Sell Sword

Ren and Lyra stood back behind the protective line formed by the militia, their eyes fixed on the imposing figure of Sir Gerald as he tore through the attacking bandits. Ren watched, mesmerized and horrified, as the knight's blade swung effortlessly, cleaving through two, sometimes three bandits at a time. Each strike was precise and brutal, bodies collapsing with disturbing ease, blood spraying grotesquely, staining armor and earth alike.

"Incredible," Lyra whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible over the clamor of screams and metal.

"He's something else," Ren admitted quietly, swallowing hard against rising nausea. Both awed and deeply unsettled by the graphic violence, he felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy and dread. The reality of battle was far more terrifying and gruesome than he'd imagined.

But their distraction came at a cost. Ren's instincts prickled with alarm, a cold sensation gripping his spine. Turning swiftly, he saw two bandits slipping silently from the shadows behind their line, already striking down unsuspecting peasants with ruthless efficiency. Ren's breath caught as he watched the villagers fall, limbs twisted unnaturally, cries silenced abruptly. Blood pooled around lifeless bodies, staining the grass dark crimson.

"Behind us!" Ren shouted urgently, his voice cracking with fear as he tightened his sweaty grip on his sword. His heart raced wildly in his chest as he quickly analyzed their attackers. Numbers flashed in his mind—these were E-ranked enemies, vastly superior to him and Lyra.

"Bandit One"

〚Strength: 15

〚 Dexterity: 12

〚 Endurance: 14

he murmured frantically, "Bandit Two"

〚Strength: 21

〚 Dexterity: 9

〚 Endurance: 15

Their physical prowess alone was terrifying, an intimidating reality Ren could not ignore.

Lyra, trembling visibly, stepped closer to Ren, eyes wide with panic. Around them, peasants shrieked and scattered, some cut down immediately, their screams abruptly silenced. Blood sprayed onto the forest floor, limbs twisted unnaturally, eyes wide in lifeless terror.

"We can't run," Ren said desperately, trying to steady his shaking hands. "We must stand and fight."

Lyra nodded stiffly, visibly fighting the urge to flee. "Together," she whispered breathlessly.

The first bandit lunged forward viciously, a rusty axe swinging dangerously. Ren barely dodged, the blade grazing close enough to tear fabric from his tunic. Each dodge drained his energy, fear clawing at his resolve. He saw Lyra frantically thrusting her spear at the second bandit, barely holding him off, her movements fueled by sheer desperation rather than skill.

"Lyra! The branch—push him toward it!" Ren shouted, spotting a tree root near the second bandit's feet.

Lyra, face pale but determined, lunged clumsily forward, her spear slicing dangerously close to the enemy's face. Startled, the bandit stumbled backward, tripped, and fell heavily. In an instant, two peasants, driven by terror and fury, descended upon the fallen bandit with sickening intensity, farm tools rising and falling until the man lay motionless, mangled and grotesque.

Ren swallowed hard, nausea rising, then whirled back to his own attacker, who swung his rusty axe with renewed fury. Each blow grew harder to dodge, the bandit's face twisted with rage. Ren's breath came in ragged gasps, his vision tunneling with exhaustion and fear.

"Ren, duck!" Lyra shouted urgently, her voice frantic.

He reacted instinctively, dropping as her spear sliced through the air above him, catching the bandit's thigh and drawing a deep gash. The man roared in pain, stumbling backward. Seizing the desperate chance, Ren lunged forward, driving his sword deep into the bandit's exposed flank. Warm blood spilled over his hands, slick and horrifying.

The bandit stared down at Ren in disbelief, then collapsed, choking and twitching until finally lying still. Ren stumbled backward, guilt rising, the weight of his actions crashing upon him. A strange pulse echoed within his mind, and a message flashed across his vision:

〚Achievement Unlocked: First Kill (+5 SP)

Before he could fully process it, another message appeared:

〚Achievement Unlocked: E-Rank Slayer (+5 SP)

Ren staggered, overwhelmed by guilt, relief, and confusion. Lyra was beside him, breathing raggedly, her spear shaking visibly in her trembling hands. Their faces were pale and haunted, both utterly changed by the brutal reality they'd just experienced.

"We…we did it," Lyra stammered softly, her eyes wide and unfocused, staring at the carnage around them.

Ren nodded slowly, the sickening scent of blood and death filling his senses. The brutal reality of combat was seared into his memory, impossible to forget. He glanced around, seeing the surviving villagers trembling, some openly weeping, others simply staring blankly at the horrors they'd witnessed.

"Stay sharp," Ren whispered weakly, his voice barely audible even to himself. He knew their fight was far from over, but now survival meant enduring the emotional scars as much as the physical ones.

