The army did not linger much longer after the job was done.
Golden light still clung faintly to the torn earth as Regulus turned back toward the waiting portal. He paused only once, meeting Father Pella's gaze again across the ruined village.
Regulus placed a fist over his chest—a salute of the Dawn Church—and nodded.
Pella inclined his head in return. Nothing ceremonial, nothing grand.
Just understanding and pride that came from fulfilling their duty.
With crisp, practiced efficiency, Regulus barked his final orders. The paladins moved as one, forming ranks like a well-oiled machine of war, armor gleaming even through grime and battle scars. Priests followed, chanting softly as the portal widened again.
As the last soldier stepped through, the light folded inward and vanished.
Silence returned.
Pella watched the empty space for a long moment before exhaling.
"…There might still be hope for the Church after all," he muttered.
Then he turned back toward the hunters.
"All right," he called out, his voice carrying easily. "Everyone, form up and let's head home."
They obeyed as usual, falling into lines of two. They were tired, battered, but alive, with smiles on their faces.
When they arrived, the village greeted them with relief bordering on disbelief—happy that no one had been badly hurt.
Brahm ordered a general check-up. Everyone looked exhausted and hungry, except Father Pella, who still appeared much the same as when he had left, aside from a few dents in his armor and a ripped cloak.
He went back home to change into his usual robes of the Dawn Church and help the injured.
Teclos was lying in the church when Saldia arrived again that evening.
She didn't speak at first. She simply sat beside him, her fingers lightly brushing his sleeve, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.
"…You scared me," she said finally, her voice quiet but heavy.
Teclos swallowed. "I know." By now, this had almost become a routine—him apologizing, Saldia fussing over him the whole day.
"You ran away," she continued. "You ran without telling anyone. Do you know what that does to a mother?"
"I didn't want you to stop me," he admitted. "And I didn't want you scared."
She laughed softly—broken, tired. "Oh, my poor idiot son. You think not knowing scares me less?"
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his.
"Don't ever disappear like that again," she said, wearing an eerie smile.
"I won't," he said quickly. "I promise."
'Who is scaring whom?' he thought.
She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Just like your father, you only give me gray hair... you're grounded."
Teclos blinked. "…I almost died."
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Which is exactly why you're grounded."
He despaired at the punishment. With no real entertainment in this world, being grounded was brutal for him. He still remembered not doing his homework and being grounded back then… those were the best days—he would just play games on his computer as punishment.
Of course, now that he thought about it, that was also the reason he couldn't find a better job than that damn factory.
The next morning, Talmir came by briefly as well.
He had returned home the same day the warriors did, thanks to Pella overdoing it with his high-level healing. He only needed rest and food to recover… as well as some doting from his wife—but that would have to wait, as she was still mad.
Talmir leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying Teclos like he was inspecting a blade for cracks.
Seeing that he was generally in good shape and not depressed, he finally spoke.
"…You did good."
Teclos frowned. "That's it?"
Talmir snorted. "You want more praise? You'll get it when you understand what you did wrong—and stop injuring yourself if you do it again."
'Coming from you, that's quite ironic,' Teclos thought.
Then, more quietly, "Still… you did well enough. Better than I expected, actually, and I'm proud of you for standing up for those people, son."
Teclos smiled faintly. "Thanks, that… means a lot."
Talmir nodded once. "Rest. We'll talk about training later, once we know what Father Pella allows us to do given your injuries."
Later that afternoon, Ralph and Gillard appeared at the church doorway as well.
"Oi," Ralph said. "You still alive?"
Teclos smirked weakly. "Unfortunately."
Gillard pulled up a chair. "Good. Then we can get an explanation from the man himself."
Teclos hesitated, then talked.
About fear. About guilt. About feeling small when people depended on him.
"I keep replaying it," he admitted. "Every mistake. Every second I hesitated."
He told them everything.
The successful ambush.
The fear of almost dying.
The moment he realized he couldn't win.
How helpless he felt in the face of the ghoul's raw power—and how the very people who depended on him ended up protecting him instead.
