1 year and 4 months
Mortin crossed his arms, looking at the rest of the group while Bruno sharpened his dagger, sitting on a stone.
"You know… we should expand our team."
Mortin said it with the same casual tone someone would use to comment on the weather.
Bruno lifted his head immediately.
"No. Absolutely not."
Mortin blinked, offended.
"What do you mean no? What’s the problem?"
Vanir laughed at his reaction, tossing an apple into the air.
"Oh, let me guess… little Bruno didn’t enjoy the seven months of intense training."
Bruno flipped the dagger between his fingers, irritated.
"‘Didn’t enjoy’ is an understatement. That was torture. If it had been anyone else in that place, they would’ve died. Of course I didn’t like it!"
Drogmar smiled faintly, as if remembering something amusing.
"You survived. That already puts you above most adventurers out there."
Gnor added:
"And it was only seven months, boy. Now you’re done."
Bruno sighed deeply, throwing his body back against the stone.
"Yeah, I know. Seven months of near-death, and now you want to put more people in there screaming with me?"
Vanir shrugged.
"It’d be fun."
"For you!" Bruno snapped. "I don’t want anyone else watching me suffer."
Mortin lightly patted the boy’s shoulder.
"Bruno… it’s been 1 year and 6 months together. You got strong. Really strong. Maybe it’s time to let someone else learn a little too."
Bruno scoffed.
"With the way you train, you’ll just kill the next poor bastard."
Kearlin, sitting on his shoulder, added:
"Well look at that… our boy became the team’s traumatized one."
Bruno nudged the spirit with his forehead.
"Shut up."
But despite the complaints…
He was smiling.
---
"You all look strong."
Everyone in the group felt it — a deep gaze from a girl wearing mage robes.
"Yes, we are. Is there a problem, girl?" Drogmar said.
"Yes. I have many problems… many of them."
She said it as she approached.
"My name is Syllia, and I’m looking for help to fight the Iron Wolf Guild."
Everyone except Bruno froze at her words.
"You mean the Iron Wolf Guild?" Gnor said. "Are you alright, girl? Your family?"
"Yes," she said with no emotion at all. "My parents were captured by the guild."
"Bastards. They never stop," Gnor slammed his fist against the wooden table, nearly breaking it.
"Sorry, but I don’t know what this Iron Wolf Guild is," Bruno said.
"You don’t know? Are you summoned or something? Damn it, Bruno, they’re one of the worst guilds out there," Vanir said.
"So, girl, where are they?" Bruno asked.
"Follow me," she said.
---
The road was long. Bodies could be seen the closer they got to the guild.
The putrid smell of ash and blood burned the air, and the sun refused to appear.
"You’re really going to follow this strange girl, Bruno?" Kearlin said.
"They’re heroes, Kea. Thinking up a plan isn’t really something they usually do."
"They are, Bruno. Not us. You have to stop lying to yourself so much."
"Have we arrived?" Gnor said. "This doesn’t make sense. I don’t see anyone. This guild should have at least several sentries."
He began taking heavy steps forward.
"Gnor, come back here. This isn’t the time—"
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He was already drawing his bow.
"This place smells of sin. Of evil. It hurts to feel."
Tears of sadness and hatred fell from his face.
"Gnor, come back. Now’s not the time to get emotional."
But it was already too late.
An arrow came from nowhere and pierced his neck.
He didn’t die — but it was one step closer.
"GNOR!!"
Everyone screamed his name as he fell to his knees, struggling to stay conscious.
Drogmar ran first toward his wounded friend, but the monsters gave no time.
Three arrows buried themselves in his back.
"AMBUSH!" Vanir shouted, taking cover behind rubble with Bruno and Mortin.
"This doesn’t make sense. This was too well planned. They already knew about us."
He tried to look for Syllia.
And there she was — in the middle of the battlefield, laughing and crying at the same time.
Her laughter was fake.
Her crying was anything but.
---
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Applause echoed from the forest.
Someone stepped out of the trees.
A person clad in polished bone armor, stained with ancient blood — very ancient.
"You always cry after tricking idiots like them. Pathetic."
He slapped the mage across the face.
"But bringing these pieces of shit here was actually impressive."
"Gnor, Vanir, Drogmar, and Mortin… all of you caused me problems."
"So you’re all going to die. Simple."
---
The silence that followed the applause was worse than the sound of arrows.
