As the evening deepened, the sky outside turning a dark shade of indigo, Amukelo made his way toward the pub that Versted had mentioned earlier.
The pub was situated on a corner, its wooden sign swaying gently in the cool night breeze. Faint laughter and chatter spilled out from the open windows, accompanied by the smell of roasted meat and ale. As Amukelo pushed open the heavy wooden door, the familiar sound of clinking mugs and low conversations greeted him. The interior of the pub had a familiar feel—it reminded him of the pub in Llyn, where he had spent many evenings in the company of his friends.
The pub was well-lit, with lanterns hanging from wooden beams and the glow of a roaring hearth in the far corner. Wooden tables and benches were scattered throughout, many occupied by merchants, travelers, and locals alike, all engrossed in their own conversations. The hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter filled the room, creating a lively but relaxed atmosphere. The air smelled of roasting meats and freshly baked bread, mixing with the subtle scent of ale and the faint, earthy aroma of burning wood from the fire.
Amukelo's eyes scanned the room until he spotted Versted sitting at a table toward the back, deep in conversation with two other men. One of them, a burly man with a thick beard, leaned forward, laughing heartily at something Versted had said, while the other, a more reserved figure, sipped quietly from his mug, listening intently.
Amukelo approached the table and gave a nod. "Mind if I join?"
Versted looked up and smiled warmly. "Of course, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.
Amukelo settled in, leaning his sword against the table's edge before signaling a passing barmaid to order a meal. He took a moment to observe the others at the table—Versted's companions seemed friendly enough, their conversation lively but grounded in the mundane details of trade and travel. Amukelo, however, had something else on his mind.
"So," he began, turning to Versted, "did you find anyone traveling to Gathe?"
Versted's expression shifted to one of mild disappointment as he shook his head. "Unfortunately, not yet," he replied. "I've asked around, but so far, no one seems to be heading that way. Gathe's a long way off, and most merchants I know have their routes well established. But don't lose hope. Over the next few days, I'll ask everyone I can think of. There are still a few traders I haven't had the chance to speak with."
Amukelo nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration. He tried to mask his disappointment.
"Thanks," Amukelo said, his voice quiet but sincere. "I guess, in the meantime, I'll take on some quests to gather more funds." He paused for a moment, glancing at Versted. "By the way, where are you headed next?"
Versted leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his mug before answering. "I'm heading to a town called Arkney. It's a fair distance from here, and in the opposite direction of Gathe, unfortunately. But it's a good trading hub for the routes I work."
Amukelo gave a short nod. "Far from Gathe," he echoed, his mind turning over the various options still available to him. He realized that this path, too, would diverge soon enough, and he would be left on his own again to figure out the best course forward.
For the rest of the meal, Amukelo remained mostly silent, listening as Versted and his companions continued their conversation. They spoke of trade routes, the condition of the roads, and the rising prices of certain goods—a world of commerce that Amukelo had never been particularly concerned with. He ate his meal quietly, letting the warmth of the food settle his thoughts. The conversation was light, but it reminded him of the nights spent with Pao, Bral, Idin, and Bao, sharing meals after long days of quests and training.
Once he finished his meal, Amukelo stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic. He turned to Versted and asked, "Do you know any place where I could train my swordsmanship?"
Versted raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the question. "Do you want to train with others or by yourself?"
"By myself will be good," Amukelo replied. "I just need a quiet place where no one will interrupt me."
Versted thought for a moment before nodding. "There's a place near the town's walls. It's between some buildings and the outer wall—usually pretty empty. You'll have the space to yourself if you head there. It's a bit out of the way, but it should be perfect for what you're looking for."
Amukelo offered a small smile. "Thanks. I'll check it out."
With that, he left the table, giving Versted a final nod of gratitude before making his way out of the pub. The night air was crisp and cool. The bustle of the town had diminished, and only a few late-night wanderers remained, their voices carrying softly in the distance.
After some searching, Amukelo found the spot Versted had mentioned—a narrow alley tucked between two tall, worn buildings that backed up against the town's outer wall. The area was secluded, with enough space for him to move freely without attracting unwanted attention. The ground was packed dirt, firm but soft enough to offer some give beneath his boots.
Amukelo stood in the center of the space, taking in the quiet. The place was peaceful, the sounds of the town muffled by the buildings around him. He didn't plan to train tonight. His body was still sore from the long journey, and his arm, though much improved, still ached faintly with each movement.
Satisfied with what he saw, Amukelo turned and made his way back to the inn. The streets were nearly empty now, the town settling into its nighttime slumber. As he reached his room, he felt the fatigue finally catch up with him.
Amukelo woke early the next morning, the first light of dawn barely creeping through the cracks in the shutters of his room. His sleep had been restless, filled with half-formed dreams and the lingering memories of his past. He lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the familiar weight of his journey press down on him.
