Of course, the peace didn’t last long at all. If there was one thing he’d learned during his short time in this world, it was that.

Perhaps because he was Ares’ champion, he seemed destined to be a magnet for trouble. This particular mess, however, he’d brought upon himself. He hadn’t been able to hold back.

He had to admit it—though of course, he didn’t regret a thing. Max left the cabin. Across the way, as expected, an elf waited for him.

This one was different. No, not one of those he’d defeated and humiliated before.

“Enough,” said Max. “Things don’t have to spiral out of control.”

“Such arrogance!” the elf retorted. “You think you can come here, hit a child, and then decide when enough is enough? All humans are the same.”

“Call it whatever you want, but this ends now or you’ll regret it. We’re allies. Your own boss recruited me.”

“Silvana can sympathize with humans if she pleases, but I refuse to tolerate you wandering around doing as you please. Hurting our children. Come on,” he assumed a combat stance, unsheathing the sword hanging from his back. “Come on, fight, coward!”

Max didn’t unsheathe his own blade—not yet.

“Are you that little shit’s father?”

“No,” the elf replied bluntly.

“Then why the hell are you here playing hero?” Max shook his head. “Well, suit yourself. But that brat deserved it. You should be grateful I only gave him a kick.”

The elf spat, his face twisting with rage. So much rage that he choked on his own words. Max assumed. Or perhaps he saw no need for words. Not when his murderous glare conveyed everything important in an instant.

“Now you try to justify yourself?”

“You justify—if you can—what he did to my daughter,” Max shot back. “If a human had done something like that to your son, you wouldn’t have stopped at a kick to the mouth. You’d have strung him up on a damned tree. You’d have gutted him like a pig.”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah, of course,” Max snorted.

He should try to de-escalate the conflict. Apologize, even. But every time that idea crossed his mind, the image of Helen lying on the ground reappeared—the red mark on her pale cheek. Her face in that moment flashed in his mind’s eye: her wide eyes, her trembling lips.

Helen had told him it wasn’t a big deal, after all. That she’d been used to not belonging to either the human world or the elven world since birth.

Yet those had just been words. Her immediate physical reaction told another story. A very simple one.

Helen had tried to connect with her own kind. Simply to play a little. And as a reward, she’d received insults and a slap.

That was simply intolerable. His blood burned just thinking about it.

It was impossible to resolve this problem through dialogue. The elf—whose name Max still didn’t know—wouldn’t listen to reason, and neither would he, he admitted.

But he wouldn’t cross the line. He wouldn’t kill him. The elf hadn’t actually done anything.

Not yet. So he’d just teach him a lesson—one that would serve as an example to all the others who might be nurturing similar ideas. A living proof that messing with them wasn’t worth it.

Naturally, he worried far more about what they might do to Helen than about any retaliation against himself. The fight was attracting attention, of course. Crowds gathered at a safe distance.

Some shouted their support. Others their displeasure. No one, absolutely no one, stepped forward to try to stop this.

“I don’t know who you think you are, human. But it’s time someone took you down a peg. It’s time someone—” He didn’t finish the sentence.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Max would forever be left with the mystery. It wasn’t that the elf had chosen to fall silent or reconsidered in the moment. He’d never finish the sentence because an arrow had pierced his throat.

His blood splattered across Max’s face. He watched him collapse, choking on his own blood.

Okay, he was still alive, but he didn’t have much time left in this world. Seconds of agony, minutes at most.

What did Max know? The point was, seeing how his head twisted and his body trembled was enough to know he was a goner. You didn’t need to be a medical expert. In any case,

Max turned around and ran without a second thought.

He’d thought orcs were too stupid to set up an ambush, but anything was possible. Or maybe it was humans. He’d bet both sides had enough reasons for retaliation throughout history. Well, that was obvious. It was always like that.

He slammed the cabin door open. He slipped inside, wary of traps. Of course, there were none.

He went to the room he shared with Helen. The girl’s first reaction was to give him a tense look. No—a frightened one.

Maybe she didn’t know exactly what was happening. Though, to be fair, neither did he. But she’d have heard enough: the whistle of arrows, the gurgling of that unlucky son of a bitch choking on his blood, the screams.

