The first thing I noticed was the softness beneath me—a bed. My eyes fluttered open, greeted by the dim morning light filtering through thin curtains. The familiar scent of herbs and wood lingered in the air, and it didn't take long to realize I was back in the room where I had recovered after the wolf attack.
My limbs felt like lead, and the ache in my muscles was a stark reminder of the fight. The memory of the Volgrath, my mana surge, and the spear piercing its gut replayed in my mind. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to take in my surroundings instead of drowning in the weight of those thoughts.
A faint creak drew my attention to the door. It opened, revealing a petite figure carrying a tray of food.
She had striking black hair, cut into soft bangs that framed her delicate face, while the rest was neatly braided into twin braids that hung gracefully down her back. Her pale, flawless skin seemed to glow softly in the morning light, giving her an almost ethereal presence. She wasn't very tall—no more than 155 centimeters—but her petite frame only added to her innocent charm.
"Oh, you're awake!" Her voice was light and melodic, a touch of relief brightening her expression. She stepped further into the room, balancing the tray with practiced ease.
I sat up slowly, wincing as my body protested the movement. "I... Where am I?"
"You're still in the village. Garret and Eryk brought you back last night." She placed the tray on the bedside table and turned to me, hands clasped in front of her. "They said you needed rest. Honestly, you looked half-dead when they carried you in."
"I feel like I'm still halfway there," I muttered, though her gentle presence made it hard to stay frustrated.
Her lips quirked into a small smile. "You should eat. It's roasted pork and some vegetables. Nothing fancy, but they said it's from the hunt yesterday. It'll help you get your strength back."
I nodded, reaching for the tray. My fingers were stiff, and even lifting a piece of meat felt like an effort. The girl noticed and quickly stepped forward, pulling a small chair to the bedside.
"Let me help."
"It's fine, I can—"
"Don't be stubborn." Her tone was firm but still kind, and before I could argue further, she took the fork and offered me a piece of the pork. "Here."
I sighed, giving in. "Thanks."
As I ate under her watchful eye, I couldn't help but study her more closely. There was something calming about her presence, almost like she carried a quiet strength beneath her gentle demeanor.
"What's your name?" I finally asked between bites.
She blinked, as though caught off guard by the question. "Oh, I'm Elira. I help out at the kitchen, my father is the village's blacksmith, you met him already."
The days passed slowly as I recovered in the quiet village. Each morning, Elira would bring me meals and insist on helping, despite my protests. At first, moving even a finger felt like a monumental task, but with each passing day, my strength returned little by little.
Garret and Eryk visited occasionally, their presence as grounding as it was intimidating. Eryk, as usual, called me "Rookie" with his teasing grin, while Garret would simply give me a nod and call me "Kid." They didn't push me, but their words hinted that they hadn't forgotten my performance in the forest.
By the third day, I was able to walk short distances around the room. My muscles still ached, but the worst of the fatigue had passed. Sitting by the window, I watched the villagers go about their lives—farmers tending to crops, children playing in the fields, and the occasional merchant cart rolling by.
Elira noticed my wistful gaze during one of her visits. "You'll be up and moving soon enough," she said, setting down a bowl of steaming pork stew. "Garret said you're tough. Not many would've survived something like that Volgrath fight."
I nodded, though my mind was elsewhere. This village was peaceful, but it wasn't where I belonged. My goal had always been to find a city—a place where I could truly integrate and start building a life.
On the fourth day, Garret and Eryk visited together, their expressions lighter than usual. Garret leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, while Eryk plopped into a chair with a casual grin.
"Rookie," Eryk started, "you're looking less like death warmed over. That's progress."
"Good to see you upright," Garret added. "We've got news."
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What kind of news?"
"We're heading back to Riverdale tomorrow," Garret said. "That's where the noble who commissioned the Volgrath quest is staying. Figured we'd see if you wanted to tag along. You've got some potential, Kid, and I'm guessing this village isn't exactly where you see yourself settling down."
I couldn't hide my excitement. Riverdale—a city! Exactly what I'd been hoping for.
"I'd love to come with you," I said, sitting up straighter. "Thank you for giving me the chance."
Eryk chuckled. "Easy there, Rookie. You've still got a ways to go before you're running around like one of us. But yeah, it's a good place to start. You serious about this mercenary thing?"
