Five years ago
"Strange, Bruno... didn't they say the dwarves' defenses were the strongest in the continent?" Kearlin said, lazily floating above the shattered rocks.
"Can't you see those bastards? They've probably been planning this for months."
"Ah… so they chose them because of the dwarves' tools and technology. Smart… and cruel."
"Not just that."
Bruno crouched, his eyes narrowing over the valley shrouded in black smoke and distant fire. The mountains roared as if alive. Hammers echoed—not the sound of forging, but of war.
"Interesting?" he replied, his voice hoarse and tense. "They chose the dwarves because they know that, in the end, those stubborn bastards fight to the death. And they'll use that against them."
From atop a rock, Kearlin spun in the air, his mocking tone almost gone.
"You do realize what that means, right? If their defenses fall, half the continent loses its natural shield. The dwarven mines feed half the world."
Bruno stood up. The cold wind struck his torn cloak, lifting ashes. His hand gripped the sword's hilt like someone holding a vow.
"They won't fall. Not while I'm here."
Kearlin let out a long sigh.
"Seriously? You sound like that kid again. The dwarves will fight, sure, but you do know what they keep in the depths, don't you?"
Bruno looked away.
"The Iron Serpent… a monster they created centuries ago. Built to protect the caverns… but they say it hasn't obeyed anyone for a long time."
The warrior stared at the orange glow on the horizon.
"So it's true..." he muttered.
"It is. And if it awakens, what's left of this village turns to dust."
The wind carried the bitter scent of burned iron. For a few seconds, silence weighed heavy.
Bruno gave a dry laugh.
"So that's why they sent me. Not to save the dwarves… but to use their downfall as an advantage."
Kearlin gazed down at him.
"You're really going to follow that order?"
Bruno turned slowly, his eyes cold.
"Did you forget who I am?"
The wind rose, lifting dust and ash as he began descending the hill.
"I'll save whoever I can… and bury the rest."
Kearlin followed, laughing softly.
"Ah, so the legendary Hundred Shadows Warrior still exists."
Bruno adjusted his cloak, disappearing into the smoke and fire.
"Please," he muttered, almost inaudible. "Stop with those stupid names. I really hate them."
---
"Uncle! Mother! Sister! Grandma! Please, where are you?!"
Anaalyn screamed, searching for hope.
"Damn it, cursed thing—I even managed to hurt myself..."
Her arm had a cut on the side, bleeding, and her axe made it worse. In an instant, an explosion knocked her to the ground.
"Shit… when..." Tears streamed down her face. "When will this end?"
"Well, well, a tough little dwarf here," one of the attackers sneered — eight, no, nine of them, the ones causing the chaos.
Still crying, she yelled, "Why? Why is it always some damn greedy human?"
One of the bastards grinned. "Money, power, intolerance, or women — doesn't matter. We do it because we can. Because we have the power of gods, and we use it fully — killing and stealing."
And in an instant, a blood-stained iron sword cut through the air toward the wounded dwarf.
A metallic sound echoed — a black sword covering a body in the same armor as its master.
"Interesting… not the power of gods, but you act like a child. Your words both fascinate and offend me, you bastard."
The voice came from the warrior — Bruno. In an instant, the black sword slashed across both of the man's cheeks, leaving him alive — was it mercy?
"No," Bruno advanced, his sword shattering two of the man's teeth.
"Die." Energy burst from the sword, exploding the bastard's head.
The black blade tore the air with a dry sound. It wasn't blood that spilled in detail — it was order. Bruno's presence folded the space between the line of men and Anaalyn like a sharpened shadow, and for a split second, the chaos paused — only to return stronger.
One bandit tried to speak, another lunged with a dagger. They were many, used to terrorizing villages and profiting from panic. Cruel because they could be, driven by the stupidity that comes with misused power.
Bruno didn't hesitate. He moved as if in two places at once — the blade cutting air, the body carving a path. No theatrical spectacle — just precision. A leg blocked, a wrist twisted, a pulse of pain forcing someone to drop their guard. Within seconds, two were down — not in gore, but in finality: a weapon shattered, a man slammed against the ground, lifeless. In another instant, Bruno's blade met a third throat — a clean, silent cut; the man dropped, motionless. The fight was over.
The rest stepped back — one, two, then fled. It wasn't just fear of his strength — it was the look in Bruno's eyes, that mix of resolve and exhaustion, promising no mercy for those who chose the wrong fire.
Anaalyn, still on the ground and barely conscious, watched through sobs and ragged breaths. Her axe lay heavy beside her, her arm bleeding — but her eyes shone with something beyond fear now: recognition. When the last of the attackers vanished into the shadows, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind, and laughed shakily, without humor.
"You… you came alone?" her voice trembled but held strength.
Bruno approached slowly. He didn't smile, nor could he be seen through the dark helmet. His blade, now lowered, reflected the overcast sky.
"I don't like seeing the innocent pay for others' choices," he said simply.
