As they walked along the dirt road, the wind blew weakly.

  It was the kind of silence that came before a fight — or a memory.

  Mortin, who rarely spoke about anything that wasn’t training, murmured suddenly:

  "Let’s just hope none of them show up."

  Bruno lifted his head.

  "‘Them’ who?"

  Vanir adjusted the bow on his shoulder without looking back.

  "The Sons of God…"

  Gnor grunted, a low sound, almost a warning to stop talking.

  But Mortin continued, voice flat:

  "Warriors who appear out of nowhere when someone too weak is about to die. White armor… light pouring from the gaps… and swords that burn everything they call a sinner."

  The dwarf spat on the ground.

  "If one of those shows up, better run. They don’t tell monsters from people."

  Bruno frowned.

  "Never heard of that."

  Vanir simply replied:

  "And it’s better if it stays that way."

  Bruno walked between them, brow furrowed.

  "But… why do you hate them so much? They even have a cool name."

  Vanir turned, now walking backward, the bow on his back swaying with the motion.

  "A cool name doesn’t make them heroes, kid."

  He leaned closer to Bruno’s face.

  "They’re not heroes."

  Bruno stepped on a dry branch.

  "What do you mean they’re not?"

  Vanir raised one finger.

  "They appear… kill, torture, burn the ‘villain of the week,’ as you said… and vanish like they were never there." His eyes narrowed. "Heroes have faces. Them? We don’t even know the race. No voices. No breath. It’s like fighting beside a living statue."

  Bruno shrugged.

  "Well… at least they fight against evil, right?"

  That made Gnor stop walking. The orc turned suddenly, calm expression hardening like stone.

  "That’s the problem, kid."

  Vanir nodded, arms crossed.

  "They choose which evil to fight. And… honestly… no one should have that right."

  Gnor inhaled deeply, looking up at the sky as if expecting one to fall from it at any moment.

  "In the Invader War… thousands died. Good people, kids, whole families trying to survive while the Church hunted the Summoned like monsters."

  He looked at Bruno with heavy seriousness.

  "And do you know how many Sons of God appeared to help?"

  Bruno swallowed.

  "How many?"

  "Zero."

  The orc raised one thick finger.

  "ZERO, Bruno. Not a single one."

  Vanir added:

  "And when the war was over… when everything was already ruined… that’s when they showed up. Out of nowhere. Marching like ghosts. Cleaning up the leftovers. Killing whoever they judged ‘guilty.’"

  The dwarf snorted angrily.

  "Heroes don’t show up after the end."

  Gnor placed a huge hand on Bruno’s shoulder.

  "They don’t fight for justice. They fight for… something else."

  Vanir sighed and resumed walking.

  "If a Son of God looks at you and decides you’re a ‘sinner’…" He tapped twice on his chest like a warning. "…nobody can save you."

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  Bruno went quiet, the cold wind slipping between them.

  Kearlin murmured softly, almost like an insect buzzing:

  "Looks like they didn’t appreciate the help of the big god."

  He snickered, as if teasing someone only he could see.

  A thin fog covered the village ahead, swallowing sound.

  The smell of burnt wood lingered, mixed with something acidic… chimera flesh.

  Bruno felt his skin crawl before he even saw anything.

  Mortin advanced in slow steps, sword lowered, ready to explode forward at any moment.

  Vanir stopped beside Bruno.

  "Minimal chimeras aren’t strong… just annoying. They attack in packs."

  "And they stink," the dwarf added, already preparing his axe.

  Bruno gripped the dagger tight — or as tight as his trembling arm allowed.

  "I’ll try," he repeated under his breath.

  Kearlin sat on his shoulder, a weight that was somehow comforting.

  "You know, if you die I’m gonna be really pissed. Just saying."

  Bruno rolled his eyes. But before he could answer —

  Grrrrrhhhhh…

  It came from the left. A wet sound, like meat dragging across the ground.

  Mortin lifted his hand for silence.

  Two more sounds. Fast. Getting closer.

  Vanir whispered:

  "Three… no. Four."

  Gnor began a deep chant, preparing a defensive buff.

  "Mortin…" Bruno whispered. "Any last advice?"

  The swordsman stretched his neck, eyes locked on the darkness.

  "Yes. Don’t let them touch you. The bite infects."

  Before Bruno could reply, something burst from the bushes — a minimal chimera, thin legs, twisted body, double eyes glowing.

  Kearlin screamed:

  "BRUNOOO MOVE!!!"

