The Tale of Vice and Virtue

As darkness enveloped the horizon, the moon loomed larger, casting an ominous glow. The sky became filled with countless stars, each one a distant reminder of solitude. The trees, like mournful souls, danced with the relentless winds, their branches reaching out for solace in the desolate land.

A group of men walked through the dark forest with a wagon and three lanterns.

The men were dressed in plain medieval clothing, their faces damp with sweat.

One of them, a colossal figure, wore tight clothes that revealed his well-defined muscles. His long, brown hair and unsettling gaze added an air of discomfort.

Ragnar, a young man following them, looked upon the wagon. It was filled with bags of gold and jewelry, shining through Ragnar's surprised eyes.

His mind was hungry for gold and treasure; he adores wealth unlike anyone in the group.

"Ragnar, stop ogling the treasures; you appear as though you would eat them," Fae said as the chuckled, their laughter echoing through the air.

Ragnar's smile wavered with a tinge of embarrassment, yet his arms instinctively tightened as his gaze remained fixated on the alluring sacks of gold.

Can't we just rob this and run? Why would we even give this treasure to someone who is already wealthy while giving us a fraction of the whole treasure we risked our lives for? Ragnar averted his gaze to the fellow men.

"Where's that coward, Ragnar? Isn't that scrawny weakling your friend?" Marco atop the wagon sneered at Ragnar, his voice dripping with disdain.

Ragnar did not answer; rather, he gave an uncomfortable look to the man.

"He must have been frightened by this dark forest. Let him be," one of the men, Fae carrying lanterns responded with a solemn tone, acknowledging his absence.

The forest continued to get spooky, with random sounds echoing everywhere and eyes gazing towards them.

After minutes of walking in silence, a voice shattered the stillness.

"Which village are we heading to again?" one of the men asked.

"Wait, let me check," another man responded, reaching into his pouch to retrieve a map.

The map, weathered by time, still retained legible information. Ragnar peered at it and hesitantly replied, "Town of Siro, I think."

"The town is quite a distance away. It will likely take us hours to reach," the man holding the map remarked, his tone tinged with realism.

"It's that old man's fault! He should have given us more than half of the gold here!" Marco atop the wagon bellowed, his voice filled with anger.

"We risked our lives to obtain these treasures! We ventured to the northern mountains, facing Ghouls and Terrorizers. Look at the bruises we bare! How dare that old man!" he continued, his frustration evident.

"I won't allow it. We were entrusted with this task, and we cannot simply abandon it," the man declared, his gaze unwavering and serious.

The man atop the wagon responded with annoyance, causing the group to fall into silence once more.

The group continued their journey through the eerie forest, enveloped in an unsettling silence. The aura emanating from the entities permeated the air, instilling fear within the men. The wind intensified, carrying with it a heightened presence of the mysterious entities, further unsettling the group.

"These entities are becoming increasingly bothersome. Cliffe, do you think they might attack us?" Kirk at the front of the wagon asked, his voice trembling with fear.

"Don't worry, they won't unless we lose our lantern," Cliffe reassured, his gaze fixed on the entities.

"What concerns me is the possibility of a Molten Phantom appearing before us," the man responded anxiously.

"No need to worry. They rarely appear in these parts of the west, and Molten Phantoms are even rarer. The chances of encountering one are slim," Cliffe replied, trying to alleviate the man's fears.

The men pressed on with their journey, despite the lingering fear among some of them. As time passed, the wind grew fiercer, and eerie sounds echoed through the forest.

"Cliffe, how do these lanterns keep the entities away from us? And what exactly is a Molten Phantom?" Ragnar asked timidly, his voice filled with curiosity. The men burst into laughter at Ragnar's question, but Cliffe swiftly silenced them.

"Quiet! Well, these lanterns are special. They emit a flame infused with light essences and have been blessed by the Fathers. As for the Molten Phantom, you'll find out in due time. I hope that answers your question, Ragnar," Cliffe replied, a smile gracing his face as he looked at Ragnar.

