Marie watched Phil weave through the silent crowd in the living room, heading for the front door. The atmosphere, charged with a mix of shock and quiet contemplation, contrasted sharply with the recent chaos outside.

Neighbors peered out from the windows at the battlefield that once was their tranquil neighborhood. Shock and fear were etched on their faces as they beheld the remnants of the battle, contrasting sharply with the blood and gore outside. The pleasant smell of dinner was now overwhelmed by the scent of gunpowder and blood.

Phil, accompanied by two neighbors, made his way across the lawn, now a bloody battlefield. The fallen monsters lay scattered, their presence a grim reminder of the fragility of life. As they navigated through the yard, densely littered with bodies, they carefully avoided the corpses as if they were landmines. Phil’s steps faltered as he navigated the gruesome scene. His hand flew to his mouth, the smell of blood and death almost made him vomit and his face paled. He paused, swallowing hard, before resolutely continuing, his breaths shallow.

Phil used to champion change in politics, advocating for the less fortunate. Now, he faced a completely different challenge: a brutal, physical battlefield. This shift from peaceful activism to fighting for survival left him uneasy. He was struggling to adapt to this unexpected role of a warrior, far from the ideals he once held dear.

Phil approached Derek, who lay face down amidst the blood and gore, his figure a broken shadow of its former self. The remnants of his clothes clung to him, barely covering his battered form. Among the blood patches of purple and black marred his skin more than its natural pallor, with several ribs jutting out unnaturally. Countless cuts and punctures adorned his body, showing the battle’s toll on his savior's body. Phil gazed, bewildered at how life still clung to such a damaged body.

Phil dropped to his knees beside Derek, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out. "Derek?" he whispered, voice cracking. He shook Derek’s shoulder gently, then more firmly. "Derek, come on, man." His voice grew urgent, his eyes scanning Derek’s face for any sign of response.

“Hang on a second. I’ll get something to carry him on.” One of the neighbors stated.

“Derek should have a cot in his camping supplies.” Phil answered back. “We shouldn’t move him if he has a bunch of broken bones.”

Phil couldn’t tell what blood was Derek’s and what was from the monsters, but he was drenched. While he waited, he reached down and pulled Derek’s pry bar from his hand. It was heavy, very heavy. How had Derek swung this for that long? Cautiously, they shifted Derek onto a cot. His shallow labored breathing was the only sign he was still clinging to life.

Marie’s grip tightened on the railing, knuckles whitening as she watched Derek being carried. Her gaze flitted constantly from his still form to the yard, as if searching for threats that had long since vanished. In the brief moments when her eyes met Derek’s motionless body, they lingered, unblinking, before she forced herself to look away. The immediate danger had passed, but the reality of their situation was starkly clear in the quiet aftermath.

As Phil and the two neighbors stepped inside, each seemed to carry the weight of the battle with them, their expressions shifting from raw shock outside to contemplation. Marie’s rifle disappeared into her storage bracelet, then she moved inside to open doors and make way, but she hadn’t needed. A couple of the neighbors were already standing at the door, holding it open and ready to help where they could.

She hadn’t even noticed when a quiet chatter rose among her guests. The neighbors gathered in clusters, their voices a low murmur. Heads turned towards Derek, then quickly away. A dance of glances that spoke of newfound respect mingled with unease. They whispered amongst themselves, their body language a mix of awe and apprehension. Whispers of his bravery mingled with apprehensive glances towards the blood-stained battlefield, a collective realization dawning on how much their world had changed.

The monsters weren’t here to play around; they were here to devour humanity. It was only luck that Derek was already strong enough to weather the brunt of the assault. Though it looked as if he might die at any moment. Derek’s body had already been taxed by healing the earlier chest wound. Now it would be some time before he recovered, if he did at all.

Marie hovered anxiously as they carried Derek up the stairs on the makeshift stretcher, her eyes never leaving his still form. She directed them to the bathroom as they reached the top. Once inside, she swiftly began to cut away the tattered remnants of his clothes. Her hands moved with purpose, yet her expression was taut with concern as she began cleaning his wounds. One of the neighbors came in and knelt next to Marie.

“I’m a nurse. Can I help?” She asked softly.

“Please.” Marie replied with a waver in her voice.

Marie and May worked in tandem, their movements methodical as they tended to Derek’s wounds. Each cleaned and wrapped. Each was a silent battle against the fear gnawing at Marie’s heart. She focused intently on each injury, the severity of the wounds on his back demanding her complete attention. Her hands, though steady, betrayed a tremble as she applied bandages, a physical manifestation of the worry she fought to keep at bay. Her mind was a whirlwind of worry, love, and an unspoken fear of losing the man who was her anchor.

Marie’s resolve was palpable in the room, a quiet strength that filled the space as much as the antiseptic smell. When they were done, she stepped back, her gaze lingering on Derek. He was cleaner now, yet the sight of his bandaged form was a stark reminder of the brutality he had endured. A pang of concern tightened in her chest; he was still far from being thoroughly washed, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances.

May broke the silence, her voice laced with professional concern. “I’m worried about his ribs,” she said, watching Marie close the door to the bedroom. "He needs surgery, the bruising here and here is concerning."

Marie, turning to face her, replied with a confidence that she didn’t fully feel. “He should heal. He came back home earlier wearing a chest seal. He didn’t say anything about it, but he must have had a lung punctured,” she explained, while pointing out the fresh wound on his chest.

May’s response carried a note of skepticism. “Maybe. Time will tell, I suppose, but you should prepare yourself… just in case he…” Her words faltered, but the meaning was clear. Derek might not survive.

