Cold metal prickled at Vaan’s skin as he assessed the situation. The two spearmen had them cornered. One of them, Andryr Golbert, had a spear pressed against his neck and the other nameless guard, also at level nine, pointed a spear at Tal’s throat. And somewhere in the distance, a bowman lurked, too far to see, too dangerous to ignore.

  "Whoa! Easy there!" Tal's hands shot up; his voice all practiced charm. "You know us… just a couple initiates grabbing some field experience. Guys like you get it, right?"

  His grin turned disarmingly sheepish. "Hell, we were trying to imitate your lot, proper watchmen, yeh see… figured we’d see if we could pull our weight before joining y’all. Not that it’s easy! Town's lucky to have pros like you keeping things safe…"

  A dry chuckle. Then silence.

  Tal barreled on. "Anyway, great timing… we thought we were goners! Our buddy here's leaking all over the place. Boar took his ear clean off. Ate it, actually. You can see the blood's still-"

  “Quiet, dog,” Andryr’s smirk sharpened. “We aren’t speaking to you.” He tapped the tip of his spear against Vaan’s jaw, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You’re that insufferable archivist’s brother, aren’t you? The one who thinks ink stains make him untouchable. Do you believe the whole village bends to you too?"

  “Elijah, Who?” Tal feigned confusion. “You are mistaken. This here, my friend is in no way-”

  THUNK! The other spearman who was probably feeling ignored, shut Tal up with a blunt and impactful hit on the head that said shut the fuck up.

  “He’s not speaking to you,” the other spearman said, and Andryr gave a careless nod.

  "You." Andryr’s lip curled as he studied Vaan. "Elijah’s brother. Same ma, different pa, same rotten blood," he announced, and his friend laughed on cue, like a badly trained dog. "What’s wrong?” Andryr prodded. “Scared? Want to fight? Beg?... or cry perhaps?"

  “Fucking get to the point!” Ronald growled. Fresh blood clotted across the pus-streaked bandage of torn cloth where his ear had once been. Pain fueled his anger, making him lash out. “First a boar, now a swine. If this is about Risa preferring that ink-stained loser over your drunken groping, go bother Elijah. Oh wait, you won’t.”

  Andryr’s face darkened. Ronald was never the smooth talker, especially when he had an ear missing. Tal in the meantime looked like he had eaten shit for a pie. It had escalated quickly.

  Vaan took a slow breath, realizing that it isn't going to end without a fight. “If you want to fight me, fine! Any other day. Any other time. You call it and I’ll be there. Right now, he is bleeding, and we need to get him to my mother. We don’t have time for this”

  Brenda wasn’t a healer, but as an herbalist, she always had salves and balms on hand. She could probably find something to numb the pain and stop the worst of the bleeding. Once she’d done her part, they could see if Garix could arrange for a healer, though it would be costly. But they had to move quickly!

  Andryr sneered. “Listen here, bastard. I’m the watch. That means right here, right now, you answer to me.”

  Vaan’s patience snapped. In a blur, he slapped the spear’s tip aside and braced himself.

  “Now, hold on a bit,” the bowman’s voice rang out from a distance. Vaan finally spotted him—a man in green, carrying a large bow. “Come on, Andryr. They’re fresh initiates, barely standing. And that one,” he nodded toward Ronald, “needs urgent attention.” His gaze hardened. “Let them get treated. This can wait.”

  “Stay out of this, Jion.”

  “No.” The bowman exhaled sharply. “I’m all for showing the newbies the ropes, putting a little fear of steel in them… but you’re not seriously thinking of fighting them, are you?”

  “That depends on this one.”

  “I joined to keep the peace, not settle your tavern grudges!” Jion shook his head. “I want no part of this. We know how it goes when you get carried away.” He turned to the second spearman. “Malik, you really want your first stint to be a murder charge? Think about it”

  With that, Jion disappeared. The second spearman shifted uncomfortably, his spear tip dipping ever so slightly

  Vaan had known this would end in steel the moment Andryr refused to back down. Some men only understood violence, and the watchman had "bully" written in every sneering line of his face. But initiative mattered. Two level-nines against three wounded initiates. The odds weren't with them, so he needed to strike first.

  So, when Malik hesitated, spear dipping that crucial inch, Vaan struck.

