The sky above was a tapestry of stars, distant and indifferent, casting a serene glow over the night. The leaves whispered softly with the breeze, a gentle accompaniment to the crackling fire. A young man sat by it, his figure illuminated in the warm orange light, gnawing on the tough, flavorless meat of the animal he had killed. It was all he had, and as he ate, he occasionally poked at the fire to keep it alive. When the last of the meat was gone, he rose, stretching his stiff limbs, the biting cold making his skin prickle.
He extinguished the fire, its warmth fading with the last of the flames, and climbed one of the towering trees of the Forest of Initium. The rough bark pressed against his aching body, but the height offered safety from the dangers of the ground. Exhausted from days of relentless travel, he finally allowed himself to rest.
As his eyes drooped and his tense muscles relaxed, his mind started to drift.
"Failure really is your specialty, huh, kid?" Grausam's voice cut through his dreams, cruel and mocking. The memory of the man's iron grip as he hurled the boy against the cold wall was vivid. The impact had knocked the breath from his lungs. "You can’t even handle basic swordplay! What a waste of being born into a great family like yours!" Luke felt like trash, being reprimanded again. What could he do about it? Nothing.
The boy stood immobilized, weighed down by shame and fatigue. The whispers of the servants around him were laced with disdain, their words slicing through his already battered self-worth.
"Isn’t he the patriarch’s son?"
"Why is he being beaten?"
"Because he’s worthless," one servant sneered. "The kid can’t do anything right. I heard he even lost to his younger siblings. What a disgrace, being the first son of the Saberane family and the weakest. Pathetic."
Each word struck him like a physical blow, deeper than any sword could inflict. His hands clenched around the wooden training sword, knuckles white with frustration. The weapon felt foreign and heavy, like a useless lump of metal, not the extension of his body it was supposed to be. All of his siblings were superior in every aspect—stronger, faster, more skilled. The sword, a symbol of his inability, felt like a shackle.
The scene shifted, and he was ten years old, standing at the outskirts of the kingdom, staring up at the cold, looming stone walls that marked the end of his old life. The family knights, who had once been his protectors, now stood like silent statues behind him, indifferent to his small, trembling frame.
Luke’s cheeks were soaked with tears, his throat raw from crying. His eyes, swollen and red, desperately searched the guards’ faces for any sign of mercy, of warmth—of anything that could save him from the truth dawning like a dark cloud in his heart. He turned toward them, his small voice breaking with each word, “Please, I’ll work harder. I’ll become stronger! Just… please take me back home! I don’t want to stay here!”
His tiny fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, his heart aching as if it would shatter. "I’ll do better... I’ll train day and night!!" His breath hitched, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “Please, I beg—”
“You are no longer a Saberane,” one of the knights interrupted, his voice colder than the wind that cut through Luke's trembling body. The words hung in the air like an executioner’s axe, final and unrelenting. His tone held no sympathy, no hesitation. Just the cruel truth. “You are to never use the family name again.”
“No! No! I’m still Luke Saberane!” he cried, trying to cling to the knight's leg.
The knight shook him off by kicking him away. He looked at Luke with disdain and walked away.
His family had not only cast him out but had stripped him of his very identity. No longer a son, no longer an heir, no longer a Saberane—he was discarded, unwanted, and unworthy of the family legacy.
He watched as the carriage bearing the family crest vanished into the horizon, leaving him on the dirt road, utterly alone. A part of him had shattered that day—his connection to his past, to his lineage, to everything he had once aspired to be.
What a pathetic child he was. Unwanted. Talentless. Worthless.
The town was peaceful and cheerful, but it felt so distant to a boy like him. Discarded and thrown away by his own family, he now slept on the streets like a homeless person—because, in reality, he was one. He wondered what the point of his life was. Why did he even exist? Was it so that he could just suffer?
Couldn’t he just end it? He smiled at the idea that he could just end it all, all the pain—everything.
"You lost?" The boy looked up to see a little girl around his age with a curious expression, holding out her hand. She looked so bright; her long white hair shone in the sun. "What's your name? Mine is Kelly Light, by the way."
