Chapter 3 — Golden Scars  

Souta stared at the floor of the corridor.  

The torchlight danced across the cold stone walls of the castle.  

Clenched fists.  

Marked by the useless effort of facing two goblins.  

His pride was as wounded as his body.  

The whispers of the other heroes echoed in his mind:  

*“He shouldn’t even be here…”*  

*“Without a system, he’s just dead weight.”*  

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the approach.  

**Gabriel Gaiden.**  

The Hero of the Sword.  

An imposing presence.  

A steady gaze, without judgment.  

— *Souta, can we talk?*  

The voice was calm.  

But carried authority.  

Souta let out a sarcastic laugh.  

— *Sure, why not?*  

— *After all, I’ve got nothing better to do than polish armor and almost die.*  

Gabriel didn’t reply.  

He simply gestured.  

Souta followed, reluctantly.  

He could feel the eyes burning into his back.  

They reached a secluded room.  

Silence.  

Gabriel closed the door.  

Leaning against the wooden table, he spoke:  

— *What you did today was reckless.*  

— *You could have died fighting those goblins.*  

Souta crossed his arms.  

Sarcasm still burning.  

— *Well, thanks for saving my skin.*  

— *Want me to pay you back with an extra cleaning shift?*  

Gabriel cut him off.  

His tone firm, but not hostile.  

— *I’m not here to belittle you.*  

— *But I can’t recognize you as a hero either.*  

— *Not yet.*  

— *You’re without a system, Souta.*  

— *That puts you at a disadvantage.*  

— *And I don’t want you to die.*  

Souta looked away.  

The torchlight shadows danced on the wall.  

There was something painfully honest in Gabriel’s words.  

After a long silence, he muttered:  

— *And what do you want me to do?*  

— *Hide behind the others?*  

— *Run while you fight?*  

Gabriel sighed.  

His expression soft, yet resolute.  

— *Yes, if necessary.*  

— *It’s better to hide and survive than to die and be forgotten.*  

He paused.  

As if carefully choosing his next words.  

— *You seem like a good person.*  

— *But kindness alone isn’t enough to face the Demon King.*  

Souta clenched his fists.  

— *Easy for you to say.*  

— *You’ve got everything.*  

— *Power, skill… even that damn golden armor.*  

Gabriel shook his head.  

— *You think my life is perfect?*  

— *I lost my parents when I was twelve.*  

— *I have no family in my world.*  

— *All I have left… is this mission.*  

His voice softened.  

— *I know what it’s like to carry a void.*  

— *But you’re still here.*  

— *You can still find something worth fighting for.*  

— *Even if it takes time.*  

Souta stayed silent.  

The Hero of the Sword’s words carried an uncomfortable truth.  

Gabriel turned to leave.  

Before closing the door, he cast one last look:  

— *Think about it, Souta.*  

— *Don’t be ashamed to hide or run if you must.*  

— *The real shame is wasting a chance to survive.*  

The door shut.  

Souta exhaled.  

Serious.  

But he couldn’t resist a comment:  

— *So… the Hero of the Sword has scars too.*  

And for the first time, he felt something strange.  

It wasn’t shame.  

It was a seed.  

Small.  

Of determination.  

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