My decision to tow the Alpha's head back to the Village may be ever so slightly...optimistic.

The head is, through size alone, rather difficult to manage. I'm making do by tugging on its fur, but my arms still aren't in great condition from the Reckless Strike and the bite on my shoulder, so making progress has been difficult. And painful, of course.

I'm not about to stop fighting the way I want, but I really do need to exercise better control of my mind and body. I'm alive right now because of two things: Forest Walker and Ignore Pain.

I wasn't exaggerating when I said that a Dirolft can take down a Mercenary by itself. But I'd be lying if I said that I'm too much better than one. Their primary method of attack being to lunge and bite is predictable, given their bodies, but they're fast and strong, and with my perception and reflexes being what they are normally, I might not have been able to react in time to the first Dirolft, and I definitely would have died to the last two Dirolft if I hadn't immediately given up on trying to use the Pouch of Pungent Powders. It was a stupid idea with the time I had, and I should have been punished severely for it.

Small stat buffs like that can make the difference in a fight, I've learned. I'm curious to see how absurd people get at high levels if their stats to continue to grow at a steady pace. I'm not even sure what constitutes a high level, really. All that Nealan knows is that you need a Class to start levelling, and your first Class is usually acquired through either specific training by someone familiar with that Class, completing special Quests, or else it comes to you naturally, representing who and what you are at the time you're offered it. There's a whole branch of philosophy dedicated to understanding the mechanism, but I think only the Testers realise the truth behind it. The AI Curator is supposedly watching our every move and rewards us based on our feats, though I don't know the in-universe Lore behind it, I'd have to ask one of the writing staff or maybe a God if that's ever an option.

If Nealan stayed home instead of running off to join the Loranics, he probably would have become eligible to learn the Woodsman Class from Da. As a specialised resource producer, a Woodsman would be great at navigating forests and harvesting lumber, but only mediocre at best in a fight, buoyed by higher than average strength and good spatial awareness in the forests they've familiarised themselves with. Anything nastier than a regular Dirolft or trained for combat would destroy me in that case. That I even managed against a single Dirolft with no Class, and piss-poor training would be laughed off as a ridiculous flight of fancy if I wasn't dragging the Alpha's head back with me, and in anywhere other than Klennock Village I'd be asked which Adventurer I stole it from. At least there they might give me the benefit of the doubt since they've known me all Nealan's life, and know him to be an honest, hard-working sort.

Stewing in introspection, I almost don't notice the surroundings get lighter, signalling the approach of the forest's edge. I take a ragged breath to calm the thrumming heat needling the joints and muscles of my arms. Grunting, I pull the handle of fur a little more forcefully and move at a brisker pace towards open ground.

Sat waiting on one of the many stumps is my Da, staring right at me as I leave the treeline. He smiles softly at me, before turning to abject horror.

"Son! Behind you!" He screams, scrambling to his feet, and running my way.

I glance back, only seeing the severed Alpha's skull. Confusion lasts only a moment as I realise that's what spooked him. Honestly, I shouldn't be all that surprised, and the concern is touching, but it's pretty obviously dead, right? Maybe Da needs glasses now that he's old.

My nonchalance seems to derail the burst of fatherly concern, and his sprinting falters awkwardly as he nears, slowing down to a standstill, mouth gaping in shock, clearly incapable of processing the scene of his son dragging home an Alpha Dirolft's head as a trophy. After what seems like forever, he regains his lost composure, then looks at me in askance.

"Howdy," I say, grinning, removing his Axe from my belt and offering it to him, "Got yer axe. Be more careful with it, yeah?"

Disbelieving, Da walks over and takes the axe, never taking his eyes off me. In his eyes I see questions, but they fall away to concern swiftly. He smiles, "Best you go get your mother to have a look atcher shoulder. We'll talk inside. Leave that...head...out here. Don't wanna give her a fright like you did me, do ya?"

Quest Updated!

Return the Axe to Walther or Yvette Forrester 1/1

----------------------------------------

Mercifully, the bite to my shoulder wasn't anything serious. The Dirolft's many sharp teeth left several dozen punctures in my flesh, but whereas Da tore his leg free in order to escape, I just forced the jaws of the dead creature open. Thusly, the injury should heal pretty quickly now that my Mam has disinfected and bandaged it. All going well, it won't even leave a scar, which I admit to feeling a sliver of disappointment. It wouldn't leave a visible, cool scar like on my arms, but it would definitely serve as a decent reminder of my inexperience.

As for my arms, Mam just gave me some Hylju leaf to chew on. The juice contained in an intact leaf tastes a little like a cross between aniseed and mint, and numbs the worst of the lingering joint pain for a couple hours.

I didn't break anything, merely gave my bones a nasty shock that will go away by tomorrow or the day after so long as I don't do anything strenuous. Which is fine, but unless specifically prepared by a better-equipped apothecary than my Mam, Hylju leaf extract is pretty toxic after the first dose, starting with bleeding gums and liver pain before you start shitting blood by the bucket. Not a pleasant way to go, nor a very dignified one, either. But Mam knows her plants, and she hates seeing me in pain, so she decided it was worth it to get me through the worst of the initial discomfort. I just have to not need any more doses for at least a week so my body can break down the poison.

