"Run!! Run!! Run!! Buddy!" the man shouted again, his voice rough as he leaned forward and urged the horse on.

The blue war horse ran like a beast driven by fire.

Pain burned through its left hind leg, blood dripping with every step, but its eyes were sharp and fierce.

It did not slow down. Instead, it pushed harder, faster than it ever had before.

Every breath felt heavy, every stride sent pain through its body, yet its will was stronger than the pain.

It ran not for itself, but for the man on its back.

The man did not notice the blood.

The wind roared in his ears, and the ground blurred beneath them.

All he felt was speed, wild, desperate speed.

He thought the horse was fine, that it was answering his call with all its strength.

Behind them, loud shouts rang out.

"Catch him!" "Don't let him escape!"

"Whoever catches him will get promoted!"

The voices were full of greed and excitement.

Hooves thundered as hundreds of soldiers chased after them, their weapons shining under the open sky.

The sound of pursuit grew closer, like a storm rolling in.

The horse kept running.

Its breath became rough, foam forming at the corner of its mouth.

Blood stained the grass behind it, leaving a clear trail.

Its wounded leg shook, but still it did not stop.

Even as its strength slowly drained away, the horse lowered its head and ran forward with stubborn resolve.

No matter what, it would not fall, not yet.

As the shouts behind grew louder and closer, the man finally looked back.

What he saw would make most people lose their minds.

Around five hundred men were charging straight at him on their war horses.

Dust rose like smoke behind them.

They were fast, fierce, and only about three hundred meters away.

Yet the man did not panic.

A cold sneer formed on his face, as if he was already thinking of how many of them he could kill.

He was about to turn his head forward again when something caught his eye.

Red stains.

Blood marked the ground they had passed.

Long, uneven streaks painted the grass and dirt.

His smile vanished.

He quickly checked his own body. No wounds. No pain.

His heart skipped a beat.

He bent his waist slightly and looked down.

The moment he saw it, his pupils shrank, and all the color drained from his face.

The horse's left hind leg was torn open.

Flesh was split, blood pouring out nonstop.

The wound was so deep it looked like the hoof was almost cut off.

Any normal horse would have fallen long ago.

Yet the blue war horse kept running.

It did not slow down. It did not cry out. It just ran.

Panic slammed into the man's chest.

"Buddy!" he shouted, his voice shaking.

"What happened? Why didn't you tell me?! Buddy!"

The horse did not stop.

It could feel them, the five hundred men behind, the killing intent, the danger closing in.

It knew one thing clearly.

If it stopped, its master would die.

The man leaned forward desperately.

"Buddy, stop… don't… we will fig—"

He was cut off.

The horse let out a loud snort, followed by a powerful roar.

"Neighhhh!!!!"

The cry was fierce, stubborn, and full of will. It was as if the horse was telling him—

I'm fine. Don't look back. Hold on.

Tears welled in the man's eyes, but his grip tightened instead.

The wounded horse ran on, blood flying with every step, carrying its master forward as death chased them from behind.

After running for a long time, the wound grew worse.

Blood kept flowing, soaking the horse's leg and dripping onto the ground.

Its steps became heavy, and its breath grew rough.

Behind them, the pursuers were still there.

The sound of hooves never faded. They were still chasing.

The man's heart shook.

"Buddy… you can stop now," he said, his voice low and strained.

"We can fight them. I won't run anymore."

The horse did not listen. It kept running.

"Buddy, please listen to me," the man begged.

His voice broke. Watching his beloved friend bleed like this hurt more than any wound he had ever taken himself.

Still, the horse did not turn back.

It did not slow down. It did not try to comfort him. Its only thought was clear and firm.

Protect him. No matter what.

"Please… stop," the man whispered.

Tears finally fell.

Two clear streams dropped from his eyes and landed on the horse's neck.

For a brief moment, the horse trembled.

It slowed just a little.

The horse was confused.

It had never seen its master cry like this, not even when his closest brothers had died on the battlefield.

Its ears twitched, and its steps became uneven.

Slowly, it turned its head just a bit.

Its eyes met his.

Pain filled them. Struggle filled them.

Then bitterness appeared.

The horse's eyes grew wet, and its face tightened as if it was forcing itself to endure something unbearable.

With great effort, it opened its mouth and let out a long, broken cry.

"Neighhhhh..."

The sound was low, filled with sorrow and refusal.

It was saying goodbye. It was saying don't stop me. It was saying let me do this.

The horse lowered its head again and forced its wounded leg forward, blood spraying with each step, as it ran on, carrying its master toward safety, even as its own strength faded away.

As the horse kept running, the ground ahead suddenly opened up.

About a hundred meters in front of them was a long, deep pit.

The land ended sharply, falling into darkness below.

The horse slowed down.

It stared at the pit, its steps turning careful.

There was hesitation in its eyes, but not fear of death.

It was not afraid of falling. What stopped it was something else.

It was afraid it might fail to jump.

Afraid that its wounded leg would not hold.

Afraid that it would not be strong enough.

Behind them, the sound of hooves grew louder.

Closer. Closer.

The horse turned its head slightly and looked back.

The enemy was almost upon them.

A sharp snort burst from its nose.

Hot steam flowed out as its breath turned wild.

