Welcome to the True Man’s World – 1.13

Max rushed out of the building as fast as he could, panting with desperation and rage—mostly rage. He couldn’t be too late; he couldn’t allow this, this to happen. Not in any way.

The first thing he saw made his heart leap into his throat.

"Get your hands off her!" he shouted, not stopping for even a second.

Ronan had reached Helen and was holding her by the neck, lifting her a few centimeters off the ground. She looked so small and vulnerable, especially with how effortlessly he handled her. It seemed as though he could snap her neck with the same ease he would break a staff. And he probably could, because this being wasn’t human—he was far more powerful.

Max could feel it; he didn’t need to see Ronan’s level or anything like that. It was obvious at a glance.

"An elf," Ronan said without even glancing in Max’s direction. "For a supposedly peaceful people, you’ve always been tied to Ares, one way or another. Even a little girl like this one takes to brainwashing quickly. For your sake, I’ll send you to Hades sooner."

Ronan raised his trident.

Max lunged at him, roaring, in a leap that covered over ten meters and surprised even himself. He screamed as though trying to tear his throat raw, like a wild animal. Sword in front of him. He couldn’t let this happen. She trusted him. She had placed her faith in him. For someone to do that, he couldn’t let them down. Damn it, that wouldn’t be right.

What would be the point of this new beginning if he just repeated the same mistakes? He had to save her. He had to. But he didn’t even make it to her. A water tentacle grabbed his ankle. Again. And another struck his side with enough force to send him back to the shore.

The landing on the sand was rough. Probably even rougher because of the armor he wore. Or maybe not. Either way, damn, it hurt. Max gritted his teeth. Not unbearably, but enough to feel it.

"Take your filthy hands off her, you bastard!" Max muttered, trying to get up. "What the hell is wrong with you, you piece of shit? She’s a child, for God’s sake. She’s just a child."

He could feel Ronan’s gaze boring into him.

"And you care? You? The champion of the God of War. His avatar, so to speak. You, of all people?"

Max spat on the ground. There was more blood than saliva, and on the sand, it was glaringly obvious. Even turning to glare at that bastard took effort.

"Yes, I care, damn it. I’m going to kill you. You’ve left me no choice but to kill you anyway. But if you so much as harm her, I’ll rip your goddamn guts out, you animal."

He saw Ronan begin to apply pressure to the arm holding Helen. In fact, he felt it even before it happened. That’s why he had time to brandish his sword. The blade tore through skin effortlessly. It sank into flesh like a butcher’s axe. He noticed immediately that Ronan bled surprisingly little, but he didn’t give it much thought. He wasn’t exactly in his right mind, and what did he know about how people should bleed? Either way, it weakened the bastard’s grip.

But Max didn’t escape unscathed. The armor he wore was undoubtedly high quality, but apparently not high enough. After a few hits, a water tentacle managed to stab him in the shoulder well before he could cut off the arm. Now he wasn’t sure he’d ever manage it. Groaning, Max fell to one knee. The thought that from the outside, it might look like he was kneeling before that damn scum set his blood ablaze, as though someone had poured a damn truckload of gasoline into his veins.

"Max…" Helen whispered through clenched teeth, struggling to pry Ronan’s fingers apart, just enough to slip out of his grasp. And if she couldn’t manage that, at least doing what she could to keep him from crushing her throat. And also to talk, stupid, she thought, to tell you… You know what she’s going to say. You know her well enough, even though you haven’t spent a whole day together. She’s going to say...

"It's fine," Helen muttered, "I don't care, I don't care. You leave, leave, please."

But even though she tried to be strong, tears ran down her cheeks, and her small body trembled. Her desire to protect him with that small body felt sacred.

I’m not going anywhere. I won’t.

Helen closed her eyes, seemingly giving up.

"How touching!" Ronan said as more water tentacles emerged from the sea. Fingers turned into half a dozen before Max could blink. How many more could that bastard summon? How many could he control at once?

"Fuck you! You’re an inhuman piece of trash, nothing but filth, and you’re going to die like the garbage you are."

"I’d say I’d like to see you try, but I think you already have, and this is the result."

Ronan extracted the sword from his arm with the trident. Max swung it again now that it was free, ignoring the pain in his shattered shoulder and the tentacle still writhing inside, rubbing salt into the wound. Figuratively speaking. Well, it was almost literal.

Ronan aimed for Max’s eyes, taking advantage of his moment of weakness. Max managed to dodge it, even at such close range, and stabbed his sword into Ronan’s unprotected stomach. It didn’t go in all the way to the hilt; it wasn’t a fatal wound, but still. "He’s bleeding far too little," Max thought, and then he was slammed to the ground, as if by an invisible hand. The weight of the water was overwhelming, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

"Max!" Helen screamed.

"Do everyone a favor and die," Ronan said, cold and calm like the sea.