Ministrations complete, I spit the mashed up leaf into a wooden bowl that we'll have to burn out back later. If we throw it out into the grass or bury it; The toxins, now that they've been activated by the heat and saliva in my mouth, will bleed into the soil and choke out the plants nearby. Not too big a deal for us, but there's no need to be negligent.

One of the philosophies impressed into Nealan by his parents was a respect for nature, which is not hard to understand given their respective callings in life. Taking care of the land around your home is an obvious expectation, and those who pay no heed to the swamp developing beneath their feet will find their home sinking into it, to paraphrase a lecture Mam gave me when I-when Nealan was a child.

And speaking of which, Mam looks about ready to give me a lecture right now, so I should probably stop zoning out and start explaining what happened.

Da takes a seat at the kitchen table, opposite me, then prods my shin with his new walking stick, "So what happened to you for you to end up chewed on as if you were a flank o' mutton like yer old man, huh?"

Mam repeats the question wordlessly with a twitch of her eyebrow, nailing me to my chair with her gaze.

I swallow my bitter tasting saliva and recount the tale of how I thought fighting an Alpha Dirolft and it's pack was a good idea, and how through sheer dumb luck, was vindicated.

When I'm finished Da looks contemplative, but respectful. Mam, on the other hand, slaps me across the head without warning the moment I look towards him, "Foolish boy! That was reckless - no, it was suicidal! An Alpha Dirolft is an even match for even a party of low-rank Adventurers, and two dozen Soldiers would still fail to wound it. Truly, you must be blessed to come away so clean after damn near killing yourself a second time. Do you not remember the day the Monster Flood occurred? Did you learn nothing from that near-death?!"

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My face burns with shame in spite of myself. I realise that my behaviour is by the standards of normal folk, insane. True, most would look back on that day with trepidation and refuse to engage a monster in combat again for as long as they lived. But Nealan broke in a different way, or perhaps he always was and simply awakened to a deviant mentality - Battle Hunger.

I'm not ashamed of my decision to kill the pack. It worked out just fine, and, the unpleasant reality of my brutality aside, was an immensely enjoyable experience I'd go through again in a heartbeat. I'm not sure how much of Cyril is tied up in there, but I've no choice but to accept it.

Rather, I'm ashamed about my disregard for how Mam and Da would feel about it since I told them I was only going to retrieve the axe, and nothing else. It was thoughtless of me. I get that. And it hurts me to see them hurt by my recklessness.

Mam chews her lip, holding back tears, "Well? Answer me!"

"I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you," I tell her, raising my head, "I wasn't thinking with my head. I know it was stupid - that I should have waited for an Adventurer party to deal with it - but I wanted to prove to myself I could be like them. That I can be one of them. My dream outpaced my common sense."

"Arrogance is a deadly thing, lad," Da chimes in, "But I think this time, the lesson ought to 'ave struck 'ome. Just 'cos you can swing an axe around don't make you a Knight. Even them Adventurers you admire are as mortal as the rest of us, I reckon. You got a life, just one, and neither me or your mother wanna see you squander it."

I feel like he's being a bit disingenuous, given his outburst before I went out, but Mam's nerves are probably shot to tatters by the day's events, so he's probably keeping back some of his opinions for her benefit. Still, I nod along in understanding, "I know, Da. I get it now, I do."

"You bloody better, or else the next time you drag your bleeding carcass 'cross my door you can die for all I fuckin' care!" Mam yells, stomping out the kitchen. A moment later, I hear the door to my parents' bedroom slam shut, the shockwave of sound leaving silence it's wake.

After a pause, Da breaks the lull with a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his tired face, then standing.

"Yer Mam'd sooner cut her arm off and eat it in front of a starvin' cannibal than see you suffer, y'know. She just needs some time to calm down. I've not seen her so out of sorts since her family died to bandits."

I don't respond. It's hard to articulate my feelings. He stares out the kitchen window at the forest, hands resting on the top of his walking stick.

"But if today's taught me something, It's that I ain't getting any younger. I don't think this leg'll bother me for more'n a few months, but I started learning carpentry a year ago. Injured or not, I ain't gonna be able to keep logging in the woods for much longer. And to top it off, I damn near lost your Grampa's hatchet. Your birthright. I'm hardly fit to call myself his apprentice, nevermind his successor or the husband of his daughter with behaviour like that."

Da raises a hand, wrinkled, loose skin, thick with callouses, clenches into a fist. Self-loathing emanates from his back.

"Ah, but listen to an old man ramble on. You don't regret it, even a little. Going after the pack, I mean. You get that from me I guess. I'm just happy to be alive, the details don't even diminish that," He continues, sighing again, "We should go get yer trophy over to the Alderman. He'll wanna see it."

Turning around. Da walks up to me again, deliberating whether or not to say something else. He looks at me, really looks. 

"Before that though, I gotta ask you something. It's real important, so I don't want you to answer lightly, yeah?" He eventually says.