  Bruno ducked on instinct — the creature spun over him.

  Vanir fired an arrow that pierced the second eye, pinning it to a tree.

  Mortin struck another one in a clean, perfect arc.

  And Bruno…

  Bruno felt his heart race. Felt his mana stir — unstable, but alive.

  He steadied the dagger. Feet sliding into place.

  "Okay… my turn."

  The next chimera leaped.

  Bruno didn’t think. Bruno jumped too.

  The clash happened in the air— and before touching the ground, the dagger had already done its job: a clean slice, cutting the creature almost in half. Hot blood rained down.

  No time to breathe.

  One. Two. Three. More chimeras crawled out of destroyed houses.

  Bruno sprinted, slid behind a fallen half-door and crouched, breathing deep. His heart pounded.

  The first chimera arrived, sniffing. Bruno waited… waited…

  — Now.

  He burst forward.

  The dagger sank into its skull with a sharp crack. The body dropped limp on top of him before sliding off.

  The second didn’t react in time. Bruno spun and kicked. It hurt. It hurt A LOT — his foot. But the chimera’s snout folded inward with a wet crack.

  "Shit…" Bruno muttered, wincing as he put weight on the foot.

  The third jumped straight at his face. Teeth too big for its head… Hot spit flying…

  Bruno twisted, grabbed it mid-air and — SU-PLEX.

  The creature’s skull exploded against the ground like a rooftop-dropped watermelon.

  Silence.

  Dust.

  Blood smell.

  Bruno lay on his back, sweating, breathing like he’d run a marathon.

  Kearlin flew down to him, worried and sarcastically annoyed at the same time:

  "You alive, Bruno?!"

  Bruno raised a trembling finger.

  "I… think so."

  He breathed deeply, muscles burning, foot throbbing, world spinning.

  But he was alive. Somehow.

  And those chimeras… didn’t know they had just fought the start of a monster.

  Meanwhile, Vanir was destroying six chimeras with flawless arrows.

  Gnor punched through bodies while spreading protective and healing magic over seven more.

  Mortin cut through more than ten like he was trimming branches.

  And Drogmar slammed his axe into the ground, making the earth erupt and shredding over fifteen creatures at once.

  The last chimeras writhed on the ground, pinned by Vanir’s rune-lit arrows. Mortin still spun his blade like he was warming up, not fighting for survival. Drogmar cleaned blood off his axe as if brushing dust from a boot. Gnor muttered prayers that made the air vibrate.

  Bruno, meanwhile…

  Was sitting, breathing like a dying engine, covered in blood he couldn’t identify.

  Kearlin crossed his arms in the air:

  "Alive… technically. Congrats."

  Bruno wiped sweat from his forehead.

  "I think I… need to get a little stronger."

  Kearlin grinned wickedly:

  "A little? Bruno, you’re not even at their feet. On a scale it’d be like: Drogmar — walking apocalypse, Mortin — meat-cutting machine, Vanir — arrows that don’t miss, Gnor — fist of god, and then… you. The aspiring magic toothpick."

  "Thanks for the honesty," Bruno muttered.

  Gnor approached, casting a shadow over him.

  "You fought well," the orc said seriously. "But your body… is weak. Your mana hasn’t aligned with this world yet. Your strikes hurt you more than the enemy."

  Mortin pointed his sword at him, not aggressively.

  "You have technique. You lack strength. Endurance. Everything." A faint smirk. "But we can fix that."

  Vanir came closer, bow resting on his shoulder.

  "And you didn’t run. That alone puts you above many beginners."

  Drogmar snorted:

  "He only fell down, got up, fell, got up, and killed two chimeras. I’ve seen worse."

  Bruno raised a brow.

  "Was that a compliment?"

  "From me?" Drogmar smirked. "That’s as close as you get."

  Kearlin tapped his shoulder — and passed through a little.

  "See? You’re only… decades behind them. Nothing big."

  Bruno inhaled deeply.

  "I’ll catch up. Even if it kills me."

  Vanir nodded.

  "That’s how it starts. But… one warning."

  Bruno looked up.

  "What?"

  The elf pointed at the gray clouds above.

  "That… isn’t over."

  Then the ground shook.

  A deep vibration.

  A distant roar.

  Kearlin went pale.

  "Bruno… those aren’t ‘minimal’…"

  From atop the hill, huge shadows rose.

  Chimeras.

  But not the small ones.

  These were big.

  House-sized.

