A few hours of walking, they had finally arrived at the outskirts of Huntsman’s Copse. Tired, and unfamiliar with the new surroundings, they looked for a place to rest. After a brief search, they discovered a ruined building nearby. And marked by time, what remained of the structure were scattered stones and a few overgrown walls. Navigating themselves through the outgrowth, they found themselves within.

Some panting heavily, they gathered under the walls and away from the blazing sun. Slumping down, a number of them produced waterskins from their bag and drank them in haste. Relieved, they exclaimed in satisfaction at the feeling of water healing their parched throats.

“Ah!” one of the three men exclaimed as he wiped his mouth. “I’m beat,” he said as he leaned on the wall, a recurve bow placed at his side. He then tidied his messy hair as best as he could and enjoyed the refreshing feel of the breeze. And while enjoying the touch of frigid air, he glanced at a pale-faced man with a bag.

With a pondering look, he spoke, “You’re surprisingly strong.” His sight flew to the conspicuous bag almost as tall as the man himself.

During their journey here, the pale-faced man had never complained since they left.  For hours, he had carried the bag by himself with virtually no rest.  He was astonished, and doubtful. After all, the bag ought to have the weight of two grown men. He should know, because he was the one who convinced Samuel to let Discal carry the bag.

“And you said earlier back at the outpost that you haven’t trained at all.”

Discal smiled wryly as he put the bag down. He stretched his shoulders and sat down.

The man shrugged. “Well, never mind. At least you’re not as useless I expected,” he said and grinned. “Keep that up, and you’ll do just fine.”

With a stiff smile, Discal replied, “I’ll do what I can.”         

“Enough, Ronald,” Samuel said as he returned from the outside. Ronald shrugged and fished out a block of wood from his pocket. Samuel turned to Discal. “I apologize for my companion’s behavior.”

Discal shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize. It’s my responsibility as a member of the party.”

Samuel nodded and turned to the whole group.

“Miria and I did a rough search of the area,” he said. “Other than the enormous trees ahead, there’s nothing noteworthy in the outskirts. Though we did discover some people had lived here before.” He gestured at the dilapidated walls. “They’re quite old, and there were a lot of them as we found more by digging through the vegetation outside. There’s nothing we saw the Guild haven’t already confirmed. But Miria discovered something unusual, something the Guild has not said.” He swept his gaze.

“Some of the buildings clearly collapsed due to age, but others were destroyed,” he said as he paused. “It seems something had strayed away from the tree line and wandered around in the ruins; the signs are fresh, too. I advise everyone to be on guard.”

Everyone voiced they would do so, save for two. Discal was still new to the party, thus he did not know things worked. But the other person was a genuine member, but he was quiet and kept to himself. That’s odd, thought Discal as he looked at the robed person.

“In ten minutes, we’ll move out.” Samuel left the ruined building to rejoin Miria outside. Only four people remained and they cherished the few minutes of rest in idle talk.

A woman, armored and equipped with a shield and sword, grabbed some unremarkable cloth from her bag. She braced the sword and proceeded to clean the blade with the cloth. Her movement was solemn and skilled.

Discal, him being here to learn, was intrigued when he saw her absorbed in her work. He knew maintaining one’s equipment was critical, as to prevent mishaps from happening. He knew it was a necessity when you were out in the field. But if asked how it was done, he only had an inkling of a clue.

That was why he decided to come closer.

Discal stood up and dusted off the grime and dirt. He walked off, heading for the woman’s corner and sat down nearby. He sat not too far where he would not be able to see, nor too close for him to be a problem. He sat there just a meter away.

The woman, though she spared a glance, continued in her work. She showed no signs of ushering him off, nor was it clear if she valued his inquisitorial stare. She continued to wipe the blade until a minute or two had passed. She then held it at eye level and gazed at her prized sword. It shimmered, even under the sparse light. Her eyes softened at the sight, and her lips formed into a smile.

“Good sword,” said the scholar.

