The crescent moon, curved like a hook, slowly climbed into the sky. A thin, translucent gray cloud lightly veiled its glow, casting a faint haze over the fields, like a wisp of smoke. As the evening clouds drifted away, the mist cleared, and the moonlight, clear as water, bathed the soft autumn night.
A chilly breeze swept through the valley, carrying a sharp bite as it pushed white fog downward toward the lower slopes. The shadows of the peaks fell faster, pressing over the village, growing darker and blending into the night. But soon, the moonlight painted them silver-gray.
Kicked out of Sheep Horn by the furious old village chief, the Last Defender of the Way adventuring party set up camp in the wilderness outside the village. They pitched simple tents, built a makeshift stove, and started cooking.
The fire's warm tongues licked the blackened pot, where chunks of mutton, sliced potatoes, and turnips simmered, jostled and tumbled by bubbling bursts. Barrett chopped some green onions, tossing them into the pot, and the fragrant steam swirled thicker, teasing the hungry noses of the group.
Scooping up a bit of the boiling broth with a wooden spoon, Stella blew gently and took a sip. The flavor was rich, smooth, and savory. She had to admit that Barrett, the thirty-something mithril-level adventurer, wasn't just stronger in combat and more experienced in adventuring—he was a damn better cook, too.
Meanwhile, EeDechi grabbed a black clay bowl, snatched the wooden spoon from Stella's hand, and dove into the pot, ladling out heaping scoops of steaming mutton broth and meat chunks until the bowl brimmed with the bubbling feast.
EeDechi tore off a big chunk of oat bread with her teeth, slurped a scalding gulp of soup from the bowl, and chewed noisily, her cheeks puffed out as she smacked her lips. "Damn, this is good! So good!"
Sean and Stella, standing around the campfire, froze in shock. Barrett, the one who cooked the mutton soup, stood there clutching a bundle of green onions, dumbfounded.
The pot of fragrant soup had just finished cooking, still hot enough to rival boiling water. Normally, you'd tamp down the fire and let it cool before digging in. Anyone else eating like EeDechi would've blistered their mouth raw.
Barrett cautiously eyed EeDechi, who was chugging the steaming broth from her clay bowl. Seeing she was fine, he let out a relieved breath and waved off Stella, who was ready to cast a healing spell. "Relax, looks like the captain's fire resistance is on par with a magma beast."
Sean poked at the campfire with a pine branch, taming its flames, then grabbed four clay bowls and passed them to Stella, Barrett, and the twin sisters—Barrett's so-called "dead weight."
Each of the five filled a bowl with meaty broth, scooping up chunks of mutton and potato slices, paired with thick slices of buttered bread. They ate slowly, savoring every bite.
When the pot was scraped clean, Stella roasted eight skewers of beef over the fire, slathering them with dark brine sauce and sprinkling on spices. The group devoured them, finally full.
After cleaning the dishes and cookware, they gathered around the warm campfire. Sean and Barrett swapped stories and bragged, while Stella hugged the quiet twin sisters, one on each side, listening to the tales and tossing in a few comments here and there.
The three of them rambled from the magical might of an adult black dragon to the ancient legends of the Eight Greed Kings, before circling back to Sheep Horn, the village near their campsite.
"Are the folks in Re-Estize always this unfriendly? Or did they clock our Baharuth accents?" Sean said, squinting at the faint lights twinkling from the village across the hills.
"I thought that shepherd girl was pretty nice," Stella said, prodding the glowing coals in the campfire with a stick. "It's just the village chief who's got a stick up his ass about us."
Sean nodded. "Yeah, every place has its good and bad people. Who'd have thought the village chief would be hawking goods at the market? Otherwise, you wouldn't have run into him, uncle."
Barrett wasn't thrilled about Sean calling him "uncle." He was only 33, just a decade older than Sean, for crying out loud. In this world, regular folks could live to ninety or even a hundred if they dodged disease and disaster, so Barrett figured he was still plenty young.
What he liked even less was EeDechi, who was younger than Sean, calling him "kid" or "young man." Compared to that, "uncle" was almost tolerable.
The "uncle" tossed a pine log onto the fire and said, "It's not really about the chief's attitude. The problem is Sheep Horn's got hardly any young men. They can't even scrape together a decent militia. If we wanted to kill and rob, those farmwives and geezers wouldn't stand a chance. They're scared we're wolves at the door—that's why they're so damn jumpy."
"Makes sense. You've got the experience, uncle," Sean said. "But where the hell did all their young guys go?"
EeDechi didn't join their banter, sitting cross-legged and flipping through The Mystery of Magic, a tome thicker than the Empire's chronicles. She'd snagged it from Peyton Manor, penned by a bunch of self-important human mages. It detailed 4th and 5th Tier spells, the origins of magic, and paths to even higher tiers.
She'd once tried to get Stella to read it, hoping the cleric girl might pick up a trick or two, but Stella, barely managing 2nd Tier spells, couldn't make heads or tails of the incantations and gave up.
A heavy wave of exhaustion crept over them, and the group prepped for sleep. Sean doused the campfire, and Stella cast a simple protective ward around the camp. Since they were just outside the village, they skipped setting a watch. Each crawled into their tent, the autumn night's chill seeping through the thin linen. They wrapped themselves tight in wool blankets and drifted off.
The Milky Way stretched across the sky, the crescent moon hung high, and strange night bugs chirped in the dark.
Barrett slipped into a dream…
A hazy pink fog filled his mind. A girl in a white dress stood amid black thorns. Her wine-red hair spilled carelessly over her shoulders, slanted bangs just grazing her eyelids. Long lashes fluttered over eyes that shimmered like they held secrets. Her small nose sat perfectly, her pink cheeks glowed, and her moist lips begged for a kiss.
"Raye…" Barrett murmured in his sleep. In the dream, he stepped toward her, but the dark, spectral thorns blocked his path.
"Damn it…" Barrett reached for the sword at his waist to hack through the thorns, but his hand found nothing. The thorny leaves withered, their spiked branches turning to brittle sticks, crumbling to the ground.
He pushed through the thicket toward the girl, but her face began to shift. Her slightly pointed chin rounded into a delicate oval. A pair of narrow, flat glasses perched on her pale nose. Her wine-red hair darkened to jet black, tied up in a neat bun. The white dress bled into black, morphing into a maid's outfit. Her large, lively eyes shimmered like rippling water.
She smiled gently at Barrett, her refined, intellectual beauty stealing his breath. It was the iron fist maid they'd fought at Peyton Manor. Barrett swallowed hard. But now, her hands bore no dangerous wolf tooth gloves—just slender fingers peeking from white lace cuffs.
She lightly adjusted her glasses, elegantly lifting the hem of her maid skirt, and stepped through the thorns toward him.
Barrett's heart pounded, loud as hooves thundering across the earth. Thump-thump, louder and louder, thump-thump, thump-thump-thump…
Wait. That wasn't his heart. Barrett's eyes snapped open in the tent, the dream shattered, sleep gone.
He rolled over, grabbed the longsword from under his oak pillow, and peeked out of the tent.
From Sheep Horn's direction, flickering firelight danced. Horses whinnied, hooves pounded, curses and cries rang out, shattering the night's silence.
Barrett roused the other three from their tents. The group grabbed their weapons, made sure the sleeping twin sisters were safe, and prepared to move.
EeDechi let out a long yawn. They left the campsite, slipping through the inky darkness toward the village's wavering glow.