After getting ready, Amukelo made his way to the Adventurers' Association. The streets were still mostly empty, save for a few early risers setting up their market stalls and the occasional passerby hurrying along.
Entering the association, Amukelo was greeted by the familiar sight of adventurers bustling about, some studying quest boards, others discussing their plans over cups of some drink. It reminded him too much of the days he had spent in Llyn with his friends—Bao, always eager for a challenge, standing at the board pointing out the most dangerous quests, while Pao would lean over her shoulder, suggesting something more practical. Bral and Idin would stand nearby, joking and teasing, making the decision process more lighthearted than it should be.
Amukelo felt a pang of loss as the memories flooded back, sharper than before. His chest tightened as he imagined Pao's laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she spoke about magic.
He blinked, trying to clear the fog of grief that threatened to overwhelm him. 'Not now,' he thought, forcing himself to focus. But as he reached up to brush his face, he realized a tear had already slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed, and let out a deep sigh.
'I have to keep my shit together,' he reminded himself.
Taking a steadying breath, Amukelo approached the quest board. His heart ached as he scanned the available missions, many of them out of his reach. Without his friends and without being able to take higher-tier quests, he was limited to middle-silver rank missions, the highest he could take on his own. His arm was still weak.
After some deliberation, he selected a slightly easier quest than he knew he could handle. The task involved clearing out monsters that had been terrorizing a farmer's hut on the outskirts of town.
He took the quest to the counter, where the same woman from yesterday greeted him. She looked over the details and gave him a small nod before handing him more information about the location.
"Be careful," she said, her voice neutral but laced with the same professional concern she likely gave to every adventurer.
Amukelo nodded, pocketing the parchment before leaving the association. The sun had risen higher now, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets as the town slowly came to life. As he made his way toward the gates, he passed by familiar landmarks from the day before—the armory where he'd bought his new chest plate, the leatherworker's shop where he had replaced his old, worn backpack.
At the gates, he spotted the same guards who had been there the previous day. One of them, the younger man, gave Amukelo a friendly nod.
"Good luck out there," the guard said with a knowing smile.
Amukelo returned the nod. "Thanks."
As he walked through the gates and out of the town, the landscape shifted. The dirt road stretched ahead, flanked by fields that were just beginning to wake up in the morning light. Birds chirped in the distance, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. The road wasn't particularly long, but after about an hour of walking, the orderly fields gave way to more wild, unkempt land. He could see the farmer's hut ahead, a small, weathered building standing in isolation, surrounded by a few scattered trees and overgrown grass.
The hut looked forlorn as if it had been abandoned for years, though the faint trails of smoke rising from the chimney indicated otherwise. As he approached, Amukelo noticed that the windows had been boarded up, and the door appeared to have extra locks and bars, reinforcing it against whatever threat had been plaguing the area. The place had the feel of a man who had tried to defend himself from something relentless and had barely managed to hold on.
He knocked on the door, his knuckles rapping against the rough wood. For a long moment, there was no answer. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees and the distant call of birds. He knocked again, this time more firmly.
From inside, he heard a shuffling sound, followed by a hesitant, trembling voice. "Who's there?"
Amukelo stepped closer to the door. "I'm here about the monsters. I'm here to help."
There was a long pause, as though the man inside was trying to decide whether or not to trust him. Eventually, the door creaked open with an eerie groan, the hinges protesting against the movement. A man stood in the doorway, old and haggard, with deep, dark circles under his eyes and a gauntness to his face that spoke of sleepless nights and too many worries. He looked exhausted, his body slumped as though carrying an invisible weight.
"Come in," the man said, his voice shaking slightly. "I'll explain everything."
Amukelo stepped inside, and the door was quickly shut and bolted behind him. The inside of the hut was dimly lit, the few windows boarded up with wooden planks that allowed only slivers of light to filter through. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of fear and unease. Amukelo noticed that every possible entrance had been reinforced—doors, windows, even the small chimney had extra barricades around it as if the man was trying to fortify his home against something terrofying.
The old man gestured for Amukelo to sit at the worn wooden table in the center of the room. "It's been going on for weeks now," the man began, his hands trembling as he rubbed them together. "This… this beast, it attacks during the night."
Amukelo listened intently, noting the fear in the man's voice. "At first, it was just some animals," the old man continued. "We thought it was just bad luck—livestock sometimes goes missing, after all. But then, more and more animals started disappearing. It was happening too often to be a coincidence."
The man paused, his face darkening as he recalled the worst part. His voice grew even more unsteady, almost breaking. "And then… then my brother decided he'd keep watch. He was going to guard the animals, make sure nothing happened. He stayed out there, watching the pens all night. He told me he'd come back in the morning, but…"
The man's voice trembled as his eyes darted to the door, as if expecting something terrible to burst through at any moment.
"But then I heard a scream," the old man said, his voice barely above a whisper.