Did she really have to bring it up — and so loudly, of all things?!
Davin gritted his teeth, quickly searching for something to say.
"I got lucky that it worked, thanks to your explanation. Thank you again," he said, a thin, practiced smile on his lips.
"Lucky!" the nearby mercenary barked again.
"Congratulations — you've got real talent, Davin. That much is certain," said Sylvia.
An elderly man stepped forward without warning.
"If what Sylvia says is true, then you do indeed have talent, boy. Frightening talent, given the speed." He continued with a sly smile. "You saved my granddaughter. I wanted to thank you in person."
"It was nothing. I was just passing through."
"No. You saved my bloodline. She told me she gave you a mana pill. Here is a second one."
Davin's eyes lit up at the sight of the pill. Saving that girl was proving far more rewarding than he ever would have anticipated.
"Besides, you seem quite young — and not bad-looking either. My granddaughter isn't married, you know."
"Grandfather!" she cried, her face flushing red.
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll have to decline. I'm leaving for Mehian."
"Ah, for the academy, I imagine. I was actually planning to send my grandchildren there myself. Could you take them with you? Just for the journey — don't worry about anything else."
Hmm. I would have preferred some time to breathe, but travelling in a group offers better protection. It's not a bad deal, all things considered.
He pretended to weigh the idea for a moment, then made his decision.
"I only just became an Adept, and I haven't yet mastered any technique or swordsmanship. I wouldn't be in any position to protect them effectively, I'm afraid."
He had made his point deliberately — freshly promoted, no technique to speak of. What would be the use of saddling him with responsibilities?
Hm, clever little bastard, the old man thought.
"One of my warriors will certainly be able to teach you a technique or two along the way. Hahaha."
Disappointing. But one can't have too much luck, I suppose.
"Alright. I agree."
"Good. You'll be paid ten gold coins, in advance."
Ten coins? Is he extraordinarily generous, or is that simply the going rate?
"There are four of them — two coins per head, and two as a bonus."
"I was planning to leave right away. Does that cause any trouble?" said Davin.
"Not in the slightest," replied the old man.
"Grandfather — he saved Sylvia, but we know nothing about him. Why him, of all people…?" Tim suddenly interjected, making no effort to hide his unease.
"Shut your mouth, fool. You've been pestering me about that academy for ages, and now you're still giving me a headache? I see — you want to stay behind, is that it?"
"I'm sorry, Grandfather."
"Hmpf."
Davin took the money from the old man's hands, told the group to meet him at the village gate in one hour, and left.
He walked at a measured pace, scanning his surroundings, and spotted what he was looking for after about ten minutes: a weapons shop. He stepped inside and let his gaze drift across the display. Swords and sabres drew his eye more than anything else.
He asked the vendor for advice. The man presented several solid options, each priced at a minimum of one gold coin. Davin took his time analysing each one with the assistance of the AI.
His choice finally settled on a sabre reminiscent of the Japanese katana from his old world. The weapon was elegant — a polished steel blade of standard combat length, cradled in a fine scabbard. Its grip was wrapped in white and gold. The sheath itself was immaculate white, adorned with dark metallic fittings bearing intricate gilded motifs.
He bought it for one gold coin. He had no idea whether that was the market rate, and frankly, he didn't care. With the training ahead of him, this blade would be more than enough.
He arrived at the village gate with time to spare. He stepped outside the walls and walked a short distance away.
There, he spotted old acquaintances.
He approached one of the beggars and observed him quietly. This one reeks, but he's not the one. He was looking for the men who had beaten him the day before.
He recognised one by his clothing and walked toward him at an unhurried pace.
The beggar, seeing a man approach, stretched out his hand to beg for coins. He never saw the fist that connected with his face. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he could understand what had happened.
Davin then pressed his foot down on the man's head, slowly and deliberately, several times. Seeing this, other beggars moved to intervene — but Davin drew his sabre from its sheath with a calm, unhurried motion.
He didn't yet know how to wield it properly, but the intent to intimidate was unmistakable.
"Who wants a taste of their own blood?"
He looked down at them, removed his foot from the man's face, and walked away. Overconfidence was dangerous, and he knew his limits.
A pity. But it's better than nothing.
One beggar tried to stop him anyway. Davin struck him across the face with the flat of his blade. The blow was clumsy, lacking any real technique — but brutal enough to open a wound that stopped the man cold.
No one else dared move. He left without looking back.
