Max wasted no time pondering his next move. First and foremost, they needed to find Silvana. If she was still alive—and it was likely she was, given that as the leader, she’d be stationed in the safest part of the formation—she was the only person in this place who would still willingly speak to him at this point. All his own fault, he admitted.

Though he wasn’t sure he could have done anything to change it. Even if he had behaved more reasonably. In any case, the priority was to find her first. The rest… the rest would work itself out later.

Fortunately, it wasn’t particularly difficult to locate her. Everything had been going perfectly so far. Max was the kind of person who expected bad news around every corner whenever something like this happened. Once again, he wasn’t mistaken.

They arrived just in time to see Silvana decapitating one of the orcs, her sword gripped tightly in both hands. That orc had already been neutralized, anyway—another elf had torn off its legs. But well, even without legs, these creatures were dangerous. You couldn’t just leave them bleeding out on the ground.

When she noticed them, Silvana offered a faint smile. Her armor and face were soaked in blood. They walked over to her. She didn’t approach them.

“Did you succeed?” Silvana asked.

“Of course,” said Max. “It was a piece of cake.”

He didn’t pause to wonder whether that expression existed in this world. In any case, he shouldn’t even be able to speak whatever language this world used. He assumed the magic enabling communication would handle the translation. Or maybe it wasn’t some arcane tongue—just English. That was also a possibility.

“Well, in any case… Where’s the head?” Silvana pressed.

Max froze. The head. Right, the damn head.

Silvana read his expression instantly. Not that it required any particular skill to do so.

“How will they know their leader is dead without the head?”

“I thought the camp would call for a retreat, and the others would follow.” No. What was the point of lying now? “It didn’t cross my mind. How should I know? Nerves. Adrenaline.”

“Goddammit, Max! I can’t believe this.”

“I went there to do your dirty work, and I did it. But don’t talk to me like I’m one of your little soldiers. Don’t think you control me.”

“You think now is the best time for this argument? Now, when my people are dying or wishing they were dead?”

“That has nothing to do with anything. And I don’t give a shit.”

Silvana turned to Helen.

“You hear that, girl?”

Helen stayed silent. But her withering glare was answer enough. It was aimed at Silvana. Of course, not at him.

“I screwed up,” Max continued. “I admit it. But it’s time to move past it, focus, and figure out what I should do next. Aside from killing everything that moves, obviously.”

“I don’t think there’s room for more plans anymore,” said Silvana. “If there ever were any to begin with. I don’t understand how the hell they bypassed so many traps and ambushed us.”

“Clearly, they’re not as stupid as you think. I don’t give a damn about what you think you know. What matters is what’s right in front of us.”

“I don’t appreciate your cheek, but you’re right. In the end, facts matter, not assumptions. I’m out of plans, Max. Survive. Do what you can… and thank you.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Why?”

“Because the truth is, I didn’t think you’d come back—with or without the head. You’re a surprisingly honest boy for a human. Your mother must have raised you well.”

He should have felt happy, but Max furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to think about his mother. Even if he missed his family, he’d never see her again. She’d died in that hospital bed. He’d never reclaim what he’d lost. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Another item on the long list of things he preferred not to dwell on.

The only path left for him was forward. There was no point looking back. The past was the past.

Silvana no doubt noticed his reaction but chose not to comment. He wondered what the elf was thinking, what kind of ideas she might be forming about him and his mother.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Amid the surrounding chaos, he had to find a way to survive—to save as many people as possible because, unfortunately, he wasn’t the type to turn a blind eye and claim it wasn’t his problem. He had priorities: if pushed to the brink, he’d keep those priorities in mind. But until then… well, his heart wasn’t made of stone. That was all.

“Having second thoughts?” Silvana asked.

“No. I’ll… We’ll do what we can. Come on, Helen. Come with me.”

Silvana hadn’t provided the help he’d hoped for. Besides, the supposedly safest part of the formation didn’t seem safe at all in practice. Better to leave. They’d fight somewhere else. They’d manage by improvising on the fly. After all, that’s what they’d been doing until now. It hadn’t gone too badly, considering how many times things could have ended much worse.

The entire refuge had transformed into a battlefield. Which is to say, there was little difference between one spot and another. He carved a path through orcs with Helen’s help, but he didn’t feel like he was making meaningful progress. He barely felt he’d moved away from Silvana’s side. Everywhere he looked: flames, thick black smoke, merciless slaughter, and screams glorifying bloodshed.

Max focused on the worst kinds of victims. Despite the chaos, many orcs still believed they could grab a woman and slip away for a “break.” He did what he could to dissuade them, letting his sword do the talking. Everything else was already horrific enough. That was the last thing he’d allow Helen to witness again.

He felt sick. He wanted to vomit. At this rate, he’d grow numb eventually. But for now, he wasn’t built for this life. He wasn’t the Sword of the God of War.

It was a role, just like playing the older brother or father. A well-performed role, perhaps, but still just a role. When he woke to the harsh reality of it all…

Max blocked a strike that would have crushed his skull. By the hairs of my beard! he thought. Fuck me. That was close. Too damn close.

Helen dealt with the orc before he could finish the miserable creature off. The beast flew backward, then exploded midair—a piñata of blood, entrails, and, he assumed, a heart probably floating around somewhere in the mix.

She had a natural talent for violence. Over time, she’d likely grow harder rather than regress. That’s what life did: it hardened people through relentless beatings.

I can’t even give myself a decent life. What makes me think I can do right by her? Nothing. The answer’s nothing, obviously.

But he also didn’t have the stomach to abandon her now. He wouldn’t trust anyone else. And more importantly, he didn’t want to. He was framing it as selfless, but of course, it wasn’t.

It’s important to be honest with yourself, he thought. And he was.

They pressed onward through the blood-drenched battlefield, a nightmare in broad daylight. The hospital room had felt like hell on earth—an inescapable hell. If only he’d known what was coming…

“I’m sorry,” Max said, pointlessly.

“Why?” Helen asked.

“For being an idiot and forgetting the leader’s head, obviously. You helped me find him. Without you, I couldn’t have done it. But I messed up.”

“It doesn’t matter. Really. And… this isn’t the time to talk about anything, Mr. Max.”

You’re right. Sorry. But the words stayed locked in his mind. He struggled, but he was learning. He didn’t make a habit of repeating mistakes.

The battle raged on. Meanwhile, the screen visible only to his eyes kept flickering into view, as if this were nothing but a game. It infuriated him! People were risking their lives and their children’s lives, and this thing kept notifying him about experience points, every scrape, every hit point lost. He didn’t want to know.

This system laid bare how Ares viewed humans.

Reading about it in a story was one thing. Living it was another.

The god saw humans as mere numbers—not living beings, just entertainment. He’d made that clear from the start, but it was no less revolting. Max had to kill him, no matter what.

He had to kill that colossal son of a bitch. Max slid between an orc’s legs to dodge, slicing its belly open down to the groin in the process. He spun away just in time to avoid a mace smashing his skull.

Instead, the blow left the ground spiderwebbed with cracks. Close. Too damn close.

The tide of orcs seemed endless. It felt like for every one he killed, three more took its place. It wasn’t difficult, but it was exhausting.

To make matters worse, he wasn’t used to any of this. He wasn’t built for it, despite what Ares wanted to mold him into. Not yet.

But that would change.