Ralph crossed his arms. "You're alive, aren't you?"
"That's not the point."
"It is, you dumbass," Ralph snapped. "Dead heroes don't save anyone. Besides, you killed two ghouls, didn't you? How many twelve-year-olds can brag about that, huh?!"
Gillard leaned forward, his voice calmer. "You didn't fail anyone. You survived and made it back. If you had died, then the story would be different."
"…Still," Teclos said quietly, staring at his hands, "I keep thinking… if I was stronger, faster, smarter—maybe none of it would've happened."
Silence stretched.
"…And," he added hesitantly, "…I know my parents have my back now. I just—"
He swallowed.
"I was wondering if you two still did as well?"
Teclos looked away. "With all the rumors… I thought maybe you'd think less of me."
Ralph stood abruptly. "Say that again, you punk!"
Teclos flinched.
Ralph raised his fist toward Teclos's gut—
—and Gillard caught it mid-air.
"Don't," Gillard said flatly. "He's still hurt. We can beat him up later, man."
Ralph exhaled sharply, then flicked Teclos's forehead instead.
"Is that all the faith you have in us as friends?" he said. "All right, then let me tell you this directly to your stupid face, so that you might finally get it through that thick skull of yours. We're friends, and we'll always have your back."
Gillard nodded. "And Ragla's people are singing your praises, by the way. They don't blame you at all."
"Thanks." He felt more than a tiny bit relieved at that. Then he realized what Gillard said, and he turned his head in disbelief. "What?"
"Yeah," Gillard continued. "Some trader named Kortull—or something like that—and an old man named Pete. They shut down anyone talking trash and told everyone what you did."
Ralph grinned. "We just wanted to hear it from you ourselves. You've got fans now. Shame you're such a gloomy goblin—we were expecting an epic fight story, not a sob tale."
Teclos laughed weakly, warmth settling in his chest.
"We'll grab some freshly baked bread from the festival," Ralph said. "Stay alive in the meantime, princess."
When they left, Teclos stared at the ceiling.
Just like with his parents, his friends also had his back.
After that, two weeks passed and Teclos recovered.
Healing was slow. They only fed him potions, and even Father Pella refused to fully heal him, always saying he would explain later.
Still, it was never boring, because Saldia visited daily, fussing constantly.
"Drink this." She handed him a green-colored potion.
"I already did, just an hour ago, Mom."
"Drink it again."
"It tastes awful."
"Good. That means it's working. I will get you some more."
He drank it and recoiled. It tasted like cow piss—but he kept that thought to himself unless he wanted another lecture.
Before leaving the church, Father Pella performed one final checkup and explained that Teclos should only do light workouts for at least a week or two.
When Teclos was finally cleared to leave, people greeted him openly—Kolma and Ragla alike.
Just before reaching home, Loric greeted him as well. It was barely a greeting: a quick nod and wave before running off. Still, it shocked Teclos enough that he froze in place.
At home, Saldia hugged him tightly.
"No lectures this time?" Teclos asked cautiously.
She shook her head. "Not today. Tomorrow is another matter."
Talmir ruffled his hair. "Proud of you—for surviving her potions," he whispered. "They're great for mana flow and regeneration… shame they taste like piss."
Saldia cleared her throat. "Did you say something about my potions, dear? Maybe you want to drink some?"
"N-no, honey. My mana is perfectly fine already," Talmir said quickly, and retreated.
Dinner was loud, warm, and full of laughter.
Eventually, Talmir got serious and asked,
"So… what did Pella say about training?"
"Light training only," Teclos answered.
"What kind? Never mind," Talmir nodded. "We'll test your limits tomorrow."
"Tomorrow he's mine," Saldia said, crossing her arms.
"…Mother—"
"No objections."
Teclos looked to Talmir for help, but his father only shook his head.
They compromised on the day after.
That day, Teclos was exhausted after a full day of chores with his mother—market trips, herbs, cleaning, studying—had drained him more than physical training ever did.