Max got back up again. Somehow, he found the energy to perform that feat. His whole body hurt. He felt like he was missing a tooth, and there was more blood than saliva in his mouth. But he did it. He wasn’t going to give up, no matter what, not as long as he had a chance to fight. He’d sworn that to himself. And he owed it to Helen. He owed it to her. If he’d already left this town, if he’d ignored her, if he’d left her behind to search for a better place and a less suicidal mission, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Helen wouldn’t be in danger. Who knows? Maybe they’d have already found an elven tribe, and she’d be relaxed and feeling at home, with her people trying to heal the wounds she’d suffered in this nightmare of a day. So he owed it to her. He owed it.

"Seeing is believing," Ronan said, shaking his head. "No matter what happens, you get up again and again, like a cockroach. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a shame it won’t do you any good, but…"

Ronan frowned because something had changed. The sea level, from which he drew his power, was dropping rapidly. Whether from surprise or because he no longer cared, Ronan let go of Helen, letting her fall. Max immediately rushed to her, embracing her, shielding her. The outside world was chaotic and cruel. He had to protect her.

"What the hell is happening?" Ronan murmured. "Have I offended my lord Poseidon? No, that can’t be."

His gaze shifted back to them, landing specifically on Helen.

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"You, girl. You’re doing this, as unthinkable as it seems, aren’t you? I don’t believe it. Undo whatever spell you’ve cast or…"

Max didn’t let him finish the sentence. Without blinking, in less than a tenth of a second, Max cut off his right arm up to the elbow. No, a little higher. This time, he bled like a geyser, a veritable shower of blood. He saw the arm fall into the rapidly expanding pool of blood. And Max smiled. Yes, he smiled. He even laughed a little.

"You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!" Ronan growled.

Max stopped wasting time. He launched himself at him. The sword didn’t reach its destination. It clashed against a small shield of water, formed quickly to protect Ronan's head. Max gritted his teeth, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and pushed with all the weight of his body, with every ounce of strength he had left. He pierced through the water shield as if it were made of paper, but it served its purpose, at least deflecting his blow. Instead of hitting Ronan's head, the sword plunged into the creature’s left shoulder, dangerously close to the neck. But in moments like this, it wasn’t about "close" or "far." It was about "yes" or "no."

Max pulled out the sword. He prepared to strike again. Ronan jumped back, diving backward into the water—which, judging by the situation, wasn’t going to last much longer.

Max was about to chase after him when he heard the sound of a body hitting the ground. He told himself it couldn’t be Helen; she’d already fallen and gotten back up. But he turned around anyway and saw what he already knew. She had gotten up, but it hadn’t been enough.

She had collapsed again, and now she was gasping for air as though something was terribly wrong. Damn it, Helen needed medical attention. But it wasn’t as if the son of a bitch he was fighting would let him go and get it for her. That’s what Max thought—once again, he was wrong.

Ronan was retreating, swimming away with his tail between his legs—well, swimming with one arm missing—knowing Helen had weakened him and could do it again. Apparently, he’d lost the will to fight.

Cowardly bastard, come back so I can castrate you. That’s what Max wanted to shout but bit his tongue instead. He turned his back on the fleeing enemy and headed toward Helen, kneeling by her side. That’s when a notification appeared. He knew what it would say before his eyes registered it. It was the one thing whose absence he had noticed during the frenzied battle.

Side quest: Defeat the Great White Serpent. Completed.

Then, another notification: LEVEL UP!

And another: LEVEL UP!

He was now level four, with ten attribute points to spend and four skill points. But none of that mattered right now.

Max picked Helen up in his arms and stood.

"This girl needs a doctor," Max said, his voice trembling, hoping it wasn’t obvious. "She needs a doctor."

He repeated himself, unsure why. Maybe because he expected the reaction. The crowd was watching, but no one stepped forward to help. There was so much silence. Were they really going to go this far just because she was an elf?

Max clenched his teeth. He felt like turning his sword on these people—real monsters too.

"Thanks for saving your miserable, shitty town. Hope you end up having to tear it down and go screw yourselves somewhere else. Good luck, assholes."

Max bit his lower lip. None of what he wanted to say would help, but nothing he could say would help either. It was a lost cause, even before he arrived here. Deep down, he had known it before asking for help. I shouldn’t have insisted on going after the serpent, he thought. I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t be here.

Helen was unconscious now, so whatever spell she had used had dissipated. Apparently, that’s how it worked, because the water level had stopped dropping. Funny how the human brain could focus on such trivial details sometimes.

Fine, that was great. But what did that have to do with him? Nothing. Max took a deep breath and prepared to leave. Just then, as if sensing it, a woman stepped forward, hands clasped over her heart.

"You said your name is Max Miller, right?"

Get to the point and don’t waste my damn time. Can’t you see how bad she looks? he thought.

He simply replied:

"Yes, that’s me. And?"

Well, the case is that... Lord Miller, follow me. I can show you where they might take a look at her.

