Before the pair could enter the outpost, they heard distant murmurs and footsteps approaching from the nearby tower, moving in their direction. They ducked and moved towards the tree line, crouched low and hidden behind a line of jagged rocks.

  This time, Soren really looked at Denor’s outpost—an old, wooden stronghold patched together with scavenged materials, with torches flickering along its perimeter.

  He watched as two bandits came into view, pacing around while the torchlight shone against a sliver of steel from their sheathed blades. “Two at the entrance, and another one on the side tower,” he murmurs.

  Remi didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on the building, her lips pressed together while she assessed every detail.

  Soren shifted slightly, leaves rustling softly against him as he glanced at her. “Remi… you alright?”

  She didn’t look at him, but her voice was steady, almost cold.

  “I’ve waited years for this.”

  They slipped forward, making an effort to stay low to the ground. Remi led them to a shadowed area at the edge of the fencing, where the wood had rotted through. She lifted a hand quickly, signaling Soren to wait, then pressed herself against the wall.

  Inside, muffled voices echoed the sound of laughter, the clink of mugs, and footsteps. Denor’s group was behind the wall, oblivious to what was happening just outside their home.

  Soren moved and crouched beside her, his heart beating fast. He’d done a mission with them already. He’d even helped them kill the beast in the forest. But this… this felt different. It felt personal.

  Remi finally turned to him, speaking in a hushed tone. “We’ll circle around the side. There’s a back entrance—Kerrin and I used to sneak out to catch fireflies.”

  She chuckled lightly, but it died quickly.

  They move silently around the building’s side and to its rear, dodging the glow of torchlight. The door at the back entrance was slightly cracked open, dim light spilling out. Inside, voices spoke over each other. All low, crude, and confident.

  Then Remi heard it.

  Denor’s voice, louder than the rest. He seemed to be bragging about something to his comrades.

  “…she looked at me like she thought she would be able to do something. Like the bitch didn’t know who she was talking to.”

  The men laughed loudly, and Denor continued, “That’s what happens when you cross me, fellas. I hadn't seen that girl for years, but I could see the way her heart dropped when she saw it was me. That bracelet will fetch us some good coin too.”

  Soren realized they were clearly talking about their encounter with Asta earlier that day. He clenched his fists, then his eyes widened slowly, as he glanced at Remi.

  She was frozen. But not with fear. It felt like a controlled rage radiating from every inch of her body. Her fingers trembled, curled tight against the doorframe while she breathed slowly, and closed her eyes for a second. Then they were open.

  Soren leaned in hesitantly, feeling like anything would set Remi off in that moment, and whispered, “We don’t have to do this… if you’re not ready.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Then, finally, she turned her head, looking him dead in the eye. Her tone was filled with malice.

  “When we step in there… we finish this.”

  He nodded slowly. She gripped her staff tighter, as he drew his own blade.

  The dim, flickering light from the torches barely lit the worn interior of the outpost. The air smelled like ale, burnt wood, and a mixture of sweat and blood.

  The mercenaries inside were lounging on crates and barrels, their mugs in hand as they boasted and laughed about their latest antics. In the corner, a few weapons were laid carelessly across a table, while others leaned against the walls.

  Then the door creaked open, and all eyes snapped toward the entrance.

  Denor, with his back still facing the door, froze mid-sentence, and turned his head around. The torchlight flickered in his eyes as they turned to slits, recognition slowly creeping into his expression.

  Remi stepped forward first, her expression cold but carrying a deadly determination. Her pink hair was loose, and her eyes were piercing.

  Soren followed close behind, the fire illuminating his hair and burning in his eyes, his sword already gripped in his hand.

  The tension in the pair’s bodies seemed to be radiating out as a physical force. The group of mercenaries fell silent, while all eyes were on the two intruders. The place felt like it was holding its breath, like any sudden movement would ignite chaos that could not be undone.

  Denor then stood up. He smirked, a grin twisted with mockery and something darker. Maybe anger, or regret.

  “You look… different, Remi. Stronger. I always knew you’d come crawling back when things went wrong. But you brought a friend this time, huh?”

  His voice was condescending, dripping with false sweetness. Soren’s grip tightened on his sword as Denor’s gaze moved over to him, sizing him up with a smirk.

  Remi didn't react to his words at all. Her blue eyes instead met Denor’s gaze head on. Her voice came out with a venom that seemed to be pulled from deep within.

  “You talk a lot, for a dead man.”

  She stepped forward, unblinking as she gripped her staff tighter. She spoke again, with even more rage in her voice, though not once did she lose her temper.

  “You attacked my friend. You robbed her, and you hurt her. You took something from her… that wasn’t yours to take.”

