"Then, should we turn back, Helen? Return to our camp, so to speak?"

Helen bit her lower lip, deep in thought. Max didn't intend to make her responsible for a decision of such magnitude; he only wanted to hear her opinion. He was humble enough to recognize when he needed advice.

"No," she said at last. "Give me a moment."

Helen placed two fingers on the edge of her sword—no, on the droplets of blood that shone along the blade. She closed her eyes. Okay, I'll try something. I won't ask what it is. I'll just hope it works. After what felt like an eternity…

"That's it." The little one suddenly opened her eyes wide.

"Where?"

"Um… Trust me. I'll guide you."

"Of course, I would trust you with my life."

Max leaped from one tree canopy to the next. He did so with great care, yet it was impossible to avoid making noise—his sword, the weight of his armor, and the little person he carried.

"What was that?"

Startled, the orc turned his head, though he never fully raised it. Four or five of them approached to see what was happening. None of them turned out to be any smarter.

Max took a deep breath.

Good. I should try to remain as stealthy as possible.

There were too many of them. He could win, but that didn’t mean he had to try. Another jump. Moving from tree to tree worked well enough. It wasn’t that hard; he could jump and land without any trouble each time. Still, he was afraid of falling—but that was secondary. Ignore it and it will vanish. No matter how frightened he was, he knew he’d survive the fall. And Helen too.

There was no time to ask questions, yet he was curious about what Helen was doing. Tracking the orc leader by his blood? But they hadn’t identified him, and the blood on her sword could belong to anyone. Anyway, he could ask questions later.

He ran out of trees. Well, not exactly out of trees—he was in the middle of a damned forest.

The gap he needed to cover with a jump became too wide even for him. So he moved from the trees to the undergrowth. Hiding among the bushes wasn’t like in the movies or video games. That is, it wasn’t as if they couldn’t see the rustling of the grass. But for now, no one had detected them. If it worked, it worked. He wasn’t about to start complaining—that was for sure.

After a while…

"Over there, Mr. Max, that one," Helen said in an almost inaudible voice, pointing with a small, trembling finger.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

Max nodded. There was nothing more to say. He shouldn’t have asked the question. In any case, Helen wouldn’t have said anything if she hadn’t been sure. After all, it was their lives at stake—his life, in particular. Because many feared that she valued her own life above anything else. One of the many things he would have to address in due time.

The leader of this band of orcs had not stationed himself in the tent that obviously belonged to the leader—given how large and luxurious it was—nor did he dress in a way that made it obvious he was in charge. He had no crown, no armor, no special sword or weapon. He appeared as one among the crowd. But Helen was sure, and so was he. There was nothing more to say.

"Stay back, okay?" Max whispered. "Do what you can from hiding, but nothing more. If you have to choose between staying hidden and helping me out, I'd prefer you remain hidden."

Of course, he knew she would never make that choice—that she would turn a deaf ear. But it didn’t hurt to try.

Max emerged from the undergrowth. There was no chance of catching the orc leader by surprise, so he didn’t even try. He went straight for the bastard, letting out a battle cry from the depths of his throat. He didn’t consider what would happen if Helen were wrong. Not even for a second did it cross his mind as a possibility.

The damned orc also let out a battle cry and brandished his weapon. Their arms clashed violently. A shower of sparks flew between them. They struck each other again and again. The space between them had become a shredder—anything that passed through would be torn to pieces.

His opponent's weapon was a spiked mace. He had acquired his sword only a short while ago, but Max was concerned: how much could it withstand against such a weapon? The spikes grazing the blade… It could break at any moment. But in any case, it was better to end this as soon as possible.

Like the other orc—whose name, frankly, he couldn’t recall—he didn’t seem what one would call experienced. His movements lacked technique; they were nothing but brute strength and speed. And that was more than enough. Techniques were something invented by humans to compensate for their weaknesses. A monster like this didn’t have many.

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Yet he was going to fall. He knew it himself. His anger and confidence soon turned to fear. He instantly noticed that dark glimmer in the beast’s eyes. Those were the eyes of a cornered animal. Max knew few things were worse than feeling that your death was approaching with every passing second. That it was coming faster and faster. And there was nothing you could do. Nothing at all to stop it.

The weapon shattered. Into pieces.

The enemy’s weapon, that is.

Did it matter, considering that the rest of his body was also a weapon? It did enough. Max leapt spinning over the monster’s head and, at the same time, his sword split its skull in two. He felt the skin and flesh tearing, felt the skull giving way, landed as blood and brains splattered across the earth and grass.

He didn’t see that, but he heard enough. It hadn’t been as easy as it seemed. A short fight, but intense.

One mistake, one misstep, and he would have ended up like that. Max took a deep breath. It should worry him, and it did worry him, that Helen was exposed to such displays of violence so often.

But what could he do to prevent it? Abandon her, leave her in the hands of others, even if it were a tribe of elves—or, rather, especially then. It no longer seemed even remotely an option. Maybe it never had, and he’d fooled himself into thinking otherwise.

