Chapter 13

  After breakfast, I made my way down to the stream with a bar of my makeshift soap and some of the salvaged fabric that I was going to use to clean my body. The cool morning air felt good against my skin, and the sound of running water was soothing after everything that had happened.

  Both Nox and Orion stood guard in case someone accidentally wandered by while I was bathing.

  As I waded into the cold water, my mind kept circling back to the offer.

  It made sense, didn't it? I couldn't stay in this forest forever. Winter was coming, and no matter how good G1 and G2 were at building shelters, I'd need more than stone walls to survive the cold months.

  But to be honest, I felt conflicted about the whole thing. Going with them would mean exposing myself to the world—and my monsters too. I still didn't know how strong mages really were in this place. That mage I'd seen last night had burned down half the forest like it was nothing. Could I even beat someone like that? Could my monsters beat someone like that?

  Sure, I trusted my monsters completely, but we were too weak right now.

  What to do.. What to do….

  I dunked my head under the water, letting the cold shock clear my thoughts for a moment.

  I'm overthinking again, aren't I?

  But how could I not? These people were counting on me to keep them safe, and I wasn't even sure I could keep myself alive in a real fight.

  My thoughts drifted to my wild power.

  Right now, I have three days' worth stored up. I wasn't planning to use it yet—I wanted to save up for something stronger. I had so many ideas running through my head. Maybe a certain creature from a comic I used to read... something that could bond with me, make me stronger. Or hell, maybe even a frickin' dragon if I waited long enough.

  But that's the problem.

  Time.

  Unfortunately, I needed more time to gather enough power for anything really impressive.

  I sighed, watching the water swirl around my legs. Three days of power felt like a lot until you started thinking about what you could actually do with it.

  There is nothing right now that would make me feel confident about taking on dozens of knights and mages.

  Guess I'll have to work with what I've got for the meantime.

  Speaking of which, I opened my status—something I did routinely every now and then.

  [STATUS SCREEN]

  Name: Vera Demecillo

  Race: Human/Otherworlder

  Level: 13

  Skills: Monster Maker

  My eyes widened.

  Level 13.

  Last time I checked, I was level 11. While Nox and Orion might have hunted some monsters for food, that shouldn't have been enough for me to level twice. Then what...

  Oh. The knights.

  Did killing the knights also give me experience?

  My stomach twisted. I didn't know what to feel about killing people just to increase my level. It felt... wrong somehow. Like I was treating human lives as nothing more than experience points in some twisted game.

  But they were going to murder a woman and child. They'd already burned down an entire town full of innocent people.

  I shook my head, splashing water on my face. This wasn't the time for a moral crisis about video game mechanics. Those knights had made their choice when they decided to hunt down civilians.

  Still, the fact that the system treated human lives the same as monster kills left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  =====

  Henrik’s POV

  Henrik watched the young woman disappear toward the stream, her massive wolves trailing behind like loyal shadows. He settled back against a fallen log, his injured knee throbbing in the morning chill.

  Henrik was a former D-rank adventurer.. He'd retired decades ago when a particularly nasty goblin had gotten lucky with a rusty blade, leaving him with a knee that never quite healed right. The limp wasn't too bad most days, but cold mornings like this reminded him why he'd hung up his sword.

  He'd settled in Millbrook after that, thinking a quiet farming town would be a peaceful place to spend his remaining years. That's where he'd met his wife—beautiful, kind Sarah with her warm laugh and gentle hands. They'd married within a year, and for a brief moment, Henrik had thought he'd found his happy ending.

  Unfortunately, happiness never lasted long in his family.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Sarah had died giving birth to their son, Thomas. Complications, the midwife had said, though Henrik had never fully understood what that meant. All he knew was that one moment he'd been holding his wife's hand, and the next, she was gone, leaving him with a squalling infant and a heart that felt like it had been carved out with a dull knife.

  He'd spent the next twenty years raising Thomas alone, watching his boy grow into a fine young man with his mother's gentle nature and his father's stubborn streak. Henrik had hoped—prayed—that Thomas would be content with the quiet life of a carpenter or farmer.

  Of course, the boy had other ideas.

  At eighteen, Thomas had announced he was leaving for the capital to become an adventurer, just like his old man. No amount of arguing, pleading, or threats could change his mind. The boy had inherited Henrik's bullheadedness in full measure.

  "It's in my blood, Pa," Thomas had said with that cocky grin that reminded Henrik so much of himself at that age. "Besides, someone's got to carry on the family tradition."

  Family tradition. As if getting nearly killed by monsters was something to be proud of.

  Thomas had married young, to a sweet girl named Elena, and they'd had a son—little Marcus. For a few years, Henrik had thought maybe his boy would settle down, give up the dangerous life for his family.

  Then came the letter.

  Thomas of Millbrook, killed in action during a dungeon raid. Body recovered. Personal effects to follow.

