The necrotic corruption had clawed its way through his blood vessels, scorching his flesh and turning his muscles inside out in a agonizing display of biological decay, leaving behind a scarred, monstrous vessel that served as a daily monument to the nightmare waiting to claim them all.
The shocking truth was that the cleaver was actually his salvation. It was a unique, ancient weapon designed to suppress the relentless progression of his transformation from a refined dark elf into a mindless, predatory monster of the night.
The blade had granted him just enough borrowed time to harvest life energy and temporarily restore his mind and body, but the catastrophic damage to his physical form was already permanent. That gruesome sacrifice was the true reason he bore such a terrifying, flayed appearance today.
That single, harrowing experience had forced Eric to take the cursed affliction they harbored with absolute, deadly seriousness. He poured every ounce of his remaining strength into an unyielding, perpetual struggle to survive, even though he often questioned what purpose he was actually living for.
He and his sister had been brutally banished from their ancestral home and family simply because they looked different—cast out like trash and left to fend for themselves against the vicious predators and nightmarish hazards of an unforgiving world.
Yet, despite being abandoned in the dark with no one to rely on but his sister, Eric did not perish. He forged himself anew, shedding the helpless weakling he had once been. He provided food, shelter, and security for them both, while actively seeking out and rescuing every doomed dark elf he encountered along their journey.
He knew the harsh truth: they were all marching toward an inevitable grave, yet he refused to let them die alone in the cold darkness, driving himself to the brink of collapse every day just to buy them a few more precious dawns of borrowed time.
In truth, "saved" wasn't entirely the right word if Eric was being completely honest with himself. What he really did was recruit those outcast survivors into a surrogate family, offering them a fleeting fighting chance at life. Still, a hollow ache lingered in his heart—he knew he could have saved so many more if simple survival were all these doomed dark elves and fellow Exiles truly needed.
Apart from losing countless dark elves to the relentless curse that demanded a constant harvest of life energy, Eric had watched many other friends and potential family members perish at the hands of the dangerous world they inhabited.
Although he was formidable enough to crush most foes in battle, he remained utterly powerless against higher threats—most notably, the absolute, primal reality of certain death. He had stood by, completely helpless, as his comrades and brethren were slaughtered one by one.
Eventually, the unbearable agony broke something fundamental inside him; he simply stopped caring. He ceased his noble crusade to save doomed dark elves, instead recruiting them merely as expendable human shields to buy himself one more day of hollow existence.
The weight of his past failures settled over his soul like a leaden mantle, suffocating every remnant of warmth until his heart transformed into an unyielding block of ice, utterly detached from the deaths of those who marched beneath his grim, uncompromising banner.
When even that self-serving strategy failed to bring him peace, and with every reason for living extinguished, Eric resolved to yield to the monstrous corruption that had been threatening to ravage his body. Sheila desperately tried to stop him from abandoning his sanity, but there was ultimately nothing she could do to break his suicidal apathy.
It seemed he was truly destined to surrender to absolute despair.
However, right at his darkest hour, he crossed paths with another group—a band of outcasts who had surprisingly refused to give in to despair. Though they were utterly naive to the brutal mechanics of this harsh reality, something about their stubborn resilience reignited a long-extinguished spark within Eric. It made him want to try saving people once more—or perhaps, just one specific person. And that person was KO.
KO's original group had comprised only two companions alongside himself: Leyland and Sasha. Eric took one single look at the trio and recognized instantly that they were completely inexperienced when it came to surviving in the treacherous wilderness. KO acted like a stalwart knight—a glorified, unwavering protector to the two individuals under his watch.
One of them had the unhinged appearance of a mad joker, largely due to how his once-luxurious, prestigious garments had been utterly shredded and ruined. The other resembled a high-born royal maid, the vibrant fabric of her attire having lost all its luster and value after being subjected to the relentless strain of the unforgiving forest.
It didn't take long for Eric's sharp instincts to deduce that Leyland and Sasha were actually displaced nobility.
Their polished mannerisms, refined postures, and delicate hands betrayed their highborn origins far more clearly than their ruined silk garments ever could, serving as undeniable proof that they belonged to a world of opulence rather than the blood-soaked soil of this unforgiving wilderness.
Yet, when Eric confronted them and KO directly regarding their secret titles, they all adamantly denied the accusation. However, rather than letting the deception make him more suspicious, Eric found himself surprisingly relieved. He was simply glad to finally have someone else to converse with besides his volatile sister—even if it was almost exclusively KO who matched his quiet, measured temperament.
As time went on, Eric grew immensely fond of KO. He gradually entrusted him with numerous critical responsibilities, coming to feel that KO was perhaps the only soul in the realm who truly comprehended the crushing burden of leadership he carried. To be sure, Eric's sister understood her brother's personal agony, but she had never held a command role herself, nor had she ever stood as the sole guardian protecting others from complete oblivion.
Still, Sheila remained paramount to Eric's existence; she was the single anchor maintaining his fragile sanity. Eric knew with equal certainty that he served as that exact same anchor for her.
As their bond forged through shared hardship deepened, Eric eventually discovered an extraordinary enchanted weapon—one he knew without hesitation he would entrust to KO.
The ancient artifact resonated with a faint, otherworldly hum that vibrated through the air, casting ethereal shadows across the dirt whenever it was drawn, whispering forgotten secrets of a long-lost age into the mind of whoever possessed the fortitude to wield its deadly edge.
This weapon was none other than KO's most cherished dirk. Eric had desperately wanted to bestow upon his friend a priceless gift—a weapon powerful enough to preserve KO's life even after Eric himself was long dead. Yet, for the longest time, no ordinary blade seemed worthy of that grand purpose.
Eventually, he uncovered the ultimate weapon: The Timeless Dirk. Though the dirk harbored a terrifying curse of its own, Eric reasoned that its burden was far more merciful than the horrific biological decay the dark elves were forced to endure.