Smoke filtered into the sky like mourning banners rising into the heavens. The air was thick, choking with the acrid stench of burnt wood, blood, and charred flesh. The once-lively village now loomed like a graveyard—still, blackened, and hollow.
Chip.
A bird cricked softly, perching atop a small scorched branch. Its tiny claws held onto the only thing still standing. It chipped again, the sound too sharp in the silence. Then, as if the world wasn't burning around it, the bird tucked its beak into its wing, grooming its feathers. Life, fragile and persistent, still clung on.
Past the bird, the scene widened to reveal chaos frozen in the aftermath. Ash dusted the ground like snow. Broken carts, shattered pottery, collapsed rooftops—nothing was left untouched by the ogre attack.
"Thank you, sir," the village chief said with a deep bow, voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Thanks to you… we were able to save the remaining villagers and their families."
Another elder stepped forward, his back bent and hands trembling. "We… we could never repay what you've done."
Aria stood silently before them. Mira clung to his leg, her little arms wrapped tightly around his thigh. Her mother, several feet away, was helping another woman lift fallen baskets, while some of the surviving men gathered shattered planks from ruined homes.
The village was a mess.
And yet… Aria noticed. They were moving, helping, organizing—but none of them were working with their full strength. Their steps were slow, mechanical. Their eyes, hollow. The reason was clear.
A long white cloth had been spread over the earth. Beneath it lay the bodies of the dead—villagers who had fallen during the ogres' onslaught. Aria's gaze lingered on the outline of small forms beneath the sheet. Children. Elders. Defenders.
Even Mira, who tried to stay cheerful, kept glancing toward the white cloth. Her eyes stopped on the body of a boy. His tiny frame was curled on his side, one half of his torso missing. She blinked.
And blinked again.
Then her tiny hands trembled, and she buried her face into Aria's knee, her body shaking with silent sobs.
Aria closed his eyes and let out a low groan. He had saved them. But at what cost?
Too many died.
And it was his fault.
He could've wiped out those ogres in minutes. Instead, he had waited an entire day before deciding to enter the forest. He told himself he needed rest. That it could wait. That someone else might handle it.
Foolish.
His fists clenched tight, the leather of his gloves creaking from the strain. He loathed himself for it.
Tap.
A small tug at his cloak snapped him from his spiral.
"Don't cry, mister."
He looked down. Mira stared up at him with tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. Her expression was sad, but there was something else in her gaze—hope. She tugged at his cloak again and gave him a wobbly smile.
Aria's heart ached. He offered her a faint smile in return.
She was trying to cheer him up.
His eyes lifted to a boy nearby—about seventeen years old, tall, broad-shouldered, but visibly trembling. He stood still, staring at the sheet that covered the dead.
He didn't move.
Didn't cry.
Like a statue, he simply stared.
And waited.
Crack.
A soft sound behind him. A woman approached and wrapped her arms gently around his back, murmuring softly into his ear. She hugged him like she could hold together the pieces of his breaking soul.
That was all it took.
The dam