Exhaustion clung to Zion like a second skin, rendering even the thought of lifting a finger unbearable.
It wasn’t just reluctance—his body refused to obey, as if every muscle had turned to stone.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d been petrified without noticing.
He glanced down at himself, half-expecting to see cracks of stone.
But his body was intact, whole.
Even his left arm, once hardened by the Cocatrice’s curse, had returned to flesh and blood with the beast’s demise.
“Thought I was a goner,” he muttered.
Looking back, every moment had been a brush with death, each second teetering on the edge of oblivion.
The final confrontation, in particular, struck him as utterly absurd.
To think he’d willingly let his arm turn to stone to block the Cocatrice’s petrifying magic.
To think he’d exploited the fleeting gap just before its venomous breath erupted.
A split second slower in dodging its gaze, and his entire body would’ve been a statue.
A fraction later in landing that desperate blow to its jaw, and he’d have been engulfed in a cloud of deadly poison.
Yet, it hadn’t been a reckless abandon.
He’d known—through hard-earned knowledge—that the Cocatrice exposed a critical vulnerability just before unleashing its toxic breath.
He’d also known that killing the beast would reverse any petrification.
Calculated risks, not madness.
[You insane, lunatic bastard!] Frey’s voice cracked, hoarse and brittle, as if he’d aged a decade in moments.
The raw edge of his curse was unlike anything Zion had ever heard from him.
[What the hell was that at the end? You did that on purpose, didn’t you?]
Zion nodded, unflinching. “Correct.”
[Correct? Correct? Are you so eager to die you’ve lost your mind?]
“My apologies,” Zion said, his tone earnest.
He’d braced himself for Frey’s wrath.
But in his mind, that reckless maneuver had been the surest way to bring the beast down.
[Apologies? If you’re sorry, you shouldn’t have done it in the first place!] Frey snapped, exasperation dripping from every word.
“What’s done is done, isn’t it? I’ll avoid such dangerous stunts in the future,” Zion replied, his shamelessness almost palpable.
Frey clutched his forehead, stunned by the audacity.
A faint chuckle escaped Zion’s lips.
[You’re laughing? You think this is funny, you damned fool?]
“My apologies,” Zion repeated, still grinning.
The Cocatrice’s corpse began to wither, its essence dissolving into the air.
Mana absorption was beginning.
A torrent of MP flooded into Zion, a cascading waterfall of energy.
His limp, exhausted body surged with vitality, as if he’d awakened from a long, restorative sleep.
But the influx didn’t stop.
The sheer volume of mana was overwhelming, shifting from exhilarating to unsettling.
Panic crept into Zion’s voice as he turned to Frey.
“Uncle? Is this… okay?”
[Oh, here it comes,] Frey said, clapping his hands as a forgotten realization hit him.
[Zion, brace yourself.]
“Brace for what?” Zion asked, bewildered.
[Hold on tight if you don’t want to be the butt of a lifetime’s worth of tavern tales.]
Frey’s words were cryptic, but he was already steeling himself, preparing to savor the rare spectacle about to unfold.
Zion’s confusion deepened.
“What in the world are you talking abou—oooh?!”
A sudden explosion of emotions erupted within Zion’s chest—euphoria, confidence, triumph, intoxication, and a flood of every positive feeling imaginable.
It was overwhelming, uncontainable.
“Ohhh! Ohhh?!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet, fists thrust skyward in a primal roar.
“Raaaah!”
The shout of pure satisfaction echoed through the forest.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Zion fell silent.
Slowly, he lowered his arms, took a deep, measured breath, and with an elegant flick of his hair, gazed up at the sunlight spilling through the canopy.
“Uncle… no, Frey,” he said, his voice dripping with newfound reverence.
[Frey?] Frey echoed, incredulous.
“This world… it’s so noble, so beautiful. How could I have been so blind to such an obvious truth until now?”
Frey choked on a laugh, barely containing himself.
“You were right, Frey. I was a foolish, ignorant speck of a man—until just moments ago.”
Zion spread his arms theatrically, as if performing on a grand stage.
His eyes narrowed with a serene smile, every gesture brimming with sincerity.
Frey, head bowed, began to tremble with suppressed laughter.
“The sunlight, the leaves, the earth, the grass, the air, the dew… everything I’ve protected, including myself…” Zion’s voice softened as he wrapped his arms around himself, lost in blissful reverence.
“It’s all so sublime, so lovable.”
Frey’s restraint shattered.
Laughter erupted from him like a burst dam, wild and uncontrollable. [Pfft—hahahahaha!]
Zion, momentarily puzzled, soon grasped the reason for Frey’s hysterics.
