The God of Nothing.-Chapter 26: Nothing to Fear

He spoke softly, barely a whisper.

"You are correct. Nothing will save me."

Caelith's arms shook violently under the weight. Blood ran from his nose in thin rivulets; eyes half-blurred from the pressure in his skull. Still, he held the line, the Rejection behind his blade quivering — unstable, yet unyielding.

'Hold it. Let him press harder.'

The captain's voice cut through the strain. "You're insane."

Caelith's smile widened. "Perhaps."

The captain twisted, breaking the lock with a violent jerk. Caelith staggered back, boots scraping against the earth, vision swimming. The next blow came in a wide arc — brutal, fast, relentless.

Caelith moved.

The invisible Rejection behind his blade came to life as his swing unnaturally accelerated. The captain was momentarily shocked by the turn of events and pivoted, receiving a deep wound across his left shoulder while his right arm prepared a damning blow.

Rejection pulsed beneath Caelith's feet, launching him to the side in a blur. The broadsword missed by inches, carving deep into the ground where he'd stood. Dirt exploded upward, raining debris.

Mid-step, Caelith pivoted. His blade arced toward the captain's exposed ribs — the void-propelled edge aimed with lethal precision.

Clang.

The captain's armored elbow intercepted it, but contact was brief. A thin gouge appeared along the plating.

The captain grunted, recoiling.

Caelith pressed forward. Another strike — swift, aimed for the neck.

The captain parried — sparks flying — but his eyes betrayed it now.

Fear.

Not of Caelith.

Of the void.

That which he could not see but was causing his opponent to bridge the gap between them.

The esoteric power had stricken fear into the giant of a man.

The captain was indignant.

'A brat like this will never kill me!'

He lunged

Steel met steel in a clash that shattered the stillness like thunder. The impact rang through the air as Caelith drove forward, blade locking against the captain's broadsword with violent force. His boots skidded across the dirt, carving trenches beneath them.

The bandit captain snarled, recovering quickly. Mana surged through his limbs — golden-red and violent — amplifying already monstrous strength. He retaliated with a brutal shove, his broadsword pressing down like a collapsing mountain.

All around them, the world seemed to pause. Bandits and guards stood frozen, eyes fixed on the battle that would decide their futures.

Caelith's breath came in ragged bursts. His body screamed in protest. Blood dripped from his chin, his arms numb from the weight of Rejection's strain.

But he stood tall.

Eyes cold. Blade steady.

Caelith's heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Rejection was spilling out of him, seemingly affecting the world like a virus. Instead of the usual, focused application Caelith had become used to, this was different. The aura around him was rejecting mana away. He himself had become a danger zone.

In the forest alone, Caelith had to focus the power of Rejection, concentrating it and limiting it. Swiftly dispatching enemies and leaving the premises before new ones came. The downside of his abilities was their conspicuous and esoteric nature, after all.

Now, it was do or die. Caelith was pulling out any power he had.

Blood spilled freely from his nose. His sword arm trembled. His body screamed in protest, but he forced Rejection to remain.

One mistake and it would rupture.

Across from him, the bandit captain spat to the side, lips curled in contempt.

"You think that little trick will save you?" His voice was low, guttural — but beneath it, something else. Unease.

Caelith didn't reply.

He stepped forward — cautious, measured. The void trembled at the blade's pummel.

The captain snarled, surging in with monstrous speed. His broadsword came down in a brutal overhead arc, force amplified by surging two-star mana — golden-red, pulsing like molten iron.

Caelith raised his blade just in time.

Clang!

The impact rattled his bones, the force nearly knocking the sword from his grasp. He staggered, boots skidding, knees nearly buckling. A shockwave rippled through the ground, dust exploding around them.

The captain pressed the advantage, relentlessly.

Another strike — diagonal, vicious.

Caelith sidestepped, Rejection snapping beneath his foot, launching him out of range. His landing faltered, one leg giving slightly, but he caught himself.

