My hand shot up and gripped Bretton’s wrist, easily holding back the blade from my neck. A line of burning pain on my skin slowly welled with blood, and it rolled down to pool in my collarbone.

As Bretton tried to wrench his hand back, my free arm reached over the side of my cot to grab at my always near axe. My fingers closed around smooth wood and I lifted my arm to swing the weapon into an arc that parted through the air. The axe connected with the soft skin under Bretton’s armpit, sliding in until its momentum ran out.

He choked on a pained scream, falling back as I finally released his arm. My axe was pulled free of his chest with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered to the ground, sounding much like the rain hitting the roof of my tent.

“Why?” I asked, now standing over his prone body. He wheezed, his right lung no doubt punctured.

“Never… trusted you. I was… right.” Bretton's body was wracked by chest shaking coughs, strength leaving him along with his blood. He let his head rest on the ground, and if I didn’t know any better, to me, it would’ve seemed as if he were merely sleeping. “A blind man should never… should never be this strong. What are you?”

I let my arms spread out, my axe held loosely in my palm. “I am just a man.” The priest, who stood in the corner, chuckled slowly. I had not noticed him until then. Did he laugh at my words? Or at the man who now laid dead on the hard earth?

Turning away from him, I donned my armor. I pried the knife from Bretton’s cold hand, its quality enough that it would be a shame to leave it behind. Lifting the tent flap, I stepped into the icy rain. I could not stay here any longer.

The camp seemed like a graveyard at this time of night. Rain hit against canvas cloth, covering bodies that I could not sense. It felt as if it would be no different if the tents were dirt instead. I moved through the darkness, rain washing my axe of drying blood.

The horses' stables were conveniently placed on the north side of camp, as I planned to travel that way back to Markitan. It would be easiest for me to go in that direction as it was already familiar to me. From there, I would move back down the river, following it into the forest. The Federation was no longer a place I could stay; no side would willingly keep me now. The dangerous woods seemed like the best option, and I had become sick of the politics in this country.

I was tired of being stuck and having no options given to me, only able to choose the lesser evil. When will the long war be won? The army in me had gone, and the desire to fight had grown weary.

Choosing a smaller horse that I thought would not be missed, I saddled it and led it out by the reins. I moved through the last row of tents, the weather muffling my escape.

There Keith stood, between me and the empty land that promised freedom. He was stock-still, his body grown cold from the tenebrous rainfall.

“Let me leave,” I told him. His body jolted—an unplanned movement.

“I can’t do that,” he responded, his voice low and muffled from the weather.

“Why not?” I did not want to fight him. My body fought against my brain, and the priest urged me on.

“If I let you leave, they will only kill me.” Keith took a shuddering breath. “He was… he was my friend.” I would not tell him that I had begun to think of Keith as the same. It seemed companions would only ever be transitory for me, my fake comrades the exception. Maybe not so fake, the priest reminded me, his thin fingers on my shoulder.

“If I stay, they will kill me,” I rebutted. “I hadn’t planned to kill Bretton. He attacked me first.” I gritted my teeth, my words sounding like what an immature child avoiding retribution would say.

Keith still pulled out his sword, bracing for combat. “I won’t let you go.”

Fine. So be it.

I stood as he lunged for me, the horse's reins forgotten and dragging in the mud. I knew Keith's movements, his form overly familiar. All those bouts were now detrimental for him as I easily dodged his piercing sword. I gripped my axe in both hands, my hold tight. I swung it behind me in a familiar motion, but as it reached its apex, I hesitated.

I did not want to kill Keith. He had helped me, giving me an option to choose my path. Now he stood as a bulwark, and I could no longer see any choice. Could I run, without killing him? I doubted it, his lugubrious attack filled with anger and desperation. It seemed he had abandoned all options of sparing me, so I would do the same.

My hesitation had left me open, and his sword sliced along my side, catching the skin that was not protected. The fiery pain drove me into action, and my blade fell from its peak, delivering unwanted judgment.

It cut through his neck, reminiscent of Ilya meeting his own fate. For a moment, I cursed the efficacy of [Chop]. Keith’s head dropped, splattering in the watery mud.

I felt him fall, my body hollow and depleted.

My head hung, the space behind my ribs painfully empty. Soaked hair brushed along the bridge of my nose, and water rolled down the back of my exposed neck. I turned, holstering my tainted axe.

I picked up the discarded reins of the watching horse and lifted myself into the saddle. Pulling its head away from the lifeless body, I urged it into action with my heels.

[Skill Upgraded] - [Chop (2) → (3)]

My throat burned, the reward from the completion of an onerous task finding itself unwanted. My body wasn’t just burning from emotion, I realized, as summoned fire licked up my arms and turned the falling rain into steam.

Watching the flames that I could somehow see, it all felt like an impossible dream. But I was not waking up, the fire moving into my hollow bones. It seemed to shift something inside, like a puzzle piece finally clicking together.