"Luke," he said weakly. What was the point? He was just going to die in the streets anyway.
The girl named Kelly smiled so brightly that it nearly blinded the depressed boy. "Nice to meet you, Luke! Now we're friends!"
Luke was confused. Friends? They barely knew each other—heck, all they knew were their names. He thought that if this girl truly got to know him, she would just abandon him like everyone else had. That was who he was: someone who disappointed everyone. "I don—"
"You don't want to be friends?" Her face fell, and her scarlet eyes began to water.
He felt bad. She looked so nice and kind, and yet he made her cry. "No, it's not that. It's just—" He turned away, unable to look her in the face. "Don't you feel disgusted? Repulsed? I'm just a useless, talentless, unwanted kid on the streets."
"No, why should I?" She was so innocent, so unaware of the darker side of the world. Luke felt a strange attraction to her; she shone so brightly in his dim world. “We’re just kids, so why does it matter if we're still talentless? My mom said that talent usually comes when we're older so you shouldn’t call yourself talentless. Maybe you just haven’t found your talent yet.”
Luke looked at her, confused. He couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. In his household—well, his old household—results meant everything from day one of being born, yet here she was telling him that he didn’t need to.
"Do you have a home?" she asked suddenly, wiping away the buildup of tears from her eyes.
Luke thought of his home—or what he considered home—and began to cry. "No, I don't have one," he managed to say between sobs.
"Oh? Did I offend you? I'm so sorry," Kelly said, her panic evident. This was the first time she had encountered a situation like this. She thought about how her mother would comfort her when she was upset.
Luke suddenly felt a warm embrace, calming and full of love; it was something he wasn't used to. He turned to see Kelly hugging him from behind. The scent of English daisies filled his nostrils, which he found pleasant. "Wha—"
"Shh, you can cry, Luke. We're just kids; you don't have to keep it all to yourself."
Unable to hold back any longer, Luke embraced her and cried on her shoulder for what seemed like hours. She provided him warmth that he never felt back in his old home. With her, he felt like he was safe, like he was wanted.
By the time he calmed down, the sun was already setting. "You okay now?" she asked softly a few minutes after he stopped crying. "Do you want to come to my house? I'm sure my parents would be fine with it." She knew now that his household was a sensitive topic, so she chose to offer it in a manner that hopefully wouldn't hurt Luke.
Luke hesitated; he was scared. If he was kicked out of a household again, he couldn't handle it, but he also knew this was a chance, a chance that he couldn't let go. "Sure," his reply was weak but welcomed.
Kelly smiled, took him by the wrist, and joyfully dragged him along the streets at dusk as the sky grew darker. Her energy was infectious; she was like a second sun in Luke's eyes—his savior.
The sight of the two children was innocent and sweet; people heading home from work admired them with a single thought: youth.
Tears flowed down the man's face as he opened his eyes. The sun shone brightly in the sky, though it was dawn. It had been a nostalgic dream—a dream of the past, one he could never return to, no matter how much he wished otherwise.
He packed up and got ready to keep moving. He needed to—he had to. Life wouldn't wait for him either way. The leaves rustled nearby as the native animals began to stir. The smell of the forest filled his nose. It was another dreadful day.
He emerged from the forest by noon, the thick canopy finally giving way to the open sky.
About a hundred kilometers ahead, the city of Sinuvaga sprawled across the plains, a patchwork of stone buildings and busy streets. From this vantage point, he could see the guards pacing the high walls, their silhouettes sharp against the midday sun. It was the first sign of civilization he’d encountered since the attack on his village.
Luke clenched his fists, steeling himself. He knew he’d have to face his past eventually, but for now, survival came first.
Sinuvaga was just another stop on the way to avenging his village and his loved one.
As he stood in contemplation, a sound caught his attention. The steps behind him were too heavy to belong to a human or any forest animal. That could only mean one thing: a monster.
Luke spun around, his grip tight on the sword that felt more like a heavy hunk of metal than a weapon. The sound of rapid footsteps grew louder, and he knew with grim certainty that escape was no longer an option. He braced himself, steeling for the confrontation that was about to unfold.
