As they approached the fortress gates, Geraldine was already waiting, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto Loren’s bloodied leg, and she rushed forward, her usual composure slipping for just a moment.
“What happened?” she demanded, her voice a mix of concern and frustration. “I told you not to push yourself too hard, Loren Dourant.”
Loren managed a weak grin, though it was strained with pain. “Just a scratch, Geri. Nothing to fuss over.”
Geraldine’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she motioned for Martin and Stewart, who had been hovering nervously nearby, to help carry Loren inside. Asil and Abby followed, their own injuries less severe but still demanding attention.
The fortress courtyard, usually bustling with activity, fell silent as the group entered. The recruits stopped their drills, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear. Even Tobin and Serena, the orphaned siblings, peeked out from the kitchen doorway, their faces pale.
Geraldine led the way to the small infirmary, a room tucked away near the back of the fortress. It was sparsely furnished, with a few cots, a table laden with bandages and salves, and a single lantern casting a warm glow. Loren was eased onto one of the cots, his breath hissing through his teeth as Geraldine began to inspect his wound.
“You’re lucky it didn’t hit an artery,” she muttered, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. “But it’s deep. You’ll need stitches.”
Loren grunted in response; his jaw clenched as Geraldine prepared the needle and thread. Asil and Abby lingered near the doorway, unsure whether to stay or go. Geraldine glanced up at them, her expression softening slightly.
“You two look like you’ve been through the wringer yourselves,” she said. “Sit down before you collapse.”
Asil hesitated but eventually sank onto a nearby stool, wincing as the movement pulled at the cuts on her side. Abby perched on the edge of another cot, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her journal. Still pale and shaky, Frederick leaned against the wall, his eyes distant.
For a few moments, the only sounds were the soft rustle of Geraldine’s movements and Loren’s occasional grunts of pain. Then, as Geraldine began to stitch Loren’s wound, she broke the silence.
“What happened out there?” she asked, her tone calm but firm. “And don’t tell me it was ‘just a scratch,’ Loren. I want the truth.”
Asil and Abby exchanged a glance, unsure where to begin. It was Loren who spoke first, his voice low and gravelly.
“Demons,” he said simply. “At least four of them. They ambushed Frederick and the boys. We went after them, but… they were stronger than we expected.”
Geraldine’s hands stilled for a moment, her eyes flicking to Loren’s face. “Demons? In the Dark Woods? I thought they’d been quiet for years.”
“They have,” Loren replied, his expression grim. “But something’s stirred them up. These weren’t just stragglers. They were organized. And they had… abilities. Things I’ve never seen before.”
Abby flushed at the praise, shaking her head. “I just did what I had to. I couldn’t let him die.”
Geraldine’s gaze softened as she looked at Abby. “You’ve got a brave heart, girl. Don’t sell yourself short.” She turned back to Loren, her hands resuming their work. “And you? What were you thinking, charging in like that? You’re not as young as you used to be, you know.”
Loren chuckled, though it was cut short by a wince as Geraldine tugged on the thread. “I’ll be fine, Geri. Just need a few days to rest.”
“You’ll need more than that,” Geraldine retorted, though there was a hint of affection in her tone. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”
Asil couldn’t help but smile at the exchange despite the lingering ache in her side. There was something comforting about the way Geraldine fussed over Loren, a reminder that even in this harsh and unpredictable world, there were still moments of normalcy.
As Geraldine finished tending to Loren’s wound, she turned her attention to Asil and Abby. “Now, let’s see to you two. You’re not getting out of here without a proper check-up.”
Asil hesitated, but Geraldine’s no-nonsense demeanor left no room for argument. She allowed Geraldine to inspect her injuries, wincing as the older woman cleaned and bandaged the cuts on her side. Abby, too, submitted to Geraldine’s care, though she flinched when the salve was applied to the bruises on her throat.
As they were patched up, Asil and Abby recounted the battle in more detail—the ambush, the demons’ strange abilities, and the desperate fight to save Frederick. Geraldine listened intently, her expression growing graver with each passing moment.
“This changes things,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “If the demons are becoming more active, we need to be prepared. We can’t afford to be caught off guard again.”
Loren nodded, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but still sharp. “We’ll need to fortify the defenses. Train the recruits harder. And we’ll need to send scouts to see if there are more of them out there.”
Asil glanced at Abby, who met her gaze with a determined nod. They both knew what this meant—their training would intensify, and the stakes would only increase. But they also knew they couldn’t back down. Not now.