[Threshold Reached] - [Criteria Met]

I jolted, the unfamiliar words making my body tense on top of the horse. It sped up, flying through the rain.

[Class Gained] - [Executioner]

A class? Now? My heated palms squeezed the reins, melting the leather. I unclenched my hands, letting it fall around the saddle pommel. My body seemed to fill with power, the reverent talk of classes living up to its legend. I focused on the [Executioner] class, now glaringly filling my status.

[Executioner] - [Wielder of axes, deliverer of Judgment. Fire runs through your veins, and the unseen cannot hide from your senses.]

Its description seemed to be completely tailored to my actions and gains in this world. Despite myself, it felt fitting.

Besides the gained class, my status had been thoroughly changed.

Name: Cain Miller

Title: Blind Man's Avarice

Class: Executioner

Strength: 36

Endurance: 33

Vitality: 18

Dexterity: 26

Intelligence: 11

Wisdom: 27

Perception: 16

Skills:

[Chop (3)] - passive

[Enhanced Sense (2)] - passive

[Summon Flame (1)] - active

[Silent Blade (1)] - active

My strength had gone up four, endurance and dexterity up six, wisdom up eight, and perception up a shocking ten. Acknowledging it seemed to activate it, and I groaned as the pouring rain became a painful hail upon my exposed skin, icy gunshots hitting my body. I unconsciously used [Summon Flame], burning it along my flesh to fight the creeping fingers of the cold.

I distantly heard the horse squeal from the heat, the rain thundering overwhelmingly loud in my ears. I moved the fire from my legs to spare the horse. The rest of my body was surrounded by a damp fog of steam, flames burning the rain before it could pummel my body. I was unsure how far the horse traveled, or if it was even going in the right direction as I tried to mitigate the sudden onslaught of sensations.

My head throbbed—I assumed from the gain in wisdom—and my fire seemed to burn hotter because of it. The other traits had no negative backlash, thankfully. Endless minutes passed as I breathed heavily, my body bent over the horse, hands clenched in its damp mane.

Moving my attention from my senses, I tried to distract myself now that I had gained some semblance of concentration. Ilya had told me once that the attributes that were increased when receiving a class were the most important to it, and as of now, I could only wonder how perception was relevant to a class like [Executioner]. Its description had mentioned senses, so I could only chalk it up to my trait of blindness for now.

Ilya had also mentioned that some were even given a skill that went hand in hand with their class. I moved my focus to the skill I had gained, [Silent Blade].

[Silent Blade (1)] - [active. Deliver Judgment with a swift blade that will not be heard.]

This skill was less self-explanatory. Its description seemed more abstract, tied to my class rather than to an actual skill.

The increase from my class was shocking, at the least. The gap between those with a class and those without seemed impossible to breach, and I wondered how I had been able to overcome Keith whose class was a [Scout]. His judgment had been clouded by emotion, but I still wondered how I had even compared to his class enhanced status.

Given, a [Executioner] did seem more complex than a [Scout]. Ilya had never told me if some classes were stronger than others. He had implied it when he showed distaste towards some classes, but I had not known my status would be so bolstered by a class.

I wondered if my title also had some effect on my class, increasing how many points I gained. It almost seemed to be too much.

The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle as the hours moved closer to the day. The horse had been moving at a steady trot, so I slowed it to a walk as I began to hear the sounds of the Alliance’s camp stationed in front of Markitan.

It had taken me less time to reach it alone, and I could now hear so much farther than before, giving me ample warning. I directed the horse to move around the camp, hopefully staying out of sight from any sentries. I heard no one call out and no one move towards me.

We moved in a slight curve from there, stopping once to give the horse a break. I fed it oats I had taken from its stable, eating some dried rations myself. The rain had completely stopped by then, clouds departing to let the sun warm my face.

It seemed my body agreed with warmth more than the cold, and I wondered if my skill had changed it in some deeper way that was not readily apparent. ‘Fire runs through your veins’, my class had told me.

The river appeared after midday, and we stopped for now. The horse greedily drank down the water, and I did the same. Exhaustion weighed down my bones, and even if it was still day, I erected a small camp of sorts and tied the horse to a nearby tree, then laid down to sleep.

I woke before the sun had risen the next day and continued on, following the water downstream. As I had slept, my body seemed to have attuned to my gained attributes, and my world seemed better than it had before. There was still an omnipresent buzz running under my skin, my ears itching from any sound.

Frowning, I shifted in my saddle. It felt as if I were running, again. Leaving Keith’s rotting body behind me and everything I had felt in the cold rain. I felt no guilt or regret about moving to a place where danger did not lurk, waiting for me. But I felt uncomfortable moving forward as if nothing had happened.

Death was always present. I had killed before, and would again. I steeled myself. I was moving forward, but I would not forget any events I had experienced in this world. It was my choice to move on, and I would take any glory that I wanted, and deliver any so-called judgment as I saw fit. No one else would control me; my flames were my own.