He jumped to the side, narrowly dodging the rushing monster. Without hesitation, he turned to face it, not wanting to expose his back any more than necessary.
There stood the beast, towering over 8 feet tall, no doubt. Its arms and legs put even the strongest men to shame, muscles bulging beneath thick, webbed hide. It wore only a piece of white loincloth. But the most terrifying part was the bull's head resting on its thick neck. Its enormous red eyes gleamed in the sunlight, and its horns—a mix of ivory white and pitch black—ended in tips sharper than his sword. And the smell—it was like a wet, smelly dog mixed with the stench of rotting garbage.
He knew this creature—who wouldn't know the infamous bull-man monster of legends? It was a minotaur, and this one was particularly large. It fumed with murderous intent, and Luke muttered only one thing to himself: "Shit."
He focused on the bull, waiting for it to charge. He knew minotaurs had incredible destructive power but struggled to turn once they charged. His plan was simple: wait until the last possible moment to dodge, then slash the monster.
Here it was: his chance. The minotaur charged again with tremendous speed. Luke stood still, gripping his sword tightly. "Wait for it... aaannnd now!" He leaped to the side, slashing the monster as it sped past.
"Tsk," he muttered in frustration. The cut was too shallow. With sword skills like his, he wasn't going to get anywhere.
But before he could react, the bull-man stormed past and swiped at him mid-charge. Luke felt an explosion of pain as the beast's horns clipped his leg, knocking him to the ground. His leg burned, and when he tried to stand, it buckled under him.
He winced, trying to put weight on it—no use. The leg was practically useless now. He gripped his sword tighter, knowing this battle just became infinitely harder. He knew that even in perfect condition, he couldn’t defeat this monster. Not if he fought fairly, that is.
As Luke was caught up in his own thoughts, the minotaur charged again, this time dodging it only by a hair.
This wasn't good. Luke's leg was in worse condition than he'd thought—even the jump he just did had drained him more than he expected.
The minotaur snorted, its eyes glaring down at Luke. "Weakling. Easy kill," it rumbled, clearly unimpressed. "Not even a challenge."
Luke looked up at the minotaur with surprise. He had never heard of a minotaur talking before, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by the fact it could talk. His leg was in one of the worst conditions possible, but he knew the minotaur would come at him with full force soon.
With a grunt, the minotaur lowered its head and said, "Just a little bug. No threat. I finish quick."
As the beast charged, Luke prepared himself. He waited until the last second, letting the minotaur's overconfidence drive it forward. He flung himself to the side, slashing at the beast as it sped past, using the minotaur's momentum as force to do damage. He felt the cold blade bite into its tough hide.
The minotaur roared; its frustration palpable. It was clear that Luke’s attacks did nothing more than just annoy him. "Annoying! Too slow!" It stormed back, even more furious now.
Luke kept his focus. The minotaur's arrogance was his opening.
The minotaur roared again, muscles bulging as it swung a massive tree in Luke’s direction. Splinters flew through the air like deadly shards, and Luke barely had time to raise his sword in defense. The splinters, the size of pens, pierced him in a multitude of places. The force of the impact sent him flying back, crashing against the trunk of another tree. He gasped; his vision blurred from the pain surging through his body. The ground beneath him felt cold and unwelcoming, but there was no time to rest.
The beast lumbered forward, each footstep a drumbeat of impending doom. Luke’s body screamed in protest as he forced himself to stand, his sword barely hanging in his trembling grip. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, and his breathing came in ragged bursts, but he couldn't afford to give up now. Not when he hasn’t even started, not when those bastards haven’t paid for their sins yet.
The minotaur grunted, lowering its head. The deadly horns glinted in the sunlight as it prepared for another charge.
The cogs in Luke’s head turned like crazy to find a way to beat this superior foe. That was when Luke noticed something he hadn’t before—one of the beast’s horns was slightly cracked, probably from previous battles. If he could exploit that weakness, he might stand a chance.
His leg felt like it was in hell, his body felt like shit, his movements were sloppy, but he discarded all those sensations just for a few moments. He grabbed his sword and aimed it at the crack present in the horns of the monster. His eyes locked in, his mind thinking of nothing else at the moment but the way to defeat this monster. All of these pains are nothing compared to that day.