I nod again, still tongue-tied by how serious he's being.

"Stay in Klennock. I'll hand off the hatchet to you, and I'll hand over the reigns of the loggin' business to you, too. It's yours by right, anyway. I were only ever keepin' it safe for the day you came of age and took over anyhow. It'll be a load off my mind, and yer Mam'll be ecstatic to have you back home for good."

 Quest Complete! The Life and Pride of a Lumberjack Personal Quest Difficulty: Very Hard

Not only have you retrieved your birthright, but you have defeated a foe that most would shy away from, and in so doing, avenged your father's injury and dishonour.

Rewards:

Greatly Increased Fame in Klennock Village.

Able to inherit the Forrester's birthrights.

Able to inherit the Class: Woodsman

Title Gained: Huntsman

Huntsman

Slay a strong beast and take a trophy as proof of your kill.

The Woodsman, Walther Maddox-Forrester, is offering to give you the Class:

Woodsman

Do you accept his offer?

"I know it goes a bit against what I said earlier, but I don't think I'd ever fergive myself if I never made the offer," Da adds on.

I lean back and stare at the ceiling, considering his offer. In truth, a small part of me is tempted to take him up on it. There's nothing stopping me spending a few years at home before heading out into the world once my parents inevitably pass away. Morbid, I know.

If Nealan was the only one hearing this offer, he might well have been persuaded. But, as much as I want that hatchet, it's not worth it if it means giving up so many years of my life waiting for them to die. That's...just disgusting to me. To both of us when it comes down to it.

I'm aware that I'm not exactly sound of mind at the moment, but I'd have to be an idiot or a real sick piece of shit to do that to them and myself. I don't want them to die. I don't want to resent them for holding me back. I absolutely do not want to torture myself over it all.

"Sorry, Da. I can't. But...I figure you already knew what I'd say. I don't want to be a burden on you both, and I don't wanna sit here twistin' my mind around thinking about how you're a burden to my own wants," I tell him, looking him straight in the eyes, "That's probably a bit more blunt than is proper but that's how it is. I want to see the world, 'fore I settle down fer good. Probably punch out a dragon just to tell me grandkids by the fire. Share the same wonder with 'em I crave now."

Da smiles sadly, eyes moistening, "Aye, that's a good dream to hold on to. Gods above, me son's growin' up like a weed. Look atcher, talkin' all fancy now, as well."

He laughs, choking a bit, "Just remember, it's a standing offer, ya hear? You ever feel like shaggin' demons and fist-fightin' giants ain't for you, just come home. Yer always welcome - always our son. Got that?!"

I stand and grasp his arm, pulling him in for a hug, "Yeah, Da. I got that."

Releasing the embrace, he claps me on the shoulders, "Now get outta here. Take your trophy off to the village 'fore it gets dark. I'll go try'n calm yer Mam down."

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With the aid of a wheelbarrow we keep around for hauling smaller logs and other assorted rubbish, I take the Alpha's severed head to the village gate, arriving just as the sun begins to descend toward the horizon, bathing the surrounding buildings in a soft amber glow.

Lonn is still on duty, and he gapes at me as I approach, almost dropping his spear in surprise.

"Wh-wha...WHAT IN THE NAME OF GARFNI IS THAT?!" He yells, pointing his spear unsteadily at the Dirolft head, arm aquiver.

Expecting at least this much from the easily spooked sentry, I suppress the urge to sigh and roll my eyes, "Alpha Dirolft head. Killed it and it's pack in the woods about an hour ago? Maybe a little longer. Taking it to show the Alderman, know where he is?"

Lonn regards me with complete awe, "I-That's...That's an ALPHA'S HEAD?! AND YOU KILLED IT?!"

"Simmer down, Lonn. You'll draw a crowd, and I don't wanna stand around here all night so folks can gawk at me," I admonish him, firmly.

I wouldn't mind bragging a little in The Woodsman later, but I need to talk to the Alderman about this thing's owner and what that means for my parents and the village. Business before boasting.

Lonn doesn't seem to be listening, and he continues to stand frozen in place, staring at the Dirolft's grisly visage, completely transfixed as though he were facing down the still-living beast.

I snap my fingers, "Oi. Answer the bloody question, Lonn. Where. Is. The. Alderman?"

Lonn scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head vigorously, "He's uhh...He's at home, I reckon. Just saw him leave Mrs Lantry's shop a couple minutes ago with a sack o' flour."

"Great. Now kindly pick yer jaw up off the floor and stop blockin' the road, I'm busy."

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From a street corner, a disgusting, white-haired old man, dressed in filthy rags, lacking footwear and stinking to high heavens of raw sewage, observes quietly as a figure leaps across a building and uses a rope to swing their way into the grounds of the Dwast Clait manor in most daring and reckless fashion.

"Somewhat unorthodox, but the results can't be argued with, I suppose," He mutters, scratching at his balding head vigorously.

Uncaring of his surroundings, he belches loudly, "Oof, that ale is coming back strong. That's what I get for buying the extra yeasty shite. Well, better let Fillip know he has a guest."