Chapter 5 The Weight of the Axe
Eight years ago…
In the bustling city of Gorren, a young woman sat on a worn bench inside the adventurers' guild. Mava’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cloak as she waited for the results of her licensure examination. Around her, the air buzzed with anticipation, adventurers and applicants alike sharing tales of valor and ambition.
"Miss Mava?" the receptionist called out from the front desk.
"Ah! Here!" Mava jolted from her thoughts, scrambling to her feet. She hurried over, her boots scuffing against the floor.
The receptionist's polite smile faltered slightly as she delivered the news. "Miss Mava Roswell, I’m sorry to inform you that you did not achieve the required score for the adventurer licensing exam. You’re welcome to try again in six months, should you choose to continue." Her tone carried a faint trace of pity, making the rejection sting even more.
Mava blinked, her mind struggling to process the words. "I… I see. Thank you," she murmured. Her voice barely carried over the hum of the room. Turning away, she clutched her axe tightly and trudged toward the exit.
The gazes of others followed her—some curious, others indifferent. A few whispered softly, their words inaudible but no less suffocating. Her cloak hung heavily around her shoulders, as though bearing the weight of her disappointment.
Outside, the city streets were lively with merchants shouting prices, children laughing, and horses clopping against the cobblestones. Yet, to Mava, the world felt distant, muffled by her swirling thoughts.
Her mind drifted to nights spent training in secret with her older brother. His voice echoed in her memory:
"Our clan is the kingdom's axe—we carry the strength to protect and serve justice. One day, I’ll bear that weight, Mava. I’ll be someone you’re proud to call your brother. What about you? What do you want to be? Whatever it is, stay true to yourself. That’s what matters most."
A lump formed in her throat as she whispered, "I’m sorry, brother… I’m not strong enough to be anything at all."
The axe in her hand, once a symbol of hope and determination, now felt like an anchor dragging her deeper into despair. Her savings were nearly gone, her stomach gnawed with hunger, and the idea of surviving another six months in the city seemed impossible.
Wandering aimlessly, she found herself in a narrow alleyway. The laughter and chatter of the streets faded, replaced by an eerie quiet.
Then, voices.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" A man stepped from the shadows, his grin as sharp as the knife in his hand. Three others followed, their faces twisted with malice.
Mava’s heart pounded as her grip tightened on the axe.
"Look at this—a little girl playing adventurer," one sneered, his gaze lingering greedily on her weapon.
"Back off," Mava warned, her voice low but trembling.
"Ooooh, scary!" the leader mocked, stepping closer. "What are you gonna do? Swing that thing at us?"
The day’s frustration, fear, and doubt erupted within her like a volcano. Without thinking, she raised the axe high.
"HEAVY SLAM!" she roared, bringing it down with all her might. The ground quaked as the impact sent one of the men flying into the wall with a sickening thud.
The others stumbled back, eyes wide with shock.
"This one’s crazy! Take her down!" the leader barked.
The remaining three lunged at her, but Mava swung her axe in a wild, desperate arc. The blade connected, knocking two to the ground. Blood and dust mingled in the air, the metallic tang filling her lungs.
Her chest heaved as she turned to face the last man standing. Before she could react, a massive figure emerged from the shadows—a hulking brute with broad shoulders and a face etched with scars.
"Not bad, kid," he said, his voice deep and mocking. "Let’s see what else you’ve got."
Mava charged with a guttural scream, leaping high and bringing her axe down in a desperate strike.
The man caught it with one hand.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What—?!"
With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched the axe from her grasp and tossed it aside like a toy.
"Kids shouldn’t play with dangerous toys," he said, stepping forward.
Mava raised her trembling fists. The man moved faster than she could track, his punch colliding with her guard and sending her skidding back. The pavement cracked beneath her.
"Come on," he taunted, his grin widening. "Is that all you’ve got?"
Another blow sent her crashing into the wall. Pain radiated through her body as she crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.
Maybe they’re right… Maybe I’m not meant for this. I’m not strong enough. I should’ve stayed home.
Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes.
Brother… I’m tired. I don’t belong here.
Then, a flash of light.
An arrow streaked through the air, glowing with an ethereal hue. The brute raised his arm to block it, but the projectile twisted mid-flight, striking him and pinning him to the ground as the earth surged upward to trap his legs.
"What the hell?!" he bellowed, struggling against the earthen prison.
A tall elf stepped into view, his bow drawn. Golden hair framed his sharp features, and his voice rang with authority. "Surrender!"
Behind him, a dwarf approached, his sturdy frame casting a long shadow.
"Officers!" the elf shouted. "We’ve got them cornered!"
The dwarf knelt beside Mava, his eyes softening. "You okay, lass?" he asked, his voice gruff but kind.
Mava couldn’t respond. Exhaustion and relief collided within her, leaving her speechless.