Right now, it seemed as if the flowing Rejection was enhancing and resisting every one of Caelith's movements, rupturing at both the front and back of his attacks.

The void at his blade's edge flickered wildly, unstable under the strain.

The captain lunged — sweeping low. Caelith barely leapt over it, flipping mid-air, Rejection propelling him backward.

The captain was simultaneously shot to the side due to colliding with the imploding mana where Caelith had just been.

He landed hard, breath ragged, legs shaking.

He couldn't take many more of those.

"You're fast, I'll give you that," the captain growled, advancing, broadsword dragging through the dirt like a reaper's scythe.

"But you're cracking. That thing's eating you alive."

Caelith steadied himself, sword raised. His arms felt numb. Blood dripped from his chin, pooling beneath his feet.

Still, he smiled.

"I'm already dead."

The captain's eyes darted to his own sword — along its edge, a faint groove, a scar left by the void. His grip tightened.

A growl rumbled from his throat. "One clean hit — that's all I need to crush you."

He attacked again, a barrage of strikes now — fast, overwhelming.

Caelith's world became steel and survival.

Each blow came like thunder — each dodge barely a breath ahead. Rejection Steps kept him alive — lunging left, vaulting right, staggering but still standing. His movements weren't graceful — they were desperate, survival honed to a knife's edge.

And still, the void trembled at his blade's tip — the promise of destruction held in a shaking hand.

It was a mutually destructive exchange. Caelith was being torn apart with each use of his Rejection Aura. Similarly, each attack the bandit captain performed, the more backlash he would receive from Caelith.

Around them, the crowd watched in silence.

Even the boldest bandits dared not move. The guards, once doubtful, now gripped weapons they weren't sure they could use. All eyes were locked on the blade that seemed to bleed terror, a hole where the world frayed at the edges.

The captain struck again — overhead, the force monstrous.

Caelith met it head-on, Rejection reinforcing his footing.

Their blades clashed — and for a heartbeat, the void surged forward.

Rejection had shocked him off balance.

The captain recoiled, eyes wide, a fresh scar burned along the broadsword's edge.

Caelith did not let this chance escape him.

His sword shot forth, narrowly missing the captain's side.

However, that did not mean that Caelith's stab had missed its mark.

The Rejection at the end of his blade released and a flash of white followed.

Caelith stood panting, chest rising and falling like a war drum. His arms ached. His legs threatened to give.

The captain stood opposite of him, missing a chunk of his side. His eyes burned with indignation and hatred.

The captain roared, fury overtaking caution. Mana blazed through his limbs, veins glowing beneath his skin. He raised his broadsword high above his head, muscles bulging with monstrous strength.

A decisive strike — absolute, crushing, final.

"Die!"

The blade came down like a falling star.

Caelith didn't meet it.

Rejection burst beneath his feet, vaulting him sideways in a sudden blur. The captain's sword crashed into the ground where he'd stood, the earth splitting open under the force. Dust and debris exploded into the air.

The Igarian sword style.

Caelith pivoted sharply — balanced, raw, precise. His eyes locked on the opening.

A gap beneath the captain's arm — where the plated armor didn't reach. Exposed flesh.

He struck forward — a thrust, not wide or wild, but surgical. The void-tipped blade slid beneath the arm, past skin and bone, piercing deep near the collarbone.

The sword met no resistance.

The condensed Rejection detonated inside.

Silence — then a pulse.

The captain's body convulsed violently, his mana rupturing from within. Veins lit with golden-red light, then snapped, bursting into trails of blood. His eyes widened, face twisting into pure horror.

"No—"

BANG

Blood rained onto the onlookers. A fantastic explosion of guts sprayed the entire vicinity red.

The presence of a mana core close to Rejection had empowered the destruction to unholy levels.

Where the bandit leader once stood, there was now a massive crater.

The bandits stood frozen, expressions locked in disbelief.

Guards stared, weapons lowered, not in victory — in awe, in fear.

