ols, however, coldly shook his head and replied, “Why should I spare you? Did you spare those you killed? You know your remorse now, but why commit the crime in the first place? You’re just making excuses. Someone like you deserves to die.” With that, Brutols picked up a long spear and thrust it into the leader’s eye, piercing his brain and ending his wretched life. Perhaps in hell, he could apologize to those he had wronged, Brutols mused.

After killing all the bandits, Brutols freed their captives, escorting them back to the magic tower where the white-robed mage’s ghost could help them reclaim a better life. The children, tragically turned deaf and mute by the bandits, deeply saddened Brutols. If only such horrors hadn't befallen them. With a sigh, Brutols acknowledged the world's relentless tragedies, finding strength in his mission to fight against them.

Aware that without combat more people would face such dire fates, Brutols remained optimistic and resolute. This world lacked government protection, leaving its people vulnerable.

“Damn, this guy killed the entire bandit gang…” a black-clad man in the bushes muttered, his gaze filled with venomous hatred as he watched Brutols. This man, the true leader who had fled at the first sign of danger, silently cursed Brutols for destroying his gang.

Looting the bandits' corpses, Brutols found enough gold coins for his journey. Appreciating the quality of the coins, he sighed, recognizing they had been looted from innocent travelers. Though he disliked benefiting from others' suffering, he accepted the reality.

“Time to get moving," he told himself. After collecting some provisions, he set off again, unaware of the sinister eyes still watching him. Knowing he needed to prevent the war between northern magicians and dwarves, Brutols pressed on, conscious of the hundreds of miles yet to cover.

To conserve his limited flight scrolls for future obstacles, Brutols walked, his stride long and determined. After a couple of days, he encountered a formidable mountain, reminiscent of a scene from a horror novel, rumored to be filled with ghosts or inhabited by malevolent creatures.

Sighing wryly, Brutols knew he had to proceed, having promised the white-robed mage. Such convictions defined him; honor and belief in one's word were paramount. Without them, one was no different from a walking corpse. Despite the daunting task, Brutols was confident in his extraordinary fire abilities. If confronted by monsters, they would be taken aback by his prowess.

In the face of evil, theories about the mountain varied — from ghosts to dark magicians claiming it as a base to the mountain itself being a monstrous entity that occasionally razed nearby villages. Yet Brutols feared none of it, knowing his fire abilities were

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