Luke’s electric eyes seemed to glow; his body enveloped by black lightning. All of it was going in one direction.
To his blade.
For a moment, the blade felt light. It felt like an extension of his body. It felt easy to wield. Something he wasn’t able to do before. When he threw the sword, all the black lightning followed, and Luke collapsed to his knees but stood up right after.
The sword hit the crack cleanly and made it bigger as it got stuck on the crack. The lightning that followed hit the minotaur, causing it great pain. This enraged the minotaur and caused it to do the thing it does best: rush.
Luke used this moment of distraction to launch himself forward, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. He leaped onto the creature's back, grabbing the cracked horn with both hands. The minotaur thrashed violently, trying to throw him off, but Luke held on, his body shaking with adrenaline.
With a primal scream and the lightning appearing once more, he yanked on the horn, pulling it with all his might. The crack deepened, and with one final, desperate pull, the horn snapped off in his hands.
He grabbed his sword from falling and used it to stab the minotaur’s eye.
The minotaur howled in agony, stumbling backward as blood spurted from the wound.
Luke jumped off as the minotaur fell to the ground.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Luke didn't waste any time. He took the broken horn and plunged it into the creature's exposed neck, twisting it deeper and deeper until the beast's roars turned into gurgles.
Finally, the minotaur stilled, its massive body laid on the ground, its deep crimson blood flowing out of its thick neck. Luke tumbled off, landing hard on his back, gasping for air, his heart beating hard at an alarming rate. He had done it. The beast was dead.
As he lay sprawled on the ground, Luke knew he won only by luck, and he most definitely wouldn't be able to repeat the feat. His leg sent a jolt of pain as he shifted his weight, and Luke’s face contorted with pain as blood flowed out of the wound at an alarming rate.
He forced himself to sit up and tore a piece of cloth from his clothing, applying pressure to his wounds to staunch the bleeding. He picked off all the splinters that had pierced him.
He looked at the corpse of the monster and took his time removing the horns. Minotaur horns were known to be sturdy, valuable materials, and he figured he could get some funds from selling them. By the time he finished, dusk had already settled in.
Luke stood up and tested his injured leg by placing his weight on it—just as he feared, it was useless. Grabbing his nearly broken sword, he decided to use it as a makeshift walking stick and began limping toward the distant city.
----------------------------------------
"You, what do you want in Sinuvaga?" the guard asked, his voice thick with exhaustion as he leaned lazily against the gate. His eyes barely lifted from his post, uninterested—until he caught sight of the blood staining Luke’s clothes and the dried grime clinging to his skin. He leaned on a worn-out sword that seemed to have gone to hell and back.
"What happened to you?" His posture straightened, eyes now narrowing.
"Ran into a monster," Luke rasped, his voice rough from fatigue. His body ached from the wounds that still stung with every breath. "I just want a roof over my head and time to tend to my injuries."
The guard frowned, stepping closer and scanning Luke more thoroughly. "Ran into a monster? Where’d you come from?"
"Just came from the plains," Luke muttered, his voice weakening. His leg was starting to act up again. "Before that, the forest of Initium."
The guard’s gaze drifted to Luke’s back. “And what’s that?” He pointed at the two horns strapped to Luke's pack, their sharp tips glinting faintly in the low light.
"Monster drops," Luke replied, shifting the weight of the horns on his back. "Hoping to sell them for some funds." He cast a weary glance at his left leg and aching limbs. "Is there anywhere I can... heal up?"
The guard scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting once more over Luke’s battered form. “Head to the center of the city. You’ll find the guild, lodgings—and the church. They’ll patch you up over there.”
Luke nodded, his face still exhausted and expressionless. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The guard just nodded lazily as he walked to open the gate. "Yeah? Well, as long as you don't stir up any trouble..." He let out a long yawn, pulling the gate open with a lazy gesture. "It should be fine."
