"He took the diary." Seralyn said, still holding her stomach, trying to breathe.
"He must be taking it somewhere… and we all know where." Tila replied, swallowing hard.
Anaalyn tightened her grip on the axe handle, trying to ignore the pain in her back.
"If he’s really taking it to that place… then it’s a hundred percent certain. Revan’s apprentice… was always Bruno."
Seralyn let out a pained half-smile.
"I think the clone beating us up kinda proved that already."
Tila looked toward the dark forest, nervous.
"But why now? Why the diary? Why the… Zero?"
None of them had an answer.
Only the heavy silence, the smell of blood…
And the terrifying certainty that the real Bruno — not the clone — was even more unpredictable.
"I think we should rest before overthinking… I’m not feeling well." Seralyn said while trying to stand, her legs still trembling.
"Y-Yeah… I think so too. Anaalyn, do you think the healers in your village can help us?" Tila asked, hopeful.
"Healers? We use beer and meat to heal."
Anaalyn answered naturally.
The two stared at the dwarf with pure shock.
"…We are definitely going to my village instead." Tila concluded.
"I agree." Seralyn added without hesitation.
"You two are so dramatic, seriously." Anaalyn huffed, though she had no argument.
"I know something that can help us for now."
Tila placed a hand on Seralyn’s stomach and on Anaalyn’s back.
"Minus curare."
"What was that, Tila?" Seralyn blinked, surprised that the pain had already eased by nearly half.
"Bruno, of course. He taught me a few small spells — simple, but effective."
Tila placed her hand on herself.
"Minus curare."
She breathed deeply, exhausted.
"But it wears you out… Using that spell three times already feels like I ran a marathon."
They walked through the forest, still sore, still trying to understand what had happened. After a few steps, Tila heard Seralyn suddenly stop breathing for a moment.
"Crap…" Seralyn whispered.
She had seen it first.
There, only a few meters ahead, walking on the same narrow path… he was there.
The Perfect Warrior.
Walking slowly.
Without hurry.
Without emotion.
Just moving… as if the world was far too small to matter to him.
Seralyn’s body trembled again — that monstrous smile still burned in her memory. A smile on the face she trusted the most. A smile that made her feel like her body wanted to shut down.
"Tila…" Seralyn murmured. "He… he’s right there…"
Anaalyn tightened her grip on the axe, even she swallowing hard.
"He’s not looking at us…" Tila said, trying to convince herself.
"He’s not even paying attention…"
But it was useless.
Even without turning his head…
Even without looking at them…
Even without doing anything…
His presence crushed the air in their lungs like a giant hand.
"He’s walking… exactly toward the village…" Anaalyn whispered with a hoarse voice.
"S-Shit…" Tila’s stomach dropped.
Stolen novel; please report.
"He really is going to your village, Tila…" Seralyn said, still trembling.
"Let’s just walk." Tila tried to stay calm, though she did not believe her own words.
But Anaalyn…
Anaalyn was never the type to stay still.
"No! I’m not letting him walk past us like nothing happened!"
The dwarf ran ahead, placing herself directly in the Perfect Warrior’s path.
"ANAALYN!" Tila’s eyes widened.
"Please, don’t do anything stupid!"
"If you do anything, dwarf, you’re gonna die alone!" Seralyn shouted, voice cracking with panic.
But Anaalyn spread her arms, blocking his way.
The Perfect Warrior kept walking.
Slow steps.
Heavy steps.
Unstoppable steps.
Until he stopped, less than an arm’s length away.
Anaalyn looked up — far up — staring into that empty face, those eyes that didn’t seem alive at all.
"I was right…" she murmured with a mix of triumph and fear.
"He doesn’t care about us. He doesn’t react. Only when he’s really attacked."
The Perfect Warrior simply stood there.
Still.
Observing Anaalyn the same way he would observe a rock in the road.
No hostility.
No curiosity.
No humanity.
Just… presence.
And his presence crushed.
Seralyn held her breath.
Tila was drenched in cold sweat.
"He… he’s just waiting…" Tila whispered.
The forest fell silent.
Oppressively.
Almost fatally.
"I’m stepping aside." Anaalyn said, snorting like she had just saved the world.
"Oh, it’s not that hard…" Seralyn crossed her arms.
"He could just hop over you if he wanted."
"Shut up, idiot." the dwarf growled, adjusting the axe on her shoulder.
"I had an idea. Since we’re passing near my village, we can try something."
She barely stepped out of the way before the Perfect Warrior resumed walking, as if she were nothing more than a fallen branch.
Tila swallowed hard.
"What idea, Anaalyn?" Tila asked, half afraid to hear it.
The dwarf smiled… almost wickedly.
The kind of smile that says: this is going to be a disaster.
"It involves a rope…" she made a circular gesture with her finger.
"…and a cart."
Silence.
"ANAALYN—NO."
Tila was the first to react.
"I vote no too." Seralyn raised her hand like she was in class.
"Two votes against any idea that involves you and ropes."
Anaalyn just laughed.
A laugh full of pride and mild insanity.
"Relax. It’ll work."
"I will NEVER trust you with a rope!" Seralyn exploded.
"NEVER!"
"Oh, calm down. It’s just to slow him down a little."
They looked at the Perfect Warrior.
He walked without hurry, but every step carried the weight of an avalanche.
Slowing that with a rope and a cart was about as likely as stopping a dragon with pebbles.
"This is going to go wrong…" Tila sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"No." Anaalyn puffed out her chest.
"This is going to go VERY wrong."
And smiled.
They soon reached the wide road leading to the dwarven village. A broken old cart rested beside a fence — and of course, a thick rope hanging from the seat.
Anaalyn lit up.
"There it is. My masterpiece."
"That’s not a masterpiece." Tila muttered.
