A vivid bloom of blood seemed to burst before her eyes, while a chorus of screams and wails echoed through her ears.
Her father's agonized cry as he was cleaved in half.
Her mother, gently tucking her into the basement, whispering for her to stay quiet, then walking away with a short axe in hand.
And finally, the twisted, gleeful expression of the cultist who had found her.
Memories she had blurred for her own survival now returned in stark clarity, sharpened by the effects of the spell.
Hela reached out, gripping Roland's right arm. Her cracked lips moved, and a hoarse voice rasped from her throat.
"I want."
"Good," Roland replied. "Eat first. You'll need strength if you want revenge."
Hearing this, Hela pushed herself up, her body still numb and heavy. She accepted the bowl Roland handed her and began eating in silence.
Watching her begin to eat, Roland finally allowed himself to exhale.
Although the Blessing and dark elements had restored her physically, and even raised her to the level of a mage apprentice, she was still, at her core, just a girl. Without proper nourishment especially after lying unconscious for two days her body couldn't truly recover.
Satisfied that she could eat normally, Roland returned to the table. He pulled out fresh materials and began crafting another scroll.
The scrolls he had already prepared over the past two days were more than enough to ensure their survival. But his goal wasn't just survival these scrolls were his tools for vengeance.
Though the cultists who had attempted to sacrifice him were already dead, their entire organization still lingered in the Northern Kingdom.
Roland's childhood in the tribe hadn't been particularly joyful. His parents were mere herders, barely able to protect and raise him. But still they had raised him. That kindness could not be forgotten.
He had no intention of avenging the chieftains or elders who oppressed people like his family. But his parents his parents they deserved justice.
In a lawless world like this one, strength was the only rule. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That was the code of the extraordinary, and Roland would abide by it.
The cult had slaughtered his entire family.
So, naturally, Roland would do the same kill theirs.
The cult, a minor faction that emerged amid the chaos of the Rose War, was just a standard starting enemy in the game. Their presence in the Northern Kingdom was temporary and unstable. Neither their numbers nor their power were particularly impressive.
Due to the limitations of their sacrificial rituals and the lack of proper arcane knowledge within their ranks, their strongest member was no more than a Third Circle Mage.
And for Roland, that was no threat at all.
With enough preparation, he could bury that mage under a mountain of scrolls.
More importantly, that Third Circle Mage had been one of the early bosses in the game's starting zones. His skills and combat patterns had long since been dissected and published online. Roland hadn't even started in the Northern Kingdom in his previous life, but he'd still come here just to farm that boss hoping to get the rare, high-tier staff the boss could drop.
He had tried nearly a hundred times.
In the end, the staff never dropped, and he was forced to buy it off another player grumbling all the while.
Soon, Hela finished her meal. She set the bowl aside on the nightstand and quietly climbed out of bed.
She stood beside Roland, silently watching him draw his runes.
In less than ten minutes, Roland completed another Second Circle scroll.
After sealing it, he turned to Hela.
She met his gaze and opened her mouth. Her voice was rough, but her words were clear.
"I want revenge. I want to kill every last one of them."
Her tone dripped with hatred fury as sharp as a blade.
Roland didn't object.
He wasn't the kind to spout lines like "vengeance only breeds more vengeance" or preach about "letting go" while telling others to reflect on why they were targeted. That kind of self-righteous thinking disgusted him.
Staring into her eyes, burning with raw hatred, Roland said calmly:
"You're too weak right now. If you charge off seeking revenge, you'll only get yourself killed. What you need is training to grow stronger."
"I'll give you two options."
He paused for a moment, then held up a finger.
"First, focus on close combat. I'll teach you a melee fighting technique and a few supportive spells."
Then he raised a second finger.
"Second, focus on ranged combat. I'll teach you some basic cantrips and First Circle spells, along with close-quarter self-defense."
After hearing this, Hela asked without emotion:
"Which one's stronger? I'll pick that."
"In terms of strength… they're about the same," Roland replied after a moment of thought.
Becoming a true mage what players liked to call a 'Spell master'-was undoubtedly the most powerful path. But only those who had mastered a wide arsenal of spells could earn that title.
Hela had no foundation. At best, she could learn some beginner evocation spells and serve as a magical artillery platform.
"Which one's faster?" she asked quietly, not missing a beat.
"That depends on you," Roland said. "If you can endure pain, the first method shouldn't take too long. The second depends on your memory you'd need to learn around fifty or sixty low-tier spells to be useful."
He pulled out a scroll containing a Second Circle spell and laid it in front of her.
"Take a look. This is the kind of thing you'd need to memorize."
Hela picked up the scroll, scanned it for a few seconds, then placed it back down.
"I can't read," she said.
"Then the first one it is," Roland replied, putting the scroll away.
"The training ahead will be hard. Exhausting. If you can't take it, you can always tell me."
He stood up and headed toward the door.
"Come with me."
Without a word, Hela followed him.
"Do you have a weapon preference?" Roland asked as they walked. "I can teach you sword, dagger, spear, or longbow."
"I'll leave it to you."
"Then the sword. It'll serve you well, even after your revenge is done."
Roland pushed open the door casually.
Hela followed him out, stepping into an open courtyard blanketed in pale snow. Soft flakes drifted slowly from the sky.
She reached out, catching a snowflake in her palm. The cold stung where it touched her skin.
Roland returned from a nearby storage shed, carrying two worn wooden swords. He handed one to her.
"Let's see what you can do."
Hela clenched the hand that had caught the snow, then opened it again to take the sword.
It felt heavier than she expected yet not too heavy. Had she grown stronger?
As she began to swing the sword, testing its weight and balance, Roland stepped casually to the center of the courtyard.
Then he turned back toward her, raised his sword slightly, and beckoned with his hand.
"Come at me."