Lord Miller, he repeated in his head. What madness. But he merely nodded solemnly and began to follow her.

The tide of people parted as they passed; no one wanted to get in their way, no one dared to come too close. It was natural. He had demonstrated his power not once, but twice in succession. Keeping his promise, slaying the great white serpent, would have been impressive enough to leave them trembling with fear. But then there was the fact that he had repelled another god's champion, someone like him. Not defeated, not slain, not even close, but he had prevailed, and that counted for a great deal.

He was not the war god's lackey here; rather, they made him feel like a god among mere mortals. Not in a good way, if there even was one. The fear, the distrust, and, worst of all, the strange adoration in many of their eyes made it clear. As if he were now a completely different person from before, when they had spat in his face in exchange for all his efforts to destroy the white serpent and free them from that enormous burden.

Max followed the woman in silence. He didn’t know what else to do.

None of this was a pleasant sensation, to be sure, but he couldn’t care less. As long as the woman was truly leading him to someone who could help Helen, as long as the girl survived, he had come too far to fail now. One enemy was dead, the other had fled with his tail between his legs, and he wouldn't see him for a long time, if ever.

There were no obstacles, so it was a matter of luck. Luck depended on what was happening to Helen, whether there was still time to find help, and whether someone nearby had the skills to help her. His arms trembled. Max took a deep breath and forced himself to steady. Helen might be unconscious, but she depended on him. He couldn’t show weakness when she needed him. Besides, he was afraid of dropping her if he lost control and started shaking more than he already was.

She led him to an intact building, of course. The fight, though it had felt eternal to him, hadn’t lasted long. Only one building had a broken wall, and Ronanno had unleashed the full extent of his destructive powers. Of that, Max had no doubt. The villagers had been lucky. How it would infuriate him if they were the only ones who benefitted from that luck—the ones who least deserved it.

He looked down at Helen, curled up in his arms, still clutching her staff tightly. So tightly that her knuckles had turned white, even though she was unconscious. Helen was fighting in her own way. That had to mean there was hope. That had to mean that...

Helen’s eyes opened. Not fully, but they opened. His heart leapt into his throat. He swallowed hard.

“A village healer can’t do anything for me, Mr. Max,” she said in a faint voice.

“What’s wrong with you?” Max asked. “Then what can I do for you? Helen?” he pressed when she didn’t answer for too long.

He couldn’t let her fall unconscious. Not yet. He shouldn’t let her fall unconscious at all, he thought, knowing how hard—if not impossible—that would be. The next time, she might not wake up.

“This has to do with my magic, nothing more,” Helen said. “I feel almost empty. If I...”

“What? What is it? I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Helen shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes.

“No, no.”

Max couldn’t understand it. There was a way to help her, and she was refusing to tell him. Why? She had seen what he was capable of. Surely, she wasn’t afraid for his life, was she?

“Helen, please, no matter what it is, I’ll do it. It can’t be worse than staying silent and letting yourself die.”

“I’m not dying,” Helen replied. That should have reassured him, except for the fact that he wasn’t sure he believed her. “I might become magically useless if there’s no timely intervention, but dying is... unlikely.”

“Unlikely. That doesn’t mean impossible. Tell me what it is and let’s be done with it.”

Helen closed her eyes. Her trembling worsened. The unshed tears spilled over.

“But I don’t want to. I don’t want to. If I do, you’ll leave me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to take me to my kind, to some tribe of elves. But if you take me there, you’ll leave me there, thinking it’s what’s best for me,” the girl said, her voice barely audible. “I know it. I know you will.”

Max wanted to say many things. For example, he wanted to convince her she had nothing to fear, that he would never abandon her. But, as Ares’ chosen, he was destined for a life full of battles, of life-and-death situations. It was hard not to think she’d be better off without him. He didn’t want to lie to her. Not now, not like this.

“Helen, would you really do that? Lose your magic? Risk even death just so I’d stay with you?”

“You already know. I have no one else. My father, my mother... I’m alone. I don’t know why you think leaving me with strangers would be better, just because they have pointy ears like me. Damn it.”

Max sighed.

“Alright, Helen.”

“Huh?”

“You win.”

“What?”

“You win,” he repeated. “If you guide me to a tribe of elves so they can help you, so they can make sure you’re alright, I promise that when I leave, you’ll be with me. Okay?”

“You’re not lying to me? You’re not just saying what I want to hear?”

“No. You shouldn’t come with me. I’ll be honest with you. A moment ago, you almost died because of me. Fighting my battles. That’s going to keep happening. You shouldn’t, but if that’s what you want, I accept you.”

Max cupped her cheeks, wiping her tears with the tip of a finger. He had completely forgotten about their surroundings, about the small audience they had. The sounds of the village barely reached his ears. Helen opened her eyes again, sniffled, and nodded very slowly, deliberately.

“Thank you,” the little girl said for condemning her to a life of danger and suffering. “Thank you. Please, don’t ever leave me alone.”