"Absolutely," I replied, my voice firm. "I've got a lot to learn, but I'll put in the work."
"Good," Garret said, a small smirk on his lips. "We'll leave at dawn. Get some rest."
----------------------------------------------
The next morning, I stood at the edge of the village, my bag packed with what little I owned. The elder and a handful of villagers had gathered to see us off, their expressions a mix of warmth and concern.
Elira handed me a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "It's some dried herbs and snacks for the road. Stay safe, Azur."
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched by her kindness.
Waylan stepped forward, a faint smile on his face. "You've got some fire in you, Azur. Make the most of it. And don't forget—this place is your home if you ever need one."
"Thank you, Waylan," I said, bowing my head respectfully.
Little Eria peeked out from behind her father, her small hands clutching the hem of his tunic. Her big, curious eyes fixed on me as she stepped forward shyly. In her hands was a simple cloth doll. "For you," she said softly, holding it out to me.
I crouched down to accept it, smiling at her. "Thank you, Eria. I'll keep it with me."
Her lips curved into a small, bashful smile before she darted back behind her father.
Madam Liriana was the last to approach, carrying something in her hands. It was a mask—pure white, smooth, and simple in design. It covered my scarred face, with fox like eye shocket, sharp edges at the sides and an elegant curve over the cheeks. this mask had no fangs or menacing features. It was pristine, almost serene, yet it carried an air of mystery.
She held it out to me with a faint smile. "Take this, Azur. When you've grown strong, wear it proudly as a sign of your roots. This is a piece of us, a reminder that no matter how far you go, you'll always have a place here. And when you've carved out your place in the world, don't forget to visit us."
I hesitated for a moment before taking the mask with both hands. "I won't forget," I promised, my voice steady. "Thank you for everything. I'll make sure to return someday."
The elder stepped forward, his voice steady. "You've been a good guest, Azur. Remember, you'll always have a place here if you need it."
With final farewells said, I turned to join Garret and Eryk.
-------------------------------------------
The rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels filled the air as we traveled down the dirt road. The forest had thinned, giving way to open plains with rolling hills stretching to the horizon. The morning sun painted the landscape in golden hues, but the smell of the cargo we carried reminded me of the hunt just days ago.
Inside the carriage, crates and bundles filled with the Volgrath's parts were secured tightly. Thick cloths covered the more grotesque pieces, but the faint metallic tang of blood and decay still lingered.
Eryk leaned back, resting his boots against one of the crates, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. He shot me a grin. "So, Rookie, that was quite the show back there. Didn't think you had it in you to take down a Volgrath like that."
I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to respond. "I didn't think I had it in me either. To be honest, it felt like… I was moving without thinking. Like my body just knew what to do."
Garret, who sat across from us with his arms crossed, studied me for a moment. "That blue glow," he said, his voice calm but firm. "It wasn't aura, was it?"
The question caught me off guard. "Aura? What's that?"
Garret raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "You don't know what aura is?"
I shook my head, feeling the weight of his gaze. "I'm… not exactly from around here. I've heard the term, but I don't really understand what it is."
Garret exchanged a glance with Eryk, who smirked in response, as if they were sharing a private joke. With a resigned sigh, Garret leaned back slightly, his arm resting on the side of the carriage. He looked over at the young man beside him and began, "Alright, kid, pay attention. Aura's not some flashy magic trick like mana. It's a primal energy, a force that's deeply tied to the body itself. While mana is more of a mystical, otherworldly power, aura is something that comes from within, something anyone can harness with the right training and discipline."
He paused, as if weighing his words carefully before continuing. "You see, aura is closely linked to your physical attributes—your strength, your speed, your endurance. It's a way of pushing your body beyond its natural limits, like unlocking potential you didn't even know you had. It's not about casting spells or making things happen with a wave of your hand. It's about channeling your energy into the physical world, enhancing your senses, your combat abilities, your very resilience against damage."
Garret's voice became more animated as he leaned forward, his hand resting on his sword. "Remember when my sword glowed red in the fight? That wasn't magic. That was aura—focused energy. It's not something you cast or summon like a spell. It's a force that manifests through sheer will and focus, sharpening your senses, empowering your strikes, and hardening your body against injury. In a way, it's an extension of yourself, like a second skin, but it's built with strength and focus."
