I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as I regained my composure.
"Herooo!!" The townspeople erupted into cheers, their voices filling the air with excitement.
I glanced around, watching as they chanted my name. A small smile tugged at my lips as a thought crossed my mind.
As the cheers continued, the townspeople began to gather around me, their faces filled with gratitude and awe. Some clutched their hands together, while others wiped away tears of relief.
A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her hands trembling as she clasped them together in thanks. “Y-You saved us... If not for you, that beast—” Her voice cracked, and she lowered her head in a deep bow. “Thank you, truly.”
A burly man, likely a blacksmith judging by his soot-streaked apron, clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know who you are, stranger, but you have our thanks! You fought like a warrior blessed by the gods!”
More voices joined in.
“Bless you, traveler!”
“We owe you our lives!”
“Please, let us repay you somehow!”
The overwhelming gratitude pressed in on me like a wave. I had seen this kind of reaction before—people who were desperate, clinging to hope wherever they could find it. But I also knew how quickly gratitude could turn to fear.
I kept my expression neutral, offering only a small nod. “I only did what needed to be done.”
The tall man from earlier, the one who had stood out to me before the battle, watched me carefully. Unlike the others, he didn’t bow or shout in praise. Instead, his sharp eyes studied me, as if trying to decipher a puzzle.
I returned his gaze, my thoughts racing.
The cheers slowly died down as the crowd gave way to the tall man. He stepped forward, his posture still guarded, though the tension in his shoulders had eased. His sharp eyes remained locked onto mine, searching, assessing.
Finally, after a long pause, he inclined his head slightly. “You saved my people. For that, you have my thanks.”
His voice was steady, firm—not the exuberant gratitude of the others, but something more measured. It was the kind of thanks given by someone who understood the weight of what had just happened.
I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. “I only did what was necessary.”
He studied me for a moment longer before speaking again. “Even so, you didn’t have to step in. Many would have turned away.” He exhaled, the tension in his stance loosening just slightly. “My name is Garrick. I lead the defense of this town.”
So, he’s the one in charge. That explains his presence earlier.
Garrick extended a hand toward me. “And you are?”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “Haru.”
I gave a fake name just incase my name could be use against me.
A ghost of a smirk crossed his face, as if he saw through my deflection but chose not to press the matter. “Well then, Haru, you have my gratitude.”
The people around us murmured in agreement, some nodding eagerly. A few even stepped forward, offering small tokens of appreciation—freshly baked bread, handmade trinkets, a warm cloak.
I glanced at the offered gifts, unsure how to respond. I hadn’t done this for a reward.
Seeing my hesitation, Garrick chuckled lightly. “Take them,” he said. “They may not seem like much, but to these people, it’s everything they have. It’s their way of thanking you.”
For a moment, I said nothing. Then, with a slow nod, I accepted a small loaf of bread from an elderly woman who beamed up at me. “Thank you, dear,” she said softly.
Garrick watched the exchange before speaking again. “You’re welcome to stay here, at least for the night. We owe you that much.”
I met Garrick’s gaze and gave a slight nod. “I’ll stay.”
Two weeks later
The town had changed—or maybe, I had.
In the days following the attack, I found myself drawn into the daily lives of the people. It started small: helping to rebuild a collapsed wall, reinforcing defenses, lending a hand to the blacksmith when he struggled with a particularly stubborn piece of metal. At first, they were wary of me. My presence was unnatural, my power undeniable. But little by little, that fear faded, replaced by something else—trust.
I had become a part of their routine. The baker, a stout woman with flour-dusted hands, always set aside an extra loaf for me in the mornings. The children, once too afraid to approach, now ran circles around me, daring each other to touch my cloak before darting away with laughter. The hunters invited me to join them on their excursions, though they quickly learned I needed no bow or blade to take down prey.
Even Garrick, ever watchful, had eased around me. He no longer treated me as an outsider but as an ally—though I could tell he still had questions.
