The war room of the Matterhorn Branch Office was a stark, cold expanse of metal and maps— the heart of the conflict that raged just beyond its walls. A central table held the grand map, unveiled and detailing the ongoing siege of the frontier. Aldric, now fully clad in his custom black templar armor, loomed over it— his broad shoulders encased in layers of armor plating bristling with concealed weaponry, shields, and an arsenal meant for a walking fortress. The pale-blue glow of thrusters and hardpoints shimmered in the low light— giving his silhouette an imposing, steely presence.

His face was obscured by the visor of his helm, but beneath the armor, the mind of a calculating tactician churned.

Beside him stood Haman, her once maroon-colored hair now dyed jet black, with her knightly armor shimmering faintly under the war room lights. Slung across her shoulder was her lever-action rifle, modified with a glowing purple module affixed to the chamber— its very presence humming with arcane power. Her face was as stoic as ever, but the darkening of her appearance hinted at a transformation beyond the physical.

The doors to the war room swung open, and Arthur entered, flanked by Spy and Cardinal. The princes' regal blue eyes, sharp and calm, immediately took in the scene before him. The sight of Aldric in full battle armor raised a brow of surprise, but he said nothing.

Spy, however, wasn't as restrained. "What the hell is he wearing?" She asked, with eyes darting over the general's imposing suit.

Cardinal immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, with his eyes wide and cautious. "Hush," he whispered sharply, with his fingers tightening as if to remind Spy of Aldric's reputation. The silver-haired maiden glared back at him, but bit her tongue.

Aldric did not acknowledge Spy's question. His visor remained fixed on the map,with his voice cold as ice. "Your Highness," he greeted, his tone measured and formal, "Your punctuality is commendable, as always."

Arthur inclined his head. "I assume you've been busy." He stepped closer to the table, his eyes scanning the map and the small figures representing soldiers and strongholds. "Yet it's unfortunate that I and my Royal Court couldn't have arrived sooner."

Aldric's helmet tilted ever so slightly, his stare cutting through the air between them. "It is unfortunate," he replied, "but not unaccounted for."

Arthur's jaw tightened as he took in the strategic markings laid before him— his eyes flicking back up to Aldric's. "It seems you've already initiated a battle against the Forgehart Clan." He paused, his voice dangerously calm. "Against my direct orders, no less."

Aldric, unfazed, straightened to his full height. "You're mistaken," he said flatly, with his voice devoid of emotion.

Arthur's gaze darkened. "Am I?" His challenge was clear.

Aldric finally turned to face him fully. "Indeed. Blackwatch has already begun a full-scale invasion of the West, coming from the East. The Forgehart Clan has merely taken advantage of the chaos— forcing my hand. Maggiore Outpost has fallen, and the clan has sent warriors to flank us near the East Station, deep in the Evergreen Forest."

Arthur and the rest of his Royal Court visibly stiffened at this revelation. Spy's eyes went wide, Cardinal drew in a breath, and Arthur's calm façade cracked for a moment.

"The Forgehart Clan," Aldric continued, "is using guerilla tactics. Maggiore was bait. If we sent soldiers there to "rescue" anyone, they would be walking into an ambush."

Arthur's calm shattered into anger. "That goes against the Royal Army's code of honor, Blackwood!" He shouted, with his voice rising with fury. "We're under our word to Supreme God Himself to fight to protect the weak and helpless! No matter the cost!"

Aldric's response was icy and calculated. "I see. Is that what you want, Your Highness? For me to send my men to their deaths, for the sake of a rescue that'll yield no survivors?" His tone shifted, colder still. "I can, if that's your command. Just say the word, and I'll have them die in the name of the Empire's code of honor."

Arthur's fists clenched at his sides, teeth bared in frustration. "Th-That's not what I meant!" he snapped.

Aldric's voice remained low, smooth as a razor. "Then what did you mean?"

Silence filled the war room as Arthur's words failed him. His shoulders tensed, his frustration mounting as Aldric stared him down— unflinching, with the cold, precise demeanor of a man who knew he was right.

Arthur finally drew in a deep breath, while struggling to contain his emotions. "T… Th-Then what's your battle plan, General?" His voice trembled with suppressed anger. "If you're so keen on letting Maggiore perish, what's your strategy for victory?"

