The forest stretched out before us, an interminable maze of identical trees that seemed to swallow our vision and limit our sight to a mere ten metres ahead. The overwhelming uniformity of the landscape made me marvel at our guide's profound knowledge; he navigated this vast, homogenous wilderness with an ease born of intimate familiarity. As he spoke to our group, his face betrayed a growing unease, "We're nearly there."

But where exactly were we heading? Another town, perhaps? My patience was wearing thin, and the uncertainty gnawed at me relentlessly. Inside my poorly crafted leather boots, blisters had formed, each step a sharp, growing pain that echoed my internal discomfort. My mind wandered, pondering my place in this strange and foreign world. Why had I been shown the entrance to this realm? Did I have a purpose here? Were there others like me? No answers came, only more questions. Despite being surrounded by people, I felt profoundly alone, fundamentally different from everyone else around me.

Almon's voice jolted me from my reverie, pulling my attention back to the path ahead. There, standing in silent formation, were the Sylvan soldiers. These were not mere civilians but seasoned warriors, their presence commanding immediate respect. "Swords at the ready, men," Almon commanded, his voice steely and resolute.

These were no ordinary foes. They exuded a confidence that was both intimidating and justified, each standing roughly six feet tall. Though our numbers matched theirs, they were clad in superior matte black steel armour, trimmed with gold, and emblazoned with a golden tree insignia on their breastplates. Who were these warriors? None of such calibre had appeared in the first battle, yet from a mere glance, it was evident that each was more formidable than the commander I had previously faced.

An intense standoff ensued. Though I couldn't see behind my comrades' helmets, I could feel their anxiety radiating through the air. A faint, distinctive whisper reached my ears from behind, "Forest Wardens." The name itself carried a weight of legend and fear, and these remarkable beings bore it well. They wielded a variety of weapons: swords, spiked maces, and halberds that towered over their wielders. As our groups locked eyes, the outcome was shrouded in uncertainty. Perhaps it was an even match, but I had no knowledge of anyone's true strength, not even Almon's.

The atmosphere grew suffocating; the intensity of the opposing gazes felt like a grip around my neck. My knuckles turned white as I clenched my sword with both hands. The Wardens made the first move, charging through the forest with a thunderous rhythm, their feet pounding the ground like a drumbeat. Almon's voice rang out, "CHARGE!"

His words were absolute. Without hesitation, we surged forward, meeting the oncoming avalanche of black steel. The initial clash was deafening, scattering unseen birds whose cries echoed in dismay. My opponent was my height, but he wielded a massive claymore with a blade roughly a metre long. He was skilled, delivering an intense blow from above. I barely managed to block it, using my other hand to support my sword, but the force drove me to my knees. I pushed his blade away and swung back, but he parried easily, a feat that left me bewildered. His helmet obscured his eyes, revealing only darkness and the sound of his breath through the mouth holes.

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"Familiar sword you got there, boy," he said, his voice distorted through the helmet. "I'm guessing you killed that pissy brat Alexus."

The name was foreign to me, perhaps a noble. It didn't matter; I had to defeat this man or die trying. We traded blows, each block sending vibrations through my arm. He was strong, but I could see him tiring from the effort of swinging his massive sword. I glanced around the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, men from both sides fallen. The halberd-wielder was surrounded by bisected corpses, fighting Almon, who looked disturbingly joyful. My opponent's movement brought my focus back just in time to block another swing.

My sword snapped. A weapon I had thought superior could no longer withstand the assault. Time seemed to slow as I watched the claymore slice through my wrist. my skin and bone gave less resistance than a hot knife through butter. The fight had turned real, very real. Blood poured from the stump where my hand had been covering my shoddy leather boots. My opponent stood proud, a faceless knight, though probably grinning with satisfaction. Everything I had endured seemed meaningless. I would die here, like countless others, my destiny no different from on Earth. Did my life ever have meaning? What was my goal?

My vision began to fade. As the world around me blurred into a haze of pain and confusion, I found my thoughts drifting back to the life I once knew. The life that now seemed so distant, so alien, yet so vividly etched in my memory. I remembered the mundane routines, the trivial worries, the fleeting joys of an ordinary existence. I had taken it for granted. How could any of it have prepared me for this? For a world where survival depended on the strength of your arm, luck and the strength of your blade?

The forest, which once felt like an endless path to nothingness, now seemed like a metaphor for my own life. A labyrinth of choices and consequences, where every turn led to new challenges, new enemies that would challenge my fate. And just like in the forest, there were guides along the way. People like Almon, a man who had trained me to survive like I was his son yet his motives and allegiances were as obscure as the dense canopy above. Could I trust him? Could I trust anyone?

The faces of my previous companions, Ascal, Thorsten and Ruvy. The ones I had come to know and perhaps even trust, flashed before my eyes. They too had fought for their lives, locked in their own desperate battles. What were their stories? Why did fate bring them to me just to let them die? And my new comrades. Were they too searching for meaning in this chaotic world, or had they simply accepted their fate as pawns in a larger game?

My body grew cold in the oppressive darkness, yet no tear escaped my eyes. Was this numbness a form of relief, a liberation from the relentless chains of existence? Who can say, as even I am a stranger to my own mind.

A faint, reverberated through the recesses of my consciousness "I thought you would do better than this."

Better than what? I gave it my all in this wretched world.

To be continued…