At dawn, I woke up, groaning as a sharp pain shot through my leg. Looking around, I realized I was in an old wooden house. Scattered here and there were clay pots and two iron axes lying on the floor. My head was spinning—I had no idea where I was. The pain in my leg made it impossible to stand.

I glanced down at myself. I was dressed in rough, white clothing, a simple rope tied around my waist. A pair of pale trousers and sandals lay near me. My stomach growled fiercely, hunger gnawing at me like a wild dog. Just then, I heard a deep, booming voice.

"Oh, you've woken up. You should eat."

I looked up and saw a man standing in the doorway. His clothes were simple and pale, like mine, and he had a thick mustache. He must have noticed my attempt to rise, because he quickly added, "Don’t try to stand just yet. I’ve brought you some food."

He handed me a bowl of soup. I drank it eagerly, but my mind was still clouded with confusion. Who was this man? Where was I? Sensing my bewilderment, the man spoke again.

"I found you at the edge of the jungle," he explained. "You were in bad shape, so I brought you here. My name is Archibald. What’s yours? Do you have a job or a family?"

I paused, looking down at my hand. There, written in faint letters, was the name "Sarvian Elowen." I repeated it aloud. "My name is Sarvian Elowen."

I shook my head slowly, feeling a deep emptiness. "No, I have no family or job," I said.

Archibald nodded sympathetically. "Well, I’m a woodcutter. When you feel better, why not join me? We could use an extra hand."

As the days passed, my leg healed. One evening, I joined Archibald and the other woodcutters in the forest. We were chopping wood when a man rushed over, looking pale and shaken.

"Don't go any deeper into the jungle," the man warned, his voice trembling.

Archibald frowned. "Why not? What's going on?"

"There are 17 dead bodies," the man said, his voice barely steady. "All killed by one person."

A chill ran down my spine, but I tried to ignore it. I followed Archibald and the others deeper into the forest, curious. Soon, we came upon the bodies, strewn about like rag dolls. It was a gruesome sight—men slashed and hacked apart like animals.

As I stood there, horrified, another man appeared. His voice was harsh and commanding. "Leave. This is none of your concern."

Several people were already gathering the bodies, preparing to pack them away. My stomach churned as I stared at the carnage, trying to wrap my mind around what one man had done.

Then, a group of riders on horseback arrived. "Are they done yet?" one of them asked.

"Not yet," someone replied. "There are still a few bodies left to be buried."

I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer. "Who did this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

One of the riders turned to me. "A traitor," he spat. "A man who’s never shown...