Chapter 22 " The price of survival "

The sun hung high in the sky, unleashing its intense heat upon the rocky terrain. The towering cliffs loomed above, their shadows offering brief relief from the scorching glare. Caelan tightened his grip on the reins of his horse, carefully observing the rocky edges of the narrow path. This was the twelfth day of our journey.

Riding alongside with me in the front were Lucan and Gibo. Behind them were two knights and the carriage they were guarding.

"Stay alert," Lucan said, his tone cold despite the tension in the air.

This place was known as a notorious ambush site for bandits.

The area was filled with hidden spots, making it unsurprising that ambushes often occurred here, Caelan thought to himself.

Caelan nodded, his expression serious.

The group continued forward, their horses kicking up small clouds of dust.

In the distance, a small town came into view—structures made of stone and wood tucked amidst the rocks. It offered a glimmer of safety, but it was still far away. Caelan's muscles tensed as he heard an unusual sound—a faint rustling above them, barely audible over the creaking of the carriage and the sound of the horses.

Caelan scanned the cliffs, a strange tension prickling at his senses. The silence pressed down on him, heavy and unnatural. He saw nothing, but the unease lingered. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, he thought.

Beside him, Lucan noticed his vigilance.

“Is something wrong?” Lucan asked, his voice low, hand already inching toward his sword.

Before Caelan could respond, a sharp twang pierced the air. An arrow streaked toward them, glinting in the sunlight. Caelan reacted instinctively, swinging his sword in a swift arc to deflect it.

The metallic clang was quickly drowned out by a sharp whistle echoing through the cliffs. Moments later, the sky darkened as arrows rained down from above.

“Bandits!” Lucan barked, unsheathing his sword. Figures emerged from the shadows, scrambling down the rocks with wild cries.

The horses reared in panic, breaking into a frantic gallop. The bandits, seizing the opportunity, charged forward without hesitation. Their weapons gleamed in the dim light, and their eyes burned with determination.

From behind the rocks, more attackers appeared, their movements coordinated yet ruthless. The ambush had begun.

A bandit lunged at me—a young man with short, messy grayish hair and a serious expression. His beige tunic and black cloak marked him as an adventurer, or perhaps someone pretending to be one. He appeared to be around my age.

His blade swung toward me, but I blocked it in time, sparks flying from the clash of steel. His movements were skilled, but not enough to match my swordsmanship. With every strike, his technique showed promise, yet I quickly outpaced him.

As he raised his sword, I deflected it with a swift motion, pushing it upward. His weapon flew out of his grasp, spiraling into the air. Without his sword, he was defenseless -a perfect opportunity to end the fight.

I stepped forward, raising my blade to strike. But as I prepared to thrust it forward, I hesitated. I had considered the possibility of killing someone when I joined this mission. I thought I was ready. Yet now, faced with the reality of it, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

The young man before me wasn't a mindless, savage monster; he was a fellow human. My morality, shaped by the modern world where I came from, weighed heavily on me. Killing someone was a grave sin, no matter the justification. My hesitation became his opportunity.

The bandit grinned, seizing my arm in an iron grip. With quick motion, he drew a dagger from his waist.

I struggled, but my body refused to move. The blade gleamed as it raced towards me. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, leaving me frozen, unable to dodge or react.

Before the dagger could strike, another blade pierced the side of the bandit's neck. His grip slacked as his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

I turned towards the source of the throw. It was Lucan. Despite being engaged in his own fight, he had managed to save me with a perfectly aimed throw.

"Everyone, to the large rock! Now!" Lucan's voice boomed, desperate and commanding.

We sprinted for cover, ducking behind the rough, jagged surface of the boulder. My legs trembled as I collapsed to the ground, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My mind reeled, still trying to process what had just happened.

“They could’ve wiped us out from their position,” Knight Josen muttered, his brow furrowed. “They had the advantage with those arrows, yet they didn’t.”

Lucan’s gaze was hard as steel. “That’s because they’re not just after our belongings. They want to capture us—to sell us to slave traders.”

Josen’s eyes narrowed. “That… makes sense now,” he murmured, understanding dawning on his face.

From the nobleman’s carriage, there was no movement. Josen hesitated, then strode to the door and knocked. “Young master, are you all right?”

“Josen! I heard fighting—what’s happening?” The young master’s voice trembled.

“You’re correct, young master. We were attacked by bandits,” Josen replied grimly.

“Are they gone? Have you finished them off?”

“Not yet, young master. We’re still taking cover—they’ve got the higher ground.”

“Then how will we escape them ?” Fear laced his words.

Josen’s voice softened. “Don’t worry, young master. We’ll find a way.”

As I sat with my head bowed, footsteps crunched on the dirt near me. When I looked up, Lucan stood there, his expression grim.

