Punch-

Thump-

Due to the hit being an absolute sucker punch, Syl immediately lost consciousness.

Her mind started drifting. Even unconscious, her thoughts did not rest. The Fox girl had become more than she was before. The Fox girl had…

A face surfaced.

It wasn't kind, nor warm. She couldn't truly see that face. She couldn't remember it.

She could, however, remember the expression it bore.

That face had been twisted in disappointment, steeped in sadness so heavy it sank into Syl's bones. The expression burned itself into her.

It was her first memory.

With time, she couldn't tell anymore whether it was truly memory or imagination.

Still, Syl couldn't shake that expression. The expression that the woman bore mere moments after giving birth to her daughter.

There was only deep sadness and despair in those eyes.

Nevertheless, the child was born.

An exceptional child, some might say. She walked before those her age. Before some who were born even earlier than her. She spoke before them too, and understood things with startling clarity.

But none of that truly mattered.

The next memory came some time after the child had learned to walk and talk.

Passing through the Hobgoblin village, the child saw a woman holding a newborn in her arms. The mother gazed at the child as if it were the entire world, lips trembling in ecstasy, eyes wet with joy.

Walking closer, yes. It was a boy.

The sight made the child's stomach twist.

Rage rose unbidden, sour and ugly.

Her anger quickly turned into jealousy.

Hobgoblins do not keep track of who gave birth to whom.

She didn't remember the woman who had given birth to her. She couldn't remember her face. Yet in that moment, the child was convinced that this particular one was her mother.

Seeing that woman and looking past her jealousy, the child understood that what the woman had seen when looking at her was her own past, and what the child was looking at now was her future.

To be used as a commodity and an incubator for the Elite Warriors.

The child clenched her fists, tiny nails biting into her palms, swore to reject that future with all her heart, and grew to fear it immensely.

…

Screams split the air, and the Hobgoblin village erupted into chaos. The Orcs had come again.

The war between Hobgoblins and Orcs was endless, a cycle of raids and reprisals.

The child could never understand why that war was still ongoing. There were no particularly valuable resources in the territory they were fighting for. Yet, it felt like the war had been going on forever.

The child understood that it was nothing more than a contest of stubborn pride. A refusal to give in and yield.

That night, the huts burned. Warriors clashed steel against steel. The ground shuddered with every charge. She ran, legs pumping, breath hitching, panic rising as the clash of metal drew closer from every direction.

When the village is attacked, the children become nothing more than abandoned orphans who need to fend for themselves however they can.

Having run to the opposite side of the village, the child thought herself safe.

Unfortunately, the Orcs were attacking from all directions. It had only taken a bit more time for the fighting to break out on that side of the village.

Just as she was about to hide, a Hobgoblin Warrior's head flew, severed by a massive axe. Blood sprayed across the child's face as the body collapsed. She fell backward, her tiny body shaking uncontrollably. Her hands scrambled frantically across the mud to hold onto something.

She found the fallen warrior's spear.

Her fingers wrapped around it instinctively, though her arms trembled under its weight.

The Orc stepped forward, heavy foot sinking into the mud.

The child halted her breathing. The Orc took a second step.

The enormous, hulking figure, having failed to notice the child in the darkness, stepped on her foot and stumbled, his knee hit the mud.

The child had been found. Yellow eyes burning with hate stared into her soul, and the child felt that the gaze alone nearly killed her.

Her blood froze. She tried to crawl away, but the Orc's hand grabbed her ankle. He yanked her closer and raised his axe high.

The child screamed,

Cut-

And thrust the spear upward.

The tip drove into the Orc's neck.

It didn't pierce deep. Her arms were weak, her body too small, and the Orc's neck alone was wider than her waist.

The Orc's lips twisted into a cruel grin, his massive muscles holding firm even with steel lodged in the side of his neck.

But then, the child noticed.

Drip-

Drip-

Drops of blood were going down the spear's blade.

The child's eyes widened, and she yanked the spear backward with all the strength her tiny frame could muster.

The artery had been split.

Blood exploded in a violent spray, covering her face, her arms, her entire body. She was drenched in the steaming blood, and shaking uncontrollably, her wide eyes reflecting the crimson rain.

The Orc staggered, choking, before collapsing at her feet.

From then on, the child completely lost track of time.

She stayed there, trembling on the ground, hands clamped on the spear smeared with blood.

The earth beneath her shook, and she realized that the fighting was over. The Orcs had retreated.

The earth shook some more. Footsteps approached.

When her vision cleared, she saw him.

The Hobgoblin Chief stood before her, towering over her. His eyes scanned the carnage the area for a moment.

Then, his massive hand lowered, scooping her up.

"Syl, daughter of Sylvain," the Chief thundered.

Instantly, every head turned.

Gasps rippled through the surviving warriors. Despite the flames, despite the stench of blood and death, silence fell at the Hobgoblin Chief's proclamation.

Hobgoblins do not keep track of mothers, and they only keep track of fathers in one instance.

Only one instance can link a child to its father, and the child is named after the father.

"The girl…"

In one motion, the Hobgoblin Chief lifted the child high above his head, her small body covered by Orc blood seated in his palm.

"Is a Warrior!" The Chief roared, his voice a battle-cry that split the night.

The camp erupted. Dozens of warriors, their bodies smeared with blood and smoke, raised their weapons high.

"Syl! Syl! Syl!" They chanted her name over and over again.

Slowly but surely, the child's trembling ceased.

"Syl! Syl! Syl!" They shouted, their bodies covered in as much blood as hers was.

The whole instantly changed for the child.

These male Warriors she had once feared and despised were now chanting her name. She was now one of them.

They smiled, chanted, shouted, and cheered for her.

The child, in that moment, understood why that woman had smiled upon seeing that it was a body.

Syl raised her weapon high, and the cheers grew thunderous.

"Syl! Syl! Syl!"

Syl swore she would never let herself become like that woman, like her mother, whoever she is.

"Syl! Syl! Syl!"

She held onto that spear with all she had.

She swore never to let go of that spear, the only thing keeping her from becoming...

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.