Sell Sword

The morning dawned gray and somber, casting muted, dreary light over the battlefield. Survivors moved slowly, their faces grim as they began the arduous task of digging graves for their fallen comrades. Ren joined them, his muscles aching from exhaustion, the somber silence broken only by the rhythmic sounds of shovels striking earth.

They dug individual graves for the militia and villagers who had bravely fought and died, laying their bodies gently and respectfully into the earth. Nearby, larger pits were hastily dug for the bandits, their bodies piled unceremoniously, a stark reminder of the brutal cost of their victory.

As Ren worked, he mentally recounted their losses: three militia members killed earlier, two more during this final battle, and several villagers whose names and faces he had known well. Each remembered name was a fresh pang of grief, deepening the somber weight within him.

Glancing around, Ren noticed Lyra seated near a tree stump, carefully binding her injured arm with strips of cloth, her expression weary yet determined. Their eyes met briefly, conveying mutual support in their shared pain.

Ren paused to catch his breath, leaning heavily on his shovel. Another soft chime resonated in his mind, reminding him of his available System Points. He sighed, reflecting on his current stats:

〚 Strength: 5

〚 Dexterity: 6

〚 Endurance: 6

〚 Intelligence: 5

〚 Perception: 6

Determined to further bolster his physical strength, Ren silently allocated his remaining 5 SP into Strength, feeling an immediate surge of power and stability ripple through his tired muscles.

Eventually, after hours of solemn labor, Sir Gerald gathered everyone together. His voice was quiet, heavy with fatigue but resolute. "Our work here is done. It's time we returned home to Eldermire."

The survivors nodded wearily, gathering their belongings and what loot they'd scavenged from the camp. Their march home began in somber silence, each step heavy with loss yet tempered by relief and newfound strength.

As they traveled, Ren stayed close to Lyra, ensuring she managed despite her injury. "How are you holding up?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

"I'll manage," Lyra replied with a faint, weary smile. "We did what we had to, but…I just wish the cost hadn't been so high."

Ren nodded solemnly, echoing her sentiment. "Me too. But at least our village will finally be safe."

As the familiar sight of Eldermire came into view, villagers who had stayed behind emerged anxiously, their faces filled with a mixture of relief and sorrow upon seeing the returning survivors. Tears and embraces followed, alongside quiet explanations and recounting of bravery and sacrifice.

The village elder, a kind yet stern man named Aldric, approached Ren with a weary yet warm expression. "You've returned safely, young Ren. We owe all of you a debt we can never truly repay."

Ren lowered his head respectfully, feeling humbled. "We did what needed to be done, Elder Aldric. But we paid a heavy price."

The elder sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting sorrow for the losses. "Their sacrifice will never be forgotten. We will hold a memorial for our fallen heroes, to honor their bravery and their memory."

Nearby, villagers gathered around Gerald, expressing their gratitude and relief. Families reunited tearfully, embracing tightly and thanking those who had protected their homes. Among them, Ren saw Toren comforting a grieving widow who had lost her husband.

"It's good to see you back safe, Ren," Aldric continued gently, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've grown much through this ordeal. Eldermire owes you its deepest gratitude."

Ren managed a humble nod, still uncomfortable with being seen as anything other than an ordinary villager. "I only did what anyone would," he replied quietly.

"And yet," the elder said gently, "not everyone could have done what you and the others accomplished. You've shown courage beyond your years."

Ren felt warmth fill his chest at the elder's words. He turned to see Lyra being embraced by her parents, their relief palpable. Her eyes met his, sharing a brief, heartfelt moment of mutual understanding and silent support.

Taking a deep breath, Ren stepped forward into the waiting embrace of the village, ready to face whatever challenges awaited next, stronger and wiser than before, and mindful of the heavy price paid for their newfound peace.

In the weeks following their return to Eldermire, Ren quietly returned to his routine, tending fields for Toren, the farmer who had raised him since childhood. Toren had always treated Ren as his own, filling the void left by Ren's absent memories of his birth parents. The comfort and familiarity of farm work provided Ren with moments of peace, but the memories of his weakness during the expedition haunted him relentlessly.