The streets were massive compared to the narrow, worn paths of his village. As Luke limped his way, his gaze wandered over the bustling road, but his thoughts soon drifted elsewhere. He could almost see Kelly here—her wide, excited eyes drinking in the unfamiliar sights. He smiled faintly, imagining her running ahead, her wavy white hair flowing behind her like a banner in the wind. She would twirl to face him, her radiant smile lighting up her face as she waited for him to catch up, her laughter dancing in the air.
He smiled as he looked around and imagined the things Kelly would have done and said.
He could practically hear her soft gasps of wonder at the towering shops and sprawling houses, her awe impossible to contain. The thought of her dragging him eagerly from stall to stall, her unrelenting enthusiasm, made him shudder slightly. But despite the imagined exhaustion, the day would have been one he’d have cherished—a memory he’d treasure.
Then his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, shattered by the harsh reality of his memories. Kelly was dead, and the entire village was gone—nothing remained but ashes and grief. The weight of that truth pressed down on him once again, erasing the fleeting moment of warmth.
He moved toward the center of the city, his eyes scanning the buildings ahead until he saw it—the church. It loomed in the distance, more like a cathedral with its towering spires and intricate decorations etched into the stone walls and pillars. Each carving told a story, some of heroes and saints of old, others of battles long forgotten. Sunlight filtered through the massive stained-glass windows, casting vibrant colors on the streets below. The glass depicted holy scenes from the distant past, stories of divine intervention and miracles, their details sharp and vivid even from afar.
As he approached, the giant wooden doors came into view, reinforced with thick bands of cold steel that crisscrossed horizontally, adding a sense of impenetrable strength. The structure exuded a sense of sanctity, yet there was something formidable about it, as though it had weathered many storms and would stand through countless more. It was opened ajar, without any hints of movement inside.
Luke limped in, and the interior was as beautiful, if not more so, than the exterior. The wooden benches were polished and smooth, the marble flooring gleaming with cleanliness. In front of him stood a young woman behind the altar, her head resting on it. She was dressed in an elegant white gown rather than the traditional black habit.
As he limped, the sound of the marble getting struck by his sword echoed as he used it as a walking stick. “Excuse me,” Luke called out, but when she didn’t respond, he walked closer and gently tapped her shoulder.
She jolted upright. “I WASN'T SLEEPING, I PROMISE!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing off the ornate walls of the church. Realizing Luke was there, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Uhmm…”
Luke looked surprised and a bit concerned.
“So? What brings you here?” she asked, composing herself with an air of dignity, though her face remained beetroot red and her voice still trembled slightly.
“Well, I heard that—”
“Oh my gosh, what happened to you?” she exclaimed, not giving him time to explain, her golden-yellow eyes widening as they scanned his battered form. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her as she hurried forward, her elegant dress swishing with her swift movements.
When she reached him, she began inspecting his injuries with a look of deep concern. Her gaze seemed to linger longer on the more hidden wounds, as if she could see through to the pain beneath. Her eyes finally settled on Luke’s injured leg, which had been clipped by the minotaur. She let out a loud gasp. “You’ve been walking on this leg? Sit down right now!” Her voice was filled with horror and worry.
Without waiting for a response, she gently but firmly guided him to one of the smooth benches. Her hands were surprisingly steady despite her apparent panic. She helped him lie down, her face a mix of worry and determination.
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in a gesture of prayer, and a golden light began to emanate from her. The light was warm and soothing, wrapping around Luke like a comforting embrace. As the radiance spread, the intense pain from his wounds began to dull, replaced by a soothing numbness.
Luke’s exhaustion, combined with the warmth of the healing light, made his eyelids grow heavy. His consciousness started to drift, the exhaustion washing over him like a gentle tide.
“You healed the young man with your holy energy?” a gruff voice pierced through the peaceful silence, pulling Luke from the hazy fog of unconsciousness.
His senses began to return slowly. He recognized the voice as belonging to a man, but everything else was still a blur.
“It was the only thing I could do! He was severely injured!” came the girl’s indignant reply, her voice tinged with frustration. Luke could tell it was the same girl who had healed him. “If you had seen him, you would have done the same thing!”
