David stepped through the grass, his small frame so insignificant in the grand forest. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. Calland lay on the ground, his armor dented and painted red with his own blood.
His breathing was ragged, his head snapping toward David at the sound of his footsteps.
“You... boy,” Calland rasped, his voice sharp with pain but still laced with arrogance. “Help me up. Now.”
David said nothing, his eyes locked on the knight’s broken form. He took another step closer, his small hands curling into fists.
Calland’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “I said help me, damn it!” he barked, his voice cracking. “Do you know who I am? I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” David interrupted, his voice low but steady. “You’re not ordering anyone around anymore.” I saw all of it. The unspoken message radiated from him.
The realization began to dawn on Calland, the bravado draining from his face as David drew closer. “Wait,” he said, his tone shifting, his voice trembling.
He tried to pull himself up, but his own armor became his tomb. “You don’t understand. That thing... It’s still out there. We have to get back to the village.”
David didn’t respond, his steps slow and deliberate.
Calland’s breathing quickened, his hands scrabbling at the dirt as he tried to push himself upright. “Listen to me,” he pleaded, his arrogance giving way to desperation. “I was protecting you. All of you. The villagers... You need me.”
David stopped a few feet away, his expression cold. His gaze swept over Calland, taking in the blood-soaked armor, the trembling hands, the fear in his eyes.
"You need me!” Calland shouted, his voice cracking. “You can’t just leave me here!”
David stared into Calland’s wide, pleading eyes. And for a moment, he saw something else.
Sophie’s death knell. Grainwick’’s terror. Marie’s tragedy. All of it, reflected back at him.
He had made his choice. “Leave you?”
David crouched beside him, his small fingers reaching out to pluck the dagger from Calland’s belt.
The knight froze, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen.
“Please,” Calland choked out, his voice no stronger than a dying breath. “Don’t— I’ll make it right. I swear.”
David’s grip tightened on the blade, his gaze unwavering. He plunged it into his throat.
The knight jerked - A gurgling sound escaping as blood burst over David’s hands. Calland clawed at the ground as he choked.
“You hurt someone I care about” he said, his voice quiet but laced with venom. “And you made me relive something I’d rather forget.”
Calland probably couldn’t hear him anymore, the light in his eyes faded, but that didn’t matter in the slightest.
David stared at his bloodied hands, his chest heaving. “We were both at the mercy of that thing.” He kept speaking to the corpse. “but at least I’ve been allowed to kill you myself.”
A warm hum started to envelop him. Calming, reminiscent… of what? What is this?
He frantically looked around, searching for the source of the mystical feeling. He focused hard on the vibration echoing through him and he saw it.
A golden thread began to escape from the knight’s throat. It shimmered in the dim light, ethereal and fragile, just like he saw in the golden lake from his dreams.
Without thinking, David reached out, his fingers longing to reach the eternal. The moment he touched it, a surge of emotion and memory slammed into him like a tidal wave.
His vision blurred, the world around him spinning. His body collapsed to the dirt, his hands shaking uncontrollably. A sharp, searing pain lanced through his head, and his eyes vibrated, the sensation unbearable. Flashes of Calland’s life—
-=-=-
Abuse at the hands of an older brother. Arrogance. Cruelty towards the maids. Punishment from the proud father. An abused mother. Hypocrisy. Top grades at the training. No acknowledgement. Supportive peers. Fakes and sycophants. Frustration.
A new assignment. A village. A chance to prove himself. Hope. Viel holding him back. Frustration. No appreciation. anger. Getting rid of Viel. Pride. Drawing in the predator, watching its mana glow through the forest. The rape. The sneer on Elvara’s face. Sophie's cries. Power. The battle. Frustration. Terror. Regret.

