Seeing the coldness in his adoptive son's eyes, Edward was shaken by the boy's words.
"Are you still going to hide there like a coward, father?"
His voice was openly scornful. His gaze cut into Edward like a blade, shredding what little pride he had left.
"Elias, you… what? I..." Edward's eyes dropped from Elias' face to the ground. "I'm sorry... for being this weak. For failing to protect you..."
His voice trembled with sorrow.
But Elias placed one hand on his father's wounded leg, the other on his shoulder. Then he slowly opened his eyes and looked straight into Edward's.
"Yes, you are weak. Because you let fear take control of you, father. Those enslaved by emotion are doomed to lose. You will lose… mother, me..." He leaned closer and whispered, "...and your unborn child as well."
Edward's eyes widened. A few seconds of shock passed before he realized the pain in his leg had vanished. Looking down, he saw the wound had completely healed.
"W-What did you do?!" he shouted, unable to hide his disbelief. "Don't tell me..."
"Yes, father. Healing magic. But now's not the time to talk about it. Get your ass up—we need to save mother and the village," Elias said. The stern look on his face was gone, replaced by that same warm smile.
Edward felt a strange sense of calm—though it only lasted a few seconds.
Edward had graduated from the Swordmaster Academy at seventeen, albeit as a low-ranking first-class swordsman. Through patience and hard work, he had gradually climbed to mid-second-class rank.
He thought he'd become famous on the battlefield, then a noble. But when the Kingdom of Gravmire declared war on the Kingdom of Elarion, those dreams crumbled.
For four long years, he stared death in the face over and over. He saw fifteen-year-old boys beheaded in front of him or tortured when captured by elves. His hatred for war grew, as did his fear of death. In time, he became a coward.
And now, a five-year-old child stood before him, speaking words of courage. There wasn't even a hint of fear in the boy's eyes.
"I guess there's no running from war anymore," Edward thought as he turned, grabbed his twin swords, and said, "Let's go, son. We've got to save your mother and the others."
As father and son cut through the bandits in their path, Clara was brought before the man behind the attack.
He was about as tall as Edward, with slightly darker white hair than Elias. A dark brown cloak covered his body. A sickening grin stretched across his face, revealing rotted teeth. His ice-blue eyes shimmered with cruelty. Dried blood on his face couldn't hide his scars. The ice dagger in his hand made it clear—he was a mage.
"So this is our runaway knight's lovely wife. What a beauty," he sneered. "Edward's got taste, I'll give him that."
"Who… who are you? How do you know my husband?" Clara asked.
"Let's just say we were friends. That is… until he left me to die. But I'm not here for revenge. I'm here on the king's orders—to kill him."
Clara's eyes widened in fear. Edward had once told her about a second-class ice mage he used to know.
"Hedric… of House Fredross," she whispered.
Hedric's grin widened. "Right again, pretty thing. Looks like my sweet old pal told you about me," he said with a disturbing laugh.
Fearing Edward might come, Clara tried to escape. She bit the fat man's hand and broke free, but the large woman with him slapped her hard across the face.
Clara collapsed, unconscious.
"Even his wife's braver than he is," Hedric laughed cruelly. "Hey! Lay her down somewhere safe. Don't harm her. We wouldn't want to scare dear Edward too soon, would we?"
Meanwhile, Edward and Elias kept moving, carving a path through their enemies, unaware of what lay ahead.
Fighting side by side, Edward couldn't help but notice Elias' speed, strength, deadly reflexes, and seemingly endless stamina.
"Is this really a five-year-old? Where did he learn to fight like this? Could the villagers be right? Is he really… a demon? Those eyes… they weren't normal."
As the thoughts churned in his mind, he realized all the enemies were already down—and Elias was staring at him with an odd expression.
Elias closed his eyes and smiled. "Don't worry, father. Even if I were a demon… I would never hurt you."
He walked ahead.
"You're getting weirder by the day. What, can you read minds now too?" Edward muttered.
"No. But with that look on your face, I don't need to," Elias said, glancing back over his shoulder. "You're not very good at hiding your emotions, father."
He smiled again and kept walking.
Edward hesitated a moment, then followed him.
As they reached the village outskirts, they saw nearly a hundred people still gathered there. The bandits stepped aside to surround them. After a few steps, Edward stopped. Elias, sensing it, stopped as well.
In the middle of the crowd, seated on a large rock about ten paces away, sat Hedric—still wearing that same twisted grin.
"Hello. It's been a while… old friend," he said.
"You… Hedric," Edward muttered, the pieces finally falling into place. "There's only one reason the king's dog would be here."
"Exactly. Did you really think deserting the war would go unpunished, old friend?" Hedric said, eyeing Elias carefully. "So… you're working with kids now?"
Edward clenched his teeth in rage, ignoring the insult.
Damn it...
He had sent a resignation notice to the capital. But there was no forgiving a deserter...
He had officially declared his resignation from the kingdom.
But the kingdom does not forgive those who flee from war so easily.
Instead, it uses its little puppets to do the dirty work.
All the major bandit groups surrounding the kingdom were directly under the king's command. Rather than staining its own hands, the kingdom paid these outlaws to act as its pawns—its secret weapons in the shadows.
And Hedric... Hedric wasn't just an ordinary member of one of those groups.
He was a planted official, carefully embedded by the king himself.
"It seems you still haven't forgotten the moment I left you behind," Edward said coldly. "Even though I spared your life."
At those words, Hedric burst into loud, bitter laughter.
"Spared me?!" he barked. "You left me bleeding in that cave like a dying animal and ran! If the soldiers hadn't found me, I'd have bled out like a dog!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Edward snapped. "Who do you think sent those soldiers in the first place? I'm no healer, Hedric!"
"None of that matters anymore," Hedric growled, his voice dipping into something twisted and dark.
"I'll cut off your head... and turn that lovely wife of yours into my personal concubine."
Edward's heart raced as he tried to piece together a plan.
He was afraid—
Not for his own life...
But for the terrifying thought of losing both his son and his wife.
Just as despair threatened to drown him, a chilling wave spread through the air, crawling under his skin and seeping deep into his bones.
It snapped him out of his thoughts like a slap.
Ashamed of his hesitation, Edward instinctively turned to find the source of that suffocating pressure—a presence so overwhelming, it was almost maddening.
Some of the bandits had already collapsed, gasping for air.
Others stood frozen, staring wide-eyed toward Edward's right.
He followed their gaze...
And what he saw stole his breath away.
The one behind this crushing aura…
Was Elias.
Shrouded in pitch-black energy, his hair fell over his eyes like a veil, hiding whatever emotion burned behind them.
But his presence alone screamed louder than any words.