Maybe he needed her as much as she needed him. He wasn’t sure. Max shoved aside the notification that popped up.

Experience gain or something like that, probably. Maybe "quest completed"—in any case, he had no time to read anything amid all this. He was fighting for his life.

This wasn’t a game. For Ares, maybe, but not for him.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, Helen.”

He grabbed the girl by the wrist and pulled her along, running. After all, he’d fulfilled his promise. Kill the leader, nothing more, nothing less.

Anything beyond the agreed plan was just unnecessary risk. And being here, doing this, had already been a thoroughly unnecessary risk. Another regret to add to the list.

As if he didn’t have enough already. He vowed that, from now on, he’d do better. He’d think first of the life now entrusted to him.

He owed it to the mother he couldn’t save and the girl who’d placed her faith in him. A person no one had ever believed in. A person who, for years, had ceased to be a person.

It was as if she’d breathed life back into him. So he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Nothing.

Orcs don’t cower at their leader’s death. At least, not most. They howled and charged after them, weapons raised overhead.

He could hear their heavy breaths closing in. They were just wild animals, after all. To be honest, he felt fear—not just a bit of panic—but everything would be fine. The mission had gone well in the end, and they were in a forest. How hard could it be to lose them?

The victory conditions were to slip away, nothing more. It might not be his forte as the Sword of the God of War, but he could do it. The wind whistled through the trees, leaves crunching under his boots, the snap of occasional branches.

The ears of those bloodthirsty beasts, along with his own frantic breathing and Helen’s, formed a hellish cacophony. He could barely hear his own thoughts.

Max felt somewhat detached from his own body. Why did he even want to live this dangerous life? He was powerful, destined for greatness thanks to Ares’s gift. Wasn’t that enough? Why keep striving to grow stronger? Why dream of beheading Ares and seizing the God of War’s throne? He didn’t want to be controlled.

He didn’t want to be at fate’s mercy again. Yet Max felt like vomiting. This wasn’t a life either, was it? Facing death day after day, gambling with their lives.

That wasn’t a proper way to live. It couldn’t be. Did part of him crave this anyway? No—that was a ridiculous thought.

It was just a life of pain and fear. Life is pain and fear, he thought. Max grimaced.

He squeezed Helen’s hand tighter, nails digging in. Maybe so, but it’s not only that. Not just that.

While thinking of things he should save for later, he kept running on autopilot. Though “autopilot” might not be the right word. It felt like he was speeding up instead of pacing himself or tiring.

In the end, he managed to outrun the orcs—yes—but he also hid in a hole in the ground, waiting for them to pass, splitting up to cover more ground. Eager to avenge their leader.

The hole was large, deep. Like a scar in the earth. It felt as if a bomb had fallen there long ago.

Maybe long ago. Otherwise, a good chunk of the forest would have been leveled and look like it. This world wasn’t that advanced.

That was obvious. But with magic, who knew what they could do? What destruction they could wreak?

“I think we’re clear,” Max said. “Come on.”

They climbed out and ran again. He couldn’t be 100% sure they were safe, but at least there were no more orcs. And they weren’t exactly subtle creatures.

Though, to be fair, neither was he. Not really. Given that his system was called Sword of the God of War, he probably couldn’t expect stealth-related skills. He’d have to practice on his own, work at it. But he was painfully aware he was just an ordinary person, deep down.

His success so far was due to the power granted by Ares. He wasn’t sure how far his own efforts alone could take him. Everything was harder because his life wasn’t the only one at stake.

That’s what it meant to be a brother—or, rather, a father. I can be both, he thought. Since we’re alone in the world, both make sense.

A brother playing the role of a father. A role—that’s all he’d been doing, in many ways. But even a role could become real, right? What did people do in life but strive to fulfill the fantasy called “the best version of yourself”?

They didn’t take long to return to Silvana and the others.

The battle was bloody, far worse, naturally, than the chaos they’d left behind. Because the only victims here had been those monsters. So much blood and guts.

So many desperate screams and cries. He felt like vomiting. He couldn’t imagine how Helen felt.

Better, perhaps, because she could rely on him. Trust him to get her through this, on one hand. But on the other—the side that mattered more—she was smaller.

Less equipped for such a horrifying spectacle. Of course, what happened to her mother would always be the worst thing in her life. She’d suffered far more than him.

But still, seeing this, seeing it repeated even with strangers… He should have left without looking back. Goddamn it, he should have taken her far away without hesitation. To hell with repaying favors.

To hell with experience points, with growing stronger. There were a thousand better ways to do that. To hell with all of it.

But of course, it was already too fucking late. If he turned back now, abandoned the elves to their fate, he’d lose Helen’s affection.

“Helen,” Max murmured.

She seemed calm, almost, but it was just repression. Her face was expressionless, not trembling, but not moving either.

“Don’t worry. We’ll handle this. I promise, everything will be okay.”