Aldric stepped forward— his armored hand extending toward the map. "Need I remind you, Your Highness, that this is not a quest," he said, his voice firm but measured. "This is war."

Arthur blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

"Quests are tales of triumph, of saving towns, rescuing princesses, and restoring peace." Aldric's voice grew harder, the edge of reality sharp against the romantic ideals Arthur held. "But war… War is hell. No happy endings. No glory. Only death."

Arthur said nothing, his eyes locked onto Aldric's as the words sank in. Even Spy and Cardinal were struck silent, the harsh truth of it all resonating in the stillness of the room.

Aldric's hand returned to the map. "Victory, however, is possible," he stated, while tracing a line from Matterhorn to the East Fallen Petal Trail. "You and your Royal Court will hold Matterhorn with two thousand of my men. I'll split the rest of my forces into platoons of fifty. We'll use search-and-destroy tactics to neutralize the Forgehart Clan's guerilla fighters."

Arthur followed Aldric's movements over the map— his blue eyes scanning the strategy.

"We'll rain mortar fire on their stronghold, disrupt their lines, and establish an aerial defense for when Albion arrives. Meanwhile, a battalion of four hundred riflemen and gatling guns will defend East Station, creating a kill zone." Aldric's armored hand hovered over the red flags marking the Forgehart Stronghold. "If all else fails, I've prepared a contingency plan— we'll use the remainder of our explosive ordinance to burn the Evergreen Forest. We trap the Forgehart Clan and any and all Blackwatch terrorists who've made it into the forest, force their retreat, while our soldiers rendezvous back to Matterhorn. From there, it'll only be a matter of gunning down whoever the fire didn't burn."

Arthur reeled, processing the complex web of tactics Aldric had laid out. He shook his head slowly— still digesting it all. "And your Black Templars? What role do they play in this?"

Aldric grinned ever so slightly behind his visor. "We'll act independently. We shall first start by taking the Forgehart Stronghold. Then we'll hunt down Storm Lord and the rest of Blackwatch's leadership."

"Storm Lord…?" Arthur's shock was evident. "You're telling me Storm Lord has joined Blackwatch?"

Aldric's tone grew darker. "Earlier today, before Blackwatch attacked Maggiore, Storm Lord passed through Matterhorn with a caravan from Delrivkat, with an accomplice by their side. Hostages in tow."

Arthur's anger flared. "And you let them go?!"

Aldric didn't miss a beat. "I sent Captain Joanna D'Arce to negotiate for their freedom. She never returned." His voice carried a grim undertone— masking the manipulation within. "Reports suggest she entered the Forgehart Stronghold. We suspect they killed her. She sought peace, and they saw it as an act of aggression."

Arthur's face twisted with anger, and he murmured, "The Forgehart Clan…"

Aldric nodded solemnly, echoing Arthur's frustration. "Captain D'Arce believed in peace for all. Her sacrifice demands retribution. The Forgehart Clan's actions demand justice."

Arthur, fists clenched, demanded, "What about the accomplice you saw earlier… Do you have any intel as to who was accompanying Storm Lord?!"

At Aldric's silent gesture, Haman stepped forward, retrieving a manila folder. She handed it to Arthur with quiet respect.

Arthur opened the folder, revealing a name written on a rejected application that sent a jolt through him. "Ren Ashta…?" He muttered under his breath— the name stirring a deep memory. "That name… "Ashta"… It sounds… Familiar."

Aldric's voice was low, yet chilling in its calmness. "I'll deliver you Ren Ashta's head personally, Your Highness. Along with whatever traces of Storm Lord my men and I can scrape from the dirt. Tonight shall be the night that marks their deaths."

Arthur grew silent, processing the weight of everything before him. Spy and Cardinal exchanged glances— both waiting for their leader's command. Arthur's fingers tightened around the folder, and he finally spoke, voice cold as steel. "It sounds like you've already ensured the Empire's victory, General."

Aldric nodded slowly. "Victory is assured."

Arthur raised his head, his eyes hard. "Then you won't need me at Matterhorn."

Aldric's visor tilted. "Is that so? What are you planning then?"

Arthur's eyes blazed with righteous fury. "My Royal Court and I will make contact with the Forgehart Clan directly ourselves."

