The Shield That Answered

I stepped out of the blood-soaked inn, stumbling past the twisted corpses I had left behind. The morning light outside was blinding—like waking up from a fevered dream into a world that hadn't changed. It was bright, warm, almost peaceful.

But I was not.

I was soaked—drenched in blood that wasn't mine. My coat, once black, had turned a sticky crimson. My shirt clung to my body like a second skin, stiff with gore. Each step I took down the cobbled slope of the hill felt like dragging a broken body through a world that had no place for it.

And then the silence hit me.

Not a comforting one.

A watchful, condemning silence.

People lined the street. Villagers. Bystanders. All staring. None speaking.

Their eyes were the sharpest weapons of all.

Whispers cut the air like blades.

"That's the one… the monster."

"He's cursed… just like that girl with him."

"They say he killed over fifty people."

Their voices were low, but not enough to hide the hatred. Not enough to mask the fear.

No one spoke of the traffickers.

No one mentioned the chained girls.

No one acknowledged that the blood staining me belonged to demons in human skin.

They only saw what they wanted to see—

A cursed beast who dared fight the filth they themselves ignored.

My legs felt heavy. My knees trembled. My arm hung limp, the bone likely cracked. My heart… it hurt in a way I couldn't explain. Not physical. Not emotional. Something deeper. As if the weight of every injustice I'd seen had settled into my very soul.

And then—

A rock.

Sharp, jagged. It cracked against the side of my head.

My vision blurred for a second. Blood streamed down my head, warm and steady.

Then another.

And another.

Ten. Twenty. Fifty.

I didn't run.

I didn't scream.

I just stood there.

Frozen.

Like a man awaiting his execution.

The voice inside the sword whispered again. Cold. Heavy.

"WHAT IS IN THIS CURSED WORLD THAT YOU WISH TO PROTECT?"

And for a moment…

I believed him.

These people—

They saw me not as their savior, but their villain.

They protected silence, not justice.

They condemned the blade, not the hand that forced it.

I fell to one knee. Blood now pooled at my feet. My breaths were shallow. My head spun.

And just as I was about to fall—

She caught me.

Annya.

Her arms wrapped around me from behind like a shield. Warm. Human. Real.

Behind her stood the fox woman.

And behind them—the girls I had freed.

They stood like a wall. A fragile one. But a wall nonetheless.

The crowd paused.

Their stones didn't.

But not one reached me now.

Each girl spread their arms, trembling but firm.

Their bruises still raw.

Their faces still haunted.

But they stood—for me.

And in that moment...

I understood.

This was what I was fighting for.

Not for the blind, judgmental masses.

But for those like them—those with scars they didn't deserve.

The ones no one protected.

Annya and the fox woman lifted me into the carriage with trembling hands. Blood smeared across their palms, but neither of them flinched.

As the horses galloped away and the girls held the line behind us, I turned to Annya, my voice barely more than a breath.

"Why…?"

"Why would you save a monster like me…?"

My throat burned. My heart cracked under the weight of it all.

Annya leaned close. Her voice was soft, yet unshakable.

"Because you're not a monster. You're the one who stood up when no one else would. You're the one who chose to fight."

The fox woman, still cradling my broken arm, whispered with tears in her eyes.

"You're not cursed. Not you. They are.

This society… this world… it's the real monster.

A world that fears power more than injustice.

That spits on courage and bows to silence."

I didn't cry.

I couldn't.

But something broke in me, and something else took its place.

Not vengeance. Not rage.

Resolve.