In the moonlit solitude of the dense forest, a lone homestead stood, its silhouette outlined against the dark night. Enevar, a pathetic stubborn old man awoke to an unwelcome reality. His eyes widened as he found himself bound to a sturdy wooden post, the cool night air sending shivers down his spine.

The crackling campfire nearby illuminated the faces of mercenaries, their expressions shrouded in shadows as they methodically emptied chest after chest of Enevar's carefully amassed treasures. Regret etched lines on Enevar's face, his once-hidden wealth now laid bare under the flickering firelight.

Enevar saw a young man with blonde hair, the leader of Gray Wolves watching over the others. The old man believed the young man to have called himself 'Lanor,' not that it would really matter.

A waterfall of conflicting emotions swept over Enevar. Sadness gripped his heart, mourning not only the loss of material possessions but the meaning behind the pillaging— his home ransacked and sanctuary violated!

Anger surged within him, a fiery rebellion against the invaders who dared to desecrate his haven. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a sick realization crept in.

Enevar's gaze lingered on the treasures he had guarded so fiercely, and as the flames danced, he understood the weight of his attachment. The wealth, once a symbol of accomplishment and security, now seemed trivial in the reality he found himself with.

He was old, frail, and decrepit. The wealth he hoarded was losing its value quickly to him the more the years ate away at his age.

Even if he were welcomed to the Beyond or whatever afterlife awaited him, he would not be able to bring his gold.

Moreover, these gold, treasures, weren't anything great, really... considering where they came from.

"All of them bloodied like the rest," Enevar glanced pitifully at the mercenaries and then at the treasures he once thought to be a way for him to be happy.

The crackle of the campfire echoed the burning regret within him, each snap and pop seemed to unravel his attachment. The mercenaries, oblivious to the internal struggle of the old man, continued their pillaging, unaware of the psychological storm their actions had ignited.

As the last chest was emptied, Enevar's eyes, once filled with anguish, now reflected a subtle metamorphosis.

The flames mirrored the flicker of understanding, and in that moment of clarity, Enevar began to grasp the true nature of his priorities.

"Right, I don't want to die..." Enevar realized.

The reason why Enevar chose to come to this homestead far away from civilization was because he didn't want to see blood or violence anymore.

In the years before this unfortunate night, Enevar had sought solace in the quietude of the forest. His weary soul yearned for peace, a respite from the tumultuous scenes etched in his memory. The homestead was meant to be a haven, a place where the echoes of past battles and the horrors of war could be drowned out by the rustling leaves and the soothing melodies of nature... and perhaps the memories of his wife.

"What have I done to deserve this intrusion? Was my pursuit of tranquility so misguided?" he pondered, his eyes darting between the mercenaries and the dwindling remnants of his once-cherished treasures.

"I fled from the chaos of the world, only to have it violently thrust upon me in my refuge," he mused, a bitter taste of irony lingering on his lips.

"I left behind a world stained with blood, only to witness the desecration of my newfound haven. Perhaps there is no escape from the darkness that follows me," he whispered, his eyes fixated on the mercenaries who callously reveled in their spoils.

A rugged man approached Enevar, his brown hair tousled by the whispers of the night wind.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Name is Kael," He introduced himself as such. "I must say, that was a surprise!" His toothy grin, illuminated by the moonlight, held a hint of mischief, while a cunning smile played upon his lips.

"Not bad, old man," Kael's voice carried a rough edge, echoing through the clearing. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Enevar.

"Quite the pile of treasure you've got here. Pity it's about to change hands." Kael feeling generous decided on behalf of his leader. "You could keep your shabby house though, I will make sure to ask my dear leader for it..."

Enevar, bound to the wooden post, met Kael's gaze with a stoic silence, his weathered face revealing nothing of the storm within.

Kael, provoked by Enevar's silence, circled him like a predator sizing up its prey. "You know, I've heard whispers about your legendary renown, Enevar. So shake up, what is this? Retirement? Neat, but if it were me, I'd at least find a wife to make life more... hmmm... what is the word? Ah, more lively, to make life more lively."

Enevar's eyes remained fixed on the intruder, his lips sealed in a resolute silence.