Aldric feigned outrage. "You can't put yourself at risk-!"

Arthur cut him off, his voice resolute. "-I outrank you, General. You will obey my command."

Spy's and Cardinal's eyes lit up, and the Royal Court murmured their approval. Aldric's jaw tightened behind his visor— but outwardly, he appeared defeated.

"At least take my Black Templars," Aldric offered.

Arthur shook his head. "No. The Royal Army's presence will only stoke more fear. This has to end with dialogue, not bloodshed."

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing at the general. "Do not follow me, Blackwood. If you do, I will see you executed."

Aldric watched as Arthur, followed by his Royal Court, stormed out of the war room. The heavy doors closed behind them, sealing off the tension in the air.

The facade then dropped. Aldric straightened, calm and calculating as ever. He turned to Haman, his voice low and commanding. "You know what to do."

Haman nodded, and as she did, her body shimmered, turning invisible with a faint distortion in the air. She slipped out of the room silently, leaving Aldric alone— his smirk returning.

The remnants of Maggiore were a hellscape— the once bustling outpost now reduced to a nightmarish expanse of scorched rubble and burning debris. Nearly every building had been obliterated— their skeletons casting flickering shadows over streets strewn with the carnage of battle.

Tens of thousands of bodies littered the ground— all indistinguishable in death. The mutilated forms of fallen adventurers lay among piles of burned, dismembered monsters— their weapons still clenched in rigor mortis.

Among them were the bodies of Blackwatch soldiers, clad in maroon robes, and sprawled in the twisted aftermath of combat. The demi-humans and monsters had fought with an almost supernatural frenzy, but now they lay dead— their blood mingling with the rest. The street was thick with the stench of death, with the metallic tang of blood hanging in the smoky air.

But it wasn't the bodies of warriors or monsters that spoke of true horror.

No, the real nightmare lay in the smaller, fragile forms that lined the streets.

Children— dozens, hundreds of them— crumpled in grotesque positions— their tiny faces frozen in terror. Some had tried to flee, their hands outstretched in a final, useless grasp for safety. Elderly men and women lay where they had fallen, defenseless victims of slaughter. The cobblestones beneath them were awash in blood— the rivers of crimson stretching far and wide, as though the entire city itself was weeping.

Amidst the ruin, the Adventurers' Guild Branch Office stood as the last mostly intact building, though it too bore the scars of battle. The facade was cracked, the windows shattered, and the doors barely held against the weight of violence that had pressed against them.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with fear and death.

The grand lobby had become a makeshift battlefield— strewn with the bodies of adventurers who had taken up a final stand. Their armor was dented, their faces pale as the life drained from their wounds. Those few who still clung to life leaned against the walls near the entrances— their weapons limp in their hands.

Some had already bled out, collapsing silently onto the blood-soaked floor— their last moments witnessed by the terrified eyes of their comrades. Each death sent ripples of horror through the survivors, with the weight of it pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket.

Behind the ruined lobby, past hastily erected barricades of stacked furniture, Guild Girl and her fellow clerks held the line. They weren't warriors, but they were all that stood between the survivors and the oncoming slaughter. Their faces were pale, and their hands trembled, as they pushed their weight against the barricades. Examiner— tall, muscular, and fierce— stood at the center of the room— stripped down to just a sports bra and black slacks, with her powerful arms flexing as she positioned herself between the survivors and the fragile barrier keeping death at bay.

The room behind her was full of the non-combatants— the wounded, the children, and the elderly huddled together in fear. They clung to each other, eyes wide with panic, with the sounds of battle too close, too loud. Every crash against the barricades sent a wave of terror through them, their bodies recoiling in silent dread. Examiner's presence was the only thing that kept them from crumbling into utter hysteria.

The blue-haired woman, with her skin gleaming with sweat and streaked with dirt and blood, turned to face the clerks and survivors. Her voice, steady but filled with emotion, cut through the panic— silencing the murmurs.

"Listen to me," she began, her chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. "We've seen too much. We've lost too much. I won't lie to you— this could be the end. But if it is, then I swear to you, on everything I've ever known, I will fight until my body runs dry. I will stand between you and those monsters until there's nothing left of me."