Anaalyn tried to stand, felt dizzy. Bruno reached her, removed his cloak, and with steady, practiced hands, tied it around her arm to stop the bleeding. It wasn't dramatic — it was practical, the work of someone who'd seen worse and learned to make a tourniquet well.
"Thank you," she whispered. No shame in her voice — only the raw truth: she was alive because of that man.
Bruno only nodded, as if that response wasn't needed. But his eyes drifted toward the gray horizon, where smoke still rose. Lines of guilt traced his face — memories of campaigns, lost friends, bloody decisions that still echoed. Anaalyn followed his gaze.
"You… you know them?" she asked, more to herself than to him.
Bruno tightened his lips. "Yeah. People like that show up when there's profit, fear — or both. And now, with your village burning, girl, there's only loss left."
Anaalyn bit her lip. "They took… they stole things, hurt people. My village…" Her voice broke mid-sentence.
"We'll fix what can be fixed," Bruno said firmly. "First: the wounded. Then: reinforce the gates." He looked around. Some villagers peeked out, eyes wide, faces still trembling from fear.
A man in an apron came out of a doorway — her jealous uncle, who once made jokes. Now his face bore the mask of a man who'd seen his home nearly destroyed. He looked at Anaalyn, then at Bruno — hatred and gratitude tangled together.
As they tended to the wounded and gathered what was left, Anaalyn stayed near Bruno, her hand on his shoulder as if seeking confirmation. She wiped her face and let out a low, bitter laugh. She didn't know who he was, but somehow felt safe.
The village slowly came together again. Some lifted planks, others soothed crying children, glancing at the smoke with the silent understanding that this was only the beginning — but with a little less fear.
Bruno stood apart for a while, observing. Anaalyn approached, tilting her head with that mix of defiance and gratitude.
But for now, the screams had stopped. There was warm food, clean cloth, children dreaming again. Anaalyn sat at a rough wooden table, and for a rare moment, felt happy with a human nearby.
She looked at the hero already walking away, head low and alone as always. While the fire crackled, the village breathed — for now, a bit safer, because one man decided it would be.
"Bruno! Bruno, hey, Bruno!"
"Ah, sorry, Anaalyn — I was just a bit lost in thought."
Five years later
"Seriously, one day you're here fighting some relic from the Golden Age. Does the problem follow you, or do you follow the problem?"
"Both, actually." Bruno smiled lightly, helping the wounded dwarves.
"Parvum remedium." The cuts and scratches vanished instantly.
"That's amazing! Wait, why didn't you use any magic when I cut my arm back then?"
"Because when I wear my armor, I can't use magic. But I've already fixed that."
Anaalyn crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow with that usual mix of curiosity and teasing.
"Fixed it, huh? And what exactly does that mean, Bruno?"
Bruno finished healing one of the dwarves, ran his hand over the closed wound, and stood up — calm expression, but eyes weighed down by experience.
"It means I learned to control that armor better."
She scoffed, pretending impatience.
"Control? This coming from the guy who fought a giant Iron Serpent and almost got roasted underground?"
Bruno chuckled — a low, rare sound.
"I said sometimes, not always."
"And where's that armor now? One of the dwarves here went crazy trying to recreate it!"
"Here." The dark helmet appeared suddenly on his head.
"That's pretty…"
"Cool?"
She smirked. "I was going to say creepy."
The sun sank slowly behind the mountains. The field around the village now looked like an improvised hospital — tents, dwarves with blood- and oil-stained beards, twisted tools. Some looked at Bruno like a legend; others, with fearful respect for something ancient.
Kearlin, invisible as always to everyone else, floated beside him, watching with irony.
"Five years and you're still playing healer, warrior, tank — the list goes on," he said, his voice echoing inside Bruno's mind.
Bruno didn't answer right away — just kept tying a bandage on a young dwarf's arm.
"And you're still playing talking conscience," he replied in thought.
Kearlin laughed. "Call it what you want. But you know, right? The Iron Serpent wasn't the only artifact that woke up. There are rumors of something older — something even the others erased from the records. Stronger things."
Bruno tightened the knot of the bandage.
"Not now," he muttered.
Anaalyn, hearing the low tone, leaned closer.
"Did you say something to me?"
"No," he replied too quickly.
She frowned.
"Bruno… sometimes it looks like you talk to the wind."
He forced a faint smile.
"It's just that the wind understands me better than most people."
Anaalyn shook her head, smiling softly.
"Fine, philosopher. But come on, we need to rebuild the gates before nightfall. And if you vanish again, I swear I'll hunt you down to hell."
Bruno looked at her — and for a brief moment, the weight in his eyes eased.
"That's a dangerous promise, dwarf. But… I'm glad someone would try."
She laughed, picking up her axe.
"Then try not to give me a reason."
The two walked side by side through the wreckage, the sound of hammers filling the village again — until Kearlin spoke:
"You know this isn't over. And this time… they'll be coming for you."
"Is that… a crow?"
Bruno looked up, seeing a crow flying faster than usual toward them.
"Seralyn, let's go. We've helped them enough already."
"Seriously, now?"