The Return
Havel exhaled a ragged, burning breath.
Everything had started out so smoothly. They had brought down so much game that lugging the butchered meat back had become a problem in itself.
Skrrr.
Drawn by the scent of blood, greedy goblins had begun creeping from the brush. But Havel was not alone; to the seasoned tribal warriors at his side, low-tier vermin like goblins were child's play. Even alone, he would have butchered them without breaking a sweat. The foolish creatures that lunged beyond their station paid for their insolence in blood.
The real trouble came after.
Goblins, wolves, and mountain beasts surged forward like a broken dam. The sheer numbers were plainly unnatural, and they hurled themselves at the warriors with frenzied savagery, caring nothing for their own flesh. Anyone with half a brain could see the puppet strings behind it.
Havel’s brow furrowed into a venomous scowl.
"That goddamn old bastard..."
To think the High Priest of the tribe would stoop to such pathetic, underhanded treachery. Did the old fool honestly believe he could pull this off and walk away clean? Or had sheer terror clouded his feeble mind?
Whatever the case, now was not the time to ponder it. First, he had to survive.
One day, he too would greet a glorious end and earn the honor of standing beside the great Baldor. But that day was not today. He could not die—not before restoring his brother's stolen honor.
Havel was a veteran warrior and a brilliant battle commander. Under his orders, the warriors moved as one cohesive unit. Yet even so, they could not overcome such overwhelming numerical disparity. Dragged into a grinding war of attrition, Havel was battered to the bone, soaked in his own blood.
He had to face reality: stay like this, and they would all die.
Having made up his mind, Havel barked at the warriors who had followed him.
"I'll buy time! Go call for reinforcements!"
"How can we leave when we're completely surrounded—"
"Their eyes are locked on me! I can carve out an opening for you to break through. Move, now!"
After a flicker of hesitation, his comrades obeyed. True enough, dying beneath the fangs of filthy beasts was hardly a warrior's death. But laying down his life so his brothers could live? That was an end worthy of song.
Death was staring him in the face, yet he felt no fear. Still, it would be a lie to say he had no regrets.
"...I'm sorry, brother. Looks like I won't be keeping our promise."
Blood dripping from his split forehead blurred his vision for a single, fatal heartbeat. The wolf did not miss the opening. Baring jagged fangs, it lunged straight for his exposed throat.
Then—
A handaxe whipped through the air from the distance, shattering the wolf's skull to splinters. It didn't stop there; tearing through bone and brain, the blade spun onward and buried itself deep into the trunk of an ancient tree.
"What's a brother got to be sorry for?"
A voice he had yearned to hear echoed from behind him. Havel didn't even need to turn his head to know who it was.
"You've had a rough time. Leave the rest to me."
His brother had returned.
Ivan looked over Havel's battered frame. No vital organs were pierced, but the amount of blood pooling around him was alarming. An ordinary man would have dropped dead long ago. While Havel was far too stubborn to die from mere blood loss, Ivan felt the urge to wrap things up quickly.
Don't tell me that old coot foresaw this too?
The image of his devious, grinning master surfaced in Ivan's mind, only to be dismissed just as quickly. Either way, that wasn't what mattered right now.
Ivan turned his gaze toward the surrounding horde, their eyes rolled back in mindless frenzy. They clearly weren't in their right minds, but he had neither the pity nor the leisure to care.
Ivan gripped his sword with both hands.
When an impatient knot of goblins screeched and charged, Ivan kicked off the earth and swept his blade horizontally. The arc of steel sheared through bone and sinew with terrifying ease. It felt less like cutting flesh and more like passing through empty air.
Squelch. A shower of crimson sprayed a beat too late.
A wolf lunged to tear at his calf; Ivan brought his heel down like a siege hammer, obliterating its skull and scattering brains across the dirt. When a goblin clumsily thrusted a spear from behind, Ivan snatched the creature by the forearm and swung it like a club. The hefty impact felt remarkably satisfying in his hand.
"Kerk?"
A kick caught another dazed goblin square in the chest, and with a thunderous crack, the creature was blasted clean out of sight.
The mindless beasts instinctively scrambled backward. Ivan flashed a grin and threw himself into the thick of the pack.
What followed was an absolute, one-sided massacre.
Drenched from head to toe in gore, Ivan did not shed a single drop of his own blood. The enemies' movements were painfully sluggish, their trajectories telegraphed miles away. His body reacted before thought could even form—honed instinct and muscle memory forged in hell made it effortless.
Corpses piled in heaps.
Havel couldn't tear his eyes away, watching the slaughter in rapt fascination.
That figure carving through the bloodbath... was nothing short of an avatar of war.
