Morning finally came.
Not warm. Not bright, as I had expected.
It was a pale morning, its weak light slipping between the trees as if it wasn't welcome. I woke up inside the cave, my body tense and stiff, as though the night had not been rest—but a long, sleepless trial.
Every wound made itself known.
Every bruise reminded me why I was here.
I tried to sit up—then stopped.
The pain was immediate. Sharp. Breath-stealing.
My mana barely moved, its presence faint and broken, as if my body itself refused to respond.
No time.
If I stayed, I would die. Not from a sudden attack—but from helplessness.
I leaned against the rocky wall and stood up slowly. Long seconds passed before my vision stabilized. I stepped out of the cave with heavy movements, dragging my feet more than walking.
The forest looked different in the morning.
Quieter. Crueler.
The sounds were distant, unclear, as if the place itself was holding its breath. I moved between the trees, watching every motion, every shadow. I wasn't looking for a fight.
I was just trying to get away.
But the world had no intention of leaving me alone.
After a short distance… I heard them.
Laughter. Broken words. The faint clink of metal.
I stopped immediately.
They emerged from between the trees without haste. One. Two. Three.
Until they were complete.
Twelve men.
Their faces showed no anger, no excitement. They were relaxed. This was not their first time. Their weapons were dirty, their armor mismatched, their movements carrying the kind of experience earned the wrong way.
And in the center… one man did not speak.
Straight posture. Steady gaze.
The leader.
I looked at my hand. At the sword. At the ground.
Not now…
But one of them spoke.
"Look at this," he chuckled. "Either very brave… or very stupid."
"Drop everything you have," another said with a grin. "Maybe we'll let you live."
I looked at them for a moment, sighed, and said tiredly,
"Force me…"
"Fine then," he replied coldly. "Prepare to die."
They moved.
They didn't run. They didn't rush.
They were confident.
The first two charged. My body moved before thought. I dodged the first strike. The second hit my shoulder.
Blood spilled immediately. The pain was sharp—but familiar.
I struck. Cut. Pushed.
But I… didn't kill.
I stepped back. Then another.
"Damn it… why am I hesitating?"
My sword was close. Too close.
But my hand shifted away.
A strike from the right—I dodged.
A strike from behind—I dropped to one knee.
"Damn it… damn it… damn it…
What's wrong with me? Didn't I prepare for this?"
I stood up with difficulty. I stabbed one of them in the stomach. He fell, groaning.
I could have finished him.
I didn't.
"Just empty side characters…"
But his voice was real.
His breathing was real.
The pain was real.
A third advanced. Then a fourth.
A blow hit my ribs. I screamed silently.
"I thought I was ready… I thought I could do it."
I barely avoided a fatal strike. My sword pierced someone's thigh.
"Then why…
Why the hell am I hesitating now?"
I had no answer.
The leader still hadn't moved. He was watching.
One of them raised his weapon above my head.
Time stopped.
Calm down, I told myself.
I lunged. I stabbed.
This time… I didn't pull back.
The sword pierced his chest. Blood burst out. His eyes widened.
He fell.
I froze for a second.
Then—
"Just filthy side characters… in a story."
I moved.
A strike. A cut.
"I'm the one who created this damned world."
Another stab. A scream.
"I'm the one who gave you life."
A sideways slash. A body fell.
"And I'm the one who'll take it away, you son of a—"
I stopped seeing faces.
Only openings. Mistakes. Opportunities.
I pushed away unnecessary thoughts and continued fighting.
I charged. I shouted. I struck.
As I slaughtered the bandits, I kept trying to convince myself that I was only killing empty side characters from a novel—not real people.
But one of them looked at me.
Not with fear.
With shock.
And stopped.
The leader finally moved.
He was faster. Stronger. His strike broke my balance.
We exchanged several blows, each one draining what little remained.
He wounded me. I wounded him.
I didn't retreat.
I stabbed. Then again—driving the sword into his neck.
He fell.
Silence returned suddenly.
I stood there, breathing raggedly, my sword dripping.
Around me… bodies. Blood. Scattered limbs.
I slowly sat down.
I felt no victory.
No guilt.
Only emptiness.
Something inside me… broke.
And in that moment—
I understood.
There was no path back anymore.