"Trust me when I say it was good you spent yesterday with your mother, even if you're tired now," Talmir said. "Anyway, let's start with a light jog to the waterfall."
"I know." He didn't need to see her anger anymore to understand.
Teclos ran. Slow and careful, so that he wouldn't hurt himself again.
Near the waterfall, Talmir stopped him. "How do you feel? Any pain?"
"No… actually, I feel like I have more stamina."
"Yeah," Talmir said dryly. "That'd be the cow piss. It's effective, if nothing else."
He pointed to a rock near the water. "Sit. Let's do some mana training."
Teclos did.
It hurt—but not the way he expected.
His mana flow felt larger and stronger somehow. So much so that his body needed to adapt to this flow.
"…What?" Teclos muttered.
Talmir smiled knowingly.
"Your body grew through the experience," he said. "It remembers what it lacked during the fight. That's why the priests—and Pella—didn't fully heal you. So your young body could grow."
It finally dawned on Teclos.
That was what Pella had meant to explain.
The sound of the waterfall filled the clearing, steady and relentless.
"Good," Talmir said after watching Teclos for a few hours. "Your mana is stable again."
Teclos opened his eyes slowly, sweat running down his temples. "It feels… different. Like it flows better, and that I have more mana than usual."
"That's because it's true," Talmir replied. "Your mana veins expanded, and the mana flow to your body is bigger and more stable."
He motioned for Teclos to stand. "All right. Let's see how just your body holds up now."
The exercises were simple—deliberately so.
Short sprints between marked stones, never long enough to strain. Controlled push-ups, stopping the moment Teclos's breathing faltered. Balance drills on wet rock near the riverbank, forcing him to stabilize both his body and coordination.
Whenever Teclos grimaced, Talmir stopped him immediately.
He warned, "Discomfort is fine, but pain means you're pushing yourself too much."
They tested reflexes and stances next—light sparring motions without impact. Talmir guided Teclos's arms, correcting posture, adjusting foot placement with taps from his staff.
"You rely too much on your instinct," Talmir said. "It's good, but you also need proper technique."
Teclos nodded, taking the lessons in.
They finished with breathing exercises beneath the waterfall's edge—not directly under it, but close enough that the spray chilled his skin.
"Control your breathing. Keep a steady rhythm."
Teclos clenched his teeth, then slowly relaxed.
With the overall check-up done, Talmir was satisfied and ended the training. "That's enough for today."
On the walk back home, they chatted a bit.
"You were close," Talmir said suddenly.
Teclos looked up. "To dying?"
"To winning," Talmir corrected. "You recognized the danger. You adapted well. You just lacked the experience and technique to pull through."
Teclos frowned. "I feel like I should have waited, and found that ghoul first, from stealth, I mean."
"Yes," Talmir agreed. "See, experience. Next time you won't be doing that again, right?"
They walked in silence for a moment before Talmir continued.
"We'll proceed like this: light training for another week. Endurance mostly and reflexes."
"And after that?"
Talmir smiled faintly. "Then we build you up properly. We'll turn you into the best hunter this village has ever seen, and measly ghouls won't be able to touch you anymore."
Teclos nodded slowly, committing the words to memory.
Before they reached home, Talmir stopped him.
"One more thing," he said. "You don't need to dominate every enemy."
Teclos blinked in confusion.
"What you need right now is survival skills," Talmir finished. "So to simplify your training, we are going to strengthen your mental fortitude, reflexes, footwork, defense, and evasion."
—
That night, Teclos lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He replayed the fight with the ghouls again, this time with a clearer mind thanks to Talmir. His thoughts about being useless didn't crush him this time, but instead helped him look at the situation objectively.
He saw where he hesitated. Where he could've pushed once more. Where his fear stole his momentum and froze him in place.
It had been close, actually.
Not a frontal assault, but a dodge here, a slip there, and he could have won against a single ghoul.
Next time, he wouldn't freeze.
Next time, he wouldn't complain about the training.
He promised himself.
With that vow burning quietly in his chest, Teclos finally drifted into sleep.