On the village square, the cavalry captain who had ridden in with his men not long ago turned his horse around and engaged the giant wolf with his broad sword. Though one strike produced thin threads of blood from the wolf’s mouth, it hadn’t truly injured the beast. Because he fought with one hand, his strength was insufficient and he was knocked off his mount. If not for his experience and a timely roll, he would have been torn apart by the wolf’s claws then and there.
Gasping, he scrambled out of the giant wolf’s attack range. Both hands on his broad sword, he steadied his breathing and fixed his gaze on the giant wolf five meters away, his face tense. A few drops of blood fell from his brown-red beard.
At this moment the crimson giant wolf did not hurry to pursue. It planted its paws on the warhorse the cavalry captain had ridden, ripped open the horse’s neck in one bite, then put the horse’s head into its mouth. The cracking of bone came from that bloody maw, sending chills through everyone present and filling them with dread.
“Hu… hu… hu…” The cavalry captain’s chest trembled as he adjusted his breathing, his steps edging back as he searched for leverage.
While he strained to respond, fighting was happening elsewhere in the square. The orange Tili wolves that had charged in with the giant wolf bit whoever they saw and fought the villagers guarding the square.
Those Tili wolves varied in strength. Some were merely orange-furred and only a little stronger than ordinary wild wolves; others could flip a person in one blow and tear throats with sharp teeth and claws. Out of fear and respect for their leader, they did not rush into the central confrontation but circled the bonfire and fought the other people.
The scene was chaotic. Sylutia was pulled along by Talier, stumbling as they ran toward a distant stone building that looked square and fortress-like.
“Finally here.”
Sylutia looked around with mild curiosity. Inside stood an old wooden table, two chairs, straw scattered on the floor, and some dusty miscellaneous items piled in a corner.
Seeing the girl’s interest, Talier explained, “This is for defense. There’s a small slit over there you can open to shoot arrows from, but I didn’t bring a bow or arrows, so it won’t help now.”
“Has it always been this dangerous? That giant wolf looked tough.” Sylutia asked.
“Not usually. Generally it’s only dangerous at the end of Rising Wind Season and during Gale Season. During those times many beasts gain Aspects and become ferocious and powerful.”
“Rising Wind Season, Gale Season?” Sylutia blinked, repeating the two terms.
“You don’t mean you don’t even know that?” Talier’s expression at the girl’s face was strange, but she still couldn’t help answering.
“Rising Wind Season, Gale Season, Sinking Mist Season, Trade Wind Season — these are the four major wind seasons. Each wind season lasts a decade or more, and conditions differ by region, but overall it’s a fifty-four year cycle.”
As Talier answered, a familiar sense flickered in Sylutia’s mind, then she continued, “Because everything grows in Rising Wind Season, animals breed in large numbers and more and stronger beasts are born, so the wild becomes dangerous. By Gale Season, the ‘Blazing Sun’ Aspect weakens, plant growth slows and grazers decrease, and many beasts grow more ferocious from hunger.”
“Mm-hmm, looks like you know your stuff.” Talier nodded in satisfaction.
“But that sounds like book knowledge; you probably don’t go into the wild much. Actually in the early years before Gale Season, because the continent sinks into the mist and the rains are plentiful, food is abundant, so the beasts have a short period of calm. Frogs breed in huge numbers then.”
“Heh heh, I know quite a bit, right?” Talier was pleased to see Sylutia listening carefully.
“Did you go to school?” Sylutia asked, intrigued.
“Nope. Learning to read and study was too much trouble, but my sister loved it. She used to study in the city and would come back and drag me into hearing about what she’d learned. I got bored of it, but I remember some things.”
“I see.”
“So where are you from? I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you. Are nobles all that beautiful? If you don’t sunbathe does your skin really stay pale and your hair turn snow-white? And how old are you?” Talier couldn’t help her curiosity and fired off a string of questions.
“I can’t say where I’m from right now. Something happened; I can’t remember some things.” The girl tapped her chin lightly and shook her head.
