After the thrashing rainstorm of the early morning, the ashen clouds parted to reveal the sun's blistering heat. The sun, now a merciless ball of fire, bore down on the land of Valherya. Its scorching rays reflected off the forest floor, turning the damp earth into a sticky mire that clung to everything it touched. The warmth of the day caused the high snows to begin melting, sending occasional patches of snow drifting down through the air. The snowflakes sparkled in the sunlight, but they vanished before they even touched the ground, melting into nothing more than fleeting memories of winter.

Guhin's clothes that were still wet clung to his skin, chafing against his body with every movement, and his soaking boots squelching with every step he took.

“Damn these boots,” Guhin muttered under his breath, his irritation cutting through the heavy silence of the forest. The rough terrain had made the journey a difficult one, and his boots, worn and cracked from years of use, weren’t making it any easier. He adjusted the straps, but the discomfort remained, gnawing at his patience. A yawn escaped him, betraying the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones.

“Fukujin, we should’ve got him a gift,” Guhin grumbled, his voice heavy with regret. His steps slowed, his mind wandering as he thought of Ishu. “He’s going to be furious if we show up empty-handed.”

Fukujin, perched on Guhin’s shoulder, cocked his head and tapped his beak against the side of Guhin’s hood, as if to remind him that they had more pressing matters at hand. Guhin sighed, the weight of his memories pulling him inward.

It had been two years since Guhin last saw Ishu. Two years since he had made the journey to the small village nestled in the valley. Though he might not visit regularly, Guhin had always made it a point never to miss Ishu's birthday. Every year, he would bring some small token of affection—a hand-carved wooden figurine, a rare flower from the mountain’s peak, or a simple meal shared under the stars. Ishu would wait for him with the eager anticipation of a child who still believed in the magic of birthdays, and his eyes would light up with innocent joy at Guhin's arrival.

But now, as Guhin trudged through the forest, he realized how much time had slipped away. Two years. Two years since he had last seen Ishu’s smiling face. The thought weighed heavily on him, adding to the burden he already carried. Fukujin rustled his feathers, as if sensing Guhin's thoughts. The crow’s dark eyes met Guhin's, and for a brief moment, it was as though the bird was confirming his guess, acknowledging the passage of time with a quiet solemnity.

Guhin’s grip tightened on the hilt of his cloak, the amulet beneath pressing against his chest. Memories tugged at him, and an ache filled his heart as he realized how far he had drifted from the things that truly mattered. Ishu’s birthday had come and gone, uncelebrated and forgotten amidst the chaos of his life. The realization cut deeper than any wound.

But the truth was, Guhin hadn’t just stayed away out of neglect. His absence had been a necessity, driven by the increasing danger that shadowed his every step. Over the past two years, those who hunted him had grown more tenacious in their pursuit. Their attacks had become more frequent, more vicious, forcing Guhin to stay on the move. The thought of bringing that danger to Ishu’s village, of leading his enemies to the doorstep of those he cared about, was a risk he couldn’t take. Staying away had been the only way to protect them, even if it meant severing the ties he cherished most.

But now, Guhin had decided to make this journey, knowing it would be the last time he set foot in the village, the last time he allowed himself to indulge in the comfort of familiar faces...

Meanwhile, the path ahead stretched westward, leading towards the village where Ishu waited, perhaps still holding onto the hope that Guhin would return. The journey through the southern region of Valherya, his home, was treacherous for most.

The land, called "Jhorfa," was uninhabited by humans, a wilderness of raw, untamed nature, where only the strongest could survive. It was a land where mountain trolls roamed, towering beasts with strength to crush armor like paper and a resistance to magic that made them nearly invincible to the average adventurer. For someone like Guhin, who needed to avoid unnecessary attention, Jhorfa’s desolation was ideal...

Guhin wandered through the forest, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn path. The trees began to thin, giving way to a wide, open expanse. Jagged mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks dusted with the last remnants of winter, while massive boulders dotted the landscape, scattered like silent sentinels standing guard over the land.