As Geraldine finished bandaging Abby’s wounds, she placed a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, both of you. But this is just the beginning. Rest now. You’ve earned it.”
Asil and Abby nodded, their bodies heavy with exhaustion but their spirits unbroken. They had survived the Dark Woods—for now. But as they left the infirmary and stepped back into the fortress courtyard, the weight of what lay ahead settled over them like a storm cloud on the horizon.
Once they left Geraldine’s side, Asil and Abby made their way down the fort’s narrow corridor to their shared modest room. The tension and fatigue from the demon fight still weighed heavily on them, but the relief of surviving—and knowing Loren was on the mend—kept them upright. The dim torchlight from the corridor barely spilled into their room, casting long shadows across the sparse furnishings: a wooden bunk, a small table, and a single oil lamp flickering against the stone walls.
Asil set the lamp on the table, turning up the wick just enough to illuminate the room. The soft glow revealed the faint lines of exhaustion on both their faces, but there was also a spark of curiosity in their eyes.
“We should check out the loot we got,” Abby said, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill. “The journals said we had some… interesting items.”
Asil nodded, her exhaustion momentarily overshadowed by curiosity. She reached into her pouch, tugging gently on items that shouldn’t possibly fit inside. One by one, they emerged—a damaged sword, a pair of leather bracers, a worn skill book, and the ever-present journal. Across the small bunk, Abby performed the same ritual, collecting her own set of gear.
They spread everything across the rumpled bedding, exchanging glances at how the exact same pouch could hold so much. Although the items were nearly identical in function, each seemed sized specifically for the owner. Abby, petite yet wiry, noticed the bracers in her loot were narrower; Asil, taller and more muscled, found a sturdier chest piece.
“I’m definitely stronger here than I ever was… back home,” Asil admitted quietly, half to herself. She flexed her arm, noting the subtle definition that had developed over weeks of training with Loren. “All that sparring has changed my body.”
Abby, more self-conscious, didn’t comment on her own physique but nodded in agreement. She ran a hand over her leather chest piece, her fingers tracing the smooth surface. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quickly we’ve adapted to this place.”
Asil lifted her own leather chest piece, examining it closely. “I wonder if there’s anything special about these,” she muttered. Right on cue, her journal gave a soft buzz on the mattress. She flipped it open, and words scrolled across the page:
Simple Leather Chestpiece
Type: Light Armor (Torso)
Rarity: Common
Requirements: None (anyone can wear)
Defense Bonus: +2 Physical Defense
Durability: 25/25
Description: A snug-fitting piece of light armor stitched from basic leather. Provides modest protection against physical attacks without overly restricting movement.
“+2 Physical Defense,” Asil murmured, managing a small, wry smile. “Not a ton, but definitely better than nothing.”
She set the chestpiece aside and picked up the leather bracers. Again, words scrolled across the journal’s pages:
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Simple Leather Bracers
Type: Light Armor (Forearms)
Rarity: Common
Requirements: None (anyone can wear)
Defense Bonus: +1 Physical Defense
Durability: 15/15
Description: Basic forearm guards made of tanned hide. Offers minor protection to the arms. Ideal for beginner adventurers who need a little extra defense.
“It’s like a game tutorial telling me these are ‘starter’ items,” Asil mused aloud.
Abby leaned in, reading over Asil’s shoulder. She then glanced at her own bracers scattered on the bed. “Same stats, but sized for me,” she noted, picking them up. “Pretty handy.”
Finally, Asil turned her attention to the worn skill book. The journal updated yet again:
Worn Skill Book (Mirage Waltz)
Type: Consumable (Skill Book)
Rarity: Rare
Requirements: Blade Dancer class, Level 9
Durability: 1 use
Effect: Grants the Mirage Waltz skill upon reading (the tome disintegrates afterward).
Curious, Asil lifted the delicate tome. It had a small, ornate clasp—more decorative than functional—yet she couldn’t pry it open. Despite the fragile look of the cover, it refused to bend or tear, as if magically sealed.
“Locked until I hit Level 9,” Asil realized, carefully placing it back on the bed. “So… a skill called Mirage Waltz?”