“Maybe nobles do look a bit better since they don’t work much and have money to maintain themselves, but that’s not absolute. Not sunbathing can keep your complexion fairer, but it won’t change your fundamental skin color. Hair color doesn’t change just from avoiding the sun. As for age, I should be about the same as you.” Her memory was unusually sharp; even though Talier asked many questions, she answered clearly in order.
“Wah, is that so?” Talier felt oddly happy. The girl had listened to every word and answered patiently; the last time she’d felt that was with her sister. Adults usually got impatient with her odd questions.
“So are you trying to find your way home?” Talier scanned Sylutia’s clothing style, trying to guess her origin.
“Yes.” But the girl thought that her “going home” might involve crossing worlds.
“Hmm… I think Grandpa Hyde can help.” She propped her chin and thought of people she knew.
“Who’s he?”
“He’s my sister’s teacher, a scholar in Scorchstone City. I heard he used to be an advisor to nobles. He’s old now and lives alone in a small building in the city.”
“Let me tell you, Grandpa Hyde isn’t an ordinary teacher. He’s certified by the Candlefort School and holds a Brass Book Emblem as a scholar.”
Candlefort School… The girl mouthed the words and felt a vague, blurred familiarity stir.
“If I get the chance I’ll visit. I need to learn as much as I can about this world; finding a learned teacher would be perfect.”
The two chatted and grew familiar until shouts and the sound of collapse outside drew their attention.
Talier opened the small shutter and peered out carefully; Sylutia stood behind her and also looked.
Flames spread across the square. Many who had fought earlier were down, and the ground was littered with wolf bodies. Besides the crimson giant wolf, only a few scattered Tili wolves still roamed. The cavalry captain’s clothing was bloodstained; the outer surcoat over his chest had been ripped, revealing a long tear in the chainmail beneath. Dark red blood dripped steadily. One of his arms hung limp, apparently broken, while the other barely gripped the sword hilt.
The remaining riders and villagers still faced the giant wolf. The crimson wolf’s pelt was streaked with blood, one eye shut and oozing thick black blood, pale steam rising from it on the ground.
Normally such a wounded fang-beast would have fled, but under the influence of the Blazing Sun Aspect, this giant wolf’s temper was defiant. Now, enraged by injury, it grew more savage. Given its cunning, it judged that the few remaining soldiers before it were too weak; a few more attacks would wipe them out.
Driven by hunger and the thirst for slaughter, the crimson giant wolf lowed and moved slowly amid the firelight. Even when it stepped on glowing embers it showed no fear. Although its strength had fallen, it was even more cunning and dangerous.
The situation looked grim. If the cavalry captain fell, things would spiral downhill fast. The girl frowned, worry rising in waves.
Unfortunately, aside from her edge in recognition and diagnosis, she had no other abilities. Even if she charged out she could do little. That helplessness stoked a hunger in her for strength.
She resolved to find an opportunity to learn some self-preservation ability as soon as possible.
“Almost…” Talier’s eyes were fixed on a stone platform at the side of the square, and she murmured.
“What’s almost?” Sylutia asked.
“I can’t explain it. Look over there — you’ll see.” Talier pointed beyond the square. Several people were climbing the stone platform and smearing something with their hands, using lime to paint it.
“Are you done?” The injured cavalry captain shouted urgently across the square.
Seconds later, a voice rang out joyfully in the night: “Good, it’s done!”
Though to most eyes nothing appeared different, in Sylutia’s vision the stone platform radiated a transparent gray-white ripple. Not only that platform — the village had other stone platforms, six in total, and their ripples collided and converged toward the center of the square, producing a strange force field that spread across the village.
[Royal Authority School · Six Stone Tower’s Protection] (Castle)
‘A classic ritual formation of the Royal Authority School. It suppresses Aspects other than “Castle” within the barrier area and slightly enhances the Royal Authority School’s abilities.’
