Morning arrived, and I was already back at the camp. I pretended as if nothing had happened that night.
From a distance, I saw my father standing in the middle of the training ground, his sword ready in hand. Without hesitation, I grabbed my own sword and stepped toward him.
"You came," he said flatly. "Let's begin."
"Yeah," I replied, immediately taking my stance.
Without warning, he lunged at me. I had expected this—a bandit would never give his opponent a chance to prepare.
The first clash was so strong that my palms stung. I stepped back, but he gave me no room. His attacks rained down on me, swift and merciless. I blocked, searching for an opening to strike back, waiting for the moment he'd tire or let his guard down.
I knew he was using mana to strengthen his body. I had spent the whole night thinking about how to imitate that—how to channel mana without chanting. And finally, I understood. Mana flowed like water. If I could feel it, I could direct it to any part of my body.
As he seemed to slow down, I feigned desperation. I quickened my breathing, making my body appear exhausted. I saw the moment he lowered his guard. This was it.
In an instant, I poured all my mana into my legs and shot forward. My body soared through the air, then swiftly redirected the mana to my sword, preparing to strike.
But in that moment—
I hesitated.
"If I attack him now... will it change anything?"
I wasn't sure.
At the last second, my sword veered off course. My strike missed.
"I win," I said.
My father only laughed. "You're a complete fool."
Before I could react, his blade struck me, sending my body crashing to the ground. My mana was completely drained. I couldn't move.
His sword pointed at my throat.
"You think just because you held back, I'd show you mercy?" His voice was cold.
I trembled. For the first time, I was truly afraid he would kill me.
"Maybe I should just kill you now," he mused, his tone mocking. "But you're still useful. If it weren't for that foolish elf, I wouldn't be suffering from mana paralysis right now."
I froze. Elf?
"You still think I kept you alive because I care about you?" He laughed loudly. "How naive. Just like her."
I said nothing. I couldn't.
"Oh, have I never told you?" he continued. "Your mother was an incredibly foolish elf. So foolish that I tricked her twice."
My blood turned cold.
"But she ran away before I could make her completely submit. What a shame, huh?" He sighed dramatically. "But I know she'll come back for you. Elves struggle to have children—she must love you dearly."
I wanted to cover my ears. I didn't want to hear this.
"So don't go dying yet, boy. If you die, she won't return."
I couldn't breathe.
"But I have to admit," he said with a wide grin, "getting to rape an elf until she got pregnant was truly an incredible reward."
Something inside me shattered.
"If she were still here, she'd probably have given birth to ten of my children by now, hahaha!"
Then—
A sharp, searing pain shot through my right hand.
I screamed.
Blood splattered onto the ground. My fingers—four of them, except for my thumb—lay severed on the dirt.
He only laughed as he walked away, leaving me there.
I lay motionless.
No tears. No words.
Just the burning agony consuming my body.
What was I living for?
What was I holding on for?
I was nothing more than a tool. I wasn't his son. I was just bait.
I wanted to die.
I dragged myself into the shadows, away from the camp. A dagger remained clutched in my left hand.
If I died, my mother would never return here.
If I died, I would never feel pain again.
I lifted the blade to my throat.
My hands trembled.
"I... can't."
Tears spilled from my eyes. I truly couldn't do it.
I hated myself for being too weak. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to vanish. But I couldn't.
I sobbed. Silent, broken cries. Alone in the darkness.
I just wanted someone to save me.
But once again, I realized—
That was never something I could have.