“What happened back there? Why did you hesitate to kill that bandit?” he asked sharply.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

Lucan sighed heavily, crouching to meet my eyes. “Caelan, listen to me. If you hesitate, you'll die.The battle doesn't wait, Caelan, kill or be killed-there’s no middle ground.’

His words pierced through me, leaving me speechless. Shame burned in my chest. I’d let him down.

The bandits held back for a while, but they couldn't wait any longer and launched another attack.

"Get ready! Here they come again!" Lucan shouted.

The bandits surrounded us and attacked from all sides. I gripped my sword tightly, my hands trembling with a nervousness I had never felt before. Everyone sprang into action, clashing with the bandits in a desperate struggle. The knights formed a defensive perimeter around the noble's carriage, fending off every attempt by the bandits to break through.

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Suddenly, a man with a bald head and a sturdy, muscular build charged toward me. His arms, thick and well-defined, flexed as he gripped a crude sword. A green headband stretched across his forehead, and his stern, weathered face twisted into a cruel grin.

"You’ve got a pretty face," he sneered. "You’ll fetch a high price at the market. Slave traders will pay handsomely for it,and you'll end up as some widow's lapdog.”

His words hit me like a hammer, a vile reminder of the brutal reality of this world. My body tensed, frozen as his mocking laugh echoed around me. My comrades were locked in a desperate fight for their lives, while I stood here, paralyzed by my indecision.

Lucan was right: this world is an arena where the weak are devoured, where survival is a constant battle. These people were no different from beasts, savage and indifferent to the value of human life. Their only claim to superiority was their ability to articulate their cruelty.

As the bandit drew closer, another image surged into my mind—my family. My mother’s warm smile as she looks at me proudly, my father’s steady gaze as he gave advice, Leyla and Cain laughing together as the sun filtered through our garden, and my grandfather, his weathered hands steady as he guided me through the motions of swordsmanship. Each memory struck like a bolt of lightning, filling me with warmth and pain in equal measure.

The thought of never seeing them again, of dying here as nothing more than a helpless victim, ignited something deep within me. A spark of fury caught flame, blazing into resolve.

I’m going home.

The vow echoed through me, steady and unyielding. I would survive. No matter what it took, no matter the price.

The bandit’s grin faltered as I met his gaze. The confusion and hesitation in my eyes were gone, replaced by a cold, unshakable determination. I tightened my grip on the hilt of my weapon. My body shifted into a steady stance, and for the first time, I felt an eerie calm wash over me.

"Keep laughing," I said, my voice steady and low. "You won’t be smiling for long."

A chill ran through the bandit, and he hesitated for the briefest moment. The predatory confidence in his eyes flickered as he took in the change before him. This wasn’t the boy he had mocked seconds ago. This was someone who would fight—someone who had everything to lose and everything to gain.

Caelan swung his broadsword in a wide arc, forcing the bandit to parry with trembling hands. The clash of steel echoed sharply, but Caelan was relentless. Without pause, he stepped forward and drove his blade in a precise thrust into the bandit's exposed side.

The bandit gasped, the fight leaving his eyes as he crumbled to the ground. Caelan pulled his sword free, the final blow sealing the end of the skirmish.

"It was done. Caelan had killed for the first time. He felt no guilt, no relief-only a hollow emptiness, as if the act had stripped something from him.

Caelan observed the chaos, his sharp eyes tracking his comrades' fluid movements. The adventurers fought valiantly, their skill unmatched, but the bandits’ sheer numbers gave them the upper hand. Disorganized and desperate, the bandits still pressed relentlessly, their wild swings forcing the adventurers to give ground. Caelan knew they wouldn’t last much longer. If the fight dragged on, they would be overwhelmed.

This had to end now.

With a surge of resolve, he charged into the fray. His blade carved through the air with lethal precision, each slash aimed to incapacitate or kill. Neck, torso, limbs—his strikes were ruthless, efficient, and unrelenting. The sword felt like an extension of his body, moving in perfect harmony as he transitioned seamlessly between defense and offense.

Surrounded by multiple foes, Caelan’s movements became a masterclass in agility. He sidestepped wild thrusts by mere inches, using the flat of his blade to deflect strikes and redirect their momentum. Every counterattack flowed like water, leaving his enemies disarmed or sprawled on the ground.

The clang of steel and shouts of the dying filled the air, but Caelan’s focus never wavered. Each decision was deliberate, every motion calculated. His arms burned with effort, but he pushed forward, knowing that hesitation meant death.

Gradually, the tide of the battle began to shift in favor of the adventurers. The bandits, realizing they were at a disadvantage, retreated to regroup. From the cover of nearby rocks, their archers unleashed a relentless volley of arrows. The adventurer archers fought back,but their small numbers and poor positioning rendered their efforts futile.