"Thank you," Ragnar replied, his voice still tinged with shyness.

Cliffe removed his hat, a gesture that spoke volumes of his gratitude. His blonde hair was revealed as he did so.

Despite being of average height, Cliffe's bravery knew no bounds. He sported leather attire, including a sizeable leather jacket.

"Let's rest here," Cliffe said, alarming the group with enthusiasm.

After nearly two hours of walking, exhaustion took hold of the group, prompting them to seek respite. They gathered beneath a tree, clutching their lanterns for comfort. As time passed, the wind intensified, making it difficult for the men to maintain their footing. The darkness seemed to expand, engulfing their surroundings in an even deeper veil.

"Cliffe, the wind is becoming unbearable. It's impossible to walk in these conditions. We should stay here for the night," one of the frightened men suggested, his legs trembling.

As the wind intensified, causing the trees' leaves to sway violently, the urgency in the man's voice grew.

"We need to find a safer place to take shelter!" he exclaimed, addressing all the men.

The men swiftly took measures to protect the precious treasures, wrapping themselves in long robes to shield against the relentless wind.

Just as they were preparing to depart, Cliffe realized that the wagon was too heavy for a single horse to pull.

"Ragnar! Help me push the wagon while the others guard the gold. Marco! Urge the horse to gallop as fast as possible!" Cliffe called out, rushing to the back of the wagon with Ragnar.

"Here we go! Yee!" Marco exclaimed, cracking his whip with all his might and urging the horse forward at full speed.

Even with the horse galloping at its maximum speed, the progress remained frustratingly slow. "Ragnar! Push harder!" Cliffe shouted with determination, urging Ragnar to exert more force. The men held their lanterns, using their light to ward off the encroaching entities, determined to keep them at bay.

"AHHH!" Ragnar let out a shout, channeling all his strength into pushing the wagon with even greater force.

"That's the spirit!" Cliffe chuckled, thoroughly amused by Ragnar's determination. The laughter spread among the men, a momentary release of tension amidst the challenging circumstances.

"We won't meet our end here. I refuse to let that happen! There's so much left for me to accomplish in life," Cliffe declared with determination, his words filled with conviction. "Ragnar, I know you share the same aspirations. Don't you dare fail me! None of us will perish here!"

The laughter of the men grew even louder, echoing through the chaotic winds.

"I feel a genuine sense of happiness right now. I can't explain it, but at least we can find solace in this moment," Cliffe remarked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Ragnar. Ragnar was both surprised and amused by Cliffe's demeanor, finding himself drawn into the joy of the moment.

"I'm glad to hear that, Cliffe. We'll get through this together," Ragnar replied, returning Cliffe's smile.

Despite the entities closing in from all sides, the men pressed on. The Ghouls' menacing presence was eerie as their sharp teeth glinted in the dim light and their claws poised to claim a life. The men couldn't help but feel a wave of fear wash over them at the sight of the creatures' grotesque and intimidating forms.

I can sense something. Ragnar thought.

Ragnar's mind raced as he sensed something amiss. His eyes began to ache, and even when he tried to close them, the pain only intensified. Fear gripped his heart as he scanned his surroundings, unable to pinpoint the source of his distress.

Cliffe noticed Ragnar's discomfort but couldn't discern the cause. Concern etched across his face, he approached Ragnar and asked, "Are you alright, Ragnar?"

Ragnar forced a laugh, concealing the pain in his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, trying to reassure Cliffe.

Cliffe, sensing something amiss, persisted. "Are you sure?"

Despite his discomfort, Ragnar nodded, and they pressed on. The entities drew nearer, their presence growing more menacing as the dwindling Light Essence threatened to extinguish the fire.

Without warning, one of the men carrying a lantern suddenly collapsed to the ground, the light extinguishing along with his consciousness.