“And what if he was a threat to you or the church? What if he was a dangerous enemy of the kingdom?” The man sighed heavily, his irritation palpable. “Wake up, young man,” he said, shaking Luke’s shoulder firmly.
Luke groaned softly as he blinked his eyes open. The world slowly came into focus. He glanced down at his body—his wounds, once deep and agonizing, were gone. His skin, once marred by battle, was now smooth, though his clothes remained bloody and torn. His body felt unnervingly numb, as if the pain had simply been erased. It was surreal.
The girl rushed to his side, her wide golden eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? Did I miss anything?” she asked, her voice laced with a nervous edge. Her hands hovered as if she expected something to go wrong.
“What? No, I think you got everything,” Luke mumbled, still a little disoriented. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the lack of pain. “Was that healing magic? How long was I out? What happened?”
“Let the girl explain,” the man’s gruff voice cut in, sharp and authoritative.
The girl, clearly the same one who had panicked earlier, straightened up, a sense of pride creeping back into her posture. “I healed you. You were unconscious for about two hours, maybe a little more,” she said, her tone calm but with an undercurrent of excitement. “I’m the saintess of this generation, you know!”
Luke blinked at her. “Saintess? Like the ones in legends?” His disbelief was clear. He had only ever heard about saints in distant, fanciful stories—tales Kelly had loved when they were younger. She would have been ecstatic if she heard this.
The girl nodded, her expression softening as if she could read his thoughts. “Like the ones in legends,” she repeated with a small, sheepish smile. “But I’m not as powerful as the ones you’ve heard of. I’m still in training.” Her voice dropped slightly, a touch of humility slipping in. “Oh, I almost forgot—I’m Aurelia. Aurelia White.” She motioned toward the stern-looking man beside her. “This is Priest Alford Stane.”
The man, Alford, gave a curt nod, his gaze still scrutinizing Luke.
“And who are you?” Aurelia asked, her earlier nervousness gone, replaced by curiosity.
“Luke. Just Luke,” he said, though his mind drifted momentarily, recalling a similar introduction in the past. It reminded him of Kelly. Yeah, Kelly and this girl would have gotten along—too well, probably.
Alford cleared his throat, dragging Luke’s attention back to the present. “Are you an enemy of the church?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for nonsense. “And I warn you, I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“No,” Luke said, locking eyes with the older man, his tone firm.
For a moment, Alford studied him, eyes narrowing as if to peer into Luke’s very soul. “The darkness in your heart…” the priest said, his voice dropping to a warning. “It will consume you if you let it.”
Aurelia blinked, her head tilting in confusion. “Darkness? What darkness—what’s he talking about?” Her gaze flicked back to Luke, worry creasing her brow.
He stared at Alford, “That much I know.” Luke’s lips tightened, but he said, “It’s nothing. Just some old memories.”
Alford seemed satisfied with Luke’s response, though his expression remained stern. He shot Aurelia with a warning glance. “Next time, you’re to inform me before healing anyone, no matter how urgent it seems. Understood?”
Aurelia’s shoulders slumped, her earlier defiance dimming. “Yes, Father Stane…” she mumbled, though her lips pouted in a way that showed she wasn’t happy about it.
Once Alford disappeared into his office, the room grew lighter. Aurelia’s playful energy returned as she turned to Luke, her curiosity unabated. “So, what’s this about a ‘darkness in your heart’? Did you go through a breakup or something?” She cocked her head, her eyes gleaming with intrigue.
Luke raised a brow at her. “Not exactly. Something...similar, though.”
“Oh, I get it,” Aurelia said, nodding sagely. “The best way to get over a breakup is to move on! And trust me,” she added, puffing up her chest, “I know how these things go. You’ll be over it in no time!”
Luke stifled a chuckle. “Thanks for the advice,” he said with a small, amused smile. Yep, she and Kelly would have gotten along far too well. Kelly would have been laughing her head off at this.
Aurelia crossed her arms, her expression suddenly more serious as she looked over Luke once again. “But really... I can tell there’s more to your story. You’ve got that look—you’re hiding something. Something that hurts.”
Luke stiffened slightly, his expression unreadable. She was better at reading people than he first anticipated.