The gray-white ripples spread. The crimson giant wolf’s fur dimmed a shade; in Sylutia’s eyes its boiling blood cooled considerably. The aura and the weight of pressure it exuded diminished by about thirty percent.
Looking at the cavalry captain now, his condition had improved somewhat. His gaze steadied and his breathing calmed.
Name: Unknown (Cavalry Captain)
Race: Human (mortal frame)
Condition: Injured (two fractures, three wounds)
Talent:
Tenacity [Good]: Your body is inherently two points tougher than an average person, but do not rely excessively on this talent—it is not powerful and could lead to recklessness and death.
Fate Card: [Ironclad Guard (Granted)] (Rank 1 - Castle); the gray-stone bordered card shows a soldier in chainmail holding a sword, standing upright and proud.
‘You were knighted by Baron Horlin and became one of his loyal guards, thus receiving the “Castle” Aspect profession — Ironclad Guard.’
Effects:
[Iron Armor Blessing Lv.2]: Strengthens the protection of iron-type armor you wear, making it tougher and harder for ordinary weapons to pierce, slightly reducing impact and distributing damage.
Ability Card:
[Steel Edge Blade Lv.2 (Granted)] (Castle): Temporarily grants your blade the strength of steel and increases sharpness, allowing it to penetrate weak defensive barriers.
[Breathing Method Lv.2] (Blood Discipline): Regulates blood flow through breathing to boost full-body strength and reaction speed. This ability burdens the heart and body and must not be used for long durations (recommended no more than 3 minutes per day).
With a short-lived edge, the cavalry captain shouted commands. He ordered the remaining villagers and riders to harry the giant wolf’s attention. As archers loosed arrows and men struck blades and shields to distract the beast, he tightened his grip on the broad sword and searched for an opening. After a few feints, he lunged forward in one step and drove the sharp blade into the wolf’s lower jaw, piercing flesh and lodging in its mouth.
Intense pain made the crimson giant wolf thrash wildly. The beast’s furious strength foiled the captain’s follow-up plan. Perhaps truly threatened by death, the giant wolf abandoned the fight and dragged the broad sword embedded in its jaw as it fled into the darkness.
Blood dripped as it ran, but the wolf moved like the wind and vanished into blackness. No one could catch its speed; the few available horses were wounded or had fled to the village edge and were unusable.
“Damn it!” The captain spat blood and could only glare in fury as the giant wolf disappeared into the night.
With the ferocious crimson wolf gone, the remaining Tili wolves sensed danger and tried to flee, but they were not nearly as fast. The winded cavalry captain again used the Breathing Method. His face flushed crimson as he surged forward and caught the wolves. Soon, several bloody wolf heads flew through the air and tumbled into grass and dirt.
A long breath escaped him. Now he could no longer hold out; the side effects of the Breathing Method began to backlash. A tide of acid pain surged over his body and nearly made him lose his footing.
“Captain!” A cavalryman rushed to support him, while others called for a doctor to come and treat him.
“Quick, fetch help. Many are injured; if we can’t stop their bleeding, a lot might die.” Ordinary Tili wolf bites aren’t swiftly fatal unless they hit the throat.
Hearing this, the remaining villagers ran through the settlement to fetch aid.
Night was loud. Many resin torches and makeshift braziers burned in the square. With the fighting over, villagers who arrived began tending the wounded while others finished off Tili wolves that weren’t yet dead.
“How many died?” The village chief stepped out, exhausted, and asked in a strained voice.
“Not sure. At least five or six. Some are still being treated; if they don’t make it through the night, then…” A burly villager answered beside him, his face grim.
“This Tili Wolf Festival was extra dangerous.” Vanderhey, the merchant who had hidden earlier, slowly approached with two mercenary guards at his side. The guards wore full mail, helmets, and carried shields; they were the caravan’s strongest fighters.
“Hmph.”
The village chief’s face hardened at Vanderhey’s late appearance. He suspected the man had kept to a safe distance earlier. If Vanderhey had committed his guards to the defense, the losses might have been far less.
