Chapitre 2 : Survivor

As the sun rose, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Arden and his fellow escapees gazed at the horizon, not with the fear of fugitives, but with the determination of those who have no hope. nothing to lose.

"We can't stop now," Arden breathed, his eyes scanning the tired faces looking up at him for courage. "They're still after us."

A murmur of acquiescence ran through the group. They knew they could not escape their pursuers forever. But Arden would not allow their hope to fade, not while he could still stand.

Their group, although disparate, was united by an unbreakable bond forged in the flames of their former captivity. Among them were men and women of all ages, each bearing the visible and invisible scars of their servitude.

Their first challenge was to find refuge and sustenance in a world that was almost foreign to them. The surrounding nature was both beautiful and menacing, full of unknown dangers. His first decisions were to lead them off the beaten path, anticipating the possibility that the bandits or even the former masters would launch search parties to capture the fugitives.

The days that followed were a mix of fear, exhaustion, and a dawning sense of freedom. Arden and his companions learned to feed on forest fruits, find water in hidden streams, and build makeshift shelters. Each small success was a victory against their past as slaves, each night spent sheltered from pursuers strengthened their hope for a better future.

But freedom also had its price. The group was quickly confronted with the harsh reality of life in the wild. Minor wounds could become infected without treatment, and hunger became a constant companion. Arden, however, refused to let despair take hold of them. He remembered all the stories heard in the camp, the legends of a world beyond the chains, and he used these tales to rally their spirits and keep the flame of hope alive.

........

As they wandered through the dense forest, Arden's group encountered a powerful river, a towering challenge on their path to freedom. The sound of water crashing against rocks resonated as a constant reminder of the unforgiving nature around them. Approaching the banks to assess the situation, Arden crouched down to drink some water, taking advantage of this moment to observe his reflection in the natural mirror formed by the less turbulent surface near the shore.

The face that looked back at him was that of a man transformed by hardship. His features were gaunt, the skin stretched tight over the bones of his face, each scar and scratch a testament to his struggle to survive. His eyes, however, glowed with fierce intensity, reflecting the indomitable determination that had driven him to escape slavery and fight for every breath of freedom. Once lively and full of life, they were now imbued with a deep gravity, witnesses to the horrors he had faced.

His hair, once well-groomed, was now long and messy, falling in unruly strands around his face and over his shoulders, like the wild marks of his new existence. The growing beard added to his tanned and hardened appearance, giving him the appearance of a warrior forged by hardship, far from the man he had been.

Arden's body, although lean, was sculpted by constant physical labor and battles for survival. Every bulging muscle beneath his skin bore witness to his strength acquired through adversity, while his arms and hands bore the marks of his incessant battle, both against men and against nature itself. Despite his thinness, an underlying vigor was visible, a capacity for resilience that kept him standing in the face of insurmountable challenges.

Observing his reflection, Arden became fully aware of how far he had come, of the man he had become. This moment of reflection offered him not only a vision of his physical transformation but also a glimpse of the strength of character he had forged in the flames of ordeal. Catching his breath, he stood up, his reflection blurring in the swirls of the river, ready to face the obstacles still ahead of him with the same unwavering determination that lit up his eyes.

Suddenly, a heartbreaking cry broke the silence, announcing the imminent arrival of the bandits.

"This way !" Arden ordered, leading his companions through a maze of bushes and trees.

It was then that Arden stumbled upon something strange, an incongruous shape halfway emerging from the muddy ground. He leaned down to examine it more closely, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cold object. She was a Behelit, her vacant eyes and gaping mouth forming a grotesque expression.

A shiver ran down Arden's spine. La Béhelit. He knew this thing, not from his life as a slave, but from a distant memory, from a world he thought fictional. "I'm in the world of Berserk," he realized inwardly, a revelation that sowed a mixture of terror and wonder in his mind.

"Arden!" a voice called from behind him, snapping him out of his stupor. "We must continue!"

Clutching the Behelit in his hand, Arden stood up, a new fire burning in his eyes. "Follow me!" he shouted, his voice carrying an unwavering confidence.

They resumed their flight, Arden at the head, the Behelit like a talisman against the darkness that threatened to engulf them. The screams of their pursuers grew closer, a constant reminder of the danger at their heels.

Suddenly, a group of bandits appeared in front of them, blocking their path. Arden stopped abruptly, his companions crowding behind him.

"This is the end, slaves!" the bandit leader roared, a cruel smile distorting his features.