Before long, the earth was stained a dark, glistening crimson, and the swings of the sword came to a halt. In that clearing of butchery, only two living souls remained breathing.
"Ivan... how did you..."
Massive blood loss finally caught up to him; Havel's head spun, and his massive frame swayed precariously. Ivan strode over and threw Havel's arm over his broad shoulder, taking his weight.
"You look like you've got a mountain of questions, but let's get you patched up first. You can hear the story whenever you want."
Havel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Despite wielding power that bordered on terrifying, Ivan was still his brother.
"Yeah... I can't wait to hear it."
Leaning into each other, the two men walked slowly out of the forest.
When the hunting party failed to return deep into the night, an uneasy tension settled over the tribe. Though young and lacking seasoned experience, those warriors were the future pillars of the clan.
Just as murmurs arose that a search party ought to be dispatched, the warriors stumbled back into camp, drenched in blood.
"Havel is in grave danger!"
Gasping for breath, they frantically blurted out their report. They had been ambushed by an unnaturally rabid horde of beasts, and Havel had created a breach with his own body so they could escape.
The Great Chieftain stared down at them with an unreadable gaze.
"So you left him behind and ran away?"
"T-That was... our only option, Chief..."
"You simply wanted an easier death. Do not make excuses like cowards."
Their ugly, naked selfishness laid bare, the warriors hung their heads in burning shame.
"It's not too late! If we send reinforcements right now—"
"It is too late. If a whole pack of you couldn't handle it and fled, what could one man possibly do alone?"
Barring a miracle, Havel had zero chance of surviving. Even with his only son trapped in the jaws of death, the Great Chieftain assessed the reality with cold, unflinching objectivity. No one dared question the weight of his judgment.
Amidst the heavy, suffocating silence, only the High Priest tasted sweet, intoxicating triumph.
Insolent brat, serves you right!
Pasting on an expression of grave sorrow, the High Priest turned his head—only to lock eyes with the Great Chieftain. The chieftain's gaze felt sharp enough to pierce right down to the depths of his blackened soul. The High Priest shrank back involuntarily.
A flicker of flame danced in Eirik's hardened eyes before subsiding.
"We must at least recover his corpse. Lead the way."
Mid-sentence, the Great Chieftain paused. He picked up the distinct presence of two people approaching.
He turned around. Two massive figures were walking slowly toward the camp, their shoulders braced against each other.
Which meant...
Every eye in the camp snapped to the edge of the clearing.
A miracle had occurred.
Ivan leaned in and whispered into Havel's ear.
"You're pale as a ghost. Shouldn't you get treated right this second?"
"I'm fine. Do you know how long I've waited for this moment? I'm not going to whimper like a weakling now."
Facing the gathered crowd of clansmen, Havel raised his voice.
"Three years ago, on this very ground, a brave warrior was stripped of his honor and banished under false accusations! Lacking the strength to defend him, I had no choice but to watch my brother cast out, even while knowing the truth!"
Ever since that day, Havel had shouldered an immense burden. There had been times when the weight felt suffocating, but he had endured it all for the sake of his brother.
"Now, three years later, the High Priest has belatedly acknowledged his innocence! And today, that very warrior saved my life from the brink of death!"
His voice swelled, booming across the camp with such ferocious vigor that no one could believe he was a man on the verge of collapsing from blood loss.
"Even so... if there is still anyone who dares insult his honor, step forward and face me right now!"
Havel’s eyes flashed with a chilling, bloodthirsty glare. Not a single soul possessed the foolish courage to step out before him.
"Is there no one? Then in the name of Havel, son of Eirik, I declare the honor of my brother, Ivan, fully restored! Let every soul standing here bear witness!"
Summoning the last ounce of his strength, Havel seized Ivan's hand and thrust it high into the air.
In the brief stillness that followed, a single pair of hands began to clap.
The applause rippled outward, multiplying in an instant until it erupted into a deafening, thunderous roar of cheers.
The searing heat of their shouts washed over Ivan's body like a physical wave.
Rather than joy, Ivan felt mostly bewildered. He wasn't entirely sure what kind of face he was supposed to make. Sure, coming back was nice and all... but it wasn't like he had any fond memories here to begin with.
As his eyes quietly scanned the crowd, he locked eyes with the High Priest, who was trembling like a leaf, gazing back in stark terror.
Come to think of it, I do have one fucking awful memory, don't I?
Ivan narrowed his eyes and glared straight at him. The High Priest instantly clutched his chest, hyperventilating as if suffocating on dry land.
Ivan's mood immediately brightened. A refreshing smile spread across his face.