As the officers dealt with the remaining robbers, the dwarf helped Mava to her feet. "You’ve got spirit, kid," he said. "But spirit alone won’t get you far. You were lucky we showed up when we did."
Mava’s gaze shifted to her axe, lying a few feet away. Despite the pain and doubt, a faint ember of resolve burned within her.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
I’m not done yet. I just need to get stronger.
Her brother’s words echoed in her heart, no longer a reproach but a guiding light:
"Stay true to yourself, Mava."
-Break-
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In the present...
The battle raged on. Suddenly, time seemed to slow as they saw Finrod rise into the sky, blood spilling everywhere. "It's over when I say it's over," Regras declared menacingly. Finrod's body plummeted to the ground, momentarily filling the adventurers' hearts with fear before rage took over.
"Millea, heal Finrod!" Mava shouted. Seeing that most of the bandits had been dealt with, Mava charged at Regras without hesitation. "YOU BASTARD!" she roared, her eyes burning with fury as she unleashed a relentless barrage of attacks. "BERSERKER'S FURY!" she called upon the spirit of her ancestors for strength. Knowing this skill had a limited duration, she poured everything into her assault.
"FLAMING STRIKE! SOARING CLAW! HEAVY SLAM!" Mava screamed as she attacked, but one by one, Regras effortlessly deflected and dodged her strikes. He then countered with his own "HEAVY SLAM!" and Mava's left arm was torn from her body. “UGHRRR!” Mava grind her teeth from the pain but despite that, her fighting spirit remained unbroken. She charged again, screaming like a madwoman.
"What is happening? Was he always this strong? I heard he barely survived fighting a single flame dragon, and now he seems unbeatable. Did he drink the Divine Beast’s blood? Where is my party? Why aren’t they helping me?" As these thoughts raced through her mind, Regras spoke.
"You're the only one left alive in your party, you know?" he said coldly.
"What?" Mava froze and stepped back, suddenly realizing the sounds of battle had ceased. She looked around in horror, seeing the bodies of her allies—Millea, Gundine, and Rodrick—torn to pieces, Elanora, Thaloril and the coach man lying limply on the ground. The bandits, who should have been dead, were now standing, alive and well.
Regras slowly stepped forward “Have you ever wondered why I’m here near the fortified village of Terramill with just over two hundred men? It’s because of this!” Regras exclaimed, pulling a bottle of strange purple liquid from his pocket. “This is the poison of the Witch of the End! It grants us near-immortal bodies and a fraction of the witch’s power. It’s a shame we never found the Divine Beast’s blood, but this will do,” Regras said, a sinister gleam in his eyes.
“you have gotten insane! You know consuming the witch’s poison means throwing your humanity away!” said Mava.
“that is true… but we never got treated as humans to begin with… so we decided, WE WILL BURN EVEWRITHING THE GODS HAS CREATED!” said Rergrass.
“those words! Its like…” Mava pondered in her mind with fear.
"What are you going to do now, Mava the Berserker, 'hero of Deinsfield'?" Regras taunted.
Confused but determined, Mava summoned all her remaining strength for one final attack. "HELL DROP!" she roared, swinging her axe at Regras. Oddly, he didn't move, letting the attack hit him. A powerful explosion shook the ground, filling the field with smoke. As the smoke cleared, Regras’s corpse lay splattered on the ground remaining only a few parts of his legs and arms intact.
"Haaah... haaah..." Mava gasped for air, glaring at the bandits. But instead of fear, they stared back with cold, bored expressions. "What’s happening? I just killed their leader. Why are they just staring at me?" she wondered.
Then, Regras's dismembered corpse began twitching and reassembling itself. The bandits started laughing as their leader reformed.
"Okay, enough playing..." Regras said, and the bandits stopped laughing at once.
"What are you?" Mava demanded.
"You really want to know?" Regras replied, suddenly he moved behind Mava with tremendous speed. "I'm death," he whispered. “HEAVY SWEEP!” Regras shouted, swinging his spear at Mava. She went flying away, a scream of pain escaping her lips. “GAAAAGH!” Mava wept, writhing in agony. “Death?... What does he mean by that?” she pondered, still airborne.
“QUICK DASH!” Regras yelled, suddenly appearing directly beneath her, Mava saw this and hurriedly tried to block. “PIERCING THRUST!” His chained spear shot upwards, piercing her right leg. “GUAGH!” she screamed as Regras pulled the chain, slamming her into the ground with brutal force. “HAAAH!” he roared.
Mava hit the ground with a loud booming noise shaking the ground “UGAGH!” Mava coughed up blood. Regras paused, staring her down, while his bandit crew laughed cruelly. “HAHAHA! The boss really is merciless!” one bandit jeered. “HEY, that’s the hero of Deinsfield, you know!? Stop toying with her! Leave her some dignity!” another bandit joked.