The man in bone armor took another step forward, each movement creaking like something that should no longer be alive.
The helmet resembled an elongated skull, and through its slits a dull, sickly glow watched the group.
Syllia fell to her knees after the slap, her face red, tears streaming — these ones real.
She didn’t wipe them away.
She just smiled crookedly.
"I hate this part…" she murmured. "But you always believe."
Vanir ground his teeth, drawing another arrow while pressing his body against the rubble.
"She sold us out…"
Mortin gripped his sword with absurd strength, his knuckles white.
"No."
His voice came out cold.
"She led us straight to execution."
Drogmar tried to move, but the blood running down his back forced him to one knee.
Even so, he laughed — a hoarse, heavy laugh.
"So this is how the Iron Wolf fights now?"
He spat blood onto the ground.
"Hiding behind children and lies?"
The man of bones tilted his head.
"Strategy."
His voice was muffled, metallic.
"You call it cowardice when you’re not the ones winning."
He slowly opened his arms.
"Introductions are unnecessary… but I like being remembered."
One step forward.
"I am Kaern, executioner of the Iron Wolf Guild."
The name fell like a blade.
Vanir went pale.
"Kaern… the Butcher of Feldran…"
Kaern laughed.
"I see my résumé survived."
---
But before anything else could happen, Bruno returned to the battlefield, dragging Gnor and Drogmar.
"Damn it, Bruno, that was dangerous," Vanir said, trying to tend to Gnor’s wound.
"Good, Bruno. Keep that up and you won’t die," Mortin said, helping with Drogmar’s injuries.
"The little sheep still try to fight destiny. How beautiful."
"I have an appointment and won’t be able to watch your bodies get eaten by vultures."
"So, goodbye."
He walked away, indifferent, as if none of this had happened.
More enemies approached.
---
"Bruno," Mortin said. "Run."
"What?! Why?!"
"This fight isn’t yours. None of this is yours. Run and have a life."
Mortin laughed, even knowing death was certain.
"NO."
Bruno’s voice came out hoarse, broken… but firm.
"I didn’t train all this time just to run from the first hard fight."
Vanir turned sharply toward him, face smeared with blood and dust.
"Damn it, Bruno… just go!"
A low groan cut through the air.
"Bruno… cough… cough…"
Drogmar forced his voice out as blood slipped between his fingers.
"Don’t be like that, idiot…"
He tried to laugh, but only a weak breath came out.
"Run. Run without looking back."
Bruno took a step forward, but Mortin grabbed his arm hard.
The swordsman, always so unyielding, had burning eyes.
Drogmar continued, pain crushing his chest:
"Everyone here… ran from something."
"I ran to be someone better for my family."
"Mortin… ran from his father’s shadow."
"Vanir… fights for his wife."
"Gnor… for the apostles who believe in him."
He inhaled, trembling.
"But you…"
"You still have nothing."
Silence fell heavy.
"And that’s exactly why," Drogmar concluded, looking at Bruno with a weak but sincere smile.
"That’s what we want for you."
Vanir clenched his teeth.
"Don’t let this be in vain, Bruno."
Mortin slowly released his arm.
"Live."
---
The battlefield roared around them.
Enemies advanced.
Blood flowed.
Fate pressed in.
And Bruno…
For the first time, felt that running wasn’t cowardice —
But staying might be a sentence.
---
Bruno stood still.
The sounds of battle felt distant now.
Screams, steel, arrows — all muffled by Drogmar’s words.
He looked at each of them.
Gnor, on his knees, fighting to stay conscious.
Vanir, hands shaking, pressing the wound, eyes burning with hatred.
Mortin, wounded yet standing, sword planted in the ground like the group’s last anchor.
Drogmar… smiling crookedly, even while coughing blood.
Bruno clenched his fists.
"You…" his voice faltered. "…you’re talking like this is already over."
Mortin staggered forward.
"Don’t be stupid. It’s over for us."
He pointed his sword at Bruno.
"But not for you."
Vanir looked up, eyes red.
"Don’t you see? You’re different. Always were. Even when you were weak… you didn’t break."
Gnor took a deep breath, voice weak but firm.
"Bruno… the Children of God, the church, this damn guild… all of that will keep existing."
He swallowed blood.
"But you… you can still choose."
Bruno stepped back.
"Choose what?" he growled.
"Run? Let you die here?"
