Chapter 8: The Story of Two Adventurers.
The village of Saikono lay under the soft embrace of twilight. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky painted in deep purples and velvety blues, where the first stars timidly began to appear. A cool breeze drifted through the emptying streets, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and smoldering wood, mingling with the distant crackle of fires being lit in homes.
Where the village had once hummed with life, an eerie stillness had now settled. The once-bustling marketplace had emptied, leaving only the occasional clatter of shutters being drawn shut and the hurried footsteps of merchants securing their shops before the darkness fully claimed the streets. The impending duel had cast a shadow over Saikono, and even those with no part in it could feel the weight of the coming battle.
At the heart of the village, where the duel was set to take place, the silence was almost oppressive.
The swordsman had purchased two cups of tea in semi-plastic cups from a small, still-open stall at the edge of the square. The warm steam rose gently as he carried them through the quiet street, his steps slow and steady. He reached the simple wooden bench, weathered by time yet sturdy, where Fulan sat alone. Without saying a word, he sat down beside him and handed him one of the cups, the faint warmth spreading between their hands.
The only remnants of the earlier confrontation were Fulan, the blond swordsman, and the silver axe still embedded in the cracked earth, its blade faintly catching the last traces of light.
The swordsman was a striking presence, his blond hair catching the dim glow of the village lanterns, his green eyes reflecting a quiet, almost melancholic resolve. A faint scar ran along the side of his face, an old wound that added to the ruggedness of his otherwise sharp features.
He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his posture relaxed yet heavy with contemplation, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
Fulan, in contrast, leaned back slightly, his dark eyes sweeping over the deserted streets. Doors shut in fear, merchants hastily packed up their stalls with anxious hands, as if a storm were about to sweep through the village. What bothered him most was that none of them seemed to consider stopping the fight. Each one was only concerned with hiding, seeking shelter, and watching from a safe distance.
The swordsman broke the silence, his voice steady yet carrying the weight of experience.
"You don't have to look at them like that."
Fulan turned his gaze slightly toward him, his brow barely raising in question.
The swordsman continued, his voice calm but firm.
"Duels between adventurers rarely end well. Even low-ranking knights stand by and watch in silence because they know adventurers are beyond their strength. They can't stop what's coming. It is natural for the villagers to be cautious and hide their children. To them, a battle between adventurers can easily end with houses being reduced to rubble or the entire village catching fire."
For a moment, Fulan said nothing. The night breeze whispered between them, rustling the edges of their coats.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Are you really going to fight?" His tone was neutral, yet probing, as if testing the man's conviction.
The swordsman chuckled softly, but the sound lacked any true amusement.
"Well, let's hope a high-ranking knight passes by and arrests me before the fight starts. Ha!"
His brief smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a faraway look—one burdened with quiet sorrow.
"It's a duel now. If I don't fight, it'll only add to Rakan's anger and grief."
His gaze dropped to the ground, his fingers tightening slightly against his knees.
"I planned to take the blow and die, hoping it might ease his pain a little. But you two intervened and made things more complicated."
Fulan's eyes lifted toward the sky, where the stars had begun to spread across the vast canvas of night.
His voice was steady, but edged with something unreadable.
"So you're saying your death is the solution?"
The swordsman tilted his head back, his green eyes tracing the constellations above. The night sky stretched vast and endless, each twinkling star a silent witness to his thoughts.
"It's been the solution from the beginning," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken. "For nine long years. If I hadn't existed, this story might have had a happy ending."
Fulan didn't respond immediately. He could tell—the man beside him wouldn't share the full truth, no matter how much he pried.
Instead, silence settled between them, stretching like a thread pulled taut. Then, finally, Fulan spoke, his voice calm, yet resolute.
"There's one way this can end tonight without anyone dying."
The swordsman looked at the cup of tea, taking a slow sip. His expression remained unreadable.
"And what's that?"
Fulan tightened his grip on his own semi-plastic cup, the flimsy material distorting slightly under the pressure. A faint smirk played on his lips.
"If I explain my plan, you'll probably ruin it. So… I just need you to do one thing: trust me."
For a moment, the swordsman simply stared at the liquid inside his cup, watching as the surface rippled slightly in the cold night air.
Then, with a slow nod, he answered.
"Alright. I don't have a reason to refuse help at a time like this..."
Meanwhile, beyond the village walls, the dense forest stretched into the night, its towering trees casting shifting shadows under the pale moonlight. Roughly 250 meters from the gates, a small campfire flickered, its warm glow pushing back the encroaching cold.
The bearded adventurer sat on a fallen tree trunk, tearing into a roasted deer leg, the aroma of charred meat thick in the crisp night air. The fire crackled softly, embers drifting upward like tiny fireflies before vanishing into the dark.
A few steps away, Fayrouz leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. The orange glow of the flames flickered across her face, casting sharp contrasts between light and shadow.
The bearded man took another satisfying bite, chewing before gesturing lazily toward the meal.