Her eyes swept the room, lingering on Guild Girl, whose hands were shaking violently as she pressed against the barricades. "It's been an honor to serve you all," Examiner continued, her voice cracking just slightly. "All these years… I couldn't have asked for a better place, a better home. You've all been my family."

She swallowed hard, her muscular frame trembling with barely contained emotion. "But if this is our end, then I will give everything I have to make sure it's not your end. If you get the chance to escape, you take it. No matter what. Don't look back. Don't stop for anything. If you make it out of here, that's the only victory that matters."

As she spoke, the banging against the barricades grew louder— each crash sending a wave of terror through the room. The adventurers who had volunteered to hold the lobby had begun to scream— guttural, agonized wails as the goblins flooded in. The sounds of metal clashing against flesh were replaced by horrific shrieks, the wet, sickening noises of bodies being torn apart. Guild Girl clamped her hands over her ears, with tears streaming down her face, and her brown eyes wide with terror.

The walls were thin. She could hear everything. The brutal slashing of blades, the gurgled cries of dying adventurers, and worse: the hysterical, pained screams of women being sexually assaulted in their final moments. The shrieks of adventurers who had given their lives to protect them filled the air, and Guild Girl's entire body shook uncontrollably.

Behind her, clerks and survivors began to sob— their breath coming in ragged gasps. The tension in the room snapped as one of the clerks collapsed to her knees, screaming in terror, her hands clutching at her head. "We're going to die!" She wailed, her voice breaking into sobs. "Oh gods, we're going to die…!"

Guild Girl couldn't take it. The sounds of death, the crying, the helplessness— it all became too much. She fell to her knees, her body convulsing with sobs as the barricade began to shake under the weight of the assault outside. "I can't… I can't do this…!" She cried, with her voice barely a whisper between her gasping breaths. "Please, please, I don't want to die…!"

Then, the barricade splintered.

The door was torn from its hinges, and Guild Girl screamed— the sound ripping from her throat as she fell backward, landing hard on the cold, blood-slicked floor. She saw the door flying toward her, the grotesque shapes of goblins silhouetted against the dying light.

In an instant, Examiner was there.

She lunged forward, grabbing Guild Girl by the collar and pulling her back, throwing her behind her with a force that knocked the breath out of her. Examiner stood tall, her body coiled like a spring, ready to fight to the death.

But when the door fell away, the lobby was empty.

There were no goblins. No marauding enemies charging through. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional drip of blood from the ceiling. The bodies of the brave adventurers who had sacrificed themselves for their survival were all that remained— defiled, mutilated, but utterly still.

Examiner's breathing faltered, with her hardened expression cracking. She stared at the scene before her, the reality sinking in.

The lobby was empty, but the cost had been unimaginable.

Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees— tears spilling down her cheeks. The sobs came in heavy, uncontrollable waves, her strong facade shattered as she wept for the fallen— for the survivors, for the horror of it all.

Guild Girl crawled to her side, her eyes wide with disbelief. The other clerks and survivors slowly emerged from their hiding places, their faces etched with confusion and disbelief.

Examiner, still on her knees, wiped at her face with trembling hands. "They… They gave everything…" she choked out between sobs. "They fought so we could live."

Guild Girl, her hands trembling, reached out to Examiner— her voice barely above a whisper. "We… We're still alive because of them…"

The room was filled with the sound of crying— adventurers, clerks, children, all overwhelmed by the grief and horror of what they had witnessed. The survivors clung to each other, sobbing openly, their tears mingling with the blood on the floor.

Examiner turned to face the survivors, her voice shaking as she spoke through her tears. "We can't let them die in vain. We… We have to keep going. We have to survive. For them."

But even as she said the words, there was a heaviness in the air— an overwhelming sense that survival was a hollow victory in a world so utterly consumed by death.

Maggiore Outpost had become unrecognizable, a smoldering ruin where life once thrived. Fires roared, casting an infernal glow over the broken landscape. Blood flowed like rivers through the streets, pooling in the debris, the bodies of adventurers, monsters, and innocents scattered in heaps, the once-bustling city now a mausoleum of horrors. But amid the wreckage, there stood a single figure.

Goblin Slayer.