“Grab your staff and follow me,” Max said. “Don’t leave my sight for a moment, Helen. Understood?”

Helen simply seemed too scared to speak. Or perhaps, as usual, she overthought everything and had nothing to say beyond what she felt.

“Where are we going now? What will we do? Are we sticking to the plan, the ambush one?”

“Good question.”

Max thought about it, but not for long.

“The plan is to survive however we can,” he finally said. “If an opportunity arises, well, we’ll see. Stay close to me. Do what I do.”

They left the cabin, and it immediately became clear this wasn’t the work of a lone archer slipping behind enemy lines for the perfect shot. A rain of steel descended upon the elves and their shitty little treehouses.

When the elf—whose name Max still didn’t know—was shot in the throat, the first and by far the wildest possibility that had crossed his mind was that one of Silvana’s elves had taken the guy out before he could become a real problem. But that was unrealistic, not just because they should’ve known none of those guys could put up a fight, but mainly because they wouldn’t do that to one of their own.

They were being invaded, plain and simple: elves, humans, merfolk… whoever was responsible.

Now they were under a waterfall of shit, and the only thing they could do was try to come out as unscathed as possible.

“Orcs attacking with bows and arrows,” said Helen, “and setting ambushes?”

“Yeah, doesn’t seem likely. I don’t know what’s happening here.”

But that was the least of their worries, naturally.

They were alive, they would survive, and they’d come out of this better and stronger than before. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Thanks to the power Ares had granted him, that was literally true.

Part of him wished he’d left as soon as Helen recovered. To not think about repaying debts or growing stronger. To chase his goals by throwing himself into another life-or-death fight.

But he’d decided to accept Silvana’s request. He’d chosen to be here, and Helen had wanted this too. Too late for regrets, for second-guessing, for telling himself fire burns.

The attackers emerged from the trees, growling and roaring. Orcs, without a doubt. So they were smart enough to set an ambush.

To catch the elves by surprise. Fine. Shocking, but fine.

It was better than the alternative, at least. Max was different now. More willing to speak his mind, to enforce his will.

But he wasn’t a warrior or a monster. He wasn’t sure he could kill humans without hesitation, despite everything. Something that merely looked human was a different story.

At least, that’s what he believed. One of the orcs cut into their path, leaping and landing right in front of them. Max doubted it recognized him, despite the feat he’d accomplished in Ethos and the massacre of those bastards.

No, Max thought, placing a hand on Helen’s shoulder and hiding her behind him, pushing her back carefully. It had likely been drawn by Helen. They didn’t care, after all.

It meant absolutely nothing to them that she was just a child. If he fell, if no one remained to protect her, she’d suffer the same fate as her mother. Max gritted his teeth and, unflinching, faced the orc as it unleashed a war cry and lunged at him.

A mace in one hand, a shield in the other. Its shadow swallowed him quickly. It was a massive monster.

But size didn’t matter much. Not such a trivial difference. Its attacks were just easier to see.

They made it easier prey, that’s all. Max shattered its right leg, sending it crashing to its knees. He achieved this simply by kicking and pressing his boot down until the bone cracked, until he felt the leg twist.

Then, with both hands, he decapitated it. He watched the head—frozen in a stupid expression of surprise—arc through the air, trailing a spray of blood. Not a single drop stained him or his armor.

The severed head hit the grass with a dull thud. It seemed to stare at him, but it was already dead. Those eyes only saw through him, if they saw anything at all.

If it wasn’t entirely dead, it had little consciousness left. It must’ve seen nothing. That was something he’d read in the hospital: when you die, hearing is the last sense to go.

He wasn’t sure if it was true, but why was he thinking about that? Maybe because, before coming to this world, he’d never even been in a fight. And of course, he’d never killed anyone. But now he could do something as monstrous as decapitate a being without hesitation, without physical, mental, or emotional strain.

He told himself again it was because it was an orc—a monster, a thing only vaguely resembling a human. But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate even if this were an invasion by human forces. It probably wouldn’t even disturb his sleep.

I guess time will tell, he thought. Like everything in life.

“Don’t stop,” Max said. “Run.”