  Denor laughed at her words, an empty and bitter sound. “Oh, I took something alright,” he sneers, his eyes flashing with malevolence.

  He continued, his voice mockingly soft and empathetic

  “I don’t know why you came back, Remi. You’re nothing but a coward who couldn’t do what had to be done, at least when it mattered. And now… you want to play, what, a savior? Tell me, what exactly is the plan here? Come to beg for your bracelet back?”

  Remi’s hand twitched at her side, but she didn't react to his crudeness. She stood firm, eyes locked onto his, keeping her emotion tightly controlled.

  Soren could feel the tension within the outpost, thick and suffocating. He’d heard of Denor’s reputation, but seeing him like this, spiteful and taunting, only made him more revolting.

  He stepped forward beside Remi, head slightly tilted as he spoke, his voice low but sharp.

  “You can’t just do what you want, and expect nothing to happen to you.”

  Denor looked him up and down, sizing him up once again before laughing, his voice rough and loud. He took a step forward towards the pair.

  “And what the hell are you gonna do about it? Protect the bitch who couldn’t even help herself?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  He looked at Remi with a look of disappointment.

  “You really brought this little shit along with you? Is that how low you think of me?”

  Remi’s gaze flicked to Soren for a moment, a fraction of something unspoken between them, before turning her focus back to Denor.

  “I’m not here to beg,” she says, her voice low, heavy.

  She took a step forward, looking up at him with disdain and repulsion.

  “And I’m not leaving without what you stole. You think… I’ve forgotten what you did? You think I’ve forgotten what you made us leave behind!?”

  Denor’s smirk faltered for a second. Then he laughed again, but this time, there was something more dangerous in it.

  “I didn’t make you leave, Remi. You made the choice. You’ve been running from me, from this, for years. And now you come back looking for closure… but you won’t get it. Not today.”

  He gave a sharp motion to his men, who began to rise, hands shifting to the weapons left carelessly resting around the room.

  “We’re going to do it this way then, huh?” Denor sneered, his eyes wild with a mixture of anger and bloodlust.

  “Fine. If you want to die over some bracelet, so be it.”

  With a single motion, Denor’s hand flew to his side, and he drew a long, jagged sword from his belt. His mercenaries followed suit, weapons drawn, ready for a fight.

  Without warning, Denor lunged forward, his blade cutting through the air towards Remi. She dodged the swing with grace, twisting out of the way and bringing her staff down in a sharp arc to knock his sword aside.

  Soren moved in swiftly, but one of Denor’s mercenaries met him with a heavy axe. The man swung widely, and Soren managed to raise his sword just in time to block. His blade met the axe with a loud clang as sparks flew between them.

  He gritted his teeth, grounding his feet into the floor below and pushing back with every ounce of his strength.

  “This guy is strong… I can’t afford to lose ground…” He thought, his mind and body straining under the force.

  Remi was just as focused, her staff moving with elegance as if it was an extension of herself. Her mana radiated around her, not necessarily seen, but rather felt. Mana sparked on impact and in motion with each swing of her staff.

  She was fluid, quick, and fierce, as she parried Denor’s strikes with precise timing, her eyes burning with years of rage and pain.

  Soren fought side-by-side with her, his sword clashing and ringing against the mercenaries’ weapons. Each strike and parry felt like the air was being ripped straight from his lungs, his heart racing.

  The adrenaline rush was overwhelming, but his mind stayed focused.

  "I can’t afford to make a mistake again… I have to hold out."

  But it wasn't easy. He was barely pushing through the burning sensation spreading across his body, and the weight of his sword in his hands felt heavier after every movement.

  He sliced across a mercenary’s abdomen, watching him stumble back, his weapon falling to the floor. Soren had made sure it was not a fatal blow, only enough to disarm and incapacitate him. He had never killed anyone in his life before. And today would not be that day.

  There was only one man who needed to die by his hand.

  Soren didn’t pause, though. He moved again, cutting across into the side of the next mercenary who lunged at him and knocking the hilt of his sword against his head, leaving him unconscious.

  Remi, meanwhile, was still locked in combat with Denor. Her eyes shone with unrestrained fury as she pushed him back a few steps with every strike. He slashed at her, but she parried just in time.

  However she didn’t anticipate his kick, which sent sprawling across the floor, scraping her hands against the stone. Blood trickled down her mouth, but she simply spat it out and grit her teeth.

  She stood up slowly, from her knees to her feet. Her staff crackled with mana in her grip, but she was holding back. She didn’t need magic, she didn’t want to use magic. Not for this.

  Denor staggered back, a cut across his cheek, panting heavily. His eyes were wide with panic and anger.