With a gentle smile, he added, “And of course, that includes you, Frey.”
[Hahaha—ack! Hic—cough, cough! You—hic—you’re gonna kill me!] Frey wheezed, clutching his sides.
“Me? The embodiment of benevolence, the lover of all creation, the faithful servant of the world—kill you? Oh, Frey, your jests are too much,” Zion said, chuckling.
[Hack! Cough! Stop—hic—I’m sorry! Just… come back to your senses!] Frey pleaded, tears streaming from laughter.
“You say such strange things sometimes, Frey. I’m perfectly sane,” Zion replied, unruffled.
“…Mister, what are you doing?”
A new voice cut through the chaos—Nate, the first villager brave enough to approach after the commotion died down.
Zion, sensing her presence long before she spoke, turned with a radiant smile, utterly unfazed.
There was no need for embarrassment.
He was merely expressing the overflowing truth, the boundless love in his heart.
“Come, my dear, lovely lady,” he said warmly.
Frey’s laughter morphed into a strangled scream. [Hiiiic!]
“Mister… is that really you? You seem… different. Like someone else,” Nate said, hesitating.
Zion chuckled softly, “A meditation on existence, is it? Quite the profound question. But pondering a humble being like myself isn’t so important. There’s something far greater to consider.”
“What’s that?” Nate asked, tilting her head.
“That everything in this world is inherently beautiful, noble, and worthy of love. I believe my small acts of love can make this world even more radiant. And that, of course…” Zion paused, flashing a dazzling wink. “…includes you, my dear, lovely lady.”
Frey’s laughter reached its peak, and with a final, wheezing gasp, he collapsed, unconscious from sheer amusement.
***
The death of the Cocatrice brought an almost miraculous calm to the forest.
After three more days of travel, Zion and his companions finally emerged from the woods.
“You… went through a lot,” the village chief said, approaching Zion with gratitude.
His relief was palpable, though his expression and tone carried an awkward edge.
“Thanks to you, every single one of us made it out safely. Truly, thank you.”
Zion, his face flushed crimson, pressed his lips together and gave a stiff nod.
“Don’t dwell on it too much,” the chief continued, attempting reassurance.
“After defeating a beast like that, it’s only natural to get a bit… carried away. Honestly, it was refreshing to see a new side of you—”
“Stop,” Zion interrupted, his voice low.
“Hm?”
“Please… just pretend you didn’t see anything,” Zion muttered, his embarrassment palpable.
The chief cleared his throat, flustered, “Ahem. Sorry.”
It was a rite of passage, Frey had explained later—a phenomenon that every awakened warrior experienced at least once after slaying a formidable foe.
Frey had explained it.
The moment of triumph over an enemy that seemed utterly invincible left the mind in disarray.
The body, wracked with exhaustion, was suddenly flooded with a surge of accomplishment, victory, and confidence—an overwhelming euphoria.
And then, as if that weren’t enough, a torrent of mana poured in with unrelenting force, like dousing a spark with a barrel of oil.
How it manifested varied from person to person.
It depended on their deepest thoughts, beliefs, and the state of their subconscious.
Some, though rare, sank into melancholy instead of elation.
For Zion, it was an unstoppable tide of confidence and boundless benevolence.
It overflowed so fiercely that he couldn’t contain it, grabbing anyone nearby, praising everything in sight, and professing love to all—man, woman, young, and old alike.
The aftermath of his half-day spectacle left an awkward air hanging over the group.
[Half a day is pretty quick for it to wear off, you know,] Frey said, barely stifling a laugh.
[How long are you going to mope about it? You’ll probably never see these people again. Like you said, just pretend it didn’t happen and forget—pfft, for… ahem.]
“Uncle,” Zion groaned.
“No, I mean—pfft, hah! Put yourself in their shoes. How do you forget something like that?”
Zion began to question whether trusting and following this man he called “uncle” was the right choice.
He was half-joking, of course.
What stung the most, though, was that Nate had taken a particular shine to his display.
She’d even started calling him “Lord Zion,” a bizarre honorific that stuck.
Even after he’d regained his senses, she’d tease him at every opportunity, asking, “Is Lord Zion gone for good?” or “When’s Lord Zion coming back?”
Each time, Zion wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth and vanish.
“Mister… are you really leaving us? Can’t you come with us?” Nate asked, her voice trembling.
The moment of parting had arrived.
Zion’s situation, pursued by Mione’s forces, made staying with the villagers impossible.
Now that the forest was safe, there was no telling when the pursuit might catch up.
Staying could endanger them all.
He needed a destination where the Illium Kingdom’s influence was weak, a place reachable on foot without crossing seas.
