I came to with a start, my body aching and the faint scent of herbs teasing my senses. The familiar roar of the waterfall had faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the low hum of a village in the midst of its daily life. I blinked, the thatched ceiling above me coming into focus as sunlight filtered through the small, open window to my right.
A cool cloth dabbed at my forehead, startling me. I turned my head, wincing as pain flared along my side, and met the eyes of a girl. She couldn't have been more than a year older than me, her expression composed yet warm. Her dark hair was tied back, revealing a face framed by a cascade of waves, eyes like forest pools glimmering with a hint of curiosity.
"You're awake," she said, her voice soft and melodic. "Good. I was worried when they brought you in."
I shifted, testing the extent of my injuries. A sharp twinge along my ribs reminded me of the ursigar's claws, but it was bandaged now, the white linen tight and expertly applied. I noted the scent of the salve that had been used—a mix of crushed pine needles and something earthy, maybe comfrey.
"I'm surprised I woke up at all," I admitted, a wry smile tugging at my lips. The girl's own smile widened, just enough to reveal a hint of relief.
"You're strong," she said simply, setting aside the cloth she had been using. "Not many could face a creature like that and live to tell the tale."
I nodded, the memories of the battle returning in a rush—the ursigar's molten eyes, the way my spear had thrummed with newfound power as it resonated. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present. "Where am I?"
"In Gildenheim," she replied, leaning back on the stool she perched on. The name sparked no recognition, though the sight through the window—quaint cottages with their rooftops dusted in moss, villagers bustling along dirt paths—spoke of a place far removed from the capitals and guilds I was used to.
"Thank you for tending to me," I said, my voice more solemn now. "I owe you."
The girl shook her head, her braid swaying with the motion. "No need for that. You were found near the river's edge, unconscious. It's what anyone would do."
Her kindness was palpable, and I found myself watching her more closely. Her hands, small but calloused, bore the marks of work and care. This wasn't someone unused to hardship. I wanted to ask more—who she was, why she seemed so adept at healing—but a dull ache pressed behind my eyes, reminding me that now wasn't the time for questions.
"What's your name?" I managed, letting my head fall back against the pillow.
"Evelyn," she said after a brief pause, the name slipping from her lips with the weight of something unsaid. "And you?"
I hesitated. Revealing my true name wasn't an option, especially in a place where anonymity was my only shield. "Arlan," I replied, using the name I had given the Adventurer's Guild. It felt foreign on my tongue, but Evelyn didn't react, simply nodding as if she'd expected no less.
"Rest, Arlan. Your wounds were deep, and you need time for the herbs to do their work," she said, standing and gathering a few jars from a nearby table. She moved with a practiced grace, every action precise, as though she'd repeated the motions a thousand times before.
As she turned, I caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—an emotion I couldn't quite place. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the calm detachment of a healer. I watched her move around the room, noting the worn wooden shelves lined with jars of dried plants and old, weathered books with cracked spines. The small space was filled with the scent of herbs and the soft creak of the floorboards, a place that felt lived in and safe.
But beneath that veneer, something felt out of place, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The rhythmic sounds of village life outside—the bleating of goats, the murmur of voices—seemed almost too normal, too serene. The battle with the ursigar still lingered on my skin, a reminder that the world outside was anything but peaceful.
"Do you live here?" I asked, breaking the silence.
Evelyn paused, her back to me. For a heartbeat, she didn't respond, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the table. When she turned, her smile was back, but her eyes seemed guarded. "Yes, for as long as I can remember. It's a quiet place."
"Get some sleep," she said, her voice softer. "I'll be here if you need anything."
With that, she moved to the other side of the room, setting her jars down with the care of someone who knew how fragile things could be. I let my eyes drift shut, the scent of herbs and the distant song of the river carrying me away from the pain, from questions I was too weary to ask.