"It's really good," he said around a mouthful of meat. "Why don't you give it a try?"
Fayrouz's tone was steady, firm.
"Don't talk with your mouth full. And adventurers aren't allowed to hunt in areas near the kingdom." Her gaze didn't waver. "You studied at Ragandarok Academy for three years. Why are you ignoring all the laws they taught you now?"
The man chuckled, swallowing before replying.
"Speaking of that, the academy's entrance exam is coming up soon." He wiped a stray drop of grease from his chin. "You two have some talent. Good luck."
Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "As for me… this might be my last meal, so don't be so strict."
Fayrouz's brows furrowed slightly.
"What do you mean?"
The man exhaled slowly, his eyes lifting toward the sky, where the stars shimmered like fragments of frozen light.
"Because I've never beaten him. Not even once." His voice was distant now, as if the words belonged to another time. "I wanted to join the knights, even as a low-ranking one, because I knew I was weak."
His fingers tightened slightly around the remains of his meal.
"But when I saw the girl I loved risking her life just to stay by his side, I decided to follow them… to protect her. And that's how I threw myself into the life of an adventurer instead of the knights."
Fayrouz didn't answer right away.
Instead, her gaze followed his upward, toward the stars.
She had always thought those who sacrificed everything for love were fools.
And yet… she also knew they weren't just fools.
They were people whose hearts were free of deceit.
The bearded man finished his meal, wiping his hands on a cloth before stretching slightly. His movement was unhurried, yet there was a quiet finality to it.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "By the way, how's your weapon? You looked really worried when my axe's heat touched it."
Fayrouz reached into her pocket, pulling out a small blue ring.
Before the man's eyes, it shifted—unraveling like liquid silk—until it transformed into a glowing blue bracelet around her wrist.
Her voice was simple, direct.
"It's fine."
The man's lips curled into a faint smile.
"How wonderful..." He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the stiffness.
Then, with a final glance at the fire, he turned to her and said,
"Alright, shall we go?"
.
.
Chapter 9: The Story of Two Adventurers - Part Two.
The village of Saikono lay cloaked in the chill of night, the air crisp and heavy with silence. Though dozens of villagers had gathered to witness the duel, not a single voice broke the stillness. The only sound was the mournful howl of the wind as it wove through the crowd, tugging at the hair of Fulan and the blond swordsman who sat side by side on the long wooden bench. They waited, their eyes fixed on the path leading into the village, where the bearded adventurer would soon appear.
The village itself was a quiet, humble place, its wooden homes huddled close together as if seeking warmth. The flickering glow of lanterns cast shifting shadows over the stone roads, illuminating the faces of those gathered. Some villagers clutched their coats tighter against the creeping cold, while others leaned forward, eager to witness the outcome of the night's tension.
Minutes passed in silence before the sound of footsteps finally echoed through the night. All eyes turned to see the bearded man approaching, his broad silhouette outlined against the faint village lights. His heavy boots crushed the brittle grass beneath him, and with every step, his presence grew more imposing. There was an unmistakable weight to his movements—a simmering fury barely contained beneath his skin. Yet beside him, Fayrouz walked with unshaken grace, her expression unreadable.
The moment Fulan and the blond swordsman caught sight of them, the swordsman inhaled sharply and placed a hand on his knee, preparing to rise. But before he could stand, Fulan extended an arm, blocking him without a word. His gaze never wavered from the approaching figures, his dark eyes steady, unyielding.
The villagers began to murmur among themselves, their voices a low, uncertain hum.
"What's this?" one muttered.
"Isn't that the young man who stopped the fight earlier?"
"What does he think he's doing now?"
"He's still young. He probably doesn't understand what a duel between warriors means."
"If he doesn't, he'll die here."
"Should someone tell him?"
"Impossible. I'm just a simple merchant with no talent or strength. We'll leave it to fate."
The words swirled through the crowd like dry leaves in the wind—whispers of doubt, of curiosity, of quiet resignation. Yet Fulan paid them no mind. He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his breath steady against the cold night air.
The bearded man's gaze darkened as he watched Fulan approach. His fingers curled around the hilt of his axe, its head still embedded in the earth. His voice was low, firm. "Are you telling me you're going to hide behind this boy now?"
A dangerous heat pulsed in the air as the axe began to glow, its silver surface shifting to a molten orange. He raised the axe up, his gaze fixed on the swordsman sitting on the wooden bench. The warmth spread outward, turning the crisp night air thick with the scent of burning iron.
"What a disgrace!" The bearded man roared.
Crash!!!
With a thunderous strike, the axe came down, sending a vertical wave of scorching energy hurtling toward Fulan. The very air trembled as the force of the attack tore into the ground, searing a blackened scar into the earth. Dirt and embers shot into the sky, casting a fleeting glow over Fulan's unmoving form. His black jacket rippled violently, his hair lifted by the heatwave. And yet, his expression did not change.
The wave of thermal energy passed by his left side; he could feel its heat, but it did not touch him.