“Take cover!" Lucan shouted,his voice sharp with urgency, slicing through the chaos.

The adventurers and the knights,along with the noble's carriage,scramble to find shelter behind a cluster of large stones. The carriage carrying their supplies was hastily repositioned as a makeshift barricade.

Amid the hail of arrows, Caelan saw an opportunity.While the others huddled behind cover,he advanced,his movements swift and deliberate.spotting a retreating bandit,he seized the man shoulder and twisted him into the path of an incoming arrow.The bandit let out a strangled scream, silenced as the arrow buried itself deep into his chest.

Using the chaos to his advantage,Caelan pressed forward.One bandit lunged to intercept him, but Caelan sidestepped the attack with a dancer’s grace.The would-be assailant’s blade sank into his own ally in the confusion.

Without missing a beat,Caaelan delivered a precise, fluid strike, dispatching both foes in one motion.his blade shimmered briefly with blood as his blade shimmered briefly with blood as pivoted to face the archers.

The adventurers and knights, still pinned down behind the stones, watched in stunned silence.Caelan’s ruthless efficiency and calculated movements were mesmerizing.He wasn't just a swordsman-he was a force of nature, cutting through enemy lines with an almost supernatural precision.

Lucan couldn’t hide his grin as he watched Caelan fight. The boy’s movements were fluid and precise, every strike purposeful, every dodge perfectly timed.

“That’s right,” Lucan thought proudly. “Show them why I chose you to stand with me and Gibo on the frontline. You’re a natural.”

---

Alex stood frozen, his sword lowered as he watched Caelan. The youngest among them fought with sharp strikes, flawless footwork, and unwavering confidence.

“How is he this good?” Alex muttered, astonished.

---

Knight Josen couldn’t look away, his expression one of pure awe. Caelan’s swordsmanship was extraordinary—elegant yet deadly, every move a masterful display of precision and control.

“Where did he learn to fight like that?” Josen wondered, disbelief etched in his face.

Suddenly, Lucan’s commanding voice rang out over the chaos. ”It’s our chance now-attack them!”

The adventurers saw the opening Caelan had created. With the bandits distracted and their formation in disarray,the group seized the opportunity.they sprang into action,launching a swift and coordinated assault.the sudden shift in momentum caught the enemy off guard.Panic spread like wildfire among the bandits. Some tried to flee, but their escape was short-lived as the adventurers cut them down with ruthless efficiency.

The battle reached its climax as the remaining foes closed in on him,desperation driving their every move

Caelan leapt into the air, twisting mid-flight with uncanny precision to evade their frenzied strikes. He landed behind them with feline grace,his movements fluid and calculated.Without hesitation ,he unleashed a devastating spinning slash,his blade carving a lethal arc through the air.The strike found its mark,slicing into their legs with precision. Cries of pain erupted as enemies collapsed, their balance utterly destroyed.

In the final moments, his fierce determination burned in his eyes. Raising his sword with both hands, he brought it down in a decisive vertical slash, cleaving through his last opponent with a resounding finality. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the steady rhythm of Caelan breath

Caelan stood over the bodies of the fallen bandits, his gaze calm but distant. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, and his chest felt hollow, as if something inside him had fractured. For a moment, the adrenaline that had pushed him through the fight ebbed, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness.

He stared at the lifeless forms. Men who had once breathed, thought, and lived—extinguished by his own hands. A wave of nausea rose within him, but he fought it back. He had no choice. He couldn’t allow himself to falter now. Yet, even as he tried to reason with himself, a single thought lingered, cold and unrelenting: I’m changing.

Something inside him had shifted. He could feel it, like a piece of himself had broken off and been left behind with these men. The person he once was—the boy who had grown up in a safe, orderly world—felt so distant now. Back home, violence was just a story, a headline on the news or a scene in a movie. Here, in this brutal, unrelenting world, it was a part of life. A grim reality he couldn’t escape.

But this wasn’t like killing monsters or hunting for food. These were men. Human lives. And he had ended them.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The image of his family flashed before him—their warmth,their love, their laughter. They were his anchor, his reason for pushing forward. I have to survive. I have to get back to them.

And yet, the cost of survival weighed heavy on his soul. The values he had clung to back home, the morals that once defined him, were crumbling under the weight of this new reality. The line between right and wrong, predator and prey—it was all blurring. He couldn’t afford to hesitate or second-guess himself in this world. If he did, it would devour him.

But deep down, he feared he was losing something vital. The more he fought to survive, the more he felt himself becoming someone he didn’t recognize. Someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

As he turned away from the bodies, the realization hit him with chilling clarity: this world was forging him into something new, hammering away at who he used to be. Whether that change would be for better or worse, he didn’t know. But one thing was certain—there was no going back.