Aurelia hesitated before softly saying, “You don’t have to talk about it. But just know...you better visit again. Got it?” She smiled, but there was a sincere warmth behind her playful words.
“I’ll try,” Luke said, raising his hand in a wave as he headed toward the exit. His back faced her, but her words lingered in the air. There was something about her that reminded him of the carefree warmth he once knew.
As the large doors of the church closed behind him, Luke exhaled slowly, his mind buzzing with the strange mixture of memories and emotions Aurelia stirred up. His leg still felt stronger, his body lighter, but the weight in his heart...that hadn’t budged.
His next stop was the guild.
It wasn’t hard to find, thanks to the large sign reading “Sinuvaga Guild” in bright yellow ink, starkly contrasting with the dark brown planks it was painted on.
The grand, wide structure, built from golden-hued bricks, stood proudly against a backdrop of towering cliffs. Its deep blue tiled roof gleamed under the sunlight, a striking contrast to the surrounding buildings. Elegant, arched windows framed by slender metal reinforcements lent the building an air of both strength and grace. Majestic banners, adorned with intricate patterns, flanked the entrance, inviting all to approach. A short flight of stone steps led to the front doors, crafted from polished wood and crowned by an ornate balcony above, adding a regal touch to the building’s welcoming façade.
As Luke entered the guild, he was met with a loud and lively atmosphere. The spacious interior featured warm wooden paneling and tall arched windows letting in golden sunlight. The adventurers drank and ate as they talked to one another.
To the right, a polished wooden reception desk stood with a young woman with short brown hair, efficiently handling paperwork and greeting adventurers.
On the left, a large bulletin board was filled with colorful quest notices, detailing various missions from simple tasks like F-rank quests to dangerous A-rank quests. Scattered throughout the room were sturdy wooden tables and chairs, arranged for meals and meetings. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat hinted at a nearby kitchen, enhancing the inviting atmosphere.
A crackling hearth in one corner added warmth and comfort, with a few plush armchairs arranged around it. The guild's emblem, a fierce lion entwined with a golden laurel, hung proudly above the hearth.
As Luke approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted him with a bright smile. “Welcome to the Sinuvaga Guild! How may I help you?”
“I was hoping to sell these,” Luke said, setting down the two massive minotaur horns. Their black and ivory surfaces gleamed under the guild’s lighting.
The receptionist’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait! Are these minotaur horns!?” Her exclamation made the room fall silent, and all eyes turned toward Luke. A weary, bloodied stranger presenting the horns of an A-rank monster was indeed unusual. “Sorry, I’ll get the guild master!” she said, rushing to the back.
Luke set the minotaur horns on a nearby unoccupied table and took a seat to wait for the manager.
A bald, muscular man walked up, looking menacing, but Luke wasn’t fazed. Compared to the minotaur, this guy was nothing. “Hey, kiddo. Where did you get that horn from?” The man tried to intimidate Luke.
“From a minotaur—where else would I get it from? Thin air?” Luke’s icy blue eyes locked onto the man’s, unfazed by the intimidation. He was used to abuse in the past; why be scared now?
“You’ve got guts, kid, but do you have the strength to back that up?” The bald man’s teal eyes blazed with fury.
“Jake, stop it,” a man in a black suit said as he emerged from the back with the receptionist. “That’s him,” the receptionist said with concern as she saw the scene.
“Is that so? Quite a young one,” the suited man said, his purple eyes seemingly piercing through Luke and all his façades. “Jake, back off. I need to speak with this young man.”
“Seriously? You believe he defeated a minotaur?”
“Yes, I do. Now if you’ll excuse us,” the suited man said, gently lifting Luke from his chair by the hand. “Take your horns and follow me.”
Luke stood up, took the minotaur horns, and followed the manager to the back. The room was spacious but not too big. It was decorated but not extravagant. A table sat between two blue couches. “So, what pleasure do I, a lowly guild master, have meeting this young Saberane?”
Luke froze. “I… I’m not a Saberane.”
The guild master’s piercing gaze lingered on Luke. "You cannot fool me; I know a Saberane when I see one. Striking blue eyes that seem to radiate energy and pitch-black hair that swallows all light."
