"Rick… you survived."
The voice was warm.
Familiar.
I looked up.
Frans stood in front of me, smiling the same way he always did, gentle, proud, like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.
For a moment… I forgot how to breathe.
"…Frans?"
My voice felt smaller.
Like it belonged to someone else.
And then I realized…
I was home.
The table.
The wooden walls.
The faint smell of herbs and roasted meat drifting through the air.
Everything was exactly how it used to be.
Father sat at the head of the table, posture straight, his presence heavy but calm. Frans sat beside him, relaxed, one arm resting on the table like he owned the space.
From the kitchen, Mother stepped out, carrying a plate.
"Here, your favorite," she said softly.
She placed it in front of me.
Roasted meat.
Perfectly cooked.
Still steaming.
My chest tightened, but this time, not from fear.
From something warmer.
Something I hadn't felt in a long time.
"…thank you," I muttered.
Mother smiled and gently brushed my hair. "You've grown thinner. Are you eating properly?"
Frans laughed. "He probably skips meals again. You always do that when you're focused."
Father glanced at me. "A warrior who neglects his body is a fool."
"I'm not a warrior," I said instinctively.
Frans smirked. "Not yet."
Mother lightly tapped Frans's shoulder. "Don't tease him."
I picked up the food.
The first bite…
Munch-munch
It tasted the same.
Warm. Familiar. Safe.
For a brief moment, everything felt… right.
"Eat more," Mother said. "There's plenty."
"Leave some for me," Frans added, reaching over like he always used to.
I pulled the plate closer. "No."
He laughed.
Father shook his head, but I saw the faintest hint of a smile.
It was normal.
So painfully normal.
***
Knock. Knock. Knock
The sound cut through everything.
Sharp.
Out of place.
Father looked toward the door.
"Rick," he said calmly. "Open it."
I frowned, still chewing.
"But I'm eating…"
His gaze shifted slightly.
That was enough.
"…yes, Father."
I stood up reluctantly and walked toward the door, muttering under my breath.
As I opened it…
Three figures stood there.
For a second, I didn't recognize them.
Then I did.
The gamblers.
The ones from last night.
Their bodies were covered in wounds.
Blood soaked their clothes.
Their faces were pale… but their eyes…
They were looking straight at me.
"Why did you kill us, Rick?"
The voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
Thump.
My chest tightened instantly.
"I…"
I stepped back unconsciously.
My hand trembled.
"I… what…?"
I turned around.
Frans. Father. Mother.
They were all looking at me now.
But something had changed.
Their expressions.
They weren't warm anymore.
They weren't smiling.
"Why did you kill them, Rick?" Frans asked.
His voice wasn't angry.
That made it worse.
"They weren't harming you."
"I…no…I…"
The room felt smaller.
The air grew heavy.
"I didn't…I had to…"
"Had to?" Father's voice cut in.
Cold.
Sharp.
"A warrior kills with purpose. What was yours?"
"I…"
I couldn't answer.
Mother stepped forward.
Her eyes…
They weren't gentle anymore.
"They were begging, weren't they?"
My breath hitched.
The world began to distort.
"I…no…I didn't…"
"They were begging," she repeated softly.
"Why didn't you stop?"
The walls started to darken.
Cracks spread across the wood.
Heat rose from the floor.
"No… no… I…"
Frans took a step closer.
"Is this what you've become?"
The fire spread.
The table burned.
The smell of roasted meat twisted into something foul.
Rotting.
Burning flesh.
"I didn't…!"
The gamblers behind me spoke again.
"WHY DID YOU KILL US?"
Their voices overlapped now.
Echoing.
Endless.
"WHY…"
"WHY…"
"Why—"
"I CAN'T—!"
My chest seized.
Air wouldn't come in.
My throat closed.
Everything spun.
Burned.
Collapsed.
***
I woke up.
Gasping.
My body jerked upright as air forced its way into my lungs.
"…again…"
My entire body felt heavy.
My head throbbed.
The dream.
The same dream.
Different faces.
Same ending.
I dragged my hand down my face.
I was tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Something worse.
"…damn it."
I stood up slowly.