"That’s suicide."
Seralyn dragged a hand down her face.
"Tila, it’s Anaalyn. This is pure entertainment for her."
The dwarf ignored them all.
She grabbed the rope, made a large loop, and looked at the Perfect Warrior like assessing a wild horse.
"This shouldn’t even be possible…" Tila whispered.
"Trust me." Anaalyn repeated for the thousandth time.
She walked toward the Perfect Warrior — who kept walking as if the world were irrelevant.
Anaalyn took a breath…
And placed the rope around his neck.
Just like that. One move, one lift of the arms, loop over — done.
Seralyn nearly collapsed.
"You… you really did that…" she covered her mouth, expecting him to turn Anaalyn into paste.
Tila froze.
The Perfect Warrior did not react.
Did not look at her.
Did not blink.
Just kept walking, the rope now swinging around his neck.
Anaalyn ran to the cart and tied the other end.
"Done!"
"Done dying?" Seralyn shot back.
Tila said nothing. She was at the acceptance stage of grief.
They climbed onto the cart, trembling, accepting fate.
Anaalyn raised her arm like a proud knight.
"Let’s go, white one!"
The Perfect Warrior took a single step.
The cart shot forward like a giant had kicked it.
The three were thrown backward, screaming.
"AAAAAH—"
"I HATE YOU, ANAALYN—"
"MY ORGANS—"
The cart raced at impossible speed as the Perfect Warrior walked calmly… apparently forgetting he was dragging three idiots behind him.
Tila held the side of the cart with all her strength.
Seralyn regretted every decision ever made.
Anaalyn laughed like a full maniac.
"I TOLD YOU IT WORKED!"
The cart bounced, lifted, almost flipped, while the Perfect Warrior walked as calmly as a giant carrying groceries.
"ANAALYN, WE’RE GOING TO DIE!"
Eventually, his pace slowed.
The violent dragging became a steady, firm walk — the cart rocking gently, like nothing had happened.
But the three…
The three were finished.
Tila could barely keep her eyes open.
"I… I can’t feel my arms…" she murmured.
Seralyn lay in the corner of the cart, gasping like she had run for three days.
"I… I can’t… move my soul…"
Anaalyn tried to act fine, but she too was melting.
"I'm… I’m fine…" she said… before collapsing to the side.
The Perfect Warrior kept walking, completely indifferent to the pathetic state of his passengers.
Tac.
Tac.
Tac.
The cart rocked gently, like a giant cradle carried by a murderous god.
Tila blinked slowly.
Once.
Twice.
A third time — her eye stuck half open, half closed.
"I… shouldn’t have used… three ‘minus curare’…"
Seralyn lifted a trembling finger.
"I… I’m going to kill… you… dwarf… later…"
"What?" Anaalyn mumbled, half-conscious.
"I didn’t hear… my ears are ringing…"
Silence.
Only the Warrior’s steps.
Only their broken breathing.
Only the gentle squeak of the old wheels.
They were so exhausted that silence overtook them — the kind that comes when the body simply gives up on existing.
Tila rested her head on Seralyn’s shoulder.
Seralyn leaned on Anaalyn.
Anaalyn fell forward against the cart’s edge.
A defeated trio, dragged by a soulless man.
---
"Hey, you there! Stop whatever you're doing and hand over everything in that cart!"
A random bandit didn’t care that they were trying to rest — and whoever was “driving” wasn’t them.
He approached with a machete meant to intimidate, but the one in front of him did not have a shred of fear.
The bandit stepped forward, waving the blade as if it meant something in the world.
"Hey! I’m talking to you up front! Get off the cart and hand everything over! Now!"
The cart stopped.
But not because he ordered it.
The Perfect Warrior simply
stopped walking,
as if the air around him had frozen.
The bandit smirked, thinking he had intimidated him.
"That’s right… stop there… now turn around slow—"
He never finished the sentence.
The Perfect Warrior turned his head only a few degrees to the left.
Slowly.
Precisely.
Coldly.
That tiny movement made the bandit choke for air.
It was like watching death trying to understand why it was being looked at.
"W-what… what the hell…" he murmured, trembling.
The machete slipped from his hand.
Tila, half-awake in the cart, murmured:
"Don’t… don’t look at him… don’t—"
But the bandit had already looked.
The Perfect Warrior took a single step toward him.
Tac.
The bandit stumbled backward, fell on his butt.
"D-don’t come closer..! I— I only stopped you because—"
Tac.
Another step.
The Warrior said nothing.
Showed nothing.
No anger.
No emotion.
He simply existed — and that was enough to crush the man’s soul.
"Please… s-stop… I… I changed my mind… y-you can go… take e-everything…"
Tac.
When the Warrior stood before him, the bandit began to cry.
Like a child.
Like someone who already knew he was dead.
He raised his hands, trembling.
"I— I have a family! I’m just… just a small-time thief! It’s just my job! It’s just—"
Shhhk.
The Warrior raised his hand.
Nothing else.
A simple motion.
And his shadow stretched… thin as a blade.
The bandit froze.
Then, slowly, his head slid to the side… his body collapsing right after.
No speech.
No visible cut.
No grand movement.
Just the intent to kill — and that was enough.
The Perfect Warrior turned back
and continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Tac.
Tac.
Tac.
Behind him, the three nearly unconscious girls watched in horror.
Anaalyn murmured in a hoarse voice:
"…I take back everything I said… about this being… funny…"
Seralyn trembled.
"I… I’m going to have nightmares about that smile… for years…"
Tila breathed shakily, trying not to faint.
"He… he killed the man without… without even trying…"
The cart moved on.
The forest fell into absolute silence.
And the Perfect Warrior kept walking, dragging three exhausted girls…
toward a destination only he seemed to know.
