It had been two months since my first fight in Akerholt.
The days had settled into a steady rhythm: mornings spent working the farm, nights training under Rorik's sharp and relentless eye, and market days breaking the monotony with their unique chaos. Each trip to the village felt a little less foreign, though I still couldn't shake the subtle feeling of displacement.
I was loading the last sack of grain onto the cart when the bells began to ring.
The sound was deep, deliberate, and foreboding. It wasn't the pleasant chime of a bell tower marking the hour. No, this was different—heavier, more purposeful, and it sent an immediate chill down my spine.
"What's that?" I asked, freezing mid-step as the echoes carried through the streets.
Rorik paused, his hand still gripping the edge of the cart. His sharp gaze shifted toward the sound, his body tensing. Without thinking, his hand moved to his side, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
"The warning bell," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "Must be a monster attack."
My stomach twisted. "A monster attack? What do we do?"
Rorik turned back to me, his expression unreadable but steady. "We watch," he said simply.
"Watch?"
"This is why we have guards," he explained. "Stay calm. They'll handle it."
---
The heavy doors of the town hall burst open, and the guards poured into the streets. Their movements were sharp and coordinated, their fur-lined cloaks and chainmail catching the sunlight as they rushed to the source of the danger.
"Come on," Rorik said, motioning for me to follow. "You'll want to see this."
We wove through the streets, dodging villagers who were either ducking into their homes or clustering together in nervous groups. The air was thick with tension—a mix of fear and curiosity that mirrored my own.
As we reached the outskirts of the village, the scene came into focus.
A pack of wolves, larger than any I'd seen before, charged across the open field toward the town. Their fur was matted, their eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. Snarls and growls filled the air, sending a shiver down my spine.
The guards met them head-on.
What I saw was unlike anything I'd ever imagined.
The guards didn't just fight—they moved like something beyond human. One guard swung his sword with such force and precision that it cleaved through a wolf in a single stroke. Another sidestepped a leaping beast with inhuman speed, his spear striking upward in one fluid motion to pierce the creature's chest.
I stared, my jaw slack, as the battle unfolded. These men weren't just strong—they were fast, precise, almost impossibly so.
"They're... incredible," I muttered, unable to tear my eyes away.
"Don't be too impressed," Rorik said, his tone cutting through my awe. "These are just basic Guardians."
I turned to him, confused. "Basic? They're fighting like something out of a movie!"
"They're the weakest of the warriors," he said. "The ones without much talent in the way of the warrior. They've formed their Qi Cores, but that's about it."
"Qi Cores?"
Rorik nodded. "Qi is the energy that flows through all living things. These warriors have cultivated a higher concentration of it in their bodies. Forming a Qi Core is the first step in warrior cultivation. It strengthens the body, sharpens reflexes, and makes movements like this possible."
I turned back to the battle, watching as another guard dodged a wolf's snapping jaws with almost supernatural agility before slicing through its side.
"And the stronger ones?" I asked hesitantly. "What are they like?"
Rorik gave a short, humorless laugh. "You don't even want to know. These men are just the bottom of the ladder. The truly gifted... they're the stuff of legends."
The thought sent a chill through me. If these men—who seemed almost superhuman—were considered the weakest, what were the strongest warriors like?
---
The bells fell silent as the last wolf collapsed to the ground. The guards worked quickly, dragging the massive bodies away with a practiced efficiency.
I stared at the scene, still trying to process what I'd just witnessed.
"Were you one of them?" I asked quietly, glancing at Rorik.
He didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained on the guards, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed.
"I was," he admitted. "But I wasn't particularly good at it. Never had much talent for cultivation, so I stayed at the basic level for most of my years. Eventually, I decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Came back here with Inga to live a quieter life."
I studied him, trying to imagine Rorik as one of the warriors I'd just seen. It was hard to picture, but there was a weight in his voice that made me believe him.
"How do you... how do you live with that?" I asked. "Knowing you were part of something like this?"
Rorik smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's easy. You find something worth retiring for."
---
As we made our way back to the cart, his words echoed in my mind.
The guards, the wolves, the raw power I'd just witnessed—it all felt like a glimpse into a world far beyond my reach.
But Rorik's advice stuck with me.
"Don't waste your time being impressed."
I clenched my fists, the calloused skin rough against my palms. If I wanted to protect Emery, I needed to understand this world. To become a part of it, no matter what it took.