  He lunged inside Andryr’s reach before the spear could steady, his sword flashing. Unwavering Blade thrummed through his muscles, the skill’s precision guiding his powerful strike like a smith’s hammer to anvil. He aimed not to kill, but to maim: a slash toward Andryr’s dominant wrist. If he could disarm the bastard—

  Shock widened Andryr’s eyes.

  I’m fast. Faster than when I fought the thornhare! Vaan thought, surprised to see that in his mind's eye, he could clearly sense the positions of his friends. Tal stood protectively in front of Ronald, his broken shield raised, while Malik hesitated, uncertainty in his stance. It was his perk, Orderly, Vaan realized.

  Andryr recovered from the initial surprise, his years of training with the watch guiding his footwork as he shifted, creating distance. And yet Vaan pressed forward, not giving him the space to wield his spear properly. Five levels higher, yet I’m matching him somehow! I need to keep pressing.

  Tal remained still, careful not to provoke Malik into joining. Ronald, in pain, could offer no help either. It was all up to him, but he could do it!

  Vaan kept charging onwards, not giving an inch or space for maneuvering the spear. Just as Vaan thought he gained the upper hand…

  Andryr pivoted. A blur of motion that was too fast.

  His spear parried Vaan’s sword in a sharp, precise motion. A Watch-trained combat skill.

  Jarred by the impact, Vaan stumbled forward!

  “Die.”

  The spear came down.

  Tal screamed; Ronald roared. Even Malik moved, desperate to stop it… but too late.

  Vaan saw everything at once. Ronald’s wide-eyed and bloodied stare of horror. Tal, reaching out. Malik, in a panicked half-leap. Andryr, his strike reckless, fueled by anger.

  A slight imbalance.

  A mistake.

  Unwavering Blade.

  Vaan’s sword moved. In an orderly, clean arc, his blade empowered by his skill.

  The steel met steel.

  A sharp clink.

  Silence.

  Andryr staggered back. His spear—cleanly severed at the head—clattered to the ground.

  For a moment, no one breathed.

  Then, Andryr’s shock twisted into rage. “You!”

  He was on Vaan in an instant. Too fast. Too strong. The differences in their raw stats, clear as a day…

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  Vaan’s sword flew from his grip.

  A fist crashed into his face.

  The world blurred. Pain exploded through his skull. Blood filled his mouth, warm and coppery. He gasped out a laugh, teeth red.

  “You…” He spat crimson onto the ground. “Are pathetic.”

  Andryr drew back, fist raised for another blow.

  “That is enough.”

  The words cut through the air, crisp and commanding.

  Everything stopped.

  Petros, the guard chief, strode forward, his presence undeniable. He was a stern man, his face set in hard lines, a thick mustache resting above a tight mouth that rarely smiled. His armor gleamed in daylight, not just steel, but something finer, reflecting a legacy beyond the simple duty of a village watchman.

  Andryr stiffened, adjusting his grip on his spear but not speaking.

  “Andryr.” Petros’s voice was calm, but the weight behind it silenced any protests before they could form. “Attacking someone a day after their initiation? Shame on you.”

  Andryr’s spear dipped instinctively, but his voice burned with frustration. ”Chief! They are outside the walls! You said it yourself after the Miller boy died - initiates stay within bounds until they can block a proper strike.” His glare shifted to Vaan. “Yet here they come strolling back, covered in blood and arrogance like-”

  Petros didn’t blink. “The watch is here to protect, not punish. We are watchers of peace, not enforcers of our own grudges.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked onto Andryr. “Tell me, what is a greater sin than fighting those you have sworn to protect?”

  Andryr hesitated. “What?”

  Petros’s mustache barely twitched. “Losing.”

  The words landed like a hammer’s blow. Vaan saw Andryr’s shoulders drop, his prideful face contorting with anger and humiliation.

  “Three years in the watchtowers,” Petros continued, “and you nearly lost to someone who got his class yesterday.” His head tilted slightly. “Pathetic.”

  Andryr inhaled slowly, struggling to keep his voice even. “I was going easy on them… to teach him a lesson. Besides, I had him on his knees.”

  Petros exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Get out of my sight.”

  Andryr’s lips pressed into a thin line. He bowed stiffly, then turned on his heel and walked away, his movements precise, controlled.

  Petros shifted his attention. “Malik.”

  Malik tensed.

  “You cling to that uniform like a beggar’s stolen cloak,” Petros said, quieter but sharper,

  Malik stood frozen for a moment before lowering his gaze.