Garret met Eryk's gaze again, his tone shifting, taking on a more serious edge. "But don't think you can just rush into this," he said, his voice low. "Aura demands discipline. Balance. You don't just have it—you build it. You refine it. It's like any skill: the more you push your limits, the more you'll learn about it—and about yourself. But be careful. If you're not mindful, it can consume you. Leave you drained, maybe even injured. But with the right focus, it can be a game-changer. It could save your life when nothing else will."
I frowned, the memory of Garret's fluid, intense movements in the forest still fresh in my mind. "Then why don't all mercenaries use it if anyone can learn it?"
"Aura takes time," Garret replied, the weariness in his voice softening. "A lifetime sometimes. Not everyone has the patience, the discipline, to develop it. You build it by pushing your body and mind to their limits—temper your body like a blade. It's simpler than mana, more accessible, but it has its limits. Aura can enhance what you already have—make you stronger, faster, tougher—but it can't break the laws of the world." He paused, almost as if weighing his next words. "Mana, on the other hand..." There was a quiet reverence in his voice. "That stuff... it can defy logic. Bend reality. But it's rare, kid. Real rare."
Eryk chuckled from his corner of the carriage, the sound a bit dry. "Yeah, mercenaries like us don't mess with mana. You either have it, or you don't. People born with it—mages, they start making waves the moment they're born. No hiding it. And nobles? They'll snatch up anyone born with mana before they can even crawl." He leaned forward slightly, as if eager to share some unspoken wisdom. "I've never seen a mage use mana the way you do. They throw fireballs, summon thunderstorms. They don't bother with close combat; they've got, like, twenty bodyguards surrounding them at all times."
Garret nodded grimly. "That's why you won't see mana-users in the lowborn ranks. For people like us, aura is all we've got. It's the only thing we can trust."
I mulled over his words, a new respect settling in for the strength Garret and Eryk had built. "What about the kingdom? Are there mages here?"
Garret's expression shifted, just slightly. His voice dropped an octave, as if the topic wasn't one he liked to discuss. "You're in the Morian Kingdom," he began. "A satellite state of the Eiger Empire. The Eiger Empire's the real power here—an empire ruled by nobles and mages. They control everything: the resources, the laws, the peace—or what they call peace."
"Morian?" I repeated, trying to recall any scraps of knowledge I had about the place.
Garret shrugged, the motion casual, but his tone was heavy. "It's a backwater, compared to the empire. We've got a king, yeah. But he answers to the emperor. The taxes we pay? They keep Morian poor, while the empire stays fat and happy." He looked out the carriage window, his gaze distant. "We're surrounded. To the north, you've got Fendrel—plains and tribes. Rough people. To the south, the Valdan Republic. They've got a navy that'll make you think twice. But here in Morian? It's forests, farmland, and struggling villages. Like the one we just left."
Eryk spoke up again, a lighter note in his voice. "Don't forget Riverdale. That's the jewel of Morian. The trade hub. It's where nobles rub elbows with merchants, mercenaries, and every type of scoundrel you can imagine."
Garret shot him a glance, but there was no argument in his eyes. "Yeah, Riverdale's the closest thing to civilization around here. It's where we're headed. But trust me, kid... it's nothing like the place you've been hiding in."
I glanced down at my tunic, the fabric rough and worn, though it was made with love and care by Madam Liriana's niece, it's nothing like the crisp business suit I had worn back home. The suit had been torn to shreds during the wolves attack. but I'd kept the pieces in my spatial ring, hoping to have it repaired in the city. But for now, this simple, peasant-like tunic was all I had to wear. It felt like a far cry from the polished, expensive clothing I was used to, and it reminded me of how different this world was from the one I had known.
Eryk, driving the carriage, shot me a look over his shoulder. "You're not planning on staying dressed like that, are you?"
I sighed, glancing down at myself. "I didn't exactly have a wardrobe change after the fight, I don;t want to trouble the villager anymore than what they already did." I muttered. "This is what I've got."
Garret, sitting beside me, let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's not gonna cut it. You're getting armor when we hit Riverdale. A proper set. Something that'll actually keep you alive."
I frowned. "But I'm not really part of your group. I don't deserve a cut of the rewards."