Drogmar laughed — hoarse, broken.
"Idiot…"
He grabbed Bruno’s arm with surprising strength.
"Sometimes living… is the bravest act there is."
Bruno felt something tighten in his chest.
Kearlin floated behind him, silent for the first time.
"…Bruno," the spirit said softly.
"They’re not asking you to be weak."
"…They’re asking you to survive."
---
Bruno trembled.
Enemies closed in.
Heavy footsteps. Laughter. Bows being drawn.
Mortin spoke one last time, voice firm as steel:
"Run."
"Run and live."
"And when you’re strong enough…"
"…come back."
Vanir nodded.
"And if one day you hear about the Iron Wolf Guild…"
He smiled, wounded.
"Make them remember the name Bruno."
Gnor closed his eyes.
"Go."
Drogmar shoved Bruno back.
"Now."
---
For a second, Bruno wanted to scream.
To fight.
To die there with them.
But something inside him — raw, ugly, and real — refused to end there.
He stepped back.
Then another.
And then he ran.
Not out of cowardice.
Not out of fear.
But because, for the first time…
He had something to lose.
Behind him, the battle exploded.
And in Bruno’s heart, something was born.
It wasn’t rage.
Not yet.
It was a promise.
Revenge… or something more.
---
"If you survive…"
Bruno took a step back, eyes burning hotter than any flame.
"Know one thing… you’re still going to get beaten. Badly."
He laughed.
There was no humor in it.
A dry laugh.
Tired.
Sad.
The laugh of someone who understood too late how the world works.
Before anyone could answer, Bruno moved.
Not like a mage.
Not like a hero.
Like a cornered animal.
He charged through debris and arrows. The world became noise.
When he passed Syllia, his arm wrapped around her in a brutal motion, pulling her against his chest.
"Hey—!"
She tried to scream, but the air left her lungs.
Two guards reacted instinctively, running after them.
"GET HIM!"
Bruno didn’t answer.
His body burned — not with mana, but adrenaline, fear, and rage.
Boom.
An explosion tore the ground apart, throwing earth, fire, and shrapnel.
The shockwave blinded the guards.
"Damn it! Shit!" one shouted.
"Did you see where they went?!"
The other coughed.
"No sign… Think the bone guy will care?"
The first laughed, hollow.
"Nah. But it’s a shame losing that mage… I wanted to break her inside first."
The second shrugged.
"Who cares? Probably herself, hahaha."
Their laughter faded as they disappeared into the smoke.
---
High in a tree, hidden among branches.
A tense body.
A cold gaze.
"So now what?" Syllia spat, clutching Bruno’s clothes.
"Going to kill me like the others?"
Bruno didn’t answer immediately.
He tightened his arm around her.
"Quiet."
He jumped down, landing hard but firm.
He dropped her without care — not to hurt, but without kindness.
She lay gasping.
Bruno stood with his back to her.
"I haven’t even released half the rage inside me."
His voice wasn’t loud.
Wasn’t a shout.
It was worse.
"And killing you now would be… too little."
He took a few steps, fists clenched, body trembling with restraint.
"This guild…" he breathed deeply.
"It won’t fall fast. Or easy."
"I’ll break them one by one. I’ll make them feel it."
He turned his face just enough for her to see his eyes.
"So listen carefully."
He pointed to the ground.
"If you don’t want to be in the middle of that fury when it falls…"
"Don’t stand in my way."
Without waiting for an answer, Bruno began to walk.
Not running.
Not fleeing.
Walking — like someone who had already decided what comes next.
---
8 months later
The great warrior who saved me…
It’s strange to write this. It still feels unreal.
After so much time, he’s still the same.
Audacious. Silent. Terrifyingly powerful.
But also… empty.
He has the strength to bring kingdoms down, yet walks like someone with nothing to protect.
Maybe that’s what makes him so human.
Or maybe so broken.
I love him.
Not for his strength.
Not for his flames.
But because his words — few, direct, true — warm more than any fire.
He saved me.
Saved my mother.
And never asked for anything in return.
When the world felt cold and cruel, he stayed.
He didn’t promise happy endings.
He didn’t lie.
He was just there.
That was enough.
That’s all for today, diary.
But if one day I find the courage to say this out loud…
Bruno,
I want to marry you.
You warmed a frozen heart.
And even without knowing it,
I will be the best princess for you.
— Elaris Silica
