Asael’s body swayed, barely able to hold itself up.


    His legs trembled beneath him, threatening to give way at any moment.


    Blood trickled from countless wounds, staining his tattered clothes, pooling beneath him like a crimson halo.


    His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, the pain of each inhale a reminder that he was still alive—though only just.


    Yet, despite it all, he still stood.


    The orcs and gnolls had formed a circle around him, their monstrous faces twisted in cruel amusement.


    They had opened a path leading directly to his captured friends, forcing them to watch.


    Their bindings had been tightened, their limbs numb from captivity, but the true weight pressing down on them was the horror unfolding before their eyes.


    It was a mockery, a humiliation—


    A slow, agonizing spectacle meant to break not only Asael but also the spirits of those who cared for him.


    Anne, Kenta, Bob, and Steven could do nothing but stare, their eyes wide with helpless terror as they watched their friend endure an unrelenting onslaught.


    They struggled against their restraints, but the bonds held firm.


    Every pained breath Asael took, every drop of blood that hit the dirt, was a dagger to their hearts.


    A massive orc stepped forward, towering over the battered warrior.


    Its tusks jutted from its lower jaw, yellowed and cracked, its beady eyes gleaming with satisfaction.


    It grinned, savoring the moment.


    Asael clenched his teeth, lifting his axe with what little strength remained.


    He swung—but the orc sidestepped with ease. A powerful boot slammed into his chest.


    A sickening crack filled the air.


    Asael''s body was sent sprawling through the dirt.


    His axe tumbled from his grip, landing several feet away.


    The impact sent another wave of agony through his battered frame, but the jeers and laughter of his tormentors hurt far worse.


    The orc stalked toward him, heavy footfalls shaking the earth with each deliberate step.


    Asael groaned, his fingers digging into the cold, damp soil, forcing himself upright.


    Every movement was agony, but he refused to stay down.


    Then—


    A sharp pain exploded in his thigh.


    He gasped, his leg giving way beneath him.


    He looked down to see the wooden shaft of an arrow protruding from his flesh, the gnolls who fired it grinning in delight.


    They weren’t trying to kill him.


    They were playing with him.


    Each strike, each wound was calculated—not meant to end his life but to prolong his suffering.


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    To make him crawl.


    To make him beg.


    But still, Asael rose.


    His knees trembled.


    His vision swam.


    Blood dripped in steady rivulets, staining the ground beneath him.


    His body had reached its limits.


    And yet—he stood.


    A silence fell over the crowd, an unspoken acknowledgment of his defiance.


    Even his enemies, creatures of cruelty and malice, could not deny the sheer force of his will.


    Fran who had watched from a distance, finally stepped forward.


    He studied Asael with narrowed eyes, nodding slightly, as if granting some silent respect.


    “This much is enough,” he muttered. “Let’s finish this.”


    The orcs, despite their savage nature, honored strength.


    Asael had proven himself, and Fran was willing to grant him a warrior’s death.


    Leimer, however, was not.


    “Yeah, you’re correct,” he said, smirking.


    “But just one more thing.”


    With slow, deliberate steps, Leimer turned toward Asael’s captured friends.


    The click of his boots against the blood-soaked ground echoed in the tense silence.


    He stopped in front of them, reaching out to the ropes binding them.


    With a casual flick of his wrist, his blade sliced through their restraints.


    Anne, Bob, and Kenta staggered, their bodies weakened by exhaustion and fear.


    Their eyes darted between Leimer and Asael, confusion and dread warring within them.


    Leimer grinned, tilting his head.


    “What are you waiting for?” His voice was light, almost amused.


    “Go. Save your friend.”


    The three froze.


    They weren’t fools. They knew this was a trap.


    But there was no time to think.


    Anne immediately turned to help Steven up, while Kenta, small but determined, hesitated for only a moment before sprinting forward.


    But the fastest one—was Bob.


    His legs pumped furiously against the dirt, his breath ragged, his heart hammering in his chest.


    His eyes locked onto Asael’s battered form, desperation driving him forward.


    He had to save him.


    The distance between them shrank. A few more steps, and Bob would reach him.


    Asael’s blurred vision barely registered his friend rushing toward him.


    Panic gripped his chest.


    He wanted to warn him.


    To tell him to stop.


    But his lips wouldn’t move.


    He staggered forward—reaching out—


    And then—


    A sickening sound split the air.


    The wet, brutal sound of an axe cleaving through flesh.


    For a single, horrifying moment—everything froze.