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May made her excuses and left, leaving Marie standing over her unconscious husband, allowing herself a moment to breathe. The adrenaline that had fueled her through the emergency was ebbing, leaving in its wake a deep-seated fatigue. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to gather herself.

Most of the neighbors were still here, the piles of bodies preventing them from leaving with their cars. It would probably take about four hours for the bodies to finish disappearing into that black fog which currently covered the yard. She sat down in one of the unoccupied armchairs with a heavy sigh.

Phil handed her a bowl of the red beans and rice. She didn’t realize she was hungry until that moment. As she relaxed, the exhaustion returned with a vengeance. Slowly, she ate, working to remain conscious. It was a struggle that she lost.

Derek’s eyes flickered open, his grimace immediate. He tried to lift his hand, but the pain that shot through him was blinding, turning the room into a swirl of colors and shapes. He gritted his teeth, forcing his focus on the familiar shadows of their bedroom, each breath a battle against the waves of agony. His movements were slow and deliberate as he fought against the overwhelming discomfort.

With a force of effort, he summoned his interface’s notification windows, his vision swimming as he sifted through the rewards, the information a mere distraction from the torment consuming his body.

Congratulations:

You have killed 201 goblins, 91 orcs, and 10 trolls and you have assisted in killing 23 goblins, 21 orcs, and 4 trolls.

Rewards:

8048 experience

2071 credits

Congratulations:

You have received the title: Orc Slayer (rank 1) for killing 50 Orcs.

Orc Slayer: You are a known enemy of orcs everywhere. Warning: Your reputation precedes you.

Rewards:

+1 stat point

Congratulations:

You have gained 5 levels and reached level 12.

+5 stat points

+1 milestone point

Derek Irisson

Level:

12

Titles:

Goblin Slayer (rank 2)

Orc Slayer (rank 1)

Race:

Human

Classes:

None

Physical Ability:

20

Mental Ability:

13

Emotional Capacity:

7

Magical Capacity:

15

Passive Abilities:

None

Abilities:

Ravager

Experience:

654 XP / 3,139 XP

Unused Stat Points: 6

Unused Milestone Points: 1

Derek quickly distributed all his stat points into physical ability. This process, usually a bit uncomfortable, turned into intense pain this time. His bones shifted back into their position and didn't do it gently. He could feel them grinding into place as his body knit itself back together. He endured the overwhelming agony, which thankfully knocked him out for a long moment. When he woke up, the pain had lessened to just soreness and tiredness. Despite some discomfort, his injuries felt much better, showing that his decision to boost his physical stats helped him recover.

He pushed himself off the cot and felt the grime and pull of stitches fastening his wounds closed. He turned and took a quick shower, despite the quiet clamour from the living room. As he was about to step into the shower, the door opened, and May, one of the neighbors, walked in.

“You’re awake… and up…” May noted, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Derek paused and nodded at her. “Yeah, it still hurts, but I’m not dying now,” he replied, maintaining a composed demeanor despite the uncomfortable situation.

May glanced at the stitches, her professional eye assessing her work. “Don’t overdo it in the shower, okay? We don’t want those stitches coming apart.”

He looked at the neat rows of stitches. “Did you do these? They’re precise.”

She smiled slightly. “Yeah, years as a nurse. You learn a thing or two about stitching people up.”

“Clearly. Marie’s more of a ‘get it done’ than ‘get it perfect’ when it comes to this,” Derek commented, a slight smirk as he pointed to the crooked stiches on his face.

May’s chuckle was light. “Every stitch tells a story, doesn’t it? I’ll leave you to your shower. Wouldn’t want to start any neighborhood gossip.”

As she left, Derek stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over him, pondering the brief but revealing exchange. Derek methodically cleansed himself, the water washing away not just the physical filth, but also a layer of the day’s fatigue. Clad in fresh clothes, he re-emerged into the social fold.

Phil’s voice cut through the murmur, “Damn Derek, you look good for a dead guy.”

Amid the curious gazes of their neighbors, Derek offered a half-smile, feeling the weight of their stares.

“I added six stat points into my physical ability,” he explained. “Helped speed up my recovery.”

May chimed in, a tone of disbelief lacing her voice. “That’s quite the understatement. Those injuries... you should be bedridden for months.”

Jim, observing Derek’s changed physique, noted, “You are definitely bigger than you were before.”

Phil, with a mischievous glint, quipped, “That’s what she said,” eliciting a mix of chuckles and eye rolls.

Derek rolled his eyes, searching the room for Marie, who slept in an armchair. Satisfied that she was okay, he moved into the kitchen, stirred the chili pot and filled their largest mixing bowl with red beans and rice. The conversation continued for quite a while. Everyone seemed to enjoy the company instead of being isolated in their individual homes. Despite his hermit nature, he did find the company of others pleasant as long as he wasn’t the center of attention.

Derek excused himself from the gathering to begin moving the fallen monsters from the driveway. Each heave and drag became more than just physical exertion; it was a silent reckoning with the day’s events. With every orc and troll he shifted, memories of the battle flickered in his mind, replaying flashes of violence and survival. The physical strain of lifting their hefty forms echoed the mental fatigue that lurked beneath his stoic exterior. Despite the extra strength coursing through his veins, a gift from his newly allocated stat points, Derek felt the weight of the battle bearing down on him. Each movement was a battle against the reminders of mortality and the fragility of his world. At any moment, monsters could descend on his home and destroy everything he built. As he cleared the path, he found himself grappling, not just with the physical remnants of the battle, but with the lingering echoes of his fury.

When Derek got back, he saw Marie sitting at the table with an uncharacteristic weariness about her and the neighbors getting ready to go. Their quiet talks ended as they left, showing a common feeling of togetherness and worry about what’s coming. Derek then sat down in his armchair, looking tired but relieved.