Chapter 4 Do Not Make a Sound
This is the story of a man too straightforward to the point of folly.
“...Don’t make a sound. No matter what happens, don’t make a sound.”
Sul Dawen would never forget that scene.
As she slipped herself into the secret wine cellar beneath the bed, his mother covered his mouth with trembling hands, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Be good, my darling, don’t cry... Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you, Mommy loves you.”
After holding him one last time and pressing a kiss to his cheek, she took a deep breath, clenched her teeth around the valuables, and left.
Less than ten minutes later, she was slaughtered by robbers in their own living room.
Screams of women, cries, wails, and pleas for mercy... Six-year-old Sul was awakened every night by those sounds, tormented into sleeplessness.
In the countless nights that followed, every time he closed his eyes, it was as if he returned beneath the bed once more.
He dared not open them, as if doing so would reveal his mother, suppressing her pain and despair.
Her mouth wide open, eyes filled with tears staring at him, urging him not to come out.
He knew it was a self-deceiving illusion—at that time, covering his ears and head, he heard nothing, saw nothing.
The only image he retained was that of his mother’s lifeless, half-open face beneath the white cloth after she was found.
“...I was a coward.”
No reason, no excuse—throughout the long and agonizing years, Sul Dawen regretted his timidity and cowardice countless times.
“I will never let evil go unpunished!”
Why had I been so fearful then? Why had I lacked the courage to rush out and protect the ones I loved most?
Why had I not even the courage to die alongside them...?
“I will never abandon the innocent and the weak!”
Mother, how I miss you.
My sword will forever be raised for the weak, for those like you...
“Justice never compromises.”
I would rather die charging into battle than remain in this earthly hell of regret and pain...
“Judgment!” Silver light flashes, heads fly—but satisfaction is never attained.
This is a roar across time, a resonance of heroic souls and mortals alike, a dream shattering apart...
“My head hurts... It’s unbearable... Tears?”
When Lian awoke from sleep, he felt disoriented—the deep regret and despair weighing heavily on his heart.
“I am Lian Su, not Lien... cough, not Sul Dawen, the most righteous yet foolish Paladin of the Oath.”
He finally understood where the warning about self-perception danger on the hero soul card came from.
The origin of heroes is often tragedy, and Sul Dawen’s was particularly harsh.
He sat on the bench in the detention cell for a long time before catching his breath.
Fortunately, there seemed to be a suitable target for venting before him.
“Bang!”
His final punch slammed into the wall, ignoring a collapsed robber on the ground as Lian shook his numb wrist.
Six bruised and battered men lay sprawled in the cell, now all cowering trembling in the corner.
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