I don't remember how long I sat there.
Breathing.
Shaking.
Trying to calm myself down.
My hands still wouldn't stop trembling.
"…Rick."
I looked up.
Frans was standing in front of me.
His eyes were back to normal.
No colors.
No pressure.
Just my brother.
"Listen carefully," he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. "If you get caught by them next time… that means we're dead. Both of us. So from now on—be careful."
"…I know."
But then—
His eyes changed again.
Four layered colors.
And even without him saying anything else—
I understood.
This was no longer just running.
This was survival.
Frans walked to one of the corpses and picked up the crossbow.
He turned and held it out to me.
"…You can use this, right, Rick?"
I hesitated.
I looked at the weapon.
Then at his eyes.
And I took it.
"…Yeah."
I started searching the dead scout and pulled out bolts.
One quiver.
Then another.
In total, I took three quivers.
It wasn't that I couldn't use a crossbow.
We are the Avenir.
We have excellent eyesight.
Aiming is easy for us—so easy, in fact, that in our village, if you said you wanted to become an archer, people would laugh at you and tell you to pick something harder.
I just…
Hated it.
Using a bow or a crossbow felt cowardly.
Not cool.
Not heroic.
In our village, a true warrior always used a sword.
I used to run away from bow training all the time.
It was boring.
And not cool.
But—
Frans looked straight at me.
"Listen," he said. "You hide while I fight. If someone tries to run—kill them. Don't try to be a hero. Do you understand?"
"…Yes, brother."
At least…
At least I could help now.
Even if it was with a coward's weapon.
Even if it was from far away.
It didn't matter anymore.
We didn't walk.
We ran.
–
We kept running.
For a while.
This time, I was calmer.
Not like the last fight.
My heart still hurt, but my mind was clear.
Then—
Frans stopped again.
"We'll fight here," he said.
He looked around, then pointed at a huge tree nearby.
"Climb up. Hide. Don't shoot anything until I tell you to."
"…Got it."
I nodded and hurried to the tree, climbing as fast as I could. The branches were thick, perfect for hiding.
From up there, I could see everything.
Frans walked forward alone and sat down on a rock, resting his sword on his shoulder.
…I had to admit.
It was a cool pose.
He looked like someone waiting, not someone being hunted.
Not long after—
They came.
Four heavily armored knights, their armor bearing the emblem of Starheim.
And behind them—
Two soldiers with no emblem, holding bows.
Their horses slowed when they saw Frans.
One of the knights laughed.
"Oh? Waiting for us?" he said in a mocking tone. "Finally giving up?"
Frans didn't answer.
He just watched them.
They dismounted and spread out, slowly forming a circle around him.
"…Kill him," one of them said.
The archers raised their bows.
The knights moved in.
Then—
Frans's eyes changed.
Four layered colors.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
The first knight charged.
CLANG!
Frans blocked the strike and twisted his body, narrowly avoiding another blade from behind.
An arrow flew past his head.
He stepped.
Another arrow struck where he had been standing.
He was surrounded.
And yet—
He moved like water.
Like wind.
He slipped between blades, ducked under swings, and aimed for the gaps.
The joints.
The neck.
The places armor couldn't protect.
One strike.
The first knight fell, blood pouring from under his helmet.
The second knight roared and rushed him—
Frans stepped inside his guard and stabbed upward.
The blade went through the gap under the chest plate.
Dead.
"Watch out! Don't let him—"
Too late.
An arrow flew.
Frans twisted.
It missed by a hair.
He glanced—
At me.
I felt it.
Now.
I raised the crossbow.
Aimed.
And—
Thuut.
The first archer's head snapped back.
He fell.
Dead.
"What—!?"
The second archer panicked and ran, trying to hide behind a tree.
I was already reloading.
My hands moved without thinking.
Aim.
Thuut.
His head jerked.
He collapsed.
The forest went silent.
The two remaining knights froze.
Their support was gone.
Their formation was broken.
Frans didn't waste the chance.
He moved.
Two flashes of steel.
Two bodies fell.
It was over.
We didn't celebrate.
We didn't speak.
We ran.
Again.
--
They didn't stop coming.
Not after the knights.
Not after the archers.
Not after we ran until our legs felt like they would break.
The next attack came sooner than I expected.
Ten soldiers.
No emblem.
No heavy armor.
Just regular troops.
They tried to surround us, shouting loudly, pretending to be brave.
But compared to the knights—
They were weak.
Frans cut down two of them almost immediately.
And then—
They broke.
"Run!"
"Fall back!"
They turned their backs.
And at that moment—
The hunters became the hunted.
"Don't let them escape!" Frans said.
We chased them.
My crossbow fired again and again.
One.
Two.
Three.
They fell one by one.
Some tried to beg.
Some tried to hide.
It didn't matter.
In the end—
All ten were dead.
I killed three.
Frans killed seven.
We didn't talk about it.
We just kept running.
But we didn't run for long.
The next group came even faster.
Five knights.
Fewer than before.
But far more dangerous.
The fight was brutal.
Their coordination was better.
Their armor was thicker.
Every strike felt heavy.
Every mistake could have been death.
We fought.
We bled.
But—
In the end—
They fell.
All five.
When it was over, I looked at Frans.
His face was… strange.
Not tired.
Not relieved.
But—
Doubtful.
Like something didn't make sense.
"…What is it?" I asked.
"…Nothing," he said.
But I knew.
Something was wrong.
We ran again.
This time—
No attacks came.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then more.
"…Did we lose them?" I asked.
"I don't know," Frans replied.
Then—
I saw it.
Between the trees.
Between the rocks.
A massive shadow carved into the mountainside.
"…Frans."
He looked.
And his eyes widened slightly.
The Cave of Honor.
We had made it.