The woman laughed softly, and set the sword down on her lap. “It’s made by an Artificer,” she said. “And passed down in our family, it has to be good.”

“No wonder the fine craftsmanship,” Discal said in awe as he eyed the exquisite engravings on the hilt.

“But it still has its faults. It’s an old sword, after all,” she said with a wry smile. “It’s nicked and chipped, see?” She pointed at a part of the blade. It was jagged and chipped.

“The blade is not what it used to be,” she said, disdain in her voice. “That’s why I’m going to make it better when given the chance.” Her eyes turned wistful.

Discal sat in silence. He did not want to disturb her as it seemed she was deep in thought.

A moment passed and the woman shook her head. She heaved a sigh, and directed the hilt to the scholar. She said, “You want to try?”

The scholar was surprised. He looked at her if she was truly willing. The woman nodded. His eyes wandered to the handle, and upon it was a crest of a beast. He was curious what the crest meant, but he felt it was not proper to ask. He grasped it, expressed his thanks, and stood up.

Ronald, busily carving a block of wood into the figure of an animal, looked up. His expression jumped as he saw Discal handling a familiar sword.

“Hey!” Ronald yelled. “Isn’t that Kaele’s sword!?”

Discal winced and stopped mid-slash. He turned to see who the voice belonged to but fumbled his step. He yelped, and saw Ronald alarmed as he stood up.

“Oi!” Ronald tried to reach out. “Watch out for the wall.” But he failed in pulling the scholar in, letting Discal collide with the wall behind. “The wall’s unstable!” Ronald sprinted closer, but it was all for naught. He was too far.

Discal heard only a voice before he smashed head first into the wall. The wall crumbled, and debris fell on him. Dust and dirt flew into the air in a cloud of smoke, robbing him of his sight.

Soon, the cloud dispersed, and he was buried beneath the rubble. Fortunately and surprisingly, he felt no pain but only a prickling sensation all over his body. He tried to pry himself away, but the weight on his limbs restrained him from moving. He was trapped, and as he tried to call for help, he heard voices outside.

“Help the man!” Ronald shouted, his voice muffled as it traveled through the rubble.

“Discal, are you okay!?” Kaela asked, alarmed just the same.

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“Hey! You help out too.” Ronald turned to the person in the robe. The person responded by clumsily removing some rocks.

“What happened?” Samuel asked, sweeping his gaze. Seeing that his companions were desperately trying to clear the rubble, he immediately came to a conclusion. He dashed in and helped out, and the woman who he came with followed alongside.

Eventually, Discal’s vision returned as the rubble was moved away. They helped him out, and the scholar stood on his two feet albeit dazed.

Ronald patted the scholar on the shoulder as he gasped for air. “You gotta be more careful.” He breathed. “We haven’t even started yet and you almost died,” he said as he glanced at Discal’s sorry state.

The man had grime and muck all over his clothes. Ronald was going to ask if he was okay, as a broken bone or two would be redeemable with the potions they have. But when he looked closer, there were neither blood nor apparent injuries on Discal’s person. Ronald was dumbfounded.

“You okay?” Kaele asked, worry in her voice.

The scholar checked himself, and nodded he was okay.

“No broken bones? Cuts? Anything?” asked Ronald, he had to make sure.

Discal slowly shook his head, continuing his introspection.

“An entire wall segment collapsed on you,” said Ronald, “and you’re okay?”

“Well, I do feel a little lightheaded,” Discal said with certainty.

Everyone in the party was astounded.

“You’re human, right?” Ronald asked after a moment of silence.

“I ought to be,” Discal replied.

“Then, are you proficient in weaving mana?” asked Samuel, his voice hoarse.

“…No” the scholar answered, uncertain himself. “I shouldn’t be. I haven’t even checked if I’m capable. Why?”

“You might have instinctively used mana to weave a barrier as the wall collapsed,” Samuel said. “You must have high affinity. You should do a test once you get back.”

