Kouta's mind raced. The situation was critical. If he slipped up now, his soul would be sent back into the cycle of reincarnation, and Mikasa would be forced onto the tragic path of the original story.
How can I let that happen!
The thought ignited a fierce flame in his heart. He calculated the distance between himself and the man with the axe.
Now!
A glint of golden light flashed in Kouta's eyes as he exploded with every ounce of strength in his small body. The man with the axe had been reaching out to grab him, never expecting this "harmless" child to move with such predatory speed.
Snap!
Kouta's strike was a blur. The trafficker felt a sharp, bone-deep pain in his wrist, and his fingers involuntarily loosened. Kouta seized the falling axe mid-air, spun his body with the momentum, and brought the blade down in a savage arc.
SHLUCK!
Blood erupted, spraying across the walls and soaking Kouta's clothes. Being so close to the impact, he was instantly drenched in the man's warmth.
I... I killed someone.
Kouta's pupils shrank. An unprecedented wave of nausea flooded his senses. If he hadn't forced himself to stare at his father's corpse earlier to "harden" his mind, he would have lost his ability to fight right then and there.
Thud.
The body hit the floor. The remaining traffickers froze. The entire exchange had happened in a few heartbeats—too fast for them to even process that their prey was fighting back.
"You little brat!" the leader roared, his greed replaced by murderous rage. He lunged forward and grabbed Kouta's arms, pinning them with the strength of a grown man.
Kouta struggled, trying to raise the axe, but the man's grip was like iron.
The third trafficker stepped forward, his dagger gleaming. "It seems I need to teach you a lesson you won't live to remember," he hissed.
Onii-chan is in danger!
Standing behind them, Mikasa snapped out of her shock. The image of her father's headless body flashed in her mind, replaced by the terrifying thought of Kouta ending up the same way.
I won't allow it! I won't let anything happen to him!
In that moment of pure desperation, something clicked inside Mikasa. It was as if she suddenly gained perfect control over every muscle, every nerve, and every cell in her body. She saw the scissors on the nearby table.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
She moved with a speed that defied her age, driving the blades deep into the waist of the man with the dagger.
"You... you little devil..." the man gasped, looking down in disbelief as Mikasa repeatedly stabbed and twisted, blood blooming across her dress.
"Damn it! Boss!" the man holding Kouta cried out in panic. He was terrified. This family wasn't human—they were monsters.
In his momentary lapse of concentration, Shia lunged forward, clawing at his hands to free her son. Kouta felt the pressure on his arms vanish.
"GO TO HELL!" Kouta roared, pouring every bit of light-enhanced strength into one final swing of the axe.
"No—!"
SHING!
The man's head flew from his shoulders, and his body collapsed like a broken doll, blood spraying like a fountain.
Once the final threat was down, Kouta ignored the gore and turned immediately to his sister. Mikasa was still moving, her expression blank and hauntingly beautiful, her face splattered with red as she continued to strike the dead leader.
"It's okay, Mikasa! He's dead! We're safe!" Kouta grabbed the scissors from her hand and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Are we... okay?" Mikasa whispered dazedly, looking from her mother to her brother. Her eyes welled with tears. "Onii-chan, I was so scared! I was so scared I'd lose you too!"
"Don't be afraid. I'm always here," Kouta whispered, his heart aching for her.
Shia watched them, her heart a whirlwind of emotions. Oddly, she felt no sadness for her husband. Their marriage had been cold for years, and seeing her children survive filled her with a dark sense of relief—and a hint of sourness as she watched them cling to each other.
Exhausted by the adrenaline and the trauma, Mikasa eventually fell asleep in Kouta's arms. He carried her to her bed and walked back out, his hand instinctively going back to the axe. He could hear footsteps approaching.
"Kouta, what is it?" Shia asked, picking up a discarded dagger.
"Someone's here."
"Mr. Ackerman? Are you home?" a voice called out from the woods.
Kouta lowered the axe slightly. He recognized that voice. It was Grisha Yeager, the famous doctor—and the father of the story's protagonist.
When Grisha and his son, Eren, stepped into the cabin, they were met with a scene from a nightmare. Blood everywhere, four corpses, and a young boy holding a battle-axe with golden, cold eyes. Eren, only nine years old, trembled at the sight of the carnage.
...
"I see... I am so deeply sorry for your loss," Grisha said later, his voice full of sympathy.
With the help of the Yeagers, Kouta and Shia cleaned the house and buried the bodies. Shia remained stoic. Her husband was gone, but her children were alive. That was all that mattered.
"We should head back now," Grisha said, sensing the tension. It wasn't right to linger in a house of mourning, especially with a widow who had just seen such horrors.
As they left, Kouta watched Eren. He saw the fire in the young protagonist's eyes, but Kouta's gaze remained cold. He had no intention of being a hero. He would cultivate his light, prote
ct his sister, and wait for the day he was strong enough to bend this world to his will.