⚔️Serberia

As with many other allies in the squad, the attack of the enraged dendroids came as a complete surprise. Renold was just about to make a joke about talking trees when everyone suddenly found themselves in no mood for humor. In the heat of battle, it was difficult to pay attention to his comrades and follow the rapid orders from command, but the young man tried to do everything he could. He quickly realized that their training duels and friendly beatings of a defenseless golem were nothing compared to a real, dangerous fight. Here and there, under the onslaught of heavy wooden blows and branches flying like spears, his allies fell, many of whom he had grown up with for many years. Renold himself, twice blinded and quite battered, despite all the efforts of the kind-hearted Gulveig, understood that he didn't have much time left. The sword was firmly stuck in the tenacious roots of the trees, not causing any significant damage. The only thing he could do was give the others time to properly chop down the cursed wood, distracting as many enemies as possible. At one point, a sharp branch slashed at his legs, causing him to lose his balance. The next moment, a heavy blow to the chest seemed to knock all the breath out of him: the young man fell to his knees, like a fish desperately trying to catch its breath with its mouth. His ribs seemed to be pressed somewhere deep inside his body, and with a sharp, hacking cough, clots of thick blood gushed onto the clearing. Somehow wiping his face with the sleeve of his bloodstained, tattered cloak, Renold got to his feet and raised his weapon. Through the haze that had clouded his eyes and the numerous branches of the dendroids, he clearly saw Ilva's frightened face: his sister had rushed towards him a couple of steps, but was immediately stopped by the thick of the battle. Her lips moved slightly, as if whispering something, but from that distance and the noise of the battle, the young man couldn't make out a single word. But the sight of Ilva seemed to give him new, last strength: looking around, Renold concluded that there were still too many enemies. The pain faded into the background. They couldn't, they mustn't get to Ilva. Perfectly aware that the next wound would cripple him so badly that even timely medical help would hardly be able to do anything, he bravely rushed at the nearest dendroid. He dodged a lazily thrown log and struck again with all the power that burst out of his soul. The hand holding the sword hilt noticeably cracked, sending a wave of sharp pain through his arm, but the wooden body of the enemy also split in two with a similar crack, and the giant fell to the ground before the victor. As if offended by the death of its comrade, the other dendroids turned their shapeless faces towards him. Renold dodged one, two, three, four, five attacks, but then he felt a heavy blow to the back of his head. The ground went out from under his feet, his vision darkened, and, losing all remaining strength, the young man heavily collapsed to the ground face down. He felt and thought nothing. How he didn't want to wake up from that glorious, deep sleep! Today was definitely some kind of important holiday. People, whom Renold undoubtedly recognized as his parents, were talking animatedly about something around the spacious kitchen table of their old estate. He struggled to slide off his tiny children's chair and, swaying from side to side, slowly headed towards them. Noticing his approach, the adults' voices fell silent. The young man tried to look at his parents' faces, but for some reason both of them were hidden in darkness. He noticed a small pile of diapers and sheets that his mother was carefully holding in her arms. "Look how nicely he's walking already!" said a gentle female voice. "Yeah, he'll be learning fencing soon," echoed a slightly gruff male voice, but with the same barely perceptible notes of approval. "Ren, do you want to see your little sister?" his mother asked him, tilting the bundle of fabric she was holding. In its depths, some movement was clearly visible, and a rhythmic sigh could be heard. The young man cautiously approached the woman and, with interest, peered under the raised cloth, surprised to meet the gaze of a tiny, wrinkled baby face. Slightly opening her eyes, the girl assessed him with her piercing blue eyes, after which she noticeably frowned and cried loudly. "Well, well, M..." the name of the sister was drowned out by the sound of the wind rustling through the green crowns of the mighty oaks. "Now, now, be quiet. This is your brother, Renold. Renold..." Renold, Renold. "Renold!" The young man suddenly opened his eyes, not understanding where he was and what was happening. His gaze met Ilva's celestial eyes again. His sister was sitting next to him, bent over his face, and saying something. Tiny drops of tears streamed down her pale face, falling on his cheeks. "Yes, I'm okay," Renold replied in a single word, after which he struggled to sit up and looked around. Apparently, the battle was over and they had won, and no one was seriously injured. Looking at his sister, he was relieved to see that she was not even wounded. So, his training had not been in vain. He had succeeded. "Yeah, those were some tough guys," he said with some fear and disgust, nodding towards the remaining branches and splinters, which were abundantly scattered all over the battlefield. "But the main thing is, you're okay." "Idiot!" Ilva raised a tiny fist and lowered it on Renold's shoulder. Then again, and again. "If you ever... think of dying again, I'll never forgive you!" she said sharply, jumping to her feet, as if trying to maintain her composure and not burst into tears, and walked away from her bewildered brother. Reality once again pierced Renold's consciousness with an unpleasant sting. They were as if pitied. Not by the old Gungnir, but by nature itself. But in a real battle, he would "die" again. And perhaps several other comrades as well. And he would never see Ilva's beautiful celestial eyes again.