Abby peered closer, arching an eyebrow. “That name sounds… intense.” She gestured for Asil to read the details in her journal. Sure enough, lines scrolled across the page:
Mirage Waltz Level 1 (Active Skill)
Description: The Blade Dancer briefly splits into multiple afterimages, striking nearby enemies with a flurry of slashes. Each illusion performs a fraction of the user’s base weapon damage, confusing foes and maximizing agility.
Mechanics:
Illusion Splitting: Upon activation, up to 3 phantom copies appear around the user, each delivering a quick strike to designated targets in melee range.
Damage: Each strike deals 50–70% of normal weapon damage.
Evasion Window: For 1–2 seconds, user gains partial intangibility or a significant dodge bonus.
Cooldown: 60 seconds.
Lore: A secret Blade Dancer technique once famed in Aerothane for melding grace and lethality. Thought lost after the Great Cutoff, it survives here through this tattered tome.
“That’s… powerful,” Abby remarked, eyebrows lifting. “Good thing you’re on our side.”
Asil smiled wryly, drumming her fingers on the locked tome. “I can’t actually use it yet, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
After stowing the Mirage Waltz tome in her pouch for safekeeping, Asil turned to Abby’s spread of items. A nearly identical set of leather armor glinted in the lamp’s glow, though there was no skill book among her loot.
“No book for you?” Asil asked gently.
Abby shrugged, fiddling with the bracers. “Guess not. All I have is this gear and some extra coins. Maybe it’s because you did most of the demon-slaying. The bigger the threat, the bigger the loot, right?”
Asil hesitated, unsure how to respond without sounding boastful. It was true she’d fought the most brutal demon—Level 2—almost singlehandedly. She cleared her throat. “I, uh, suppose the system recognized that. Don’t worry; we’ll find you some amazing skill next time.”
Abby laughed sheepishly, tugging at her bracer’s straps. “It’s all good. I’m still figuring out how to vanish and reappear without falling over.”
A soft silence followed as they both studied their gear. Outside, muffled activity echoed in the corridor—men bustling about, handling leftover tasks. The fortress never truly slept, especially with demon threats looming nearby.
At last, Abby ran a hand over her own leather chest piece, then looked to Asil. “We’ve changed a lot, haven’t we? Physically, I mean.”
Asil nodded, glancing at her newly toned arms. “Yes… we’re stronger more agile. Even how we stand feels different.”
Memories of their old lives flickered in their minds, though they left such thoughts unspoken. This world forced them to adapt—quickly and drastically.
Asil turned her attention to the damaged sword. She lifted it up to the candlelight, examining what remained of the blade. The once smooth, polished metal was now brittle and pockmarked. Turning it over, she surmised it had something to do with her Crescent Strike—the raw power from the ability must have been too much for the sword to handle.
“I’ll need to find a better weapon that can channel my abilities,” Asil remarked, more to herself than to Abby.
Abby nodded in agreement, letting out a low whistle as she looked at the damaged weapon. “You should have seen the look on your face when the blade crumbled,” she teased, a sly grin spreading across her face.
Smiling, Asil ruffled Abby’s hair. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”
“Anyway, let’s get some rest,” Asil suggested, stifling a yawn. “We’ll need every ounce of energy to handle tomorrow’s chores and… well, the unknown.”
Abby agreed, carefully placing her gear back into the magical pouch and double-checking that the items fit. Amazingly, there was ample room despite the pouch’s modest exterior.
Asil followed suit, setting aside the battered sword she’d salvaged, her new bracers, and the rare skill book. She couldn’t help but feel a thrumming anticipation for the day she reached Level 9—yet a sliver of fear persisted, knowing that such power would likely be demanded in even deadlier confrontations.
“Night, Abby,” she murmured, blowing out the oil lamp.
They both lay back on their beds in the darkness, minds swirling with the day’s revelations. Neither voiced it aloud, but each wrestled with the same question: What trials would tomorrow bring—and what deeper secrets did this realm hold for them and their newfound powers?
With Loren still bedridden, the atmosphere at Fort Harjil shifted. The men, usually steady and focused, now moved with an undercurrent of unease. The demon ambush had shaken them, and the sight of their grizzled leader confined to a cot only deepened their anxiety. Asil could see it in their eyes—the way they glanced toward the Dark Woods during drills, the hushed conversations that stopped when she or Abby walked by. They needed direction, and she wasn’t about to let fear take root.
