God Of Last Regret

Chapter 7: The Dwarf’s Debt

The Legion came faster than anyone expected.

Three days after the outpost job, patrols started sweeping the eastern ridges like angry hornets. That spared kid must’ve sung loud and clear descriptions of the limping demon with the bloody sword had spread. Lirael pulled the whole camp out in a hurry, but the retreat turned ugly quick. Arrows whistled through the trees. Men and women fell screaming. Kael ran with the rest, satchel slung tight, his bad leg burning like fire with every stride.

“Keep moving!” Mira shouted ahead of him, axe out and bloody.

They were nearly at the narrow gorge that would hide them when a big squad cut them off. Ironfist dwarves, by the look of them stocky, armored in heavy plate, axes and hammers swinging. These weren’t regular Legion grunts. These were the Iron General’s enforcers, the ones who crushed rebellions under their boots.

Kael got separated in the chaos. One minute he was covering a wounded scout, the next a massive dwarf barreled straight at him, roaring like an avalanche.

Garrick Ironfist.

The dwarf was a wall of muscle and scarred gray skin, beard braided with iron rings, one eye milky from some old wound. His hammer came down hard enough to crack stone. Kael barely dodged, the impact shaking his teeth. Pain flared up his left leg, but he pushed through, drawing his sword.

They clashed alone on a rocky ledge while the rest of the fighting raged below. No one else was around. Just steel and grunts and the smell of churned earth.

Garrick was strong as hell. Every swing carried real weight, the kind that could pulp a man in one hit. But Kael had the System’s jagged power and that new Echo Strike trait humming under his skin. He waited for an opening, then triggered it on a counter. The stored momentum slammed into his blade like a second strike. The dwarf’s guard shattered. Kael followed with a brutal slash across the thigh, then a pommel strike to the jaw that dropped the big bastard to one knee.

Garrick glared up at him, breathing hard, blood trickling into his beard. His hammer lay just out of reach.

“Finish it, ye limping bastard,” he growled. “Make it clean. I’ve earned that much.”

Kael’s chest heaved. The red haze whispered at the edges again, sweet and tempting. It would be easy. Safer. One less enemy to hunt them later. But he remembered the kid at the outpost. The young soldier from the first fight. The temple boy. All the blood already on his hands from Earth and here.

He lowered his sword.

“No.”

The dwarf blinked, confusion mixing with the pain on his face. “What kind of fool”

“You’re done,” Kael said, voice rough. “Walk away. Or crawl. I don’t care. But I’m not killing you today.”

He turned to leave, leg screaming, when Garrick’s voice stopped him.

“Honor debt, then. Damn you.” The dwarf spat blood and pushed himself up slowly, wincing. “Ironfist clan pays its dues. You spared me when you had the right to end me. I’ll fight at your side till that debt’s cleared. But I don't think I like it.”

Kael stared at him for a long second. Great. Just what he needed. Another complication.

They caught up with the retreating group near dusk, deep in the ravine where the camp was trying to reform. Lirael’s eyes narrowed the moment she saw the grizzled dwarf limping beside Kael.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded.

Garrick squared his shoulders, even though he was clearly hurting. “Name’s Garrick Ironfist. This limping idiot beat me fair and spared my life. Clan honor says I owe him. So I’m with you a lot now. For a time.”

Mira crossed her arms, looking between them. Garr, the stocky one-eared man from camp, actually laughed once short and bitter.

Lirael wasn’t amused. “We’re bleeding out here and you bring back an Ironfist? One of their enforcers?”

“He’s not fighting for them anymore,” Kael said quietly. “Not right now.”

Garrick snorted and immediately turned on him. “Don’t speak for me, boy. I still think you’re soft-headed. Sparing enemies? That mercy of yours is gonna get every last one of these people killed. Back in my unit we crushed rebellions proper no half measures. You cut the head off the snake or it bites you later.”

Kael rubbed his temples. The headache was back, worse after using Echo Strike. “I’m not cutting every head I see. That’s how you become the monster.”

The dwarf jabbed a thick finger at him. “And that’s how you end up dead with your friends beside you. I’ve seen it. You fight like the old blood, I’ll give you that. But your heart’s too damn soft for this war.”

Tension crackled through the small group watching. Mira shook her head. Old Garr muttered something about “another mouth to feed.” Lirael just watched, calculating, like she was deciding whether to slit the dwarf’s throat now or later.

Kael sat down hard on a fallen log, leg throbbing, the new level 3 strength feeling more like a curse than a gift. Stronger bursts, but the cracks were spreading. Vessel at 22%. Still glitching. Still wrong.

Garrick lowered himself nearby with a grunt, already arguing under his breath about proper ambush tactics and not leaving live witnesses. The dwarf’s voice was rough, constant, like gravel in a boot.

First real team tension, and it had only been an hour.

Kael closed his eyes and leaned back. The wind through the ravine felt colder now. Another fighter added to their side, sure. But at what cost? More voices pulled at him. More eyes watching his every mercy like it was poison.

“Another chance,” he whispered to himself, too low for anyone to hear.

But with Garrick Ironfist already picking at his methods, it felt like the noose wasn’t just tightening it was learning how to talk back.