His armor was stained with blood and viscera, and his orichalcum helmet gleaming faintly beneath the crimson lightning that crackled around him. He stood amidst the carnage, panting heavily— his tomahawk dripping with the blood of those unfortunate enough to cross his path.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

"We hold onto our misery so tightly… Like it's the only thing that keeps us grounded. But the longer we clutch it, the more it breaks us; piece by piece, until we can't even remember what we're holding onto anymore."

"Y-You're not my brother…! N-Not anymore, you're not…!"

His left eye burned like a raging inferno behind the visor— flickering with barely contained fury. The flames around him danced in time with the electricity surging through his veins— igniting a savage bloodlust that reverberated with every movement.

"Is it the pain we cling to? Or the memory of what came before it?"

"We suffer… And in time, we forget. And all that's left is the weight of something we no longer understand."

""High-risk liability"— that's the reason why the guild can't have someone like you be apart of us, Mr. Ashta…"

He swung his tomahawk in a wide arc, with the edge cleaving through the thick neck of the Hydra— its final head severed with precision. The creature let out a guttural roar before its massive body collapsed onto the ruins— smoke and ash billowing into the sky as its bulk settled on the burning debris.

"I never wanted this for you…"

"This life… This path you walk. I dreamed of something gentler."

"… You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use."

The earth trembled as more of them came—a mass of goblins, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the fires behind them. Eyes wide with terror, they hesitated, unsure whether to charge the man who now seemed less human and more force of destruction. They'd never seen anything like him. Their instincts screamed at them to run, but fear of the unseen masters driving them forward kept them frozen.

"Ash falls like snow…"

"What we had… Burned away the day they died."

"I HATE YOU!"

"I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!"

Above the pack of goblins, dark elves whispered frantically to one another, the grim-faced sorcerers casting glances at the lone figure below. Even from this distance, they could feel his rage, like a heatwave emanating from him in pulses. But they weren't ready for the slaughter that followed.

"Ash…"

"Ash is what's left when a phoenix dies too. But..."

"That annihilation…"

"Gives birth to resurrection."

Without warning, Goblin Slayer leaped into the air— lightning sparking from his tomahawk as he swung it downward with brutal force. The ground split beneath him, a shockwave of crimson energy blasting through the nearest ranks of goblins. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh, the goblins' bodies torn apart as blood and organs splattered in all directions.

One of the goblins, its face twisted with terror, was the first to scream.

"YOU WERE WHY THEY CAME FOR US!"

"The sooner you let go of those ashes, the sooner something raw, something beautiful, can grow in the place of what we once had. What we used to be."

"YOU'RE WHY I'M DEAD!"

They started to scatter, scrambling over each other to escape, but Goblin Slayer was already upon them. He charged, his tomahawk slashing through their bodies with merciless precision. Heads rolled, limbs flew through the air, and the ground turned slick with their blood. The teen's movements were a blur— every swing of his weapon followed by a spray of crimson.

"Do you still… D-Despise me…?"

His mind flashed back to a memory— sudden and jarring.

"Our parents... They died in a house fire. One that..."

"One that I… That I caused…"

A kitchen, bright and warm, and him as a small boy, playing with the stove, laughing at the flicker of flames that danced beneath his fingertips. He remembered the heat growing, the fire spreading too quickly. Smoke filled the room, and his laughter turned into a cry of fear. The smoke became thick, choking. He couldn't breathe.

"I… I never hated you…"

"I hate what the world has done to you. To us. What happened to us… We didn't deserve it."

Then, Vivine. She was there, grabbing him, yanking him away from the flames. Her face was streaked with soot as she dragged him out the front door, into the open air, her grip tight on his wrist. Her voice calling his name. "Ren!"

"You've become a monster…"

"You find pleasure in killing those you deem deserving of death— you hate yourself because of that."

The sound of his name echoed in his ears as he snapped back to the present— landing heavily in the midst of the horde. His tomahawk rose and fell, slicing through a goblin's neck— severing it cleanly. He spun, driving the blade into the chest of another goblin— its eyes wide with shock before life fled its body.

"We aren't to blame for what the world has done to us, for what we've become… That guilt isn't yours to bare."

