting off my visual cortex.
But the acoustic data still reached me. That heavy, wet, definitive sound of a human being being taken apart. It sank deep into my auditory canals, digging directly into my brain, carving a permanent space in my memory.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
This isn't like the simulations back home, my mind screamed, a rising wave of panic threatening to capsize my logic. This isn't a video game. It's not a movie with a dramatic orchestral score, a heroic sacrifice, and a clean fade to black.
This was messy. It was brutally violent, carrying an intense, stomach-churning reality that the word brutal couldn't even begin to encapsulate.
I felt something twist violently within my gut. A cold, heavy pressure gripped my stomach, pushing straight up into my esophagus. I didn't throw up, but the biological urge was so close it made my throat ache. My breathing turned shallow and rapid. Without even realizing what my fingers were doing, I clutched the fabric of my father's dirt-streaked shirt, squeezing it as if it were the only tether keeping me attached to reality.
She just killed him. My mother... a woman who was literally kneading bread before I left... just split a living human being in half.
I forced my eyes open slowly, my vision trembling.
Reyna stood in the center of the clearing, her massive axe lowered casually to her side, dark blood dripping slowly from the edge of the iron blade like melting black wax. Her Golden Aura flared for a single second before it vanished. Her chest rose and fell with deep, perfectly measured breaths. Her expression was sharp, but her hands were entirely unshaken.
Thorskil remained still, calm as ever. His gaze was locked on the corpse, but there was no emotion in his expression.
Lyra, being held beside Thorskil, eyes wide, but not in horror. In admiration.
"She actually got him!" she said simply, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.
She didn't look away, didn't even blink, like she'd seen this before. Like it was normal.
I swallowed hard, because I was the only one reacting like this. I came from a world where murder was an act that shook the foundations of society. Where death was clinical, distant, never raw and inches from your feet. Where seeing a man split in half would spark headlines and courtrooms, not a relieved sigh and admired eyes.
Can you really blame me for reacting like this..?
I was only one who still couldn't stomach seeing it done and yet... this was my new reality. Thank goodness I wasn't near enough to see the detailed gore, or else I'd definitely vomit.
***
Mother carried her massive battle-axe over one shoulder, the blade still darkened by dried blood. She walked in long, confident strides, her expression unreadable beneath the fading sunlight. Father followed behind her, Saul slung unconscious across his back, one arm bandaged and limp.
Lyra and I trailed behind them, our boots soft against the dirt path. She kept close, hands clasped behind her head, gaze drifting occasionally toward Saul. Her eyes were distant, lips pressed together in a flat line.
The other village guards came last, five in total, each dragging or carrying an unconscious bandit. Their bodies would be healed enough to talk, just not enough to run. They'd be interrogated before the sun rose again.
Mother had offered to carry me, which I declined, after that she had asked Lyra if she wanted to ride on her shoulder. But Lyra shook her head, chin high, and said she was almost an adult. I said nothing. I couldn't bring myself to grab Mother's fingers. Not while they were still stained with blood.
We weren't close with Saul, but for Lyra... She had trained with him for over a year. They'd sparred together, eaten meals, shared dreams of adventure. My worry to Saul, the man that risked his life for us, was true, but Lyra's... it was deeper, well it should be. She kept glancing at him, even after we'd passed him.
By the time we reached the village gates, the sun had dipped low enough that shadows stretched long across the fields. Torches flickered to life along the fences. People stepped out from homes, murmuring, whispering as they saw Saul's body and the tied-up bandits.
Father gave orders calmy and the guards followed without hesitation. It surprised me, how easily he stepped into command. He wasn't wearing anything regal, no fancy armor or cape. Just a dirt-streaked tunic and leather boots. Yet the way people responded to him... it was like he had always been their leader.
As Father stayed behind to organize the guardhouse, report to the captain, and secure the prisoners.
Mother, Lyra, and I made our way back to the house.
The door creaked open. The familiar scent of wood, herbs, and smoke welcomed us home. It should've comforted me, and it did... Just only a little. The moment I stepped inside, everything caught up to me.
The adrenaline was gone. Replaced by exhaustion, aching bones, and a heavy fog in my head. My shoulders slumped, and my knees felt like they might give out at any moment.
Mother was saying something. Maybe telling Lyra to wash up. Maybe reminding her about tomorrow's chores. I didn't hear it. My thoughts were spinning too fast, too loud.
All I could think about was what had happened.
We almost died. I let out a shaky breath. Saul lost an arm.. Because of me. Because I couldn't keep my temper in check. Because I let my pride get in the way. I should've known better. I should've stopped myself. I should've-..
I stared at the floor, barely hearing the creak of the door closing behind us.
Then, a hand rested on my shoulder. I turned my head. Lyra stood beside me, smiling. It wasn't forced. It wasn't bright, either. Just a simple, gentle smile that said she was still here. That we both were.
"What? Are you sad?" she asked, tilting her head a little.
I didn't answer right away.
How could she smile after everything that happened? After Saul nearly died? After Mother cut a man in half? That wasn't something you were supposed to smile after.
"I... well... I just..." The words stumbled. Nothing came out right. My mouth moved, but my thoughts were a mess. Eventually, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders sank, heavy with everything I had kept locked in since the moment we ran.