“Alright, listen up!” Asil called out one morning, her voice cutting through the crisp air of the courtyard. The recruits—Frederick, Martin, Stewart, Clive, and Baum—snapped to attention, though their expressions were wary. “Loren’s recovering, but that doesn’t mean we get to slack off. If anything, we need to be sharper than ever. Demons don’t care if we’re scared. They’ll come whether we’re ready or not.”
The men exchanged glances, but no one argued. Asil’s presence had become a steadying force, her Blade Dancer skills earning their respect even if her authority was still new. She picked up a practice sword and gestured for Frederick to step forward. “You’re up first. Show me what you’ve got.”
Frederick hesitated, his usual confidence dampened by the memory of his near-capture in the woods. But Asil’s steady gaze pushed him to action. He raised his sword, and the two began to spar. The clack of wooden blades echoed across the courtyard, drawing the attention of the others. Asil moved with precision, her strikes controlled but relentless. She wasn’t just training them—she was reminding them that they could fight back.
Abby joined in later, her Shadow Dancer agility making her a formidable sparring partner. She darted between the recruits, her movements fluid and unpredictable. “You’ve got to anticipate your opponent,” she said, ducking under Stewart’s swing and tapping him lightly on the shoulder with her dagger. “If you’re too slow, you’re dead.”
Between training sessions, Abby helped Geraldine with chores around the fort. The older woman had taken charge of the new orphans, Tobin and Serena, putting them to work to keep their minds off the forest and their recent loss. Serena proved adept at organizing supplies, while Tobin followed Martin and Clive around like a shadow, eager to learn everything he could about fort life.
“They’re good kids,” Geraldine remarked one afternoon as she and Abby sorted through a crate of dried herbs. “But they’ve been through too much. Keeping them busy helps.”
Abby nodded, her thoughts drifting to her own journey. She’d been thrust into this world just as suddenly, forced to adapt to its dangers and demands. “They’ll find their place here,” she said quietly. “We all do, eventually.”
Meanwhile, patrols near the Dark Woods became more cautious. Asil and Abby took turns accompanying the men, ensuring they stayed clear of the forest’s edge. The rule was simple: observe from the clearing, report anything unusual, and under no circumstances venture into the woods without Asil. The men grumbled at first, but the memory of the demon ambush kept them in line.
“It’s not about fear,” Asil told them during one patrol. “It’s about being smart. We don’t know what’s out there, and until we do, we play it safe.”
The days passed in a rhythm of training, patrols, and chores. The fort felt quieter without Loren’s booming voice, but life went on. Asil and Abby grew closer, their shared experiences forging a bond that went beyond mere camaraderie. They were survivors, fighters, and now, leaders in their own right.
Then, one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the fort settled into its nightly routine, a shout came from the gates. “Riders approaching!”
Asil and Abby exchanged a glance before hurrying to the ramparts. In the distance, a small group of figures on horseback emerged from the tree line. At the front rode a man who bore a striking resemblance to Loren, his broad shoulders and stern expression unmistakable. Beside him was a younger man, likely his son, and behind them trailed a handful of recruits—some nervous, others eager.
“It’s Loren’s brother,” Geraldine said, joining them on the wall. Her voice was calm, but there was a note of relief in it. “And his nephew. They’ve brought reinforcements.”
Asil felt a flicker of hope as she watched the group approach. The fort had been stretched thin, and the arrival of fresh faces was a welcome sight. But she also knew it meant the stakes were rising. If Loren’s family had come, it was a sign that the threats they faced were far from over.
The gates creaked open, and the riders filed in. Loren’s brother dismounted first, his eyes scanning the courtyard with a practiced ease. “Where’s Loren?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Recovering,” Asil replied, stepping forward. “He’ll be glad to see you.”
The man nodded, his gaze lingering on Asil for a moment before shifting to the recruits behind him. “We’ve got work to do,” he said simply. “Let’s get these newcomers settled.”
Asil watched as the new recruits were ushered inside, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She felt a pang of sympathy—they had no idea what they were stepping into. But she also felt a renewed sense of determination. The fort was stronger now, and so was she.
As the gates closed behind the last rider, Asil turned to Abby. “Looks like things are about to get interesting.”
Abby grinned, though there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “When are they not?”
The two women shared a laugh, the sound carrying over the quiet courtyard. For a moment, the weight of their responsibilities lifted, replaced by the simple comfort of friendship. But as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, Asil’s thoughts turned to the days ahead. The Dark Woods loomed in the distance, its secrets still hidden, its dangers ever-present.
And somewhere, deep within its shadowed depths, something stirred.