Mava mustered her remaining strength to stand on her feet, as the bandits' cruel laughter reverberated in the desolate clearing, Mava's body screamed in pain. Blood dripped from her wounds, pooling beneath her as her breath came in ragged gasps. The air was thick with the stench of death—her comrades, her friends, now lifeless forms scattered across the battlefield.
Her axe felt impossibly heavy in her trembling hands. The world spun, and as her knees threatened to buckle, her mind betrayed her. Memories long buried clawed their way to the surface, like ghosts demanding to be heard.
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She had always hated the cold marble halls of her family's estate in the Kingdom of Legulia. To the outside world, it was a palace of prestige and honor, home to generations of berserkers whose ferocity and loyalty had forged a dynasty. But to Mava, it was a cage. A place where silks and etiquette were chains that bound her, and the whispers of servants echoed with tales of expectations she had no desire to fulfill.
Her father’s voice was a constant shadow, looming over every corner of her memory. "A lady doesn’t fight. A lady doesn’t spill blood," he would say, his tone as sharp and unyielding as the swords that hung on the walls of their armory. Her mother, ever dutiful, would nod in agreement, her eyes a mirror of disappointment whenever Mava lingered too long near the weapons that should have been her inheritance.
But there had been one sanctuary in that stifling world. Her brother.
Mava’s chest tightened as his face came to her—a memory from her first flashback, clearer now in this moment of despair. The secret midnight training sessions, where he had shown her the way of the axe. His words resounded in her mind: "Mava, whatever you do, stay true to yourself."
She had clung to those words when she left. They had been her compass, her hope. With her brother’s encouragement in her heart, she had stolen the family axe, its weight a burden and a promise. She had fled the gilded prison, determined to become more than what her family had demanded of her.
But she also remembered the moment her father found her sneaking out of the estate. His cold, calculating gaze met hers, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he spoke the words that haunted her still.
"This world is a jungle, Mava. The strong prey on the weak. You’ll never survive out there alone."
She had flinched at his words but said nothing, gripping the axe tighter. She thought she could prove him wrong. She thought she could carve her own path, become the warrior she was meant to be. But now, as her bloodied hands trembled and her comrades lay dead, her father’s voice rang truer than ever.
The present crashed down on her like a collapsing ceiling. Mava’s chest heaved as her heart threatened to cave in on itself. The faces of her party flashed before her: Millea, always ready with a healing touch; Gundine, her stalwart shield; Rodrick, whose laugh could lift them from despair. They had been her family when she left everything behind.
Now they were gone, and it was her fault.
"I couldn’t even protect them," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the jeering bandits. "I’m weak..."
Her grip on the axe faltered as guilt suffused her. What was the point of her strength if it failed when it mattered most? The axe, her brother’s faith, her dreams—they had all led her here, to this moment of complete despair. Her strength had been nothing but a façade, and the weight of her choices crushed her.
The bandits, emboldened by her stillness, circled closer. One sneered, "What’s the matter, girl? Realized you’re not cut out for this?"
Their laughter felt distant, muted against the storm raging within her. Her father’s words had burned like fire in her youth, but now they felt like ice, chilling her to the bone. He was right. I wasn’t ready for this world.
But alongside his voice, another emerged, fainter yet defiant. Her brother’s. "Mava"
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Her tears blurred her vision as she fell to her knees, the axe slipping from her grasp and clattering to the blood-soaked ground. The bandits closed in, their taunts growing louder, but she hardly heard them. All she could feel was the crushing weight of failure, the unbearable truth that she had fought for freedom, only to find herself trapped by her own weaknesses.
"Please..." she rasped, the word escaping her lips unbidden. She wasn’t even sure who she was pleading to. The gods? Herself? The memory of her brother? "If there’s anything good left in this world, if there’s any light... cleanse this darkness. Not for me, but for them."
Her voice broke on the last word. Her comrades. Her family. She had no strength left to fight, but she could beg for their sake. She could pray that their deaths would mean something.
The bandits laughed again, drawing their weapons as they stepped closer. Mava closed her eyes, her body trembling. She could almost hear her brother’s voice again, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like he was beside her. Not chastising, not disappointed, but quietly urging her to rise.
And somewhere, deep within the abyss of her despair, a flicker of that stubborn ember refused to die.
Her muscles screamed as she forced herself to her feet, her hand finding the haft of her axe once more. Her body swayed, unsteady, but her grip tightened, defiant. If this was the end, she would face it standing.
But then—just beyond the bandits, through the haze of smoke and blood—something stirred. A faint glimmer, almost imperceptible, pulsed in the distance. It wasn’t light, not in the way she’d hoped. It was darker, deeper, a shadow laced with an unnatural, pulsating crimson glow.
The laughter of the bandits faltered as they too noticed the ominous figure approaching. Their jeers turned to whispers, then to uneasy murmurs.
Mava’s breath hitched. Was this a miracle—or a curse? Whatever it was, it had answered her prayer.
And it was coming for them all.