"I'm sorry, Lyra. I caused all of this."
She didn't stop smiling. No twitch in her brow. Her eyes stayed steady, quietly watching me like she could already hear the rest before I even said it.
"What?" she asked, her voice light.
"It's my fault," I murmured. My fists tightened at my sides. "It all started because I called you an idiot. I shouldn't have said that. I was mad and... I let it out. I should've kept it in. I'm sorry I—"
"You think that was your fault?" she cut in gently.
I froze. Her voice wasn't angry, but it still stopped me cold. I looked up to meet her gaze. She let her hand fall from my shoulder and gave a half-shrug, her face unreadable.
"Kyro, we were attacked by bandits. Bad people. Do you really think one argument between siblings had anything to do with that?"
I wanted to speak. I really did. I wanted to say Yes. I wanted to say, If I hadn't said that, you wouldn't have run off. I wanted to believe there was a way it could've all been avoided. That if I had just stayed quiet, maybe none of this would've happened.
But she beat me to it. She rolled her eyes and gave a soft snort.
"You're not that important. No offense."
The words hit harder than any slap. But they weren't cruel, but they were grounding in a way. Like being pulled out of a dream you didn't realize you were stuck in. I stood there, the weight of those words sinking in.
"W-what do you mean?!" I stammered, my voice rising slightly. "Saul nearly—"
"I was already planning to go to the forest," she said, walking past me.
She walked past me and dropped onto the wooden bench beside the fireplace. Her arms draped across her knees, her posture slouched. For once, she wasn't trying to act bigger than she was. She just looked tired.
She dropped heavily onto the worn wooden bench resting beside the stone fireplace. She draped her arms across her knees, her posture slouching forward. For once in her life, she wasn't trying to act bigger, tougher, or older than she actually was. She just looked incredibly, profoundly tired.
"Even before I came to the field to ask you to teach me about the principles of magic," she said, her eyes locking entirely onto the unlit hearth. "My mind was completely made up. I wanted to test out that new sword forms Saul had demonstrated to me last week. I wanted to prove something to myself. I was incredibly excited, and I was angry. It was a bad mix."
Her voice lowered, and something bitter curled at the edges.
"I wasn't thinking at the time.. that was my choice, not yours. I walked into that forest because I wanted to, not because of something you said."
She clenched her jaw tightly, turning her head away from me.
"It cost Saul his arm, and that's on me."
A small, humorless scoff escaped her lips.
"You were right, by the way. I am an idiot. So I'll take the blame. All of it."
A deep silence crept into the kitchen, broken only by the faint, rhythmic crackle of the wood warming up within the fireplace. The soft orange glow danced across her profile, softening the rigid tension in her young features. I stayed rooted by the front door, the remaining remnants of guilt still clinging to my chest like a heavy, wet blanket. It didn't feel completely gone, but the structural nature of it had shifted.
I stared at her back for a long moment before asking, my voice barely louder than a breath, "Then... how can you still manage to smile after all of that?"
She turned her head. That same faint smile returned. A little lopsided this time, a little tired. But it was there.
"Because my little brother isn't acting like a wuss anymore."
I blinked. The words surprised me, honestly. Not because they were mean, no, they weren't. They were... proud.
Her golden eyes locked onto mine. They were sharp, as they always were, but there was zero teasing left in them. There was only a quiet, deep admiration. She looked away again, her focus returning to the dancing flames of the hearth.
"I'm still sad, of course I am. I hate what happened. But when I think about that moment... that you actually went into the forest for me... I felt proud. It made me happy, even in the middle of all that fear."
Honestly, I didn't know how to respond to that. The analytical part of my brain completely stalled out.
She leaned back against the bench and stared into the flames as her voice softened again.
"Saul is going to live. He's incredibly tough; he always has been. I don't know how I'm going to make it up to him yet, but I promise you I will. I want to build something for him. An apology, at the very least. Even if it's something small."
I listened to every single syllable she uttered. Her tone, her deliberate pauses, her raw honesty. She looked at me one final time, the flickering firelight shimmering faintly against the moisture in her eyes.
"I am sorry, Kyro. It's not your fault. But your big sister? This time... the failure was entirely hers."
I didn't respond. My eyes stayed wide, filled not with fear or lingering pain this time, but with a sudden, beautiful clarity.
Ah. So that's how she sees it.
My eyes traced the lines of her face. She... she really is significantly wiser than her childish behavior lets on.
She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. Then, suddenly, she turned toward the back room and shouted.
"Mom! What's for dinner?"
Mother's voice boomed from the kitchen.
"Change your clothes first! You're tracking in mud!"
Lyra let out a loud sigh and dragged herself off the bench. I stayed where I was, near the front door, the wood warm beneath my feet. My eyes wandered across the room. The walls. The fading sunlight filtering through the window. The fireplace still crackling.
I let out a breath.
Everything that had happened today was still lodged in my mind. The fear. The screams. The blood.
Gosh... It's too much.
Although, I felt relieved from Lyra's words, but I was just... too tired. Completely, utterly tired. I took a step forward, but the world shifted beneath me as my vision tilted.
Huh...?
My vision blurred, colors melting together as the sounds dimmed.
Bam.
I hit the cobblestone floor and everything went dark.
Damnit... I'm all out.
[End]