“Yeah, that’s probably likely,” said Ronald, and the others had faces of understanding as well. “You’re one lucky bastard. You ought to know that.”

Discal was surprised. If Samuel’s conjecture was true, it would mean another path in becoming strong. He would be capable of many things if he could use mana.

An Artificer, perhaps; or an Enhancer, the same kind as the Heroes in his books; even becoming a mage, though dreaded they were, was not out of his grasp. It opened many paths in controlling his fate. His eyes shined with desire as a strange glint appeared in his eyes.

He craved for strength, but his hunger was pacified as he smiled stiffly. It was because he knew why he remained unscathed. It had nothing to do with him being gifted by the Gods. He knew clearly that it had to do with his change.

After all, fate was not that kind.

Still, he made a mental note that he should check regardless. He always wanted to be a hero.

Discal turned to Samuel, and agreed that he would do so.

Seeing that everything had concluded, Samuel raised a hand and said, “After everyone’s prepared, we’ll move out.”

Everyone assented, and went away to prepare.

But instead of heading for his bag in the corner, Discal stayed near the rubble. He swept his gaze, looking for something under the heap. After a few seconds, his eyes lighted up. It was a hilt engraved with a crest of a beast.

He headed over and moved to clear away the debris. When the object was finally free, he reached out and grabbed hold of it. He pulled it out, and in his hand was Kaele’s sword. Covered in dirt and grime, he felt guilty at what he had done.

He stood up, and did his best to clean the blade. Though in the end, he was not able to replicate the same success. He smiled wryly. I’ll get better, he consoled himself in his thoughts. Unable to do anything more to regain the splendor of the blade, he headed off where Kaele was. She was busy preparing herself for their first quest.

He neared her, and presented the sword. “I’m sorry.”

Kaele straightened herself and took it with care. “Don’t be. It’s just a sword,” she said with a smile.

But though she said it herself, the perceptive scholar saw the affection in her eyes. He truly felt regret, and said, “I’ll help whenever I can.” With this, he could atone for what he did.

Kaele softly laughed. “I’ll take you up on that. Before then, let’s make this quest a success.” She equipped her gear. “I’ll see you outside,” she said, and walked out with her sword in tow.

His mood lifted, he made way for his bag and fished out some equipment himself. It was a pair of vambraces and greaves. It was sparse when compared to the others, but to the scholar, it was more than enough. He rejoiced as he put them on, and tightened the straps.

The feeling of added weight on his limbs made him giddy with glee. He tapped them, and the metallic ring echoed in his ear. Satisfied, he grabbed a worn-out sword and slung it to his side. This was the only spare the Guild could provide, but again, it was more than enough.

He equipped the bag and prepared to head out. As he did, he was stopped as Ronald patted him on the back. “I apologize for calling you out earlier. It should be the reason why you fell, yeah? I’ll be more careful next time,” Ronald said with a grin. “Oh yeah, you should be more careful too. Don’t try to rely on luck next time.” He then went past the scholar, his voice fading away.

Discal was perplexed, but in the end, he smiled. He took a deep breath, and step out. The party didn’t seem that bad, he thought.

He walked away from the ruined building and joined the others. But something bothered the scholar when he arrived. With a head count, only five of them were there, including him. Wondering where the last person was, he looked around and soon discovered him trailing behind. The person garbed in a robe traversed the outgrowth with a lonesome air. He was the last one to arrive.

Samuel swept his gaze and counted if everyone was there. “Everyone seems to be ready,” he said with a nod. “Then, let’s head out.” He walked off, leading the march.

In a formation they agreed beforehand, they stood under the eaves of the trees and swept their gazes. High above, sharp branches jutted out and their shadows were like a crone’s bony claws. While the leaves amassed together as a canopy against the sky, leaving huge patches of land in the dark. The path was even more treacherous, as the ground was damp and rotten. Their steps would sink into the dead vegetation, slowing them down.

Here, they were far from home.

In awe and in fear, they rekindled their resolve and entered Huntsman’s Copse.