Dark elves, hidden among the ruins, hurled bolts of dark energy at him, but Goblin Slayer ducked and weaved— the spells missing by inches. His eye twitched beneath the visor. His rage boiled, the blood-soaked battlefield around him blurring into a nightmarish swirl of death.

"To change the world… Sometimes, you must set it alight."

Another memory crashed into his mind, unbidden— a hallway, dimly lit.

"The man who fostered us... He... He used to do things to Vivi… Horrible things."

He stood there, frozen in the doorway of a bedroom, his small body trembling. On the bed, his foster father was on top of Vivine. Her body pinned beneath him, and her face turned away in shame. Goblin Slayer's mouth opened in a silent scream— his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to move, to help her, but he couldn't. He was too afraid.

'I'm a monster. But I'm not to blame for that. The world is. This world's evil. I'm evil. Everything is so evil.'

His scream finally broke free in the present. It was a sound of unfiltered rage and agony— a primal roar that tore from his throat as he threw himself into the next group of monsters. His tomahawk cleaved through bone, ripping goblins apart with savage ferocity. Blood sprayed across his helmet, and still, he kept screaming— his voice echoing across the battlefield, startling even the most hardened of his enemies.

"C… C-Child services finally took her claims seriously..."

"They locked him up. But Vivi... She was terrified of being hurt again— she didn't want us to be kept in foster care."

"So she... She paid a man to take us to the frontier— a man with three daughters. She was ten. I was six. She thought we could trust him…"

The monsters hesitated, uncertain, their confidence wavering. Some began to back away, others stood frozen in disbelief. The sight of a man so consumed by rage that he seemed unkillable was too much for them.

Goblin Slayer's vision blurred as another memory tore through him.

"We ended up in a village called "Riverwood", but… We didn't know how to build a house… We didn't know how to grow food— we were just children…"

"So... in exchange for work... And sex... Vivi convinced the man to help us."

He was seated at a dinner table, across from Vivine. She was different now, her face cold and empty, her eyes staring blankly at the plate before her. There was smeared makeup across her lips, and bruises marked her neck. Hickies. He sat awkwardly, his hands shaking as he tried to eat. But he couldn't stop looking at her.

"She... She became sick— sick in the head…"

"I knew that she always resented me for the fire… But after having to give her body again, and again... She… She couldn't bear the pain inside…"

Suddenly, her eyes snapped to him, and there was hatred in them. A hatred that chilled him to his core. He whispered her name, "V… V-Vivi," with his voice trembling, but she stood from the table.

"One night, during dinner... She... She snapped. She attacked me— beat me, and screamed how much she hated me… How it was all my fault."

In a flash, she sprinted toward him, tackling him to the floor. Her fists rained down on him, each blow punctuated by her screams.

"Why did they have to die?!"

"W-Why couldn't it have JUST been you?!"

Her shrieks echoed in his mind as his tomahawk slashed through the chest of a drider, the spider-like creature letting out a gurgling hiss before he decapitated it in one clean motion.

"S… She wasn't wrong… I was the one to blame."

He leaped off its corpse, charging toward a mass of goblins, his tomahawk glowing with charged magic. He hurled the crimson projectile toward them, the energy bisecting them in a flash of light, their bodies falling apart like ragdolls.

But the memories wouldn't stop.

He saw Vivine standing over the crawlspace in their cottage, the door and windows shaking as imp goblins pounded against them. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy as she knelt beside him.

"S.. She killed herself to escape…"

"Goodnight, Ren."

SLIT.

"And this… This is your truth. Not the noble sacrifice you've concocted in your mind to shield yourself from the unbearable reality. Your sister— your precious Vivine— was a child herself, broken by despair. She loathed giving her future up for you, and thus hated the weight of your existence. In the end, she chose death over saving the both of you."

"S-She killed herself…! B-Because of me…!"

"You've lived your entire life believing that you were somehow responsible for her death— that you needed to avenge her. But now, you see, it wasn't the goblins who killed her, Ashta; it was your existence that did that— long before those little monsters ever first stepped foot into Riverwood."

"Her beauty was flawless, captivating in every way. Yet beneath that surface, there was nothing but emptiness. She existed, but did not live. Her smile could dazzle the world, but inside, her heart was silent, hollow— a barren desert hidden behind a painted mask…"

"You didn't survive that night because of her sacrifice. No, you lived because she couldn't bear the burden of you any longer. She left you, Ashta. Left you to face the world, to face the goblins— alone."

