The morning in Oakhaven didn't break with the usual frantic energy of a village under siege. Instead, it was a slow, heavy sunrise that painted the charred remains of the square in hues of bruised gold and deep violet. My body still felt as though I had been dragged through a rock crusher, but the "sour" sensation had shifted from a sharp, biting pain to a dull, manageable ache.
I stood at the edge of the square, watching the villagers emerge. They looked different—their shoulders weren't hunched toward their ears anymore. The oppressive weight of the King's presence had vanished, and for the first time, I saw people looking at the sky without flinching.
Tess was beside me, her golden hair finally brushed into a semblance of order, though the dark circles under her eyes told the story of her sleepless vigil. She stayed close, her shoulder occasionally brushing mine—a silent, grounding contact that I found myself leaning into more than I'd like to admit.
"They're coming," she whispered.
The entire village had gathered. It wasn't a parade; it was a pilgrimage. The innkeeper led the way, followed by mothers clutching children and old men leaning on canes. They didn't cheer. The silence was far more profound than any shout could have been.
One by one, they approached us. A woman, whose eyes were still puffy from weeping, stepped forward and pressed a small, hand-knitted scarf into my hands. It was simple, made of rough wool, but it felt heavier than my charcoal blade.
"For the boy who stood his ground," she whispered, her voice cracking. "May it keep the chill from your bones as you kept the shadow from ours."
"Thank you," I managed to say, my throat tightening.
Then came the children. A small boy, no older than six, tugged on the hem of my tunic. When I looked down, he held out a wooden soldier, carved with a dull knife. It was his only toy, I realized.
"To help you fight the big greens," he said solemnly.
I knelt, ignoring the groan from my protesting knees, and took the wooden figure. "I'll keep it safe. Thank you."
Beside me, Tess was being handed bundles of dried herbs and small charms carved from Weeping Ash wood. One elderly woman took Tess's hand in hers, whispering a blessing that brought a fresh sheen of tears to Tess's emerald eyes. These people had nothing left—the King had raided their stores and burned their hopes—yet they were trying to give us the world.
"We can't take all of this," Tess whispered to me, her voice trembling. "They're starving, Rio."
"If we don't take it, we take their dignity too," I replied softly. "This is how they say they aren't victims anymore. We accept it, and we remember them."
The farewell lasted for hours. By the time we were ready to leave, the sun was high. However, the victory was tempered by a harsh reality: no merchant caravans were willing to risk the southern road yet. The news of the King's fall hadn't reached the trade hubs, and the "Ghost of Oakhaven" was still just a rumor.
We were forced to hire a local farmer, a man named Garen, who owned a rickety, open-topped cabbage cart pulled by a mule that looked even more tired than I felt.
"It ain't a royal carriage," Garen grunted as he helped us load our small packs and the mountain of village gifts onto the cart. "But it'll get ya to the highway intersection by sundown."
We climbed in, settling onto a thin layer of burlap sacks. The cart groaned as Garen cracked the reins. As we rolled out of the village, I looked back one last time. The villagers were still standing there, waving until they were nothing but small dots against the grey-green backdrop of the forest.
The journey was... grueling.
Every single pebble on the road seemed to translate directly through the wooden wheels and into my spine. Jolt. Thud. Creak. Each movement was a reminder of the Level 1 body that had pushed itself into a Level 2 reality.
["Master, why does the wood-box scream so much?"] Sui's voice hummed in my mind. She was tucked into the crook of my elbow, pretending to be a particularly vibrant blue knot in the burlap. ["It makes my insides jiggle. Not the good jiggle like eating a honey-comb. The bad jiggle like being shaken by a big dog."]
'It's called a cart, Sui. And believe me, my insides are jiggling too,' I thought back.
Tess was sitting opposite me, her knees nearly touching mine in the cramped space. The awkwardness of the inn room hadn't vanished; it had simply settled into a comfortable, quiet hum between us. Every time the cart hit a particularly deep rut, she would lurch forward, and I'd reach out to steady her. Her skin was warm, and the way she looked at me—with a mix of lingering worry and newfound respect—made it hard to look away.
"Rio," she said, her voice barely audible over the clatter of the wheels. "What happens when we get back? Aror isn't going to let this go. An E-Rank party killing a King... he's going to dig."
I looked at the horizon, watching the trees blur past. "We tell him the truth about the fight, but not the truth about me. We tell him we were lucky. We tell him the charcoal blade did most of the work—that it felt like it was 'feeding' on the mana of the area. It's not a total lie. This sword is strange."
I rested my hand on the hilt. My Rank: D+ was still glowing in my mind's eye, a secret pulse of power that felt like a hidden weapon.
"And what about... us?" she asked, her gaze dropping to her lap.
"We're a team, Tess. We're E-Rank now. That means better contracts, better pay, and hopefully, less cabbage carts."
She let out a small, tired laugh. "I hope so. I really do."
As the sun began to dip, the golden hour turned the dusty road into a path of fire. We were exhausted, sore, and covered in road dust, but for the first time since leaving my home, I didn't feel like I was just a passenger in my own life. I was a Level 2 adventurer. I was a King-slayer. And despite the sourness in my muscles, the world finally felt like it was starting to open up.
But the road to Dustfort was long, and as the shadows lengthened, I realized that the forest wasn't done with us yet.