My body protested, but I ignored it.
"I'll just swing…"
Like yesterday.
Until everything goes quiet.
Until I collapse.
That was the only way.
I grabbed my sword and stepped outside…
Then stopped.
Everyone was already there.
Robert.
Margaretha.
Theo.
Agni.
Pritha.
All of them.
Swinging.
Again.
And again.
And again.
No one spoke.
The only sound was metal cutting through the air.
Margaretha noticed me first.
She gave an awkward smile.
"I'll join the swing," she said.
I nodded.
Theo spoke without stopping his movement.
"It seems killing weak people is harder than killing strong ones."
No one responded.
He kept talking anyway.
"Strong enemies justify themselves. Weak ones don't."
Swing.
"So it lingers more."
Swing.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
No answer.
Only movement.
We kept swinging.
Hours passed.
Muscles burned.
Breathing grew heavy.
But no one stopped.
Not until our bodies gave out.
One by one.
We collapsed.
The last thing I felt was someone lifting me.
And a quiet sigh.
***
When I woke up again, the sun was already setting.
Orange light filled the room.
Robert was awake.
The others were still asleep.
He was cleaning his black leather armor, movements slow and methodical.
"We slept all day," he said without looking at me. "I just woke up too."
"…did Spiro say anything?"
"Yes. Next attack in three days."
He paused.
"Enjoy the free time."
I let out a quiet breath.
"…there's no such thing."
Robert nodded slightly.
"Training day. Mission day."
A short pause.
"Or it comes back."
I didn't respond.
Because he was right.
***
The next day, after training, I went out.
The city felt normal.
Too normal.
Markets were busy.
People talked.
Laughed.
Lived.
I walked past a merchant stall.
"Did you hear about the gambling house attack?"
Thump.
My heart was beating faster hearing that. I slowed down slightly.
"Yeah," the merchant replied. "Bad situation. Guards couldn't identify the attackers."
"Some say it's the Black Rose expanding into Apex Exchange territory."
"No proof, though. And that place belonged to Apex."
Their voices blended into the noise.
Three factions.
Black Rose.
Apex Exchange.
Old Guard.
We worked under Black Rose to attack other factions before swallowing it from the inside.
We attacked another.
That was all it was supposed to be.
Simple.
Clean.
"…I think I'll stop gambling," the man added. "Don't want to burn with the place."
I walked away.
Bought some bread.
Sat near a park.
Four old women were chatting nearby.
"I heard Mr. Gavinne died in that gambling house."
Thump.
My heart skipped.
"Well, better dead than alive," another said.
"He always beat his family."
"Drunk all the time."
"A useless man."
Thump.
Something loosened in my chest.
A little.
Relief.
Maybe…
Maybe some of them deserved it.
Maybe…
"I feel bad for Mr. Kroison, though."
Thump.Thump.Thump.
Everything stopped.
"He was a failed knight. Had no choice but to become a guard."
"Yeah, he drank a lot… but he was still a decent man."
"I feel bad for his wife."
"They didn't even have children yet…"
The rest faded.
My breathing became shallow.
The bread slipped from my hand.
I couldn't breathe.
Air wouldn't come in.
"Are you okay, kid?!"
Voices.
Close.
Too close.
"Here, drink this…"
"It's okay," a voice cut in.
Margaretha.
"My brother has asthma."
The women backed off, still worried.
Margaretha grabbed my hand.
Firm.
Steady.
"You know… we have strong resistance to sickness," I said weakly.
"Yeah," she replied softly. "But I have to lie."
I slowly regained my breath.
"…did they talk about it?"
"Yes…"
"I… don't know what to do."
Margaretha looked at me.
"Then don't."
"…what?"
"Don't think about it."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"It's our job now."
Silence.
"This is what we are."
I looked at her.
Her eyes were wet.
"A monster in a child's body," she continued. "A machine trained to kill."
Her lips curved into a small, broken smile.
"But at least… we're still alive."
I didn't answer.
We just sat there.
In silence.
***
That night…
We swung again.
Together.
Until our bodies collapsed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Because stopping meant remembering.
And remembering…
Was worse than dying.