"... No one noticed the quiet desolation in her eyes, the way her soul seemed to drift, untethered from the brightness she presented. Beauty had become her prison, and she a prisoner of her own reflection."

"Your sister died like a coward, Ashta. She took her own life... Just to escape the fate your existence brought onto her…"

"And quite frankly, from the looks of it… You'll inevitably die the same way as her: by your own hand."

The image seared into his mind as Goblin Slayer ripped through a wave of enemies, his tomahawk carving through flesh and bone as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood soaked the earth beneath him, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The crimson lightning surrounding him crackled with renewed ferocity as he hurtled toward the dark elves who had tried to flank him.

"Despite it all… S-She still tried so hard to make me happy,"

"She'd save up her coins to buy coffee beans, w-whenever a merchant came through… S-She tried— she always tried..."

Another flash. Burglar, his mentor.

"Worthless!"

"You're nothing but a failure! A disgrace! You couldn't save her, and now you're just like one of them— a godless monster!"

The old rhea cackled as he held Goblin Slayer's head beneath the water, the river's current rushing around him. "You're worthless!" Burglar's voice rang out, mocking him as the boy struggled to breathe. "A piece of shit that'll dry up in the sun— forgotten!"

The memory collided with the present as Goblin Slayer found himself being lifted off the ground by a Blackwatch Executive: Fire Lord. Flames licked up the teenager's armor— the melting leather burning his skin beneath, as the dark-elf's grip tightened around his throat.

The executive's laughter echoed, his voice deep and cruel. "Is that all you've got?!"

But something snapped within Goblin Slayer. The crimson lightning surged through him in a violent wave, exploding outward from his body and staggering the Fire Lord. He hit the ground with a thud, gasping for breath.

'Yes. This is all that I have. It's all that I'll ever have.'

His tomahawk rose, and he began his assault— a flurry of blows that tore into the Fire Lord's flesh, the flames struggling to keep up with Goblin Slayer's maddened pace.

"Do you really still think running your own guild during an active war on domestic terrorism is a good idea? All things considered?"

"It… It has to be done— goblins aren't going to stop because of them, and neither will I."

"Even if that means you'll be responsible for the deaths of those who serve under you?"

"… No one's going to die on my watch. I won't allow it."

"Holy SHIT! Haha, ah! You know, I thought the same thing when I first became a knight, and I had to start leading poor fuckers to their deaths!"

The Fire Lord screamed as the tomahawk struck him again and again, each hit more vicious than the last. Blood sprayed in every direction as Goblin Slayer's weapon sank deeper into the Fire Lord's body. He wasn't just killing him— he was obliterating him, reducing the once-mighty executive to a broken, bloodied heap.

"YOU BROUGHT US ALL HERE! YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN, REN! YOU'RE THE REASON FOR YOUR OWN FUCKING MISERY!"

With a final strike, Goblin Slayer drove the tomahawk deep into the Fire Lord's chest, with his opponent let out a gurgling gasp before the light left his eyes.

"She loved you; she wouldn't want this for you…! No more holding onto her— not like this…!"

"I… I don't know how…"

"Y-You don't have to know how— not right away."

Goblin Slayer stood over the corpse, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion and rage. Around him, the battlefield was silent, save for the crackling of fire and the distant howls of monsters. Corpses littered the ground—hundreds of thousands of them.

"Just... Starting by letting those who care about you in— no more holding it all in…"

"Even if it seems impossible, you just have to move on— you have to let go of her, even if that takes time…"

His enemies had been slaughtered, their bodies broken and torn apart in a scene of unimaginable carnage.

"Protect him…"

And yet, as Goblin Slayer stood there, surrounded by death, he let out a scream. A long, howling cry of madness and grief, a sound that echoed across the ruined outpost.

"Protect that little boy inside of you that I love. Shield him from the horrors of this world, as I once shielded you."

Author's Notes: Probably the heaviest, and saddest chapter I've written up to date. A culmination of Goblin Slayer's trauma,coming back to haunt him, with the state of the outpost triggering his PTSD. Smh, this was hard to write lol.