“Heh heh, Old Ponde~” Vanderhey knew his earlier behavior provoked displeasure, but he wouldn’t place his own safety second. He plastered a smile on his face and greeted the chief to smooth things over.
“This time the village truly suffered unexpected losses. As an old friend of Lindenwood Village, I should contribute. How about I give you twenty percent off this shipment — no, thirty percent!” He pinched an imaginary wound to suggest sacrifice.
The village chief didn’t reply, only shook his head and turned back to the injured being treated.
“How’s Lord Frien?” he asked, stepping before the injured cavalry captain. The captain’s name was Frien.
“I won’t die from this.” He gritted his teeth. A comrade wiped the long gash in his chest; the charred and fresh crimson flesh churned inside, a gruesome sight.
The village chief made no objection; he glanced at the wound and nodded slightly. He had been an adventurer in his youth and knew that although the wounds looked terrifying, they weren’t fatal.
“That’s a relief.” If this capable captain under Baron Horlin’s banner died, it would be a headache to explain.
“What about the others?” The chief now had time to observe the remaining riders. Many were injured. Although wearing leather or mail, they had faced heavier combat than the villagers and suffered worse casualties.
“We lost four on the road, three more here, and several are unconscious. Their condition is uncertain.” Frien shook his head, visibly downcast.
Many of those recruits had been trained by him like nephews and sons; his mood was naturally heavy.
As they discussed how to handle the aftermath, two figures walked through the glow of the square and approached.
“Grandpa, Miss Tia says she can help a bit.” Talier led Sylutia forward, her gaze flicking to the wolf corpses on the ground — part frightened, part exhilarated.
Sylutia again stood before the village chief. Frien looked surprised that someone like her had been in the village all along.
After a brief introduction, they understood the girl’s situation. There wasn’t time for details — they only hoped she could do something to help the wounded.
“I know some wound-cleaning techniques and can suture simple injuries.” She had learned some needlework as a child from her grandmother and had trained in first aid at an academy.
Maybe these skills were common on Earth, but here the villagers’ treatment methods were crude, and she could hardly bear to watch. She offered to help.
This would also draw them closer — she would need the villagers’ assistance later. With resolve, she and Talier stepped forward.
The village chief and Frien were skeptical but allowed her to try. Her methods proved effective and they relaxed.
Standing over boiling water, Sylutia’s nimble fingers cleared grime and mud from wounds, realigned partially fractured bones, then carefully wrapped them and bound wooden splints. Talier assisted, holding patients down or steadying splints.
Their cooperation, clumsy at first, became more practiced. They worked methodically until late into the night before the last of the treatments finished.
Sylutia rinsed her hands in warm water and wrung them dry. Only then did she have a moment to wipe sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
“No, don’t use those clothes to wipe sweat. Use this.” Talier handed over a clean cotton cloth.
“Thanks.” Sylutia wiped her forehead and set the cloth down, then suddenly thought of something.
“Cotton cloths must be valuable here, right?” She noticed most villagers wore linen and some had wool.
“They’re pricier. My sister brought this back from the city once.” Talier replied.
“But wiping your sweat with it isn’t a big loss.” Talier examined Sylutia by the lamplight again.
“You’re so pretty. I don’t think the prettiest girls in Scorchstone City are as lovely as you.” She tucked the cotton cloth carefully into an inner pocket.
Miss Tia looked charming even while working; that focused, earnest expression quieted Talier, who usually was mischievous.
They sat by the lamp to rest. A village matron came by with food.
“Eat quickly. I just baked these pies. You two have worked hard tonight.” She stroked Talier’s brown-red hair affectionately and then looked toward the silver-haired girl by the light.
“She’s truly beautiful…” the woman echoed Talier’s feeling.
“You two should rest early; you’ve both been busy a long time. I’ll take some food to the others.”
Then she left. Tonight in Lindenwood Village, many people were destined to be sleepless.