Luke’s jaw tightened. “I am not a Saberane. I’m just Luke.” His voice carried conviction, but there was unmistakable pain in his eyes.
“Is that so?" The guild master’s expression told him that he would drop the topic for now but would love to discuss it at a later date. "Well, it is an honor to meet you, Luke.” He extended his hand for a firm handshake, which Luke hesitantly accepted. “I am the guild master of this humble guild, Gareth Lysander.”
“So, I called you here to ask how you managed to defeat this minotaur,” Gareth said, placing his finger on one of the horns, subtly admiring its quality. His tone was calm, but his eyes remained sharp, testing Luke's resolve.
Luke’s expression remained steady. “Must I?”
“If you want to sell these to me, then yes. You must authenticate the horns.”
Luke slumped and started to talk.
As they talked, Gareth placed his finger on one of the horns, subtly admiring its quality. His tone was calm, but his eyes remained sharp, testing Luke's resolve.
“Interesting,” Gareth murmured, leaning back slightly. “But are you certain the minotaur spoke?”
“Very,” Luke said firmly.
Gareth's face darkened. “This is troubling. A monster of A rank showing signs of intelligence… this could be catastrophic.”
Gareth’s gaze returned to the horns, now tinged with contempt. He glanced at Luke’s worn sword lying beside him. “Tell me, how did you manage to crack these horns? A normal sword wouldn’t suffice for that.”
Luke hesitated for a split second, his mind racing. “It was a matter of luck and timing,” he said, his voice steady. He avoided mentioning the black lightning that had surged through his blade—a detail that would reveal too much.
Gareth’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the pause. He was a seasoned guild master, and something in Luke’s story didn’t quite add up. The way Luke spoke, the subtle tension in his posture—it all hinted at a hidden strength or secret.
“Very well,” Gareth said, his tone even but with a hint of skepticism. “I’ll take your explanation at face value for now. But remember, there’s more to adventuring than just proving your worth with trophies.”
His gaze returned to the horns, now tinged with contempt. “How about I buy one horn from you for 100 gold coins?”
“100?” Luke’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had only expected to earn 10 gold coins for both horns, and here was an offer of 100 for just one.
“Yes, 100 gold coins,” Gareth confirmed. “This particular minotaur was healthy, but more importantly, it’s a rare variant. The fact that it could speak is even more concerning. See the mixture of black and ivory? That indicates a mixed breed—very rare, very powerful. These horns are valuable.”
Gareth then gestured toward Luke’s sword, still in its worn scabbard beside him. “I suggest you take the money from one horn and visit Durin’s Forge. Show him the horn. He’ll be eager to craft you a weapon worthy of it. The sword you have now won’t last much longer.”
Luke looked down at his sword, feeling the weight of Gareth’s words. It was battered and dulled, far from the weapon he once hoped it would be. The memory of the black lightning that had surged through the blade during the battle came flooding back. He remembered the sensation of the sword becoming an extension of himself, the feeling of raw power that had momentarily made him feel invincible.
In the household of the Saberane, he was often told he was talentless, that he lacked the skill and strength expected of someone bearing their name. The harsh words of his family echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of their disapproval. They had always compared him unfavorably to his more skilled siblings, dismissing him as a failure before he could even prove himself.
Yet, Kelly had once told him, “Talent doesn’t always bloom early.” Her words had been a beacon of hope in his darkest moments. She had believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself. Her faith had been one of the few things that kept him going, driving him to continue striving despite the setbacks.
The thought of Kelly’s encouragement stirred something deep within him. Could it be that he wasn’t as useless as he had been led to believe? Perhaps he had more potential than he realized.
“I’ll surely check it out,” Luke said, his voice carrying a newfound resolve.
Gareth nodded and said nothing more. He simply guided Luke to the exit, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the young man as he left.
As Luke stepped out of the guild, he felt the weight of the 100 gold coins in his pouch. The generous offer had provided him with a financial cushion, and he was grateful for it. With the money in hand and a direction to follow, Luke made his way toward Durin’s Forge, as instructed by Gareth.