He returned to the village gate and waited roughly twenty minutes before the group appeared. They had brought a cart, hitched to creatures that resembled horses — but far larger, far more imposing. These beasts bore golden coats and possessed three eyes, aligned vertically on their broad foreheads.
A fantastical world, Davin reminded himself.
Introductions were brief. They settled the details of the journey and set off.
The group consisted of Sylvia, her brother Tim, and their two companions: Thomas and Math. Thomas was the towering figure in armour — nearly two metres tall — who had been fighting alongside Tim during the attempted rescue. Math was the injured one who had held back during the fight, clad in leather armour. It emerged that he too had been struck from behind by the goblins, but had kept his senses and could still fight.
Davin also learned what had happened after he stopped watching from the treeline. Tim had managed to kill more than half of the goblins; the survivors had fled. Too exhausted to give chase, the group had spent a long time searching the forest for Sylvia before returning to the village to find the grandfather. They had found her safe and unharmed on his doorstep — to their complete astonishment.
The journey was expected to take ten hours on foot, but with the cart, they estimated just over eight.
After six hours, they reached a hill. Brigands concealed in the surrounding vegetation surged out and encircled them. They outnumbered the group — and their leader was an Adept.
He stepped forward and offered them a simple choice: hand over everything they had, and they would live. Refuse, and they would all die.
The group refused to yield and braced for a fight.
The brigands didn't wait long. They attacked.
Tim, Thomas, and Math managed to cut down several of them while Sylvia and Davin held back.
Then the leader, who had kept himself out of sight, reappeared. He cast a spell and hurled a fireball at the cart. The group dove clear — but the beasts did not. They were engulfed in flames, screaming until they went silent.
Shaken by the loss of their mount, the group attempted to negotiate. The brigands had no interest in talking.
One of them seized Sylvia from behind. Her brother, consumed by rage, charged toward her — and was struck by an arrow through the face. He died instantly.
Sylvia's scream tore through the air before she collapsed. The brigand slapped her immediately to bring her back.
Davin, who had witnessed everything, had no choice left.
"Thomas, Math — hold on just a moment. I'm going to cast a spell I just learned!"
Despite the loss of Tim, Thomas and Math felt a flicker of desperate hope ignite within them. Their lives were on the line. They couldn't give up yet.
Among the brigands, the effect was the opposite. A few of them went rigid. Even the Adept leader paused, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He grabbed Sylvia by the hair and pressed the cold steel of his blade against her throat.
Davin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
Quick calculation. One confirmed Adept. Around ten brigands. Thomas and Math running on fumes. Me: no technique, no mastered spell, nine gold coins and a sabre I barely know how to hold.
Survival probability if I stay: under ten percent.
He murmured a few incomprehensible syllables, extending his hand in front of him with a slow, theatrical gesture. Every brigand tensed. The leader tightened his grip on Sylvia.
Two seconds.
Davin turned and ran.
No hesitation. No backward glance. His legs carried him away from the chaos with the same cold efficiency he once used to close a useless file on his old computer. Thomas's voice cut through the air behind him, calling his name. Then came Sylvia's strangled cry.
He kept running.
They're dead or captured. The variable is settled.
It was only after putting nearly a kilometre between himself and the hill that he slowed, his lungs burning, and pressed his back against the rough bark of a black tree. The silence of the forest closed around him like cold water.
He waited for his breathing to stabilise.
No remorse came. Out of analytical habit, he searched for it — some trace of guilt, of regret, any moral friction at all. He found nothing. Only the dull rhythm of his own heartbeat, gradually slowing.
Sylvia gave me a pill. I saved her life. The debt was settled.
Tim had looked at me sideways from the start. I owed him nothing.
Thomas and Math were strangers hired to make the trip.
The grandfather paid me to escort them, not to die for them.
He mentally counted the nine remaining gold coins — the tenth had gone toward the sabre — one by one.
The equation is simple: I am alive. They most likely are not. In this world, that is the only statistic that matters.
"AI, analyse my current state."
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress...] > HOST STATUS:
Name: Davin
Strength: 1.3
Agility: 1.2
Vitality: 1.1
Mana: 2.5
[Alert: Slight vitality decrease detected. Intense physical stress. No critical injuries.]
Good.
He straightened up, brushed off his jacket with a casual gesture, and resumed walking north — toward Mehian, toward the academy.
Behind him, somewhere on that hill, the wind carried one last cry before everything fell silent.
Davin didn't look back.