  And hungry.

  "Great. I’m gonna need a drink after this," Bruno muttered.

  "You’re still here, Bruno?" Mortin said calmly. "Thought when these showed up you’d already be on the other side of the forest. And about the drink — we’ll see after we survive this."

  The biggest monster roared, shaking rooftops and sending dust raining from broken beams.

  Gnor gripped his staff. "These weren’t in the report."

  Vanir cursed. "Of course not. Because when something can go wrong… it does."

  Drogmar spun his axe, steady as a mountain. "Finally, something worth hitting."

  Mortin exhaled slowly, perfect posture. "Bruno. Behind me."

  Bruno lifted a hand. "Hey. I fought those other ones."

  Mortin didn’t turn.

  "You almost died to three deformed dogs. That—" he pointed at the chimera moving like a bull with burned wings "—is another category."

  "…Fair." Bruno sighed, getting ready.

  Two months later

  The morning sun hadn’t even risen properly, but the group was already training.

  Bruno stood at the center of the improvised training ground, panting, soaked in sweat.

  Mortin crossed his arms:

  "You use magic too well for someone who barely knows how to breathe. Today is physical. No Latin. No glowing. No tricks."

  Bruno coughed, hands on knees.

  "You know I… suck at this, right?"

  "Yes," Mortin said flatly. "Which is why we’re doubling the load."

  Kearlin floated above him, spinning.

  "Congrats, Bruno. Your destiny today is: suffering."

  First part: Body Fundamentals

  Mortin tossed him a wooden sword.

  "Stance."

  Bruno held it like always as if he's been holding on for years.

  Mortin sighed deeply.

  "You fight like someone who depends on magic to survive. And that’ll kill you one day."

  He tapped Bruno’s sword with his own, making it echo.

  "Arms relaxed. Shoulders down. Power comes from the hips, not the biceps."

  Bruno imitated him.

  It looked awful.

  "My god…" Kearlin whispered. "He looks like a twig trying to be a person."

  "Hips rotate. That’s it — now strike."

  Bruno swung… and almost fell.

  "Terrible. Again."

  That sentence repeated thirty times.

  Second part: Physical Endurance

  Now it was Drogmar.

  The dwarf poked Bruno’s chest — hard.

  "You’re a walking straw. Let’s fix that. Run."

  "How long?"

  "Until you fall."

  Bruno ran.

  Drogmar walked beside him.

  "Faster, twig."

  "I’m going…"

  "You dying?"

  "A… little…"

  "Good. Keep going."

  He fell four times. Every time Drogmar only said:

  "Get up."

  Third part: Control and Agility

  Now Vanir.

  The elf moved like wind.

  "You think too much. Your body does one thing, your head does another. That makes you slow. Follow."

  Vanir ran circles around him.

  Bruno tried to follow with his eyes.

  Instant dizziness.

  "I’m gonna throw up."

  "If you throw up, dodge your own vomit," Vanir said calmly.

  Bruno took a step. Vanir was already behind him.

  "You died."

  "That’s fine… I’m used to dying."

  Fourth part: Conditioning and Pain

  Now Gnor.

  The orc smiled calmly — never a good sign.

  "We strengthen you. No magic. No tricks."

  He dropped a massive log.

  "Lift it."

  Bruno stared.

  "That weighs more than me!"

  "Yes."

  "That’s unfair."

  "Yes."

  Bruno tried. The log didn’t move.

  "That’s impossible."

  "No," Gnor said. "You’re just weak."

  Kearlin laughed so hard he almost fell.

  Bruno tried again. And again. And again.

  On attempt twenty-three, he lifted it three centimeters.

  Gnor smiled like it was a legendary feat.

  "Better. Tomorrow you do five."

  Hours later…

  Bruno lay on the ground, arms spread, unable to move.

  "I… died…"

  "No," Mortin said, throwing a water flask at his chest. "You’re just discovering muscles you never used."

  Vanir added:

  "You’re at level minus one."

  Drogmar laughed:

  "At least now you can lift a spoon without falling on your plate."

  Gnor placed a hand on his chest, healing tiny damages.

  "Your magic is strong. Your body must catch up. Or one day, your magic will destroy you."

  Bruno breathed deeply.

  "I’ll get strong."

  Kearlin landed on his shoulder.

  "I hope so. Because this is only the beginning."

  Bruno closed his eyes.

  "I swear I’ll kill you someday."

  Kearlin smiled.

  "I love you too."