Waking up this time, I felt steadier, the dull throb of pain reduced to an ache that no longer shackled me to the bed. The sun filtered through the slats of the window, warm and golden, promising a day worth moving for. Carefully, I rose, testing my limbs. They obeyed, albeit sluggishly, but it was enough.
Stepping outside, the village unfurled before me like a quiet dream. It was a place seemingly untouched by the harshness of the world beyond—children ran barefoot, laughter bubbling up like brook water, while their parents tended to chores with contented smiles. People nodded and greeted me as I walked past, their eyes wide with curiosity and unguarded warmth.
I felt the soft hum of mana coursing through the villagers, a subtle song that spoke of their collective strength—or rather, their lack of it. Orange stage, at most. These were not warriors or seasoned mages but simple folk, their power suited to mending tools and guiding livestock, not fending off monstrous threats.
Yet amidst this mundane thrum, a singular note resonated sharply, like a discordant string. It was the presence of my healer. I hadn't paid it much attention before, dulled by my wounds, but now it was clear: Evelyn was no ordinary village girl. Her mana pulsed at Green stage, vibrant and raw. It was an anomaly, considering her surroundings. In this quiet place, she was a beacon.
'She must have used mana to heal me,' I mused, eyes drifting as I wandered.
Drawn by the roar of the waterfall that had been my battleground, I made my way to its basin. The sight of the slain ursigar lay there, its dark fur still bristling and slick with dried blood, its eyes dulled to lifeless gold. The beast's presence, even in death, seemed to warp the air with a memory of its ferocity.
"Why did they not take it?" I murmured to myself, puzzled by the untouched corpse. It was a bounty of valuable materials, surely worth more to a village like this than mere hesitation.
"You're wondering why they left it untouched," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, yet there was a note of tension in it that made me pause.
I turned to face her, my brows knitting. "Why?" The question was as much for her as it was for the inexplicable fear reflected in the villagers' eyes.
"They didn't wish to anger you," she said, stepping closer, her eyes catching the glint of the sun and holding me captive. "A warrior capable of bringing down an A-class beast alone is not someone they wish to cross."
I nodded, the answer logical yet unsettling. The village seemed untouched by violence, almost too serene. But beneath the warmth of their smiles, there was a shadow—an unnameable fear. I glanced back at the ursigar's body, its lifeless eyes still fixed in a final, feral snarl.
"They think I'd harm them?" I asked, a trace of disbelief coloring my voice.
"No," she said, her tone softening, though the intensity in her gaze did not waver. "Not unless they give you reason to."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the sudden shift in her expression silenced me. Before I could react, she reached out, pressing her hand firmly against my side, right where the ursigar's claws had raked me. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, stealing my breath.
"Still injured, and yet you wander around as if you're invincible," she muttered, a mix of frustration and concern threading through her voice. Her eyes, which had been warm moments ago, now smoldered with an unyielding determination.
"I thought—" I sucked in a breath, trying to mask the pain, "—it wasn't that bad."
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if weighing my words against her own knowledge. "You thought wrong," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching—not quite a smile, but something between exasperation and amusement. "You're fortunate that beast didn't tear you apart completely."
I tried for a weak smile, feeling the tension ease just enough to let out a shaky laugh. "If it had, I suppose I'd be making your job a lot harder."
A flicker of something—humor or perhaps weariness—passed through her eyes. "Don't test my patience, Arlan," she said, and the sound of my assumed name on her lips felt almost natural. Almost.
Her fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary before she withdrew her hand, the warmth of her touch replaced by the cool air between us. The silence stretched, filled with unspoken questions and the distant song of the waterfall.
"I'll be careful," I promised, more for her than for myself. It earned me a look I couldn't quite decipher—guarded, almost resigned.
"You'd better be," she said, a wry edge creeping into her voice. "Or next time, I'll carry you back myself."
My heart thudded at the unexpected challenge in her words, a rare smile tugging at my lips. "I'll hold you to that."
She stepped back, folding her arms as she regarded me with an expression that was hard to read, equal parts challenge and relief. "Let's hope you won't need to."