A moment of silence passed between them. Then, slowly, filled with force, the ogre raised its massive arm, lifting the club high—ready to strike. The young man instinctively raised his hands, as if to block a falling mountain. It was a futile gesture, born of desperation. In a trembling voice, he cried out:
"W–Wait! Just one moment! I meant no harm!"
The words faded into the air, but they had an effect. The ogre paused. Then, in an unexpected move, it lowered the club and rested it on its shoulder. From the depths of its throat came a gravelly, thunderous voice that shook the air:
"You're not good at lying, little human."
The young man's eyes widened—not from fear, but shock. There was a hint of mockery in the ogre's tone, like smoke slipping through cracks.
Yet, amid the fear tightening his chest, a strange comfort emerged. Relief—like discovering the monster wasn't just a mindless beast, but a thinking being, capable of understanding and communication. It was a revelation: this nightmare had understood his words. How? He didn't know. It was as if his mind had simply decided to understand in that moment.
He swallowed hard and said, voice quivering with a fragile hope:
"So… you can understand me? That's… good! I…"
The words hesitated, fearful to leave his lips. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his voice, and added:
"As I said… I meant no harm. I was just passing through… looking for a way out of the forest. When I saw you… fear drove me to hide. But I had no ill intent."
He watched the ogre's reaction. Would it understand? Would it believe him? Was its mind as wise as its body was strong—or did it see others the way humans view ants?
Then, something unexpected happened. The ogre's eye widened—just like the young man's. The effect of the words was obvious, like a key unlocking a long-sealed memory. Silence fell. Then, a wave of calm washed over the ogre, as if touched by a rare understanding. It leaned slightly forward, its enormous body moving slowly, as if verifying what it had just heard. The young man instinctively stepped back—a reflexive move born from an illusion of safety.
Then, the ogre spoke in a low, earth-rumbling voice:
"Human… you can understand my speech?"
The question was strange, but despite the shock, the young man answered after a brief hesitation:
"Y–Yes… I can understand you…"
He paused, then added softly, as if trying to convince himself:
"Somehow…"
The ogre straightened again, letting out a long sigh—not of boredom, but of something deeper. For a moment, its harsh features softened. A hint of nostalgia flickered across its face. But then, it cast a cold glance at the young man. Its voice returned—this time laced with disappointment and bitterness:
"How many decades has it been since I last spoke with a human?"
A false sense of comfort crept over the young man, as if the grip of fear had loosened. But before he could fully exhale, the ogre added, voice low and dripping with disdain:
"What a shame… that a weak human, tainted with foul energy, is the first I speak to after all these years."
The young man's eyes widened again. He almost protested—but the words froze in his throat, petrified by the murderous gaze now fixed on him. It wasn't just a threat—it was a promise of annihilation.
Then, without warning, the ogre moved. With speed defying its size, it raised the club high and swung it—not as a warning, but as a blow meant to kill.
The strike came from the left—so fast, the young man had no time to think, no chance to react, no room to dodge. All he could do was raise his left arm in a desperate attempt to shield himself, bracing it with his other hand to absorb even a fraction of the force. And then—the impact.
The club struck his body with a force that echoed like a thunderclap. For a fleeting instant, he couldn't tell whether the cracking sound that rang out was the shattering of wood—or the breaking of his bones under the massive blow. He tried to dig his feet into the ground, as if rooting his soul in the earth to resist the force. But resistance was meaningless against such overwhelming strength.
His body trembled; his bones screamed under the strain. The ogre felt a faint resistance, something in the young man's defiance that made the creature raise its non-existent brow—a flicker of mild surprise. But it was not enough to earn respect. With just a slight increase in pressure, the young man's feet lifted off the ground.
Then suddenly, as if detached from the pull of gravity, his body soared through the air like a ragdoll flung by a careless giant.
The wind slapped his face as the ground rushed toward him. The first impact felt like being struck by a colossal hammer. His body bounced once, then again—skipping across the earth like a stone skimming across water. After more than thirty meters of brutal collisions, he finally fell still.
His body lay sprawled on the ground. No groan. No gasp. Nothing but silence.
His spirit seemed to have left him long before he stopped moving.
The ogre watched from a distance, its gaze devoid of regret or curiosity—just deadened indifference, as though it had witnessed this scene a hundred times before. It raised a massive finger and scratched the space between its eye and mouth, where a nose might have been. The movement was slow, lazy, more a gesture of boredom than anything else. With a sigh, it muttered to itself in a low, gravelly voice:
"Perhaps I shouldn't have ended it so quickly… Damn that human. He made me set a higher standard for strangers in strange clothes. Seems they're not all the same after all."
His words drifted into the dusty air. Then, with no further thought, the ogre turned, stomping slowly back toward the cave—his ancient den, deep in the forest.
He took several heavy steps before halting abruptly. Something had changed. A strange sensation struck him—a shift in the air itself. There was no sound, no movement. Just a palpable pressure, an uncomfortable disturbance creeping into the atmosphere. He raised his head slightly. His eye scanned the void ahead. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, he turned—slowly—his gaze fixing on the spot where he had flung the young man just moments ago. And what he saw defied belief.
On the ground, amidst the dust, the body stirred. At first, it was only a faint tremble—irregular shudders. But as the seconds passed, those tremors evolved into movement. Slow, but steady. The young man began to push himself up, palms digging into the earth, his limbs shifting as though reborn.
The ogre's eye widened as he stared. His mind resisted the truth of what it was seeing. How? How could a mere human rise again after a blow that could crush the bones of even the fiercest warriors?
The young man finally stood. He raised his head and looked directly at the ogre. His gaze was clear—free of fear or weakness. His eyes bore no trace of defeat. And in that moment, the ogre felt something foreign stir inside him—an emotion he hadn't known in decades. It wasn't fear. Nor even surprise.
It was something far more complex. A tingling sensation deep within his essence.
Inside, a whisper echoed—a voice with no origin, but one he could feel pressing upon him, clinging to him like a shadow—unseen, but undeniable.
A gust of wind rose as a strange aura began to gather around the young man's body. It was no longer a faint shimmer drifting through the air. It became something real—tangible. Energy flowed outward from him. The air around him rippled, as though space itself could no longer contain what was awakening.
The aura was like a small storm, dark and ominous, swirling slowly around him. Dust rose in spirals, forming a near-invisible vortex. The ogre did not move—but he knew. What stood before him was no ordinary man.
He had faced hundreds of powerful warriors—those who came from every corner, brandishing gleaming swords, clad in plated armor, their banners fluttering as if boasting of their blind confidence. They came from all kinds of backgrounds and races: noble knights, daring adventurers, and formidable sorcerers. Though so different, they all shared one purpose—his annihilation. Yet, they all fell. They shattered beneath the weight of his invincibility. They screamed, vanished, and became nothing but a faded memory in the long chronicles of his battles.
This time, however, something was different. A strange feeling crept into the depths of his being—a sensation he hadn't felt in ages, not since he was a small creature struggling to survive, hiding in the forest shadows, fleeing from human eyes that held nothing but contempt and fear.
He had always seen a harsh verdict in their eyes—as if his very existence was a sin that needed erasing. And now, as he looked at the young man standing before him, he saw something familiar in his eyes. It wasn't just hatred. It wasn't fear. It was something deeper, something that cut sharper—a silent disdain.