 
It was all too much. David staggered back, the blade slipping from his grip as he clutched his head. It felt as if he had been the abuser himself, committing all those atrocities. His stomach turned, and he doubled over, vomiting onto the blood-soaked ground.
His hands shook as he wiped his mouth. Then he noticed it—light dancing at the edges of his vision. He blinked, and the world had changed.
Shapes glimmered faintly with light, their forms outlined in a soft, pulsating glow. The clearing was alive with mana. Not only was it everywhere, but concentrated threads of energy weaved themselves through the air like a spider’s web.
He blinked, still processing the memories of the dead. He turned to Calland, his voice shaken but still full of disdain “If you think your past excuses you, or makes me pity you, you’re wrong.”
The brightness was disorienting, but he was slowly getting used to it. His gaze fell on Calland’s amulet. It shone brilliantly, the mana radiating from it like a small sun. “Well, you won’t need it anymore.”
David reached out and plucked it from Calland’s neck, his fingers brushing against the warm metal. He held it in his hands, staring at the intricate runes etched into its surface. The light was hypnotic, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. Maybe with it, he could make it back? No.
For a long moment, he sat there, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The predator was somewhere, looking at him. The knights were dead. And the clearing was still heavy with the echoes of violence and pain.
David was ready for the end. He stood up and looked around, trying to guess from which direction would the monster leap out to gut him. He planned to try overload the amulet and take the beast out along with himself. But seconds passed, then minutes and his death didn’t come. Even the shadows were still. Was it gone?Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
If it was, then it clearly had a morbid sense of humor. David chuckled dryly.
I’m alive. He laughed at the corpses of the abusers, who couldn’t say the same. The incredulity of his situation made him feel insane.
He laughed at the threat that watched him from the shadows and yet spared him.
And finally, he laughed at his bloodied hands, cursed, but not helpless anymore.
Not only were they rid of those sadists, but he also got to survive?
He couldn’t have planned for a better outcome if his life depended on it. He turned back the way he came, towards wounded Sophie, whom he left waiting all this time.
He knew death could come at him from every shadow, but he didn’t flinch. Not anymore.
Now that he played the predator’s game, he somehow came to understand it. It didn’t care. It’d achieved whatever the hell it wanted to and left like nothing else mattered.
Absurd. David scoffed. There’s no way this makes any sense.
Whatever plans it had in motion, David could do absolutely nothing about them. He had made his choice, and he would reap the results, whatever they were. All that remained was to continue as he did.
He went back towards Sophie. Vision from Calland’s point of view came back.
He puked again.
He kept walking.

 
The world came back in pieces—first heat, then pain,, then a sharp gasp of air.
Sophie’s eyes flew open, and before she could think, her hand shot out—instinctively reaching, clawing for something—only to seize up as white-hot agony ripped through her leg. A strangled cry tore from her throat.
She wasn’t dead.
The world around her was an indistinguishable blur of colors. Her chest heaved, trying to force the heavy, suffocating air inside.
Someone was close to her. Another shot of panic. She screamed again.
“Sophie!” A familiar voice called out “Can you hear me? It’s me, Marco!”
A second of paralyzed confusion. Her heartbeat slammed in her ears.
Something was poured over her leg, bringing horrible pain. Her screams kept coming.
“Just… hold on.” The voice again, lower this time.
Her eyes finally found focus. Marco? Where’s C-.... The memory slammed into her, momentarily eclipsing even the smoldering pain.
She flinched violently, sending another jolt of raw agony through her leg.
“Shit” Marco muttered. “It’s me. You’re safe. Hold still.”
The words barely registered. Safe? She couldn’t make sense of them.
Small, steady hands gripped her leg. Another convulsion. The pain was eclipsing her mind. She felt everything going dark again.

 
When she woke up a second time, she expected that same inevitable pain to crash into her… but it never came.
Her leg, impossibly, felt better. Less agonizing.
Marco was sitting next to her, watching her closely. She bent to look at her leg - it was stabilized with a splint and covered with purple liquid.
Her head slammed back into the grass. The pain receded, but her mind was still in a state of shock, trying to reconcile the events.
“You’re back!” The voice tore her attention to the side. Marco was already standing. “We have to go back before monsters find us. I think I heard some goblins coming.”
She could barely hear him. In moments, she found herself pulled up by the boy.
The ground was shaking, the world around her was tilting. She almost fell down, but Marco caught her. He was basically dragging her as she tried to move her healthy leg on pure instinct.
Her mind was darting between the injury and the memories, which were slowly seeping through.