  “Decide. Worm or warrior”

  Malik’s hands twitched at his sides, fingers briefly curling into fists before relaxing. He gave a small nod, then followed Andryr without a word.

  Petros let them go before turning to Vaan.

  “Did it level up?”

  Vaan blinked. “What?”

  Petros arched a brow. “Your skill. Unwavering Blade.”

  Vaan frowned, then glanced at his status. Only then did he notice it… his skill had leveled up. He hadn't even felt it happen.

  Unwavering Blade - Lv. 1 → Lv. 2

  A subtle warmth pulsed through him, the lingering aftershock of improvement. The skill felt… sharper, more refined, as if the movements were settling into muscle memory. He knew the skill greatly amplified his strength and speed, but during the fight, it had felt like more than that. How did his blade simply break the spearhead?

  His eyes flicked across his status screen again, searching for more details. But the Weave offered no new notifications on what the level increase actually did.

  Petros merely gave a small nod before shifting his gaze to Ronald. His eyes lingered on the makeshift dressing wrapped around the torn stump of his ear, then lifted to meet Ronald’s.

  “You’ve already given up a part of yourself,” Petros said. “One day, you might understand what a gift that is.”

  Ronald frowned, but Petros had already turned away.

  “Enough standing around,” the guard chief and captain said, voice brisk. “Get moving.”

  Vaan bowed and turned to leave. Before they could leave, Tal, ever the enterprising spirit, cleared his throat and gestured toward Ronald’s wound. “Sir, does the watch have anything he can use?”

  Petros studied him for a moment, then nodded. “We do.”

  Tal’s face lit up.

  “He can have them when he joins the watch,” Petros finished.

  Tal’s expression soured, but he tried again, his voice patient. “Uhhm, sir, we plan to on Aerisday , but his ears are bleeding now…”

  Petros gave Ronald a passing glance. “He’ll live! Pain carves lessons deeper than words.”

  Tal hesitated, then pressed on. “But sir-”

  Petros cut him off. “Do you want to stay and discuss the matter of your punishment. The consequences of flouting the village’s perimeters in these perilous times?”

  Tal straightened. “No! Uh... We were just leaving, sir...”

  Petros gave a single nod. “Off you go. Straight back. No detours.”

  Tal exhaled, defeated. Without another word, they turned and made their way toward the village.

  Back home, Brenda was the very picture of a kind and doting mother. She carefully applied balm and salve to Ronald’s wound, murmuring reassurances as she worked. "Such a shame, losing an ear. But you’re strong, dear. You'll manage."

  She gave Tal an affectionate pat on the arm. “And you, always looking out for your friends. Good boy.”

  Ronald, his pain eased, looked touched and disarmed by her kindness. His hardened exterior softened as he looked lost in gratitude as he thanked her profusely. Even Tal looked like a pleased child after being complemented.

  “Now, off with you two,” Brenda said warmly. “Rest up.”

  Tal and Ronald exchanged grateful glances, their thanks as genuine as the warmth in Brenda’s eyes, before stepping out. The door shut behind them.

  Brenda’s smile vanished like mist in the sun. She rounded on Vaan.

  “You absolute fool,” she hissed, smacking the salve jar down onto the table. “What in the blazes are you thinking, running around with those two senseless idiots? Tal’s got the brains of a lost goose, and Ronald!! He’s just a walking brawl waiting to happen!”

  Vaan barely had time to blink before she pressed on. “You! You actually have promise. You can’t afford to be running wild with those two good-for-nothing troublemakers! Saint Saria preserve me! First, you three set a ringhorn’s tail on fire, for a paying customer, no less! And now you’re prancing around the woods, picking a fight with a boar? A boar!”

  Garix, leaning tiredly against the wall, scratched at his sleeve before clearing his throat. "I’ll have a word sent to an apprentice healer."

  Vaan caught the subtle glance he gave a departing customer as the man adjusted his belt pouch and nodded before slipping out the door. A favor, then.

  From an apprentice healer. Apprentice meaning, not a real healer, but good enough. The village couldn’t afford better, and they sure as hell weren’t about to trek to Darven’s Roost over a missing ear. Poor Ronald. At this rate, he’d end up looking like a half-peeled potato.

  Brenda huffed, still glaring at Vaan but let the matter drop. For now.