Stained from head to toe in thick mud, Kaelor walked slowly through the streets. His blonde hair was matted and caked, stiff from dried grit and blood. Ignis, now dull and soot-streaked, dangled heavily at his waist, its once-brilliant ruby now dim with cracks.
As he trudged forward, townsfolk emerged from hiding, men, women, and children peeking past doorways and around corners. Their gazes followed him, wide-eyed and filled with a silent reverence that pressed on his shoulders heavier than his weariness.
He met their stares with a tired nod, then raised his gaze to the sight ahead.
Vulcanus stood before his forge like an immovable statue, arms crossed over a chest like a slab of iron. His presence seemed larger than life, an iron giant watching over the town.
"You're alive," the blacksmith said with a low chuckle as Kaelor approached.
Kaelor scowled. "You know... sometimes I question your loyalty."
Vulcanus let out a deep, booming laugh. "That's good. A lord who doesn't question his men is a fool."
Kaelor was about to walk past him, but then he stopped and turned, brow furrowed.
"We only have ten Mountain Sabers. Hound uses two, which means only eight men are properly armed," he said. "And I haven't even seen a vein. So tell me, how did you get the ore to make the farm tools?"
"I bought it," Vulcanus replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "From the Baron's estate."
Kaelor's eyes widened. "The Baron has an iron ore deposit?"
"No," Vulcanus shook his head. "There's a merchant group that trades there. They sell iron ore to the blacksmiths on-site. But it's well-known, the Baron buys most of it before it even hits the market."
Kaelor's jaw tightened. That was valuable information. Steel wasn't just a resource, it was power. Nobles had led their men into bloodbaths over the control of ore-rich land.
"We'll speak more on this later," Kaelor said, then turned away and continued his slow march toward the lord's residence.
'Ore. I need ore if I'm going to outfit my men and survive the Devil Wilderness. Along with that… I need skilled hands.'
His men needed armor. For now, leather would suffice. A good Leather Armourer could provide protection in the field. A Gambeson Tailor would be essential too, for padding, insulation, and early-stage gear. But an actual Armourer? A Mailer? Those were rare craftsmen, prized by any lord fortunate enough to possess them.
In a world like this, a lord's military might was often measured by the quality of his equipment, not just numbers. One genius Armourer who could forge durable, lightweight armor could tilt the balance between victory and defeat.
There were blueprints, yes, but innovation in smithing was its own kind of battlefield.
Still, Kaelor couldn't think that far ahead yet.
Leather, weapons, and people. That's what he needed now.
And with those thoughts swirling in his mind, he finally reached the steps of his residence.
Waiting at the door was Mildred, her eyes lighting up as she rushed toward him, towel in hand.
"My Lord!" she cried, voice bright and full of relief. "I've prepared everything, your bath is ready. You'll eat your meal right after, and then rest. A proper rest."
Kaelor gave a small, genuine smile as he took the towel, wiping his face clean for the first time since battle.
When was the last time someone cared for him like this?
On Earth, he came home to cold silence. Always alone. Always tired. After long hours at the construction site, it was just him, concrete walls, and empty rooms.
That had been his life for thirty years.
Until the day fate pulled him into this strange new world.
Now, he was no longer alone.
He had a town to protect.
People who looked to him with hope.
And for the first time in a long time… he felt needed.
"How is she?" Kaelor asked as he walked beside Mildred through the lord's hall, his heavy boots echoing off the stone floor. They made their way toward the parlour, the air still carrying the scent of warm broth and burning wood.
"She suffered from severe mana exhaustion," Mildred replied, her voice calm but reassuring. "But she's alive. Awake. Resting fine." She gestured toward a corridor branching off from the parlour, leading to the guest quarters. "She's in the last room."
Kaelor gave a nod of thanks, his expression unreadable. With steady steps, he approached the door, pushed it open, and entered.
There she was.
Vi.
Lying atop the bed, propped against a pillow, a worn book in hand, one of Mildred's old favorites, by the look of it. The soft afternoon light streaming through the window caught her silver hair, which poured over her shoulders like strands of moonlight. Her skin, smooth and unblemished, seemed to glow faintly against the linen sheets.
Even in this medieval world of dirt, hardship, and bloodshed, Vi looked like she belonged to another realm, something untouched by the brutality outside.
'She must take care of herself relentlessly,' Kaelor thought. 'That kind of beauty doesn't just happen, not even here.'
Then her eyes lifted from the book and met his.
For a brief moment, they widened.
Caught off guard.
A flicker of something—shock, awe, maybe even… interest?
Kaelor smirked inwardly. 'Shocked, huh?' He didn't blame her. With his newly enhanced physique, even he barely recognized his own reflection. It felt… satisfying, seeing her gawk a little.
"You used your gift on yourself," Vi said finally, her voice returning to its smooth, composed tone.
"Yes," he replied simply.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, catching sight of the subtle changes, his broadened shoulders, the enlarged arms, the elongated canines barely hidden by his lips.
"You defeated the wolves then."
"We did." He nodded. "Though one of my men fell." His tone grew heavy for a breath. "But twenty more volunteered to become soldiers after the battle."
Kaelor leaned against the bedframe, watching her carefully. "How are your injuries? Can you ride?"
Vi's brow arched slightly. "You want me to leave?"
He exhaled, his expression shifting from curiosity to guarded intent. "Truthfully? I need someone with your capability. I'd even want you exploring the wilderness by my side." He paused. "But I don't like wildcards."
Her silver eyes remained on him, unreadable.
"I don't know who you are," he continued, "what brought you here… or where your loyalty lies. And I'd rather let you go now, before you learn too much for me to ever let you leave."
Vi tilted her head, her lips curving faintly into a smirk. "Your arms," she said, voice soft, nearly teasing, "they're twice the size they were."
Kaelor blinked, straightened slightly. "Is that all you have to say?"
She smiled wider. "Not at all. Your physique is starting to resemble the Human Emperor of legend." Her voice lowered a note. "And your face…"
"I meant about your past," Kaelor cut in sharply, tone darkening. He had no patience for flirtation, not now, not with everything at stake.
But Vi only chuckled lightly, clearly enjoying the reaction.
Then, in a breath, her expression shifted. Calm. Unbothered.
"I'm a mercenary," she said at last.