After three days of relentless travel, we were nearing the range where the real mission would begin.
This area had already been scouted previously with no signs of civilization.
It was decided we'd take a brief respite by the river—constant travel was wearing down our spirits.
An hour later, we were beside the river. Ruth had already disappeared into the trees for her usual alone time.
I stripped bare and waded into the cool, shallow water letting it wash away my exhaustion of travel.
I had no way to properly measure my strength, but I knew I had improved. The weight in my muscles, the way I moved—it was different from before.
I caught my reflection in the water.
Back in Riverdale Village, I had spent the last of my points on a shave—a small luxury in a place like that. It was an unexpected yet easily accepted fact.
My average face had returned, though my dark eyes now burned with something deeper, something more intense than before.
My hair had grown to my shoulders, a length I had chosen to keep. It suited me.
My body had also improved significantly—no more bloated belly, just a fit physique. Not muscular yet, though.
The only thing I disliked were the scars. Some might have considered them marks of survival, but I saw them differently.
Who would want their body to be marred by scars? Surely, somewhere in this world there had to be a way to erase them.
After getting dressed, I returned to the meeting point.
The two men were already present there. They were ardent supporters of Ruth, grateful to her for saving them. Among the few remaining people who fully backed her, they were one of the most loyal.
A short while later, Ruth reappeared, her hair still damp, droplets trailing down her collar. We made camp and rested for the arduous day ahead.
As night settled in, I practiced with my sword, making a smooth slash that hit… nothing.
I had been relying solely on the sword throughout this journey, and the truth was undeniable: I was bad at it.
{Quick Hands} and {Calculation} helped, but they could not replace proper fundamentals.
Ruth, however, was a different story entirely.
With effortless grace, she wielded her sword, her movements refined, her technique flawless. A single swing—swift, decisive—severed a beast clean in two.
Observing her fights had helped me improve. Her footwork, movements, technique, I studied and analyzed them carefully.
It had helped me improve, though not without consequence. There were moments I had barely avoided injury while practicing.
But tonight, something felt different.
Ruth hesitated.
I caught the slight pause in her expression, the way her fingers twitched as though holding back words.
Finally, in a voice soft yet firm, she spoke.
"You're holding it wrong."
Feigning shock, I widened my eyes, "Really? But I thought it was right. Could you teach me?"
Strike while the iron is hot. This was the first time she had spoken to me directly—I wouldn't let the chance slip.
This was the reason I had bought the sword. Ruth was known as a seasoned swordsman, and I wanted to learn from her.
Two birds with one stone: closer interaction with her and a faster path to mastering the weapon.
She was surprised by my quick response, opening her mouth to say something, but I interrupted, "Thank you so much, Ruth. It means a lot."
A sigh left her lips, her shoulders slumping.
And so, my training began. Ruth now had to talk more, teaching me the basics.
I absorbed her teachings like a starving man at a feast, refining my movements with every correction she offered.
She seemed pleased with my progress. Having been shunned all her life, she finally had someone who recognized her skills.
A small smile graced her face.
Then suddenly,
A sharp cry tore through the forest.
Ruth and I exchanged glances.
Without a second thought, we abandoned our practice and sprinted toward the source of the scream.
What we saw made our blood run cold.
One of our teammates lay on the ground, his chest torn open with deep claw wounds, blood pooling beneath him. His body was still, lifeless.
The other was in worse condition—his neck gripped between a tiger's jaws. At such a range, there was no chance of survival.
The tiger looked at us, then crushed the man's neck with its jaws. For a moment, I thought I saw emotion in its eyes.
He died instantly.
We were both frozen in shock. It had taken us less than a minute to get here. Less than a minute—and they were gone.
The tiger released its prey and turned its piercing gaze on us. A knife was lodged in its back—likely from one of the men—but it didn't seem affected.
I jolted awake, snapping out of my shock.
Ruth, however, remained frozen.
I nudged her sharply.
She snapped to her senses, brandishing her sword. Her movements were sharp, precise—driven by something deeper than instinct.
Fury radiated from her.
'So, she gets angry too. Noted.'
The tiger's muscles tensed, its golden eyes locked onto Ruth.
I instinctively stepped back, keeping full view of the fight while Ruth did the opposite—she charged forward. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
The tiger soared toward her, its massive paws extended, claws glinting.
It was a perfect predator, its body moving with terrifying efficiency.
Any normal warrior would have been overwhelmed by sheer size and speed alone. But Ruth was anything but normal.
At the last moment, she twisted her body with precise timing, slipping just outside the tiger's reach.
Before it could react, her sword flashed—a perfect diagonal arc. The silver blade tore through flesh, sinking deep into its back leg.
A cry escaped from the tiger's throat as it recoiled, its injured leg buckling slightly. Blood spilled onto the ground.
The beast recoiled, momentarily stunned.
Ruth used this momentum of her attack to propel herself backward, pushing off the ground in a fluid motion, landing a safe distance away.
Her stance shifted, her sword now held defensively.
It all happened within seconds.
I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away.
Beautiful.
The tiger let out a furious roar, the sound reverberating through the trees.
I jolted back to reality and scaled the nearest tree. My hands moved swiftly, pulling out my best arrow—coated in every last drop of poison and Aracea medicine I had managed to collect.
I had only two.
Two chances.
Ruth remained locked in a dance with the tiger. The beast prowled in a tight circle, testing its injured leg but refusing to retreat. Its feral gaze never wavered from its prey.
Then, it lunged again—its movements calculated, learning from its mistakes.
This time, Ruth didn't step away. She advanced.
The tiger's powerful frame hurled toward her, claws striking out with lethal intent.
But Ruth was already moving, her body pivoting smoothly as she angled her sword upward.
Time seemed to stop.
The two forces collided in perfect synchronicity. The tiger's claws slashed toward her at the same moment her blade arced upward, cutting deep.
For a split second, I thought she had miscalculated, that she had been struck.
Then I saw it—the slight, almost imperceptible shift in her grip. At the last possible moment, she loosened her hold on the hilt, allowing the impact to travel through her arm.
The recoil sent a jolt through her body, but she used that energy to dip low, tilting forward into the movement.
A minute adjustment—barely noticeable, yet impossibly precise.
A heartbeat later, the tiger roared in agony, her sword buried deep in its chest.
They had switched positions in the field.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
Precise.
Delicate.
Dangerous.
Then Ruth turned, her eyes locking onto mine. A sharp, wordless command.
I didn't hesitate. Grabbing my sword, I hurled it toward her.
Only then did I realize—I had forgotten to use {Calculation}.
The sword flew too fast, its trajectory slightly off. My stomach clenched as I watched it sail above her head, far too high to reach easily.
Panic shot through me.
Ruth, however, remained composed.
She took a slow, deliberate step backward, her gaze never leaving the sword. Then, she bent her knees and leaped.
Her left leg extended behind her as she soared, body twisting in midair. Her hand shot upward, fingers closing around the hilt with effortless precision.
And instead of just landing, she used the momentum of her jump to rotate—her body spinning gracefully before her feet met the ground.
She came to a halt, sword in hand, standing exactly as she had before.
Facing the tiger.
Monster.
Now, I fully understood.
Why Alexander valued her.
Why others envied her.
Why Lucas had me watch her.
She wasn't just strong.
She was irreplaceable.
Too valuable to be disregarded.
Too damn valuable.