"Fae!" Cliffe's voice cracked with anguish as he instinctively moved towards Fae's fallen form, only to be halted by Ragnar's firm grip.

"Don't, Cliffe! It's too dangerous! You'll meet the same fate!" Ragnar's voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation as he held Cliffe back, his own eyes filled with tears.

The gravity of the situation sank in as the reality of their dire circumstances became all too apparent. The loss of their comrade and the light cast a heavy shadow over their hearts.

Their hearts sank as they helplessly watched the Ghouls descend upon Fae, tearing into his flesh without mercy. The men's eyes welled up with tears as they witnessed the gruesome fate that befell their friend.

"Why didn't he speak up about his discomfort? We were just starting to feel happiness, and now this..." Cliffe's voice cracked with grief, tears streaming down his face.

Overwhelmed by sorrow and the weight of their loss, Cliffe's anguish turned into a fierce determination. "We can't go on like this! I can't bear to see anyone else suffer the same fate!" Cliffe fought back against Ragnar's restraint, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and resolve.

With a heavy heart, Cliffe's voice quivered as he surrendered to the bleak reality. "I... I give up. The lanterns are on the verge of extinguishing, and hope seems to have abandoned us," he said in a low tone, tears streaming down his face, their sorrow mirroring the impending doom.

Ragnar's gaze fell upon the encroaching entities, their grotesque forms now just two meters away.

Ragnar's voice trembled with a mix of exhaustion and despair as he uttered his heartfelt plead, "I don't want to die yet; I–I still have goals that I haven't even achieved yet!"

His unfulfilled dreams and aspirations weighed heavily on him, adding to his weariness. The awareness of his approaching end grew, sapping what little strength he had left.

In the face of imminent death, hope dwindled, and sadness settled upon them, casting a shadow over the dreams that would forever remain unfulfilled.

As the men resigned themselves to their fate, they sat down, their eyes fixated on the encroaching entities. Fear and guilt washed over them, their hearts heavy with a sense of impending doom.

Amidst the somber atmosphere, Marco's voice broke the silence, laden with a tinge of bitterness. "That coward got lucky this time. Ragnar, your friend managed to survive," he muttered, his tone low and resentful.

Ragnar's response was barely audible; his voice was filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. "Bane, you made it," he whispered.

"Ragnar, I've noticed that you find it difficult to talk to others. Perhaps it's something you can work on," Cliffe suggested gently.

A bitter chuckle escaped Ragnar's lips as he replied, his voice tinged with resignation. "How can I improve when I'm on the brink of death? There's no time left," he lamented, the weight of his impending demise overshadowing any hope for personal growth.

As the men's laughter echoed through the forest, a moment of respite washed over them. However, their laughter gradually subsided, replaced by a silence. Cliffe let out a heavy sigh, his tone filled with a mix of resignation and curiosity.

"I'm suggesting that you work on improving your communication skills when we meet in the afterlife," Cliffe said, his gaze fixed upon Ragnar, his expression carrying a mysterious undertone. A sly smile played on Ragnar's lips, leaving him intrigued by Cliffe's enigmatic words.

"I was truly pleased by my conclusion. If only our time is much longer then we could enjoy every moment of our lives. A Man of Honor, did I truly become a true man?" Cliffe asked with a heavy heart, his voice tinged with sadness.

As Cliffe posed the question, a hushed reverence fell upon the group. Each man's response carried unwavering conviction, affirming Cliffe's unwavering integrity.

"Yes, Cliffe, you are undeniably a man," Kirk's voice resonated with sincerity.

"Without a doubt," Marco's response echoed with unwavering certainty.

Ragnar's words held a profound weight, his voice filled with genuine admiration: "You will always be a Man of Honor, forever, Cliffe."

Cliffe was overwhelmed by his companions' support, tears of gratitude mixing with his cries. In that moment, their bond grew stronger through mutual respect and unwavering support. But at the cost of death.