Day 48

It had been eight days since we left for the Yelarien Kingdom after crossing the border and traveling through villages scattered over the grasslands. Cobblestone roads were filled with the laughter of children and merchants' loud chatter. Now that behind those grassy hills, the sun had begun to dip, painting the whole sky amber and violet. I reached into my magic pouch and started unpacking our gear.

Tents, blankets, and a small portable cooking rack emerged one after another. Silvia occupied herself gathering wood from around the area. Soon, the crackling of the campfire added warmth to the cooling evening air. I pulled out fresh skewered meat from the pouch. Its aroma was already a promising dinner when it roasted over the warm glow of the fire.

As I cooked the meat, Silvia broke the silence: "About that ability of yours. You need to give it a name," she said in a casual but intrigued tone. "A name..." I muttered, pausing mid-task. "I never really considered that. What do you think it should be?" Her eyes lit up as if she'd been waiting for this moment. "Oh, I've got tons!" she exclaimed eagerly.

"Harvest of Might, Bloodbound Assimilation, Fatal Inheritance, Soul Devourer, Mimicry by Demise, Essence Thief, Predator's Boon, Final Claim, Death's Acquisition—" "Okay, that's enough," I cut her off, raising my hand. Her enthusiasm was admirable, but the thought of her sulking for a week, overhearing me say how ridiculous some of those names sound, sent shivers down my spine.

"What about Death Reap?" I proposed after a moment. Her face drooped slightly. "Oh… that's…. Fine, I guess," she said in a dimming sparkle. I sighed and looked for something to lighten her mood. Inspiration struck as I dug into my magic pouch. I reached in and pulled out my homemade guitar–a crude but serviceable instrument I had made through our free time.

"What's that with the weird-looking lute?" she asked, curiosity flickering back into her face. "It's not a lute; it's a guitar," I corrected her with a grin. "It may look shabby, but it sounds pretty nice." "I had no idea you were a bard." "I'm not, technically," I said with a laugh. "But I'm a musician, so… sort of?"

Now, that was really stirring her interest. "What are you going to play? A heroic tale? Perhaps the Ballad of the Five Emperors?" she asked. "Not quite," I said, placing a makeshift capo on the first fret. "I'm gonna sing a song from my world." Her eyes snapped wide the moment I began strumming the opening chords of Vance Joy's song called Riptide.

It is a multi-layered melody, unlike the simple monophonic chants she was accustomed to. It seemed to captivate her as she watched my fingers dancing across the strings as if changing chords with practiced ease and still holding an expression mixed between awe and curiosity. When I concluded, Silvia clapped hands, and her face lit with enthusiasm. "That was incredible!" she declared.

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"I have never in my life heard anything like this. It makes the chants at rites seem so utterly dull." "Thanks," I replied, laying the guitar down beside me. "If you did that in public, everyone would go crazy for that! You would be a celebrity overnight!" she exclaimed. I smiled tenderly. "I want to be famous someday, but not for my singing," I responded as I carefully placed the guitar into the magic pouch.

Having ended the song, I resumed my dinner preparations. I offered her one of the kebabs, its surface bubbled golden brown. "Time to eat up," I said. "We'll still need to wake up early tomorrow." As we sat by the fire, eating and savoring the calm of the evening, a sense of peace settled over the campsite. The stars began to dot the night sky, and before long, we drifted off to sleep.

The camp lay quiet, only the gentle snapping of dying embers providing sound. Silvia lay asleep in her tent while I could not. It had been the eighth night after I slaughtered those bandits that my restlessness had become locked. Now, even sleep refuses to visit me. I got an average of four hours of sleep each night. It hardly felt like it was enough. Perhaps it was yet another talent I had picked up—one to resist fatigue.

The turmoil in my mind could barely be subdued. So I came out of my tent into the forest, hoping the cool night air and the rhythmic crunching of leaves beneath my boots would lull me to sleep. As I walked through the moonlit trees, my senses went up on alert for something faint, almost imperceptible rustle.

Someone was following me, leaping from branch to branch with an agility that would pass unremarked by any ordinary ear. But I wasn't ordinary. My Keen Senses allowed me to catch even the slightest disturbance, and this one wasn't Silvia; it wasn't her scent. Nor was it a monster. Through my 360-degree vision, which is part of my Keen Senses, it was like I had eyes on the back of my head.

With my Night Vision added to this, the figure cleared up: a human assassin dressed in dark clothing, face covered with a mask showing only piercing eyes. I feigned not to see him and kept walking as if oblivious to his presence. The assassin took his turn, hurling little axes with killing precision toward my head. I did not need to look back to avoid it. With a slight movement of my head, I avoided each blade.

My calm reaction surprised him—it threw off his rhythm and broke his confidence. Before he could regain his composure, I turned around, meeting his eyes. I used my Petrifying Gaze, a power I had borrowed from a Basilisk, and saw his body freeze, limbs and torso fossilizing while his head remained flesh. He lost his balance, tumbled off the branch, and hit the forest floor with a heavy thud.

I slowly walked up to him; the crunching of my boots in the earth had amplified the tension. His eyes darted wildly as he lay there helpless, pinning him down with his stony limbs. "Who sent you?" I asked in low, cold tones. The assassin didn't reply. His breathing became spasmodic. His mouth began to froth, and in seconds, his body relaxed into death. Poison. He had taken his life before I could get him to talk.

I knelt beside him, looking down at his masked face. Whoever had sent him knew their stuff—knew them too well. I got up and looked back towards camp, where the faint flicker of dying fire was still visible. Silvia was safe, at least for now. But this was not over. Someone had gone to great lengths to send a trained killer after me, and I was going to find out who.