Determined never to feel so powerless again, Ren began training every day after completing his farming duties. Each evening, he ventured alone to the outskirts of the village, where solitude allowed him to push himself without distractions or embarrassment. Under the fading sunlight, Ren practiced tirelessly, wielding his sword until his hands blistered, running until his lungs burned, and honing his reaction time and perception through various improvised exercises.

Days turned to weeks, and Ren found himself increasingly focused, disciplined, and physically capable. His rigorous training gradually improved his capabilities, a fact reflected clearly through the numbers presented by his mysterious system. Over the course of nearly two months, Ren watched with quiet satisfaction as his stats slowly rose:

〚 Strength: 7 (+1) 

〚 Dexterity: 7 (+1) 

〚 Endurance: 7 (+1) 

〚 Intelligence: 5 (+0) 

〚 Perception: 6 (+0)

*the + is how much his stats grew*

Each incremental increase felt like a small victory, reinforcing his resolve and determination.

One evening, as he sat catching his breath after a particularly intense training session, Ren heard familiar footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Toren, a knowing smile on his weathered face.

"Pushing yourself hard, aren't you?" Toren asked gently, handing Ren a water flask.

Ren accepted gratefully, nodding as he drank deeply. "I need to get stronger," he finally admitted, setting the flask down. "I never want to feel so helpless again."

Toren sat beside him, eyes thoughtful. "You're stronger than you think, Ren. But strength isn't just physical. Remember that."

Ren considered his words quietly, knowing they held truth yet feeling compelled to continue his physical training. "I know. But it's a start."

Toren chuckled softly, patting Ren's shoulder firmly. "You're young and determined, good qualities to have. But don't push yourself so hard that you break. Even steel needs careful tempering."

Ren smiled slightly, appreciating the wisdom and warmth behind Toren's words. "I'll remember that."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the soft hum of the evening insects filling the quiet between them. Ren eventually broke the silence, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Toren, did you ever fight like this? Did you ever need to get stronger?"

Toren's expression softened, memories clearly stirring behind his eyes. "Once, long ago. Strength was important then too, but it never replaced wisdom or kindness. Don't forget that, Ren."

Ren nodded solemnly, absorbing the older man's words. As the sun dipped further below the horizon, he stood, feeling renewed determination and gratitude. Tomorrow he would continue, each day another step forward on his journey toward becoming someone who could protect what mattered most.

Walking back toward their small home, Toren shared gentle advice and stories from his youth, filling the air with comforting familiarity. Ren felt quiet pride in his progress, grateful for the support and wisdom Toren continually offered. The village lights flickered warmly ahead, inviting them back home.

Yet, as they drew closer, Ren noticed an unusual glow, brighter than lanterns or fires should be. A sense of unease twisted in his chest. Suddenly, a thick column of black smoke rose starkly against the night sky, and his stomach twisted in dread.

"Fire!" Toren shouted urgently, his voice filled with alarm. Without hesitation, they broke into a run, hearts pounding with anxiety.

As they reached Eldermire, chaos erupted before them. Flames engulfed homes, their roaring intensity deafening amid screams of fear and pain. Soldiers in unfamiliar armor systematically swept through the streets, ruthlessly striking down any who resisted. Ren's heart froze as he quickly scanned the attackers: multiple knights (clearly D-ranked), dozens of regular soldiers (E-ranked), and hundreds of foot peasants (F-ranked), their sheer numbers overwhelming the village defenders.

In the village center, Sir Gerald fought valiantly yet struggled desperately against overwhelming numbers. Though a formidable fighter, even Gerald appeared pressed to his limit, fighting against several enemy knights simultaneously.

"How could this happen?" Ren breathed, his voice filled with disbelief and despair. Eldermire had received vague warnings about potential invasions from a rival barony but had dismissed them as empty threats—intimidation, nothing more. They never imagined another vassal barony would attack without explicit imperial consent.

Toren, his expression hardened with resolve despite the horror unfolding, grabbed Ren by the shoulder, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Stay calm, Ren," Toren urged firmly. "We must keep our heads and help where we can. Panic will only make things worse."

Ren nodded shakily, desperately trying to steady his breathing. Toren was right; he needed clarity and focus. They moved cautiously forward, searching for other survivors and assessing the unfolding tragedy. Ren gripped his sword tightly, readying himself mentally and physically for whatever lay ahead, knowing he couldn't afford to falter again. Eldermire needed him now more than ever.