Garret shot me a sidelong glance. "You're with us now. You pull your weight, you get your share. Armor's included. It's not a favor, it's a necessity."
I hesitated. "But... I don't have any money."
Eryk chuckled from his seat. "Don't sweat it, kid. We'll deduct it from your cut. You earned it, whether you like it or not. You don't want to be out there without gear, especially if you're planning to stick around."
I opened my mouth to protest, but suddenly, a noise interrupted me—a distant clash of steel and the sound of shouting. My senses immediately sharpened. Garret stiffened beside me, his eyes narrowing as he listened.
"Trouble up ahead," Garret muttered, standing and peering out of the carriage.
Eryk slowed the carriage, bringing it to a stop. The air felt heavier now, tense with the sound of combat. Garret gave me a brief nod.
"Stay sharp," he said, his voice low.
We crouched down in the carriage, careful not to draw attention, and looked ahead.
A noble's carriage, gilded and ornate, was surrounded by chaos. Twenty bodyguards in heavy armor were locked in combat with twelve assassins dressed in black. The assassins moved like shadows, their strikes quick and efficient, cutting down the bodyguards with alarming precision. The bodyguards, though numerous, were clearly struggling, unable to keep up with the speed and coordination of the assassins.
Inside the carriage, two women were visible. The older woman, a striking redhead, was composed despite the danger, her eyes sharp and calculating. The younger woman, probably her daughter, looked terrified, clutching her mother's arm.
I couldn't help but watch as the battle unfolded. One bodyguard was cut down, blood spurting from a clean thrust to the throat. The assassin didn't even pause, moving on to the next target with fluid ease.
Garret's expression darkened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "This isn't our fight, but we're not letting them die in the street. Eryk, stay with the carriage."
Eryk gave a quick nod, his hands steady on the reins. Garret stepped out of the carriage, and I hesitated for a moment before following.
As we approached, the chaos of the battle hit me all at once—the clang of steel, the shouts of the guards, and the quick, efficient movements of the assassins. One of the bodyguards swung his sword at an assassin, only for the assassin to duck beneath the strike and lash out with a dagger, catching the guard in the side. It was brutal, efficient, nothing like the fights I'd imagined before.
Garret tensed beside me, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his gaze never leaving the fight. His expression was grim.
"This isn't our fight, but I'm not just going to stand by," Garret muttered, his voice low. "Eryk, stay with the carriage."
Eryk didn't even look back, his focus on the horses. Garret stepped out of the carriage, and without thinking, I followed. I didn't know what I was doing—didn't know if I was even ready for something like this—but I had to move.
By the time I reached the edge of the battle, it was almost over.
Garret was a blur.
His movements were so fast, so precise, it was like he was everywhere at once. He didn't waste a single motion, his sword cutting through the air with lethal accuracy. The assassins—skilled, ruthless—didn't even get a chance to react. Garret was already there, his blade already sinking into flesh.
I barely saw him strike. One moment, an assassin was swinging a dagger at a bodyguard's throat, and the next, Garret's sword cleaved through the assassin's side. No flourish, no drama—just a clean, efficient kill.
He moved like lightning.
One assassin tried to take a swing at Garret, but he sidestepped with an almost bored ease, his blade flashing out and cutting the man's chest wide open. Another assassin lunged, aiming for Garret's neck, but Garret was already behind him, his sword thrusting into the man's back with such force that it splintered bone.
It wasn't a fight—it was a massacre.
Garret didn't even break a sweat. The assassins, once deadly and coordinated, were reduced to nothing in mere seconds, their bodies falling one after another with barely a sound.
I stood there, frozen, barely able to process what I was seeing. The speed, the brutality—it was all so... real. Garret didn't fight like a knight or a hero in a song. He fought like a killer. Efficient. Unforgiving.
When it was done, the ground was littered with the bodies of assassins. Not a single one had survived.
Garret wiped his sword clean, not even out of breath. He turned to me, his expression hard, but there was no arrogance in it—only the cold certainty of someone who knew their craft.
"See that kid," he said, his voice like gravel. "The outside world aren't to be underestimated. If you want to be one of us, that's what it takes to survive in this world. No glory, no honor. Just... survival. You do what's necessary to stay alive."