As Ren stood among the chaos, his breath still ragged and pulse pounding heavily in his chest, a soft, resonant chime echoed gently within his mind. Startled, he blinked several times, watching as a prompt from the mysterious system appeared vividly before his eyes, overlaying the blood-soaked battlefield:

〚You have accumulated 10 SP〛

〚 Stats can be enhanced using SP (5 SP per Stat)〛

Ren hesitated briefly, the horror of his recent helplessness vividly etched into his memory. He shuddered at the lingering scent of iron-rich blood in the air, the sticky warmth of it still drying on his hands. Quickly, he focused, analyzing his current stats: 

〚 Strength: 4 

〚 Dexterity: 6 

〚 Endurance: 5

〚 Intelligence: 5

〚 Perception: 6

"I have to be stronger, tougher," he murmured firmly, his voice barely audible amid the distant sobbing of survivors. With deliberate intent, he allocated one point into Strength and another into Endurance. Instantly, a surge of invigorating warmth coursed through his body, flowing into his limbs and chest, energizing every nerve and muscle. Ren felt an immediate difference—his muscles firmed, his breathing steadied, and his heartbeat slowed to a powerful, steady rhythm. Testing this newfound strength, he flexed his fingers, noting how his grip tightened around his sword with renewed assurance.

Lyra, noticing his sudden change in demeanor, turned toward him curiously. Her face remained pale, streaked with grime and dried blood, eyes wide and haunted. "Are you alright, Ren?" she asked hesitantly, worry evident in her trembling voice.

"I think so," Ren replied softly, examining his hands as if seeing them anew. He paused, inhaling deeply, and felt the comforting endurance settle within him. "This strange power… I can feel myself growing stronger."

Before Lyra could respond further, their conversation was abruptly cut short by a triumphant shout from ahead. Sir Gerald had driven his sword decisively through the chest of the last remaining bandit, pulling the blade free with a sickening sound. The knight stood tall amidst the carnage, armor splattered with gore, eyes blazing with vigilant determination as he quickly scanned their surroundings.

"Gather together!" Sir Gerald commanded loudly, authority ringing through his voice despite visible exhaustion. "Check the wounded and count our losses. Quickly now!"

The villagers and militia hurried to comply, their faces pale and haunted, clearly traumatized by the gruesome aftermath surrounding them. Lyra and Ren joined the grim task, cautiously stepping around mangled bodies, torn limbs, and discarded weapons. Every horrific sight etched itself deeply into Ren's mind, the metallic tang of blood now nauseatingly familiar. He fought against the wave of revulsion that surged within him with each new horror encountered.

A militia member, visibly shaken and barely able to maintain composure, approached Sir Gerald to deliver his report. His voice trembled noticeably, thick with grief and anxiety.

"We lost three militia members, Sir. Two more are wounded—one critically. We also lost six peasants to those two bandits who ambushed us from behind."

Sir Gerald's expression darkened visibly, his jaw tightening as he clenched his fists. "Bandit casualties?" he demanded sharply, eyes narrowed with a fierce intensity.

"Six E-ranked bandits dead, fifteen F-ranked bandits dead," the man reported shakily, face drained of all color.

Ren swallowed hard, a heavy weight pressing onto his chest as he absorbed the grim toll of their victory. He mentally calculated the surviving members of their expedition:

Sir Gerald (D-rank Knight)

15 militia members (E-rank, two wounded, one critical)

24 peasants (F-rank, traumatized, frightened, and weary)

Ren's gaze shifted toward Lyra, who stood beside him, visibly trembling, eyes wide with shock and despair. "It's too much," she whispered faintly, voice barely audible, her gaze drifting across the horrific battlefield before them.

Instinctively, Ren reached out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder, despite feeling his own inner turmoil churning violently within. "We'll get through this, Lyra. We have no choice but to survive," he reassured her softly, though his own voice betrayed lingering uncertainty.

Lyra nodded slowly, attempting to steady her shaking limbs, her eyes locked onto Ren's with a mixture of gratitude and lingering fear. She seemed to draw strength from his presence, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

"Gather together!" Sir Gerald commanded loudly, his powerful voice cutting through the haze of grief and confusion. "Check the wounded carefully, and organize the survivors. We cannot linger here."

The remaining villagers and militia reluctantly regrouped, clearly dazed and emotionally shattered, each step and movement reflecting their collective trauma. Yet, under Sir Gerald's authoritative guidance, they slowly regained a semblance of order and resolve.

Ren felt determination gradually solidify within him, strengthened by the modest yet significant improvements granted by the mysterious system. He tightened his grip on his sword once more, silently promising himself and Lyra that he would not allow such devastation to repeat itself. Survival was their priority, and strength—physical and emotional—would be their greatest asset.

Together, the battered group slowly but resolutely prepared to continue onward, steeling themselves against the horrors they had witnessed and the dangers that undoubtedly lay ahead. Driven by necessity and bound by mutual support, they moved forward cautiously, ever aware of the shadows and threats that surrounded them, ready to face whatever challenges awaited.