And yet, despite the warmth of the town, the unease I had felt when I first arrived never fully left me. There was something beneath the surface, a quiet secret buried beneath the cobblestone streets and the polite smiles.
I had spent nights wandering, extending my senses, probing for anything that might reveal the truth. The mana I had detected in the villagers still lingered, faint but ever-present. They weren’t mages, not in the traditional sense, and none of them seemed aware of the energy within them.
But it was there.
And I intended to find out why.
Tonight, I would dig deeper.
That night
The town was quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by the distant howling of the wind. I stood outside, leaning against the wooden railing of the tavern’s porch, watching the flickering lanterns that lined the cobblestone streets. My mind had been restless for days, the mystery of this place gnawing at me.
Then, I heard footsteps.
Garrick emerged from the shadows, his expression unreadable. His tall frame was silhouetted against the dim torchlight, his cloak swaying slightly in the breeze.
"You’re still awake?" I asked, not bothering to turn my head.
"So are you," he countered, stopping beside me. He exhaled heavily, arms crossed. "I need your help."
I raised an eyebrow. "With what?"
There was a brief silence before he spoke again. "You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?" His voice was lower now, cautious.
"The mana in the people here... it’s unstable."
I tensed slightly, but didn’t deny it. "I have."
Garrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not just a harmless anomaly. If left unchecked, that mana will eventually kill its host."
That made me turn to face him fully. "Explain."
He hesitated, then finally spoke. "We are not ordinary villagers. We are... defects. Castaways from the empire."
I narrowed my eyes. "Defects?"
He nodded grimly. "The empire has been conducting experiments on people for decades, trying to create artificial mages—soldiers with innate magical abilities. But the process isn’t perfect. Some of us survived, but the mana they forced into our bodies never stabilized. It’s a curse rather than a gift."
His fists clenched. "Many of us didn’t even know what was happening until it was too late. We were nothing but failed experiments—tools they discarded. Some of us fled before they could kill us, others were lucky enough to escape during transport. We ended up here, building a home away from the empire’s reach."
I processed his words carefully. The empire experimenting on humans to artificially create mages? That explained the strange traces of mana I had sensed in the villagers. But if what Garrick was saying was true…
"How long do they have?" I asked.
He grimaced. "It varies. Some last years, some only months before their bodies collapse under the strain. We've managed to slow it down by developing techniques to suppress the mana, but it’s not a cure. And now…" His expression darkened. "More people are showing signs of instability."
Garrick’s breathing was uneven. His fists trembled at his sides, his broad shoulders shaking ever so slightly. The weight of his words—of his people’s suffering—hung thick in the cold night air.
Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees.
I stiffened.
His head was bowed, his hands clenched so tightly they were turning white. His voice, when it came, was raw, stripped of all pride.
"Please." His whisper barely carried through the wind, yet it held more weight than any battle cry.
I had seen men kneel before—before kings, before gods, before the blade of an enemy. But this was different. This was not submission. It was desperation. It was the last thread of hope clinging to a fraying rope.
"They are my only family," he rasped, lifting his head, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "These people—our home—we’ve fought so hard to survive. We ran, we hid, we bled just to live one more day. But this... this sickness is killing us from the inside, and I have no cure. No matter how strong I am, I can’t stop it. I can’t save them."
He took a shaky breath. "But you... You can. You saw what we tried to keep hidden. You knew something was wrong before we even told you. You have power beyond anything I’ve ever seen."
His forehead touched the dirt. "I beg you. Help us. Help them."
For a moment, all I could do was stare.
Garrick—this proud, battle-hardened man—was on his knees before me, not for himself, but for his people. For his family.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his plea settle deep into my chest.
"Alright," I said, my voice steady. "I’ll help."
A sharp breath left him, like he had been holding it for years. His shoulders sagged, but the fight in his eyes didn’t fade.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
As he began to rise, I spoke again, my tone calm but firm.
"But first, tell me everything you know about the empire’s experiments."
If I was going to fix this, I needed the full truth.