Caelith stood amid it all, blade trembling at his side. His breaths came sharp, wet. Blood trickled down his chin, his arms slacked from exhaustion.

But he didn't fall.

He stood over the crater of the captain, victorious.

Caelith's knees buckled. He dropped, one leg catching him just in time to avoid collapsing outright. His sword clattered against the dirt, barely held upright as he planted it for support.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising like a bellows. Muscles trembled with every inhale — not from fear, but exhaustion so deep it bordered on collapse. Sweat soaked his clothes, mingling with the blood streaking his face.

His vision blurred again, but this time from sheer fatigue.

Across the clearing, silence reigned.

The guards stared — weapons still drawn, but unmoving. Not out of hostility... but uncertainty. Stunned.

Herald, the caravan's lead merchant, finally stepped forward. Slow. Measured. One hand rested on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw. His gaze flicked from the twitching corpse of the captain to Caelith's slumped figure.

Behind him, a small voice broke the stillness.

"Is he... a knight?"

Alen peeked from behind his father's cloak, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper. The boy clutched the fabric tightly, staring at Caelith like he wasn't sure if he was real.

Herald didn't answer the boy immediately. He approached Caelith, stopping a few paces away — close enough to speak, far enough to react if needed.

The angelic beauty of the man, mixed with his disheveled and bloodied appearance, created a curious juxtaposition.

"...You saved us," Herald said, voice low. Cautious. "Whoever you are, that power... I've never seen anything like it."

Caelith didn't respond, he just tightened his grip on the sword, forcing himself to stay upright.

Herald glanced at the bandits — now frozen in place, most of them visibly shaken, some inching backward.

The guard leader raised a hand, signaling his men to surround the remaining bandits.

Herald looked at Caelith.

"We have food. Bandages. Clothes. You look like hell," he added with a faint attempt at a smile, careful not to offend. "Let us repay the debt."

Herald's tone was respectful — but edged with caution. He didn't understand what he'd just witnessed. None of them did.

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But none dared turn their backs on the one who killed the captain.

Herald gave Caelith space, gesturing for one of his men to bring a waterskin. The guard obeyed quickly, offering it with trembling hands. Caelith took it, his grip weak but steady enough to drink. The water was lukewarm, but it eased the burning in his throat.

Herald knelt beside his son, gently inspecting the shallow cut along Alen's arm. The boy winced but stayed still, his eyes flicking to Caelith every few seconds.

"You'll be alright," Herald murmured, tying a cloth around the wound with practiced hands. He ruffled the boy's hair, then stood, his gaze returning to Caelith.

The young swordsman hadn't moved. Still kneeling, sword planted before him, breath steadier now but labored. Dirt and blood stained his clothes, and his face was pale under the flickering torchlight.

Herald approached again, stopping a few paces away.

"You didn't have to intervene," he said. "Most wouldn't have. You saved us all. That deserves more than a thank you."

He reached into his pouch, pulling out a small coin purse.

"Come with us to the capital. We can offer coins, provisions, a place to rest. You've earned that — and more."

Caelith's fingers tightened on his sword. He didn't take the pouch.

Chains. Screams. Betrayal. The memory of blood in the forest roots.

He didn't trust offers. Not easily. Not anymore.

But he needed information. Resources. And most of all, he needed to reach the capital — the academy was there. He'd been traveling by foot this whole time, alone, hunted, exhausted.

This was an opportunity.

His voice was hoarse, but firm. "I'll come."

Herald smiled faintly, relief flickering across his face. "Good. We wouldn't have taken no for an answer anyway. You've earned your place — and your pay. Stay with us until the capital, we'll cover your needs and more. Consider it payment for protection."

Around them, the remaining bandits tried to escape but, outnumbered, the guards restrained them.

This couldn't have been their first robbery.

A smirk appeared on Caelith's face and Herald's eyes seemed to have dollar signs in them.

Herald gave a small, respectful nod in return, then stepped back to rally his men.