  “Do you really think… that you can win… against me? You think you—?”

  His words faltered as he raised his sword again, his grip shaking slightly.

  Remi stepped forward as his hand trembled from exhaustion. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an undeniable sense of finality to it.

  “I don’t need to win, not anymore. I just need to hurt you.”

  In one swift movement, she spun and slammed her staff into his chest, the loud thud of bone against wood echoing in the outpost. The impact sent him crashing backward through a shelf, his sword slipping from his grasp as glass and broken wood fell around him.

  He fell roughly, skidding against the stone beneath him and landing with a heavy thud.

  Soren watched, breathless, as Remi stood over Denor, her intense gaze pressing down on him like a physical force. She looked at him, her eyes cold and resolute. The years of anger, of pain, were finally released in a single moment.

  Then, Remi turned to Soren, her expression softening as a hint of relief appeared on her face.

  “I told you… it was time.”

  Denor was sprawled out on the cold, cracked stone floor of the outpost, gasping, his lip bleeding and eyes dazed from exhaustion. Around him, the remnants of his mercenary band were groaning, unconscious or incapacitated.

  She stood above him, her chest rising and falling with tired breaths. Her staff was still clutched in her hand, glowing faintly with the hum of mana. Her face seemed to be a mixture of emotions—grief, rage, justice… and vengeance. Her eyes never left him.

  Denor groaned, spitting blood to the side.

  “Do it,” he says hoarsely. “Go on… just like you wanted to.”

  His voice was bitter, mocking, even now in the face of death.

  Remi raised her staff slightly. Her hand trembled as magic pulsed at her fingertips. In her mind, she thought of Kerrin—bloody, dying, all with a smile on his face. She thought of Asta, crying and injured. They were all victims of Denor, even her.

  One thought didn’t leave her mind though, as she looked down on Denor in contempt. She could end it. Here and now, and no one would bat an eye. No one would care about what happened to someone like him.

  One strike.

  But, something stopped her. She didn’t lower her staff, but she didn’t strike either.

  Instead, her breath hitched. Her knuckles whitened, and the temptation was so loud she almost didn't hear Soren speak.

  “Remi,” he said softly, stepping beside her.

  She didn’t look at him, her eyes still locked on Denor, yet he continued.

  “If you do this… he wins. You’re not the person he tried to make you become. You walked away from that.. you’re free.”

  Her staff slowly lowered, and her voice trembled as she choked the words out.

  “Soren… if it was you, facing down the man who killed your father… you would kill him… so how can you expect me… to not-”

  “You’re right,” he cut in.

  Remi turned to face him, eyes teary and caught off guard by his words. Soren continued, speaking coldly and softly.

  “I would kill him, in a heartbeat. And I’m going to. There’s absolutely no question about it. But… you’re better than me Remi. You’re capable of letting this go… I’m not.”

  Remi stared at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. She looked at Soren, really looked at him.

  A boy who would guide her to a better path, yet reject that path himself, whilst being fully aware of the hypocrisy in it.

  She swallowed, and looked down, lowering her staff as she took a small step away from Denor. He stared at her, his expression unreadable now, perhaps stunned by the fact that she didn’t kill him.

  Soren stepped forward, calm yet detached, and placed his blade to Denor’s throat.

  “Try anything,” he says coldly, “and I’ll finish what she didn’t.”

  Denor’s jaw tightened, but he didn't move. Remi stepped forward again and bent down. From Denor’s belt, she ripped away Asta’s silver bracelet. Her fingers shook as she held it in her hands.

  It was scratched, but it was intact. As she rose, her eyes fell on something else—a torn, weathered patch of an arrow, barely stitched into Denor’s shoulder sleeve.

  Her breath caught in her chest. It was faded, but unmistakable: Kerrin’s old scouting insignia. It felt like mockery and a trophy rolled into one in Denor’s possession.

  Her fury surged, and without a word, she grabbed the fabric and ripped it off his shirt. Denor winced at the force but said nothing. Remi's eyes softened as she stared at the patch in her palm, holding it reverently as if it might disappear.

  “He was a better man than you’ll ever be,” she says. Her voice trembled, but not with weakness, rather declaration.

  She tucked the patch into her coat, then looked down at Denor one last time. Her tone was soft, but steadier than any king or knight.

  “You took… so much from us.”

  Then, she turned around and walked off. Soren walked past Denor and grabbed a nearby bag of loot filled with gold, trinkets, perhaps more stolen items from other victims, and slung it over his shoulder.

  Together, the pair walked out of the outpost, bodies scattered across the interior and Denor cursing under his breath, as the door creaked closed behind them.