  Henrik's hands clenched into fists at the memory. His son—his stubborn, brave, foolish son—dead at twenty-five because he'd thought he could take on a monster that was stronger than him.

  And just like before, Henrik had been left to raise a child alone. Marcus had been barely five when his father died, too young to really understand why Papa wasn't coming home anymore.

  History repeating itself, over and over.

  Henrik had sworn he'd keep Marcus away from the adventuring life. He'd told the boy stories about farming, carpentry, anything that didn't involve swords and monsters. But Marcus had his grandfather's eyes and his father's determination.

  At fifteen—fifteen, for gods' sake—Marcus had announced he was leaving for the capital, just like his father before him.

  "I won't make Pa's mistakes, Grandpa," the boy had said, that same cocky grin spreading across his face. "I'll be smarter. Stronger."

  They all thought they'd be different.

  The last letter Henrik had received was three months ago. Marcus had made it to B-rank, which was honestly more than Henrik had ever expected. He and Thomas had never made it past D-rank in their adventuring days—too stubborn to retreat, not quite skilled enough to punch above their weight class.

  At least the boy was proving he was better than his bloodline.

  But B-rank meant bigger dungeons. Stronger monsters. Higher stakes.

  Henrik rubbed his aching knee and tried not to think about what the next letter might contain.

  He thought he would spend the rest of his days in the town peacefully, worrying for his grandson hoping he wouldn’t follow his father’s footsteps of dying early.

  But he was wrong.

  Henrik's jaw tightened as he remembered that night. The screaming, the flames, the sound of steel cutting through flesh. To be honest, Henrik knew the true reason why the knights had attacked their town.

  His eyes drifted to Marta, who was gently braiding little Emil's bright blonde hair while the boy played with a stick. Most people saw a mother and her son—nothing unusual about that. But Henrik knew better.

  Two years ago, Henrik had been out checking his traps in the deeper parts of the Viridian Forest when he'd heard the screaming. He'd found them huddled against a tree—a young woman clutching a toddler, both of them covered in dirt and blood, while a wolf circled them like they were its next meal.

  Henrik's old adventurer instincts had kicked in. One crossbow bolt to the beast's eye, and it was over. But when he'd approached the pair, he'd noticed things that didn't add up.

  The woman's clothes were too fine, even torn and bloodied as they were. The child's hair was that distinctive pale blonde that only came from certain bloodlines. And most telling of all—the boy's eyes. Bright blue, almost crystalline.

  "Please," the woman had whispered, clutching the child tighter. "Don't... don't tell anyone you found us."

  Henrik had seen enough fear in his life to recognize the real thing. This wasn't just terror from the monster attack. This was the bone-deep fear of someone running from something far worse than wolves.

  He'd helped them back to town, introduced them as distant relatives who'd lost everything to bandits. Marta had been so grateful, so desperate for a fresh start, that she'd thrown herself into the role of grieving widow and protective mother.

  He thought everything would be fine until those knights arrived.

  Henrik's hands clenched as he watched Emil laugh at something Marta whispered to him. The boy had no idea that his very existence had probably doomed an entire town.

  Henrik just sighed. There was no use in blaming an innocent child, there was nothing more he could do now.

  Henrik was just glad he was alive and some of his fellow residents did too, no matter how little of them remained.

  Thanks to her..

  Henrik's thoughts drifted back to Vera.

  There was something strange about her—something that didn't quite fit with what he knew about magic.

  She could command those monsters so easily. A giant wolf, another smaller but equally deadly wolf, a massive eagle, and two stone golems. Five creatures in total, all of them responding to her commands without hesitation.

  That shouldn't be possible.

  Henrik had seen his share of tamers and summoners during his adventuring days. Tamers were rare enough—maybe one in a thousand people had the gift to bond with wild creatures. But even the most talented tamers Henrik had encountered could only manage one monster at a time. If you were exceptionally gifted, perhaps two. Three if you were some kind of prodigy.

  But five? He'd never even heard of anyone controlling that many creatures at once.

  And summoners were different altogether. They could call forth magical constructs or bound spirits, but it drained them constantly. Henrik remembered working with a summoner once who could conjure up skeletal warriors. But that summoner could barely keep two to three skeletons active for more than an hour before collapsing from exhaustion.

  Henrik rubbed his beard thoughtfully. Either she was far more powerful than she let on or….

  He shook his head. It doesn’t matter.

  Henrik had seen enough of the world to know that power didn't make someone good or evil—it was what they did with it that counted. And he'd watched Vera risk her life to save complete strangers. He'd seen the gentle way she spoke to her monsters, the careful concern in her voice when she'd asked about their injuries.

  Whatever secrets she was hiding, whatever had driven her to live alone in this forest, Henrik was certain of one thing: Vera had a good heart. She could have flown away on that giant eagle when she saw the town burning. Could have stayed hidden and safe while they all died.

  Instead, she'd chosen to help.

  And that told Henrik everything he needed to know about her character.