The sun pressed down from above, heavy. As if someone was pushing on my shoulders with both hands.
I sat in the shade of a tree. My back against the warm trunk. The air reeked of dust and scorched grass. It should've been a quiet day. No screams. No battles. But inside, it wasn't.
Almost the whole village had gathered on the slope.
They stood in a tight wall. Some silent, some whispering, but no one stepped closer. As if they feared the silence would shatter if they made a single wrong move.
In front of everyone — Paul, Zenith, Rowls. A little off to the side — Roxy.
I stared without blinking.
— Ignis Sacrum, — Zenith said. Her voice was steady, muffled, as if someone else was speaking through her mouth.
And then the body caught fire.
The flames were strange. Golden. They rose slowly — wrapping the bodies.
The smell hit instantly. Bitter. Heavy. Revolting. Burnt meat. Mixed with the stench of singed hair. The smell of death.
I hunched my shoulders.
I wanted to look away — but couldn't. My eyes kept watching.
The villagers stood in silence. Someone clenched fists, someone spat. But no one screamed. No one sobbed. It was as if their emotions had all been burned out at once.
The heat smothered me. But inside, it was cold.
Not long ago, everything was different.
I just lived.
Sword drills. Spell drills. Sometimes laughing at Paul's antics. Sometimes arguing with Roxy. Studying runes. Counting days. Thinking about the future as if it belonged to me by right. As if I could just grow, learn, get stronger — and nothing bad would ever happen.
This world wasn't mine. I knew that. But deep down I still thought: if I stayed out of the mud, if I avoided wars, if I didn't chase after glory — everything would be calm.
How naïve.
Here, life is worth nothing. One strike. One mistake. One word. And a person's gone. Fire takes the body. The earth erases the trace. Memory? Who will remember? No one.
And if you want to survive — you have to know how to kill. That was never a secret. Paul said it outright. Roxy showed it silently, in training. Even Lilia, with all her restraint, didn't hide the truth in her movements.
But still… inside there was that strange feeling. As if I were looking at the world through glass. Here — sun, dust, cut grass. Nearby — familiar voices. Everything close, warm.
But beyond that glass — another reality. Where death walks beside you. Where just over the hill, bands like the ones they spoke of could be waiting: Serek the Ravager.
The one who burned villages. Who broke castles.
My eyes dropped to Paul and Rowls. Standing side by side. As if all this was just another part of the routine.
And the thought struck me:
All this time, I've been living with people who've killed. More than once. More than one person.
Even this village. All its peace. All its quiet — they stood only because Paul and Rowls were stronger. Because when the raiders came, when thieves and killers appeared on the slopes — they didn't negotiate. They didn't plead. They killed. Fast. Without a word.
These bodies burning now… maybe they would have done the same to us. Maybe not. But they never had the chance.
In my old world, in my entire life, I never once met someone who had killed another person. Death there was something distant — a headline, a movie, someone else's tragedy.
Now — it was part of my life.
Part of the order.
And it didn't matter how many times they explained it to me. How many times I saw the swords. Until you see it. Until you stand like this — under the sun, with the smell of burning flesh in your nose, watching people who are just doing their job…
And I hadn't understood. Until today.
— Why the long face, — said a voice beside me.
I jerked.
Roxy stood there, arms crossed. I hadn't even noticed her approach. As if she'd just appeared from the air.
— It's… so strange…
Roxy tilted her head slightly.
— Of course it's strange, — she said softly. — Doesn't happen often, a band this big… That Serek must have been strong…
Roxy sank down beside me. Threw her hands behind her head. Stretched out her legs. Lying in the shade as if it wasn't pyres burning before us, but just another summer day. Her hat slid over her eyes. Hair stuck to her temple. She breathed deep, steady.
I looked back at the pyres. The fire slowly swallowing the bodies. The air above them quivering, like something was about to break free.
— Listen… — I hesitated, staring ahead. — Have you ever killed…
Roxy turned her head slightly. Lazy, tired. Her gaze slid over me.
— What kind of question is that, — she said calmly. — I used to be an adventurer.
She closed her eyes again.
— And what does that mean, that…
— Well, a couple of times…
The wind tugged at the edge of her robe. She sighed, slowly pulled her knees up, sat up. The movement wasn't hurried — as if not for the sake of conversation, but just to shift her position.
Roxy took off her hat, set it down beside her. For a second her eyes lingered on it. As if something had stirred in memory.
— …
Her hair clung to her temples. Absentmindedly, she smoothed it with her palm, then looked at me — steady.
— What do you know about an adventurer's work?
Adventurers…
Free warriors. Wandering heroes. Those who save villages from monsters, find lost relics, fight evil for the sake of justice.
Brave hearts, tempered on the road and in battle. Bound by loyalty to each other and the shared duty — to protect the weak, defeat the darkness, carry the light where it had gone out. Every deed proof that good and justice would always find a place in the world.
Fearless. Great. Kind.
Not work, but joy. Merry adventures in the company of loyal comrades.
Yeah, it sounded like the nonsense off a poster, but that's exactly how it came across in most of the stories I'd seen.
Only when I said it, I looked at her.
— …
She didn't answer.
Her face was empty. Lips parted, corners drooping. Not an expression, but its absence — a hollow look when a person has stopped searching for words.
And suddenly, she shook.
A peal of laughter burst from her chest. She toppled onto her back, choking on air, gasping raggedly between wheezes and fresh bursts.