I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'd just witnessed a massacre—and that Garret had done it alone. There was no flash of magic, no dramatic swordplay. Just pure, brutal efficiency.
"I didn't even get a chance to react," I muttered, still stunned by the speed of it all.
Garret gave me a sharp look, his face unreadable. "You won't. Not unless you enter that blue fire state like before."
It hit me then. This was a level of skill that went beyond what I had ever seen—or imagined. Mercenaries, especially those with Silver plates, weren't just tough. They were lethal.
And that was why Garret and Eryk were still alive in a world like this.
The bodies of the assassins lay scattered across the dirt, the aftermath of Garret's brutal efficiency. The remaining bodyguards were still frozen in place, their wide eyes fixed on the carnage. Some were breathing heavily, hands still gripping their weapons, unsure of what to do next. The captain, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, was the first to recover. He slowly stepped forward, his armor clinking with each cautious movement, and nodded at Garret.
"We... we thank you for your aid," he said, his voice tight with uncertainty, as though he was still processing the fact that Garret had slaughtered a dozen skilled assassins without breaking a sweat. His eyes flicked down to Garret's silver plate hanging on his neck, and I could see the calculation in his gaze.
Though he was clearly grateful, there was an unease in his posture. Garret is a mercenary—Silver Plates, no less—and mercenaries were not the kind of people a noble's bodyguard would trust lightly, especially without knowing their intentions.
The captain hesitated, glancing over at me, his brow furrowing as if trying to figure out what a young man like me was doing with such seasoned mercenaries. "You there," he said, pointing at me with a stern look. "Who are you, and what's your business here?"
Before I could even react, Garret stepped forward, his posture exuding calm authority. But just as he was about to speak, the sound of a soft but firm voice interrupted.
"Enough, Aelric," the voice commanded. It came from inside the carriage, and I turned to see a noblewoman stepping out, her bearing regal despite the bloodshed surrounding her. She was stunning—tall, with striking red hair that cascaded down her back like a river of flames. Her face was elegant, yet there was a sharpness in her eyes that made it clear she wasn't someone to be trifled with.
She approached with a grace that seemed to quiet the tension in the air. The bodyguards, still on edge, stood straighter but didn't dare move forward as she crossed the battlefield with ease. Beside her, a teenage girl—probably her daughter—followed quietly, her face pale but with a look of curiosity. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, her long red hair tied back in a simple braid, her eyes wide with wonder as she glanced from Garret to the dead assassins.
The woman didn't waste time. She looked at her captain, her expression one of quiet authority. "Captain Aelric," she said, her tone both commanding and sharp, "I don't need you questioning these men. They've done us a service, and they will not be treated as common criminals."
The captain opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a look. "This isn't the time for your paranoia. You're a soldier, not a spy."
Aelric hesitated, his eyes flicking between the woman and Garret before finally bowing his head, reluctantly silent.
The noblewoman turned to Garret and me, her gaze assessing but not unfriendly. "My name is Lady Elara Fendrel. This is my daughter, Liora," she said, gesturing toward the young girl beside her. "We are traveling to Riverdale to visit relatives. I trust you'll forgive my captain's... suspicion. Mercenaries are often seen as unreliable, but I trust your actions speak for themselves."
She paused, then looked at Garret and me more intently as i was wearing a mask, as if trying to gauge our character with a glance. "I don't suppose you are headed in the direction of Riverdale as well? We could use some extra protection on the road. If you are willing to travel with us, I would make sure you are compensated for your trouble."
Garret's expression remained unreadable, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes. He exchanged a brief glance with Eryk, who was still in the carriage, and then nodded, his voice steady.
"We're headed to Riverdale, yes. But our path is our own, and we don't travel for coin alone." He glanced back at Lady Elara and added, "But... your offer isn't unwelcome."
Elara smiled slightly, nodding in understanding. "Of course. But if you need supplies or lodging for your journey, Riverdale is the place to go. We can accommodate you."
I stood there, still processing the entire exchange—both the slaughter of the assassins and the sudden shift in the atmosphere. We were no longer strangers passing through the woods. Now, we were part of something much larger. The dangerous life of a mercenary was more than just fighting—it was knowing when to seize opportunities, even when those opportunities came in the form of a noblewoman and her daughter.