As he kept walking, Guhin’s thoughts were so consumed by his guilt and weariness that he didn’t notice the ground beneath his feet trembling. He remained lost in his thoughts, oblivious to the cloud of dust rising in the distance. The vibrations grew stronger, transforming into the unmistakable sound of a stampede. Guhin’s keen senses would normally have recognized the approaching danger, horses, galloping at full speed, accompanied by the laughter and shouting of men, but he was too lost in his own world to care.

It wasn’t until the men on horseback blocked his path that Guhin snapped out of his trance. A group of warriors, clad in plated armor, now stood in his way. They were wild, feral-looking men, their unkempt hair and ragged beards giving them the appearance of hunters who had lived too long in the wilderness. Their armor was a crude patchwork of leather and steel, dented and battered from the battles they endured,countless battles, and their weapons were massive and brutal—greatswords, spiked maces, and war-axes gleaming ominously in the fading light.

Their laughter was dark and cruel, like wolves toying with their prey. One of the warriors, with a scar running down the side of his face, tightened his grip on his axe, his gaze locking onto Guhin with deadly intent.

“Looks like we’ve found ourselves a lost lamb,” the man sneered, his voice thick with menace. The others grinned, eager for the violence to come.

For a moment, they stared each other down, the tension crackling in the air like a thunderstorm waiting to break. The rider with the scar, who had spoken first, whistled sharply, signaling the others to part. They formed a gap, but instead of allowing Guhin to pass, a colossal figure on a gray steed emerged from their ranks.

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The giant of a man was a mountain of muscle, at least eight feet tall, with a fur pelt draped over his shoulder and leather vambraces strapped to his forearms. His long black hair flowed freely, while his face bore heavy scarring—evidence of countless battles. An enormous greatsword was strapped to his back, and his horse, as imposing as its rider, stamped the ground with a force that sent small tremors through the earth.

Guhin, sensing the giant’s formidable presence, instinctively began searching for signs of magic. He had a keen sense of smell, a gift that allowed him to detect the subtle scents associated with magic users. It was well known throughout the world that most magic users carried the scent of citrus, sharp, almost invigorating, a clear indication of the magical energies they wielded. Others, particularly those who dabbled in dark magic, carried the foul stench of decay and death, a smell that made the hairs on the back of one's neck stand on end.

Guhin inhaled deeply, but the air around the man was devoid of any such scent. There was no trace of citrus, no hint of the putrid odor that clung to dark magic users. This giant, for all his intimidating size and strength, did not possess any magical abilities. He was purely a warrior, relying solely on his brute strength and physical prowess.

Guhin exhaled, his thoughts drifting back to Ishu and the long walk ahead. He was about to move past the riders when his gaze fell on the woman slumped in front of the giant’s horse. She was bound and gagged, her white gown torn and stained, her long brown hair hiding much of her face. But her blue eyes, filled with desperate fear, caught Guhin’s attention. Her muffled cries for help went unnoticed by the men around her, their focus entirely on the impending confrontation.

Guhin's jaw clenched. He had no desire to get involved in another senseless fight, no interest in spending more time in the company of violence. But the sight of the woman, her fear, pierced through his resolve. His eyes darkened as he realized what he had to do.

The giant’s gaze fell on Guhin’s chest, where a fleeting glint caught his eye—the golden necklace had briefly sparked beneath Guhin's cloak as the sunlight struck it. A cruel smile spread across the giant's face as he spoke, his voice low and mocking. “Hand over your gold, little man.” Fukujin, sensing the rising tension, took off from Guhin’s shoulder and soared into the sky, his dark wings slicing through the air.

“Oh, I hope I didn’t scare your friend,” the giant taunted, his smile widening. But Guhin’s face remained stoic, his eyes reflecting the fatigue of a man who had grown weary of conflict. The giant’s smile faltered slightly at the lack of response, and he urged his horse forward.

The horse trudged forward heavily, the saddlebags and other packs around its saddle clinking and rustling with each movement, as if the poor beast were loaded like a pack mule, burdened with all sorts of gear and supplies. Its massive head lowered, almost nudging Guhin’s hood off.