The conditions were strict, but one nation fit perfectly: the Republic of Wecos, a peninsula jutting out to the southeast of Illium.
Zion set his sights there.
“Don’t worry about us,” the village chief said, his tone firm.
“The lord’s likely been replaced by now. And I’ve got a few cards up my sleeve for when we return—things I prepared long ago. No matter how powerful the new lord is, they won’t dare harm us farmers recklessly. Besides…” He puffed out his chest.
“Back in my day, I was quite the knight. Most thugs wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Zion wasn’t sure how much of it was true—perhaps it was just bravado.
But he chose to trust the chief, whose actions had proven reliable thus far.
“Mister, this is for you,” Nate said, holding out an unexpected gift.
It was a sturdy, dark brown cloak, simple but made for a traveler.
Embroidered on the left breast, slightly out of place but charming, were a flame, a wildflower, and a sword.
“The flame is our village,” Nate explained, her smile bright.
“The sword is you, Mister. And the flower… that’s me. With this, even if we part ways, you won’t forget us, right?”
Zion returned her smile, warmth spreading in his chest.
She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, her voice thick with emotion.
“Thank you. I’ll never forget how you saved us.”
“Thank you,” Zion said softly.
“This is an incredible gift. I’ll treasure it.”
As he prepared to leave, the chief approached one last time.
“Take these. They’re not much, but they’ll help.”
A few days’ worth of food, some spare clothes, a handful of tarnished gold coins, and an old but meticulously maintained sword, its hilt engraved with what looked like a noble’s crest.
“The villagers pooled together what they could,” the chief said.
“They’re sorry they couldn’t thank you in person. The sword’s mine from my younger days. I meant to give it to you sooner, but with no monsters around, now’s the time.”
Some might call it a meager reward for saving their lives.
“It’s a fine gift,” Zion said, meaning it.
To him, it was as precious as the cloak.
“I’m sorry it’s not more. If you ever get the chance—years from now, when things settle—come find me. In Lupingor, at the lord’s manor, ask for Chegis Iozaren.”
“I will,” Zion promised.
“You have my word.”
The villagers began their journey down the road, leaving Zion behind.
He stood still, watching their figures grow smaller until they vanished from sight.
[Feels a bit lighter now, doesn’t it?] Frey remarked.
“Yeah,” Zion agreed.
His body felt unburdened, but his heart carried a faint ache.
The journey hadn’t been joyful, but it had been fulfilling.
He pulled the cloak tighter around himself.
Closing his eyes, Zion reflected on the past five days with the villagers.
After a moment, he spoke, “You told me once—if I wanted to live freely, I needed to get stronger. That strength opens up more possibilities.”
It was something Frey had said after Zion escaped an assassin’s attack, when he was lost and aimless.
Back then, all he’d wanted was to throw everything away and rest.
Looking back, he realized it was just surrender—a declaration of defeat.
“Honestly,” Zion continued, “I still don’t fully understand what you meant.”
Frey chuckled, [It’s as simple as you want it to be—or as complicated as you make it.]
“But I know one thing for sure now.”
Zion placed a hand over his chest, feeling the pendant’s weight and the steady beat of his heart.
“When someone’s in danger in front of me, I don’t want to abandon them. If I can reach out, I want to extend my hand to everyone. I want to be strong enough to pull them all to safety.”
He’d saved people he hadn’t even known days ago, and he’d fought to stay alive.
“It’s not because anyone’s forcing me,” he said.
“It’s not some reckless obsession with throwing my life away. It’s just… my heart whispers to me, and I don’t want to ignore that voice.”
He fell silent, gathering his thoughts, then spoke again, “I don’t want to lie to my heart.”
‘It’s not because someone told me to—it’s because I want to.’
For a fleeting moment, Frey’s mind snapped back years ago, to words spoken by Naia—her final words, her last will: “I don’t want to lie to my heart.”
[Like mother, like son,] Frey murmured.
“What?”
[I said it’s simple, didn’t I? That, Zion, is freedom.]
Zion’s eyes widened as a bolt of realization struck him.
He clenched his fist, whispering, “This… is freedom.”
[You wanted to save those villagers,] Frey said.
[That was your will. But if you’d lacked the strength? If you hadn’t defeated the Cocatrice? You’d have been forced to betray your own heart.]
Zion nodded firmly, resolve hardening within him.
“Uncle.”
[Yeah?]
He ran his fingers over the embroidered flame, wildflower, and sword, his gaze steady with newfound determination.
“I think it’s time… to begin a journey to grow stronger.”
Zion took his first step forward.
The journey had truly begun.