Kael suppressed a chuckle, a small chortle escaping his lips. "Come now, old man, spill the secret. How did you manage to save so much wealth? We Gray Wolves are always on the lookout for a good trick. There is no way you can achieve this much wealth in one job..."

Enevar's silence persisted, a fortress against the probing questions. He didn't really have the mood to talk now.

Kael leaned in, his face inches from Enevar's. "You must have something up your sleeve. It's not every day we stumble upon a farmer living like a king. Share the secret, and maybe we'll let you keep a trinket or two."

Enevar's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of defiance in their depths. Still, his lips remained sealed.

Kael straightened, his grin widening. "Ah, the silent type. I like that. But don't worry; we'll find the answers one way or another. Your wealth will have a new home, and you... well, let's just say you'll have a front-row seat to our success."

In a surge of annoyance, Enevar's weathered head collided with Kael's unsuspecting face. The headbutt cleanly landed with a crunch. Kael cried out in surprise, his toothy grin replaced by a look of shock as blood trickled from his battered nose.

"Well, well, seems the old man has some fight left in him," Kael grunted, wiping blood away with the back of his hand. His eyes, now ablaze with a mix of fury and surprise, locked onto Enevar.

Despite his bold move, Enevar bore the marks of Lanor's ruthless beating prior. Bruised and battered, Enevar nevertheless was unmoved by Kael's intimidation.

Lanor, the Gray Wolf leader, watched the scene unfold with a menacing glint in his eyes. "You've got spirit, old man. But don't think for a second that it changes anything." The usually kind and righteous Lanor projected a feeling of hate at the old man.

Enevar, his breath labored, managed a wry smile. "Wouldn't be the first time I've faced wolves."

Kael, recovering from the surprise headbutt, spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the ground. "You've got a mouth on you, farmer. Too bad it won't save you."

The other mercenaries exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and anticipation.

Enevar's eyes flickered to the mercenaries, his voice carrying a tinge of weary determination. "You think stealing a man's wealth makes you powerful? Real power is earned, not stolen."

Lanor chuckled, a deep, ominous sound. "Power is whatever you can take and keep, old man. Let's see how much fight you have left."

Under the moonlit canopy, Lanor approached Enevar's serene homestead with a torch ablaze.

With a contemptuous flick, he sent the torch hurtling toward the wooden structure. The flames greedily embraced the homestead, casting a sinister glow upon Lanor's face.

The mercenaries scattered, surprised by Lanor's behavior.

Unsatisfied with the modest flames, Lanor's eyes gleamed with dark intent. He raised his hands, weaving arcane symbols, and summoned a formidable fireball that crackled with destructive energy. With an unfeeling gaze, he hurled the magical inferno at the heart of Enevar's refuge.

Enevar, bound to a wooden post, cried out in fury and despair as the flames devoured the memories of his late wife. The crackling fire mirrored the turmoil within him as he struggled against his restraints, desperate to save the remnants of his cherished past.

"Mercy, I beg you! Spare what little remains!" Enevar's voice rang out, a desperate plea lost in the roar of the growing inferno.

Lanor, cold and unyielding, watched Enevar's futile struggle with neither satisfaction nor otherwise. "Your pleas mean nothing, old man. This is the cost... of everything. Yes... Now, you pay the cost."

Enevar, his eyes wet with tears and fury, stared hatefully at Lanor. "You call this cost? Burning a man's life to the ground? You're nothing but a heartless tyrant."

"Tyrant?" Lanor chuckled, a sinister sound that echoed through the night, as he walked closer to the old man. He kneeled on one knee and whispered. "Look at yourself, Enevar. Frail, powerless. Age has made you weak..."

Kael who was the nearest to the two overheard Lanor's words and shuddered. "Lanor..."

Struggling to break free, Enevar's voice turned cold and factual. "Yes, I'm old, but I've weathered storms you can't fathom. True strength is not in destruction but in endurance. You mistake brutality for power."

As the flames consumed the homestead, Lanor's eyes bore into Enevar's, a chilling gaze that spoke of a merciless conviction.

Lanor ceased the mirth that decorated his face, no longer smiling, he sincerely said to Enevar. "Oh, how I wished you could hear yourself."