11# The Weight of The World

The metallic scent of blood still lingered in the air.

The serpent's carcass lay motionless, staining the grass with dark crimson.

— "Hahaha... not bad, kid." — A deep, powerful voice echoed from behind.

Clint flinched, turning quickly.

Darius stood there, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, as if he'd been watching the entire time.

His eyes carried that wild glint, mixed with a hint of pride.

— "Did you hold on to that feeling?" — he asked, walking slowly toward Clint. — "That heat running through your veins... the strength, the control... that's the true power of Mantra."

Clint was still breathing heavily, trying to process everything that had just happened.

— "I... I think so." — he replied, clenching his fists.

Darius chuckled, tossing his cloak over his shoulder.

— "Good... hold on to it. Burn it into your body. Into your heart. Because that... will keep you alive."

They started walking, following a narrow trail between the trees.

The forest's silence now felt different. Heavier. Denser.

— "You know, Clint..." — Darius began, his tone serious. — "The world... it's not made for the weak. Especially not for the weak who try to act strong."

His eyes narrowed as he kicked a stone aside without even looking.

— "Nobility? Honor? Justice? All just pretty words made by those at the top... to keep those below with their heads bowed. And when someone dares lift their head..." — he paused, raised his hand, and clenched it into a fist. — "The world... crushes them."

Clint walked in silence. Each word felt heavier than the last.

— "And you know what separates those who survive... from those who end up as worm food?" — Darius asked, locking eyes with Clint. — "Bloodlust."

Clint frowned.

— "Bloodlust...?"

Darius grinned.

But it wasn't a kind grin.

It was the grin of a predator.

— "When you fought that serpent... you felt it, didn't you? That tightness in your chest... that chill... and then, that heat. The excitement. The fury. The overwhelming urge to destroy what was trying to kill you."

He grabbed Clint's shoulders firmly, nearly making him stumble.

— "That, kid... is bloodlust. The more you fight, the more you kill, the stronger it gets. And the stronger it gets... the more others can smell it on you. It's what makes any bastard think twice before stepping up to you."

Clint swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

Then... the sound of wooden wheels scraping against the ground caught his attention.

Rounding a curve in the trail, they entered a clearing.

There, three large carriages reinforced with iron bars stood.

Inside... people. Men, women... even children. All chained, piled together like animals.

Guards — six or seven — wandered around, laughing, drinking, tossing dice.

And then... Clint saw it.

One of the guards yanked a woman by her hair. She screamed, begging, but he didn't care.

Without hesitation, he drew a short blade... and began slicing her skin slowly, as if cutting meat at a butcher's stall.

Her screams...

They weren't human.

They pierced straight through the soul.

Clint staggered back, his trembling hand gripping the sword at his waist.

Darius didn't look away.

No emotion. Just cold observation.

— "This... is the real world." — his voice was colder than steel. — "This is how nobles treat those they consider... disposable."

He then turned to Clint, his eyes sharper than any blade.

— "And this... is your first mission."

Clint's eyes widened.

— "M-Mission...?"

— "Exactly." — Darius pointed directly at the guards. — "I want you to kill them. Every last one. No exceptions."

Clint froze.

For a second, he thought he'd misheard.

— "W-What...?"

Darius crossed his arms, his voice unchanging.

— "You're going to slaughter every piece of filth here. The guards. The merchants. The scum protecting this operation. None of them deserve to breathe the same air as you."

Clint stared, horrified, at the men... then back at the cages.

— "But... there's so many... And... what if I..."

He took a deep breath... and asked, voice trembling:

— "What... happens if I refuse...?"

Silence.

For a moment, the world itself seemed to stop.

No birds. No wind. Only Darius' gaze... burning like fire.

Then... a grin.

But it wasn't human.

It was the grin of something that had lived far too long in this cruel world.

— "If you refuse..." — he placed a hand on Clint's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to crush it. — "It just means I was wrong about you. That you're nothing more than useless trash... who should've died starving in that filthy alley where you were found."

His eyes narrowed, voice turning into an icy whisper:

— "This world... has no place for those who hesitate."

Clint's blood ran cold.

And in that moment... he realized.

There was no choice.