    Bob’s momentum stopped instantly.


    His eyes widened, lips parting in a silent gasp. Then—


    His head rolled from his shoulders.


    His lifeless body collapsed, blood gushing from the stump of his neck, pooling beneath him.


    The world went silent.


    Anne, Kenta, and Steven stood motionless, their breath stolen, their minds unable to process the horror before them.


    Asael fell to his knees.


    His body trembled, his muscles useless, his wounds forgotten in the face of something far more painful.


    His vision, already blurred, locked onto Bob’s severed head—


    Lying in the dirt.


    Lifeless.


    Empty.


    Tears spilled down Asael’s face, cutting through the grime and blood.


    His hands, slick with his own blood, clenched into fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms.


    His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged sobs, his heart screaming in anguish.


    Leimer’s voice cut through the silence like a blade through flesh.


    “Now—” he said, his smirk widening.


    “End this.”


    The orcs and gnolls moved in, their weapons glinting under the dim moonlight, their expressions alight with cruel delight.


    Asael didn’t look up. He didn’t fight back.


    He just stared at his friend’s lifeless body, tears falling endlessly as the darkness closed in.


    -----


    A storm of memories crashed through Asael’s mind—


    Fleeting images of the past.


    Laughter. Battles. Friendships. Bloodshed.


    They blurred together, twisting into a chaotic mess, each one overlapping the next, a kaleidoscope of agony and warmth that no longer belonged to him.


    His vision flickered—shadows and light blending into a nightmare, a haze of torment that refused to clear.


    His body swayed.


    His breath came ragged and uneven, each inhale sharp, each exhale laced with pain.


    His hearing dulled—the mocking laughs of the orcs and gnolls faded into nothingness, swallowed by the storm raging inside him.


    Only one voice remained.


    A whisper.


    Cold. Unrelenting. Divine.


    "Do you wish to hunt evil?"


    Asael’s lips barely moved.


    "...Yes."


    The voice rumbled again, deep and absolute, like the weight of judgment itself.


    "Can you give up anything to do so?"


    His chest tightened.


    His mind, already on the brink of madness, latched onto one singular thought.


    "...Yes."


    "Then sacrifice me your eyes, and I will grant you strength."


    Asael’s breath hitched.


    His fingers, trembling and slick with his own blood, slowly began to rise.


    One by one, they crawled toward his wounded, half-blinded eyes.


    Leimer, watching from a distance, frowned.


    "What… is he doing?"


    Anne, Steven, and Kenta stared in horror, their bodies frozen, unable to speak.


    Asael’s fingers dug into his eye sockets.


    Then—


    "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!"


    A sickening squelch echoed through the battlefield.


    Blood gushed from his eyes, spilling down his face in thick, crimson rivers. It painted his skin, soaked his chest, pooled in the dirt beneath him.


    His body shook violently, but he didn’t stop.


    He kept digging.


    His nails scraped against soft flesh—


    Ripping deeper.


    Tearing apart his own sight.


    His screams tore through the air, raw and primal, the sound of a man offering himself to something beyond mortality.


    His hands threatened to collapse, his body begging him to stop—


    But he held on.


    Blood dripped from his chin, mixing with the filth below.


    His body revolted against him—his muscles spasmed, his stomach twisted, bile rose in his throat—


    But he endured.


    Then, the voice spoke again.


    "Very well. I accept your determination, hero."


    A golden light erupted.


    It poured from Asael’s ruined eyes, spilling from the dark voids like liquid fire.


    It crawled across his skin, searing through his veins, igniting his very soul.


    His dying aura flared—stronger than before, brighter, hotter, divine.


    His wounds began to mend at an unnatural speed.


    His broken bones set themselves, shifting with sickening cracks.


    His torn flesh knitted back together, the agony giving way to an overwhelming surge of power.


    The monsters watching staggered back, their sneers twisting into fear.


    Even Leimer, always composed, took a cautious step away.


    "Thou shall be victorious."


    A golden inferno exploded around Asael.


    His scream—once filled with pain—became a roar of fury.


    His body, once slumped and weak, now stood tall and unshaken.


    His head lifted.


    His eyes—


    Once gouged out, now gleamed with divine radiance.


    Brilliant golden streaks ran across his face, like cracks in reality itself.


    Tears of blood and light dripped from his sockets, merging into something both beautiful and horrific.


    A fallen warrior reborn.


    A man turned into a hunter.


    His mind, once filled with chaos and confusion, now held only one thought.


    Hunt. Down. The. Evil.