Its ears pinned back, and something hard and final formed in its eyes.

It made a choice.

The horse turned forward again and suddenly sped up.

Pain tore through its body, but it ignored it completely.

One thought burned in its mind.

No matter what, I must protect him. Not just my master, my one and only friend.

The pit rushed toward them.

The man realized what the horse was trying to do.

His heart dropped, and fear rushed over his face.

"Buddy, no!" he begged loudly. "Don't jump! Stop! Please stop!"

His voice cracked as he clung to the horse, shaking his head again and again.

But the horse did not stop.

The horse's speed increased with every step as the pit rushed closer and closer.

Wind screamed past them.

The ground shook.

And at the very edge—

The horse let out a roar that shook the sky.

"Neighhhhhhh!!!!!"

The sound was so fierce, so full of will, that even the soldiers chasing behind froze in place.

Their horses stopped. Fear crept into their hearts as they watched.

With that roar, the strongest it had ever given, and also its last, the blue war horse leaped.

The world seemed to stop.

The man felt his heart jump into his throat as he looked down.

Beneath them was a deep, dark pit with no end in sight.

Pain filled his eyes, and tears he had never shed before poured freely.

Thud!!!

The horse landed.

It crossed nearly twenty-six feet.

The moment its hooves touched the ground, its body gave out.

The horse collapsed heavily, crashing onto the earth.

At the same time, the man was thrown forward and rolled across the ground.

Dust filled the air.

The man quickly turned around, his breath shaking.

"Buddy!" he shouted.

The blue war horse lay there, unmoving, its chest rising faintly, blood spreading beneath it.

The man rushed forward and dropped to his knees.

With shaking hands, he lifted the horse's head and placed it gently on his lap.

In the distance, nearly five hundred soldiers stood frozen on the other side of the pit.

None of them dared to jump. They shouted curses and threats, but their voices meant nothing now.

The man heard none of it.

Tears fell freely from his eyes, dropping onto the horse's face.

The horse slowly opened its eyes.

They were dull now, filled with sadness and reluctance.

It looked at the man, not as a mount, not as a beast, but as a friend looking at another friend.

"You gave your life just to save me…" the man cried. His shoulders shook. "Why… why did you do that?"

The horse let out a low groan. Its eyes moved weakly, and tears slid down the side of its face.

It did not want to leave. Not yet. But its body was failing, and the world before its eyes was turning dark.

It tried to stand.

Its legs trembled.

It failed.

The horse collapsed again, its head resting on the man's lap.

"I'm sorry… my friend," the man whispered through sobs. "I'm sorry… because of me—"

Before he could finish, the horse gave a weak snort.

With the last of its strength, it gently bumped its head against the man's stomach and let out a small, soft roar.

Neigh…

It was not angry. It was not blaming him.

It was saying this was my choice.

The man froze.

He understood.

He did not speak again.

He only held the horse tighter, pressing his forehead against its mane.

Slowly, the horse's breathing became weaker.

Each breath came slower than the last.

Then, with everything it had left, the horse lifted its head slightly and let out one final sound.

Neigh...!

The sound was faint, almost gentle.

Then its head grew heavy.

Its eyes slowly closed.

The blue war horse was gone.

The man stayed there, silent and broken, holding his fallen friend as the wind passed softly over the land, carrying away the echo of a loyalty that would never fade.

The man stayed silent, holding the lifeless horse, his tears falling without sound.

Then—

The horse's head shook slightly.

It was a very small movement, something no normal person would notice.

It shook again, gently, as if something inside was stirring.

Then from the horse's head, a human-shaped figure slowly emerged.

At first, it was blurry, like mist taking form.

Then it became clearer, little by little, until it could be seen clearly.

It was a young man.

He had short black hair, deep blue eyes, and an extremely beautiful face.

His body looked real, yet unreal at the same time, like it did not fully belong to this world.

The figure looked at the man holding the horse.

Sadness filled his eyes. Reluctance. Regret.

He wanted to say something, but no words came.

Slowly, he closed his eyes.

And then, he vanished.

That figure was Vivian.

The moment his eyes closed, the cycle ended.

Darkness spread across his consciousness, swallowing everything.

That horse had been his last life.

His eight-point-four millionth life.

One among countless lives.

As Vivian tried to open his eyes again, to enter the next life, he failed.

He had no eyes. No hands. No legs.

He had no body at all.

It felt strange, but also familiar.

He had experienced this countless times before every rebirth.

This was the space between lives.

He remained there, floating in endless darkness.

Then, slowly—

Hands formed. Then legs. Then a body.

At last, it was time.

"Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaah!"

A loud cry echoed out.

"Honey, our first child is a boy," a man's voice said, filled with joy.

"Yes…" a woman's voice replied, weak but full of emotion. She had just endured childbirth.

"Waaaaah! Waaaaah!"

The child kept crying.

The man spoke again, excited. "Honey, have you thought of a name?"

"Of course," the woman said softly, her breath still uneven. "I have."

"What is it?" the man asked eagerly.

She smiled faintly and said,

"His name will be Vivian D. Zenithara."

The moment the name echoed—

The crying stopped.

The child fell silent, as if he had heard something familiar…

as if he had remembered something long forgotten.

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