 
In the darkness of the forest, now left silent, the predator watched the small one and the worthless prey moving back to their pitiful village.
It saw a few goblins prowling towards them. The sequence would not be stopped. Not now when it was almost complete. The green-skinned vermin were eradicated before they could make a sound.
As the black blood trickled into the ground, it looked towards the stumbling pair and shivered. Pieces. Falling.
Flashes of excitement made its scythes tremble.
Soon it would feast on carnage of unprecedented scale.

 
Darryl stood near the entrance, leaning against a post with a sharpened spear in hand. His eyes scanned the horizon, his bored expression mismatched with the clear skies.
The tension and safety from the knight's presence mixed, weighing down everyone, and Grainwick was more subdued than he had ever seen it.
A sudden scream broke the stillness. “Help! Somebody, help us!”
Darryl snapped to attention, his grip tightening on the spear. His gaze shot towards the forest, where a small figure staggered toward the gates. Monster attack? As they came closer, he recognized the boy. Marco. Bert's kid. The child's small frame supported a green-haired girl, who jumped and stumbled with every step, her face pale and her leg limping uselessly.
Darryl signaled another guard with his head to follow, his boots crunching against the dirt as he moved to meet them. Many people heard the shouts, and a small crowd soon was making their way to receive them.
“What happened?” a woman’s voice called, panic threading her tone. Others joined, their questions overlapping in a chaotic mess. “Is that Daly’s daughter?” “She’s hurt!” “Who did this?”
Marco’s voice was high-pitched and trembling. “I found her in the forest! She was lying there… unconscious. I didn’t know what to do!” He shifted nervously, his eyes wide. “Please, help her!”
The villagers surged forward, taking the girl from him as they helped her sit down.
Darryl noticed how Marco stepped back, almost melting into the crowd, his hands clasped tightly together. Convenient. Darryl's curiosity was piqued. The kid knew something. If need be, he would intervene.
The girl moaned faintly, her head lolling to the side. The villagers froze as her weak voice broke the air. “Knights… they…” Her words faded into incoherent murmurs, but they were enough to ignite the spark of outrage.
“The knights?” an older man growled. “What did they do to her?”
“Bastards!” another shouted. “Haven’t they done enough!?”
Darryl’s stomach churned as the crowd’s murmurs turned to shouts. He could feel the fury building, the need for justice, for someone to blame. And in the middle of it all, the boy slipped further away, his small steps deliberate but unnoticed in the rising chaos.
“Enough!” Brenn’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. The village commander pushed through the crowd, his broad frame radiating authority despite the weariness etched into his face. “We’ll tend to her wounds first. The rest can wait.”
“Wait?” a woman spat. “How long are we supposed to wait, Brenn? What has to happen before you do something?”
Brenn’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicked to Darryl, who nodded slightly.
The unspoken exchange was clear: Now wasn’t the time to stoke the flames.
As the villagers carried the girl away, Darryl lingered, his eyes trailing after the boy who had almost disappeared around a corner. He followed, his steps light but deliberate. When he rounded the corner, he found Marco leaning against a wall, his small chest heaving as he caught his breath. Let’s test the waters.

 
“You’re a shit liar, kid,” Darryl said, his voice low but firm. He wasn’t sure what he was accusing him of, yet.
David’s head snapped up, his wide eyes darting around as if seeking an escape. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered. Bingo.
Darryl crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “She wasn't the only thing you've seen there, was she?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You smell of blood and I ain’t talking about hers.” He was making things up, but the kid was too shaken to notice.
The boy trembled, his small frame barely holding itself upright. For a moment, Darryl thought he might collapse. "So. Feel like sharing yet?"
Marco’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. “I don't…” He stopped, when he saw Darryls face tensing. his voice breaking. “T-there was a knight there. D-dead.”
“Fuck me,” Darryl cursed. He pinched his nose hard. He had expected some context, but this?
Brenn needs to know immediately.
Marco waited, staring at him in fear.
Darryl wasn't in the mood anymore. "Scram kid. Go hug your folks - this is going to get nasty."
The child ran away, trembling. From fear? Or from relief? Darryl watched him until he disappeared, then turned back toward the square.
He listened as Grainwick buzzed with anger and fear, but that was peanuts compared to what was coming.