The giant of a man began to introduce himself, his tone suddenly softer, almost friendly. "My name is Bokun—"

But Bokun didn’t get the chance to finish his introduction. This was the moment, Guhin decided. His eyes flicked briefly to the terrified woman, then back to the giant before him. With swift precision, Guhin’s hand moved with lightning speed, striking the horse’s jaw with a light but precise open palm. The impact was enough to knock the beast unconscious, and it crumpled almost instantly, sending both the giant and the woman tumbling to the ground.

At that very moment, several of the saddlebags burst open, and the flasks of water they held shattered as they hit the ground. Water splashed everywhere, drenching the dirt, and soaking everything in its immediate vicinity.

image [https://i.imgur.com/hhVmyrU.png]

For a split second, everything was pure confusion—water gushing, bags clinking, the horse’s labored breath as it lay unconscious. Bokun rolled, barely catching himself as he hit the ground, while the woman scrambled to distance herself from the commotion.

Guhin stood still, his posture calm as ever, his gaze unwavering as it settled back on Bokun, who was now sprawled across the wet earth. The other riders burst into laughter at the sight of their leader felled so easily, but their amusement was short-lived.

Bokun rose with a roar of fury, his eyes blazing with rage. Without a word, he unsheathed his greatsword and, with a single, brutal swing, cleaved the laughing men in half. The horses, now riderless and panicked, bolted, dragging the bloody remains of their former masters with them.

Bokun’s furious gaze locked onto Guhin. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice thick with malice. “You’ll pay for hurting my horse, Etro.” He glanced down at his fallen steed, then back at Guhin, his rage escalating. “Now, where were we?”

image [https://i.imgur.com/G1v2w76.jpeg]

Before Bokun could advance, Guhin moved again, faster than the eye could follow. In an instant, he was in front of the giant, his fist driving into Bokun’s chest with a force that rattled the very air around them. The impact staggered Bokun, who barely managed to stabilize himself by planting his greatsword into the ground.

“What!?” Bokun gasped, disbelief clear in his voice. How could someone so small possess such overwhelming strength?

Guhin didn’t give him time to recover. With a burst of speed that defied all logic, he closed the distance once more, moving as though he vanished and reappeared at will. His fist struck Bokun’s abdomen with such force that the giant was lifted off his feet and sent crashing to the ground, his greatsword flying from his grasp.

Bokun’s massive body skidded across the rocky surface, landing face first with a heavy thud, his breath knocked out, pain etched across his face. Guhin stood watching, his expression unchanged, eyes cold and weary. That should be enough, he thought, deliberately restraining himself from delivering a killing blow. He was confident that the giant wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

He turned to the woman, her eyes still wide with shock at the display of raw power. As he began to untie her bindings, the dust settled, and an uneasy silence fell over the clearing.

A low, rumbling laugh broke the silence. It was Bokun’s laughter.

The woman’s fear returned as she saw the giant rising to his feet, grinning with madness. Despite a broken nose and blood streaming down his face, Bokun seemed only more energized by the pain. Guhin’s expression remained impassive, he was accustomed to such twisted displays of violence, the kind of resilience that made opponents more dangerous as they took more damage.

“You’ll regret not taking me seriously,” Bokun sneered, his voice dripping with malice. A gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the scent of blood and sweat. Bokun’s grin faded as he set his jaw and straightened his nose with a loud crunch. The greatsword he had wielded with such confidence lay embedded in the ground. He gripped it with both hands, his muscles bulging as he wrenched it free and bent his knees, preparing to charge.

The woman, now freed from her bindings, watched the scene unfold with growing horror. She could see the madness in Bokun’s eyes, the bloodlust that had overtaken him. She knew that Guhin was strong, far stronger than any man had a right to be, but the look in Bokun’s eyes was that of a man who would not stop until one of them lay dead on the ground.

With a sudden burst of speed, Bokun lunged forward, his sword raised high. The woman, panic seizing her, screamed, “Behind you!”

Bokun's greatsword descended in a deadly arc toward Guhin's back. But Guhin didn't move; instead, he kept his gaze on the terrified woman, his exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

The woman's eyes widened in horror, her breath caught in her throat while she watched the blade fall, the moment stretching endlessly.

GUHIN!