'His attack didn't hit me. Did he miss?'
A faint white aura shimmered around Fulan's frame as he turned his head slightly, his thoughts racing.
'No… It's impossible for a seasoned adventurer to miss a stationary target. He wasn't aiming for me from the start!'
Fulan's realization struck just as the blond swordsman began to draw his massive blade, preparing to intercept the incoming energy wave. But Fulan was faster.
Whoosh!
In a burst of speed, he darted in front of the swordsman, positioning himself as a shield. Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers as Fulan clenched his fists, his body tensing against the oncoming attack. Then, with blinding speed, he began punching the energy wave, his strikes landing like a relentless storm.
[25 Sonic Punches!]
His fists moved in a blur, each impact chipping away at the searing wave of orange energy. Sparks flew, illuminating his determined expression as the force of his blows shattered the attack into countless glowing fragments. The fiery remnants scattered like falling stars, fading into the cold night air. The entire exchange lasted no more than three seconds—but in its wake, only stunned silence remained.
The bearded man lowered his axe, resting it against his shoulder, his gaze locked onto Fulan. There was irritation in his eyes, but also something else—a flicker of grudging respect. "That's a reckless way to stop an attack like that," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of tension. "Are you so eager to interfere that you'd risk losing your hands?"
At his words, the villagers turned their attention to Fulan's hands. The skin was red and blistered, raw from the sheer force of his strikes. The pain throbbed like a living thing beneath his flesh, yet he merely exhaled, his expression unwavering. The faint white aura around him pulsed as he flexed his fingers, the corners of his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.
"You've been the obstacle all along," he said, his voice steady.
Before anyone could react, he moved.
Whoosh!
Fulan closed the distance in an instant, his body a blur of motion. His foot struck the bearded man's stomach, the impact reverberating through the night like a drumbeat. The force sent the man staggering back, his breath leaving him in a harsh grunt.
"She loved him, and he loved her," Fulan said, his voice rising, his frustration spilling into his words. "But he kept his distance because he knew his best friend loved her too. Even I could see that. How could you not understand it after nine years?!"
The bearded man's teeth clenched as he steadied himself. His grip tightened around his axe, and with a roar, he swung it down like a hammer. The air hissed as the weapon sliced through the space where Fulan had stood—but Fulan was already gone, effortlessly dodging and retreating to stand beside the blond swordsman.
Then, without missing a beat, he turned to the swordsman, his gaze sharp. "It's your fault too," he said firmly. "It's good to consider your friend's feelings, but you shouldn't have let her chase after you all those years. You can't please everyone."
The air between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken emotions. Fulan braced himself for another attack, muscles coiled in preparation. But when he looked back at the bearded man, he was met with an unexpected sight.
The man had dropped to his knees. His head was bowed, his fingers curled into fists against the ground. His lips moved, whispering words too faint for anyone to catch.
The fight—or rather, the brief but intense confrontation—was over.
Fulan exhaled, his adrenaline fading, leaving behind only the burning pain in his hands. He could no longer summon a smile. The cold night air pressed against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of battle.
Then, Fayrouz stepped forward.
Her movement was smooth, unhurried, carrying an air of quiet purpose. As she approached, the flickering lantern light cast soft shadows across her face, but something else caught Fulan's eye—the delicate, thin ring encircling her finger. It was simple yet refined, its surface catching the dim light like a whisper of silver-blue.
Without a word, Fayrouz reached for the ring and touched it lightly with her fingertips. The instant she did, her blue eyes shimmered, their depths glowing with an almost otherworldly light. Then, as she slid the ring off her finger, something remarkable happened.
The moment the ring left her skin, it glowed intensely in the palm of her hand with a bright blue light—before unraveling into thin, ethereal threads of blue light.
The glowing strands spiraled downward, twisting and curling in the air before taking shape, transforming into long, delicate bandages. They hovered between them for a moment, casting a soft glow over Fulan's blistered hands. Then, with slow, graceful movements, Fayrouz began to wrap the bandages around his injuries.
The fabric was smooth and cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the burning sensation beneath. As she secured the final wrap, the glow faded, the energy within dissipating completely. The bandages remained—no longer radiant, no longer pulsing with light—just simple, deep-blue cloth resting against his skin.
"So you're foolish enough to injure yourself like this before the entrance exam," she said quietly, her tone even, yet firm. "Use these bandages for now. While we were coming here, the bearded man helped me find a merchant heading to the Kingdom of Saita tonight. We can get you some medicine when we arrive…"
Fulan glanced down at his wrapped hands, then back up at her. His voice was quiet but firm. "You didn't have to use your mother's gift like this."
Fayrouz met his gaze without hesitation. "I have the right to use it however I wish," she replied, her tone steady, unwavering.
The past could not be rewritten. But perhaps, tonight, something had finally begun to heal.
For a moment, the night around them seemed to still. The air carried the lingering scent of embers and damp earth, but between them, there was only silence—soft, unspoken, yet filled with understanding.