Edward, the town’s renowned old doctor, hurried over not long after the commotion. Adjusting his thick spectacles, he examined Oliver's wound closely, his expression quickly shifting to one of astonishment.
"Young man," Edward remarked, his voice tinged with disbelief, "years ago, I treated someone injured by a wraith like this, but your injury is far less severe. These creatures typically have the strength to crush bones like twigs, yet your shoulder only bears some superficial claw marks."
Edward gestured toward the wreckage in the tavern—the splintered furniture and shattered glass speaking volumes about the monster's sheer power.
Oliver chuckled, shrugging off the concern. "Maybe I’ve just got a naturally strong constitution."
Of course, he wasn’t about to explain the benefits of consuming countless magical herbs over the days.
"Ah, no wonder you’re a core apprentice!" someone in the crowd exclaimed.
"Oliver, you’re incredible!" others chimed in with admiration.
Even Edward couldn't hold back his praise. "It’s rare for someone from humble beginnings to become a mage. You’ve proven yourself exceptional."
"Your injury isn’t too bad," Edward continued after applying disinfectant and carefully bandaging Oliver’s wound. "With proper care, it’ll heal quickly."
Hearing this, Oliver breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
But the drunken man who had earlier attempted to help wasn’t so lucky. Though the wraith had merely glared and roared at him, its soul attack had left him comatose. Edward’s face grew grim as he examined the man.
"This is a soul injury," the doctor explained. "It requires rare and expensive magical plants to treat."
Oliver glanced at the unconscious man, shaking his head at the misfortune. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out thirty silver coins and handed them to Edward.
"Will this cover the cost?" he asked.
Edward’s eyes widened before he nodded vigorously. "More than enough!"
The townsfolk, witnessing Oliver's generosity, erupted into murmurs of approval, many giving him grateful thumbs-ups.
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Meanwhile, as the tavern was hastily tidied, no one dared to leave. The villagers crowded around Oliver, clearly feeling safer in his presence. After all, he had hinted that there might be another creature lurking in the town.
With the candlelight flickering and tension thick in the air, every creak and rustle sent a shiver through the crowd. The atmosphere was stifling.
Eventually, a group of the lord's guards crept into the tavern, their faces pale and hands trembling. They had clearly been terrified on the way here. Upon hearing that the monster had already been slain, they collapsed to the ground, visibly relieved, some even on the verge of tears.
It seemed they had fully expected to meet their end.
The villagers were equally disheartened when they noticed that no mage had come—only a handful of ordinary guards. Their confidence in their local lord took a severe blow.
Oliver silenced the crowd, gesturing for quiet. He wanted to question the guards about the state of the manor, but before he could, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
Everyone tensed, holding their breath.
A moment later, a figure emerged, holding a torch. The uniform of the mage academy gleamed in the dim light—it was Hector, a fully-fledged mage.
Despite his brisk steps and focused demeanor, Hector exuded calm authority. Unlike the guards, he was unshaken by the events. As soon as he spotted Oliver, his expression softened.
"Well, well, Oliver," Hector said, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. "You’re stronger than I expected! No serious injuries, I hope?"
"Just a few scratches," Oliver replied with a wry smile.
"Good. I knew you had potential, but this… even I wasn’t this capable at your age. If the professor hear about this, he’ll never let us older students live it down!" Hector teased before turning his attention to the wraith’s corpse.
As he examined the remains, Hector’s expression grew grave. "This isn’t the one that killed Griffin," he muttered. "This is just one of its offspring—barely a few days old."
Oliver’s suspicions were confirmed, and his heart sank. If this juvenile wraith had been so formidable, how terrifying would the adult be?
The villagers, overhearing Hector’s words, looked visibly shaken.
Sensing their fear, Hector offered a measure of reassurance. "Relax. Fully-grown Kramars rarely target ordinary people. This one was immature and needed to feed on human flesh to grow. It probably attacked because the tavern’s noise drew it in."
He shot Oliver a grin. "Too bad for it—it picked the wrong place."
Despite Hector’s attempt to calm them, some villagers remained uneasy, unsure if they could trust his words.
But Hector had no time to soothe their nerves. With a deep frown, he muttered to Oliver, "If this young Kramar was this strong, the adult is far more dangerous than we anticipated. I doubt I could take it down alone. We’ll need the professor’s help."
Without another word, Hector grabbed Oliver by the arm, urgency evident in his actions.
The villagers, realizing the pair intended to leave, panicked and tried to follow. But Hector raised his wand, casting a swift wind spell that enveloped him and Oliver, propelling them out of the tavern at a speed the townsfolk could never match.
Left behind, the villagers could only watch as their protector vanished into the night.