— …
For a moment the laughter faltered. She propped herself on her elbows, her face twisted with effort. Her lips quivered.
— Alright, alright, I'll sto—
And then she broke again, into an even wilder fit. Loud, convulsive, like a hyena.
— Damn it, enough!
She sobbed. The laughter cracked, turned into a rasp. Her face was flushed, sweat rolling down her temples. She clutched her stomach as if the laughter was tearing her apart.
— I'm serious! Stop!
Her eyes glistened with tears squeezed out by the spasms. Another burst hit, arching her sharply against the ground.
I already regretted starting this conversation.
The emptiness that had only just been dragging at my chest was gone, dissolved like it had never been there. I didn't care anymore who was burning on the pyres or how.
Heat rushed to my face. Shame surged to my cheeks, burning my ears. I wanted to look away, just to avoid her eyes through that insane laughter.
The laughter ebbed, turned into ragged breathing, like from a hunted beast.
— Pfff… ahh… that was…
— Swear to god if you—
— Hahaha!
— …
I clenched my teeth.
— You should've seen your face… — she managed between chuckles.
— …
Silence dropped sharply, cutting her words. The laughter broke off mid-breath, as if someone had shut her throat.
— Finished?
— Yeah… — her voice rasped. — Almost…
She ran her hand over her face, smearing sweat and tears, exhaled noisily.
— Listen… When you've got nothing to eat, Rudy, adventures end real fast, — she said evenly. — And all that's left is work. Swinging a sword. Sleeping in the dirt. Digging for coins at the bottom of your pocket so you don't starve.
I froze. The shift from laughter to those cold words was so sharp it felt for a moment like someone else was speaking through her.
— For some reason, people think an adventurer's job… is like that — Roxy went on, fanning herself with the edge of her hat.
She snorted softly, without anger.
— In reality, the job is dirt under your nails, humiliation, the risk of dying in a ditch for coppers. Every time you walk out the gate, you don't know — will you come back, or will you stay out there, in the mud, in some gully. Or in the belly of a beast no one will even have time to mourn you for.
Roxy ran her finger along the edge of her boot, as if checking it was still intact.
— Part of the party will be lost, — Roxy said, still calm. — Some forever, some will just run away. And the ones left… will split the earnings. The survivors get a bigger share.
She tilted her head slightly, as if remembering.
— Only even then, most of the money goes to gear. New boots. New artifacts. Consumables. Healing wounds. Repairs… Do you know how much priests charge for wound recovery? It's a whole business… That's why they cling so hard to that magic.
Roxy snapped her fingers in the air, like marking off an account.
— And yeah, the rest goes to booze and whores. Whoever can afford it… plenty live on that alone.
Roxy gave a short smirk — almost to herself.
— And if you're a woman… — her voice grew a shade drier. — That comes with a lot of unpleasant conditions.
She stretched out her legs, folded her arms behind her head, as if the sun no longer touched her.
— Even if you're strong. Even if you can fight them off. Still, every second one looks at you not as a comrade. But as merchandise.
Roxy paused.
— And no one will ask if you want it or not. Because "that's life." Because "you chose this path yourself."
She spoke of it calmly.
— Sometimes you have to remind them you're not merchandise, — she said evenly. — Quickly. Harshly. With all the clarity, so there are no questions left.
Roxy turned her head slightly, staring into the hot, dusty sky.
— Words don't always work. Sometimes you need your hands. Or magic.
Her fingers slid lightly, almost unconsciously, along the strap on her wrist.
— So remember this, Rudy. The sooner you stop thinking of the world as a fairy tale — the better your chances of surviving in it.
I stayed silent.
Somewhere deep inside, something clenched. Old thoughts, old dreams — like a web snapping under weight. I still tried to hold them. To believe I could just live, train, study — and that would be enough.
But no.
This world wasn't a textbook. Wasn't a game. Here there was no place for those who believed evil was always obvious, that danger arrived with drums and banners.
Sometimes it smiles at you. Sometimes it shakes your hand. Sometimes it just walks past — and if you're not ready, you vanish. Without a trace.
I drew a slow breath, feeling it burn my throat.
I stayed quiet for a long time. Listening to the wind rustling softly in the grass. Watching shadows shift across the ground. Roxy had shut her eyes again, as if the conversation was over. I drew in another breath. Forced down some heaviness stuck in my chest.
— Then… — I said, my voice rough. — Maybe you could teach me battle magic?
She cracked one eye open. The look lazy, like someone who can't be surprised easily.
— What, duel spells aren't enough anymore?
I shook my head.
— No. Just… if the world is the way you say it is… then I need to know more than just how to defend myself.
Roxy watched me for a few seconds. Then slowly smiled. Not joy, not malice — almost kindly.
— Alright, — Roxy said. — But remember: in a fight no one gives you time to catch your breath. One mistake — and you're gone.
I nodded.
In my past world, in Japan, things were different. There, killing was a crime. Death — a tragedy, rare, exceptional. There, they taught you to solve conflicts with words, and even a fistfight could land you in a cell.
Here, that doesn't work.
I can cling to the old rules all I want. Hold them like a lifeline. But in this world… in this world death is part of life. Killing is a skill. And if I don't master it — I'll become the target. Just another number in someone's memory.
The rules I was raised on stayed in the past. In the place where I no longer lived.
The fear didn't disappear. It only changed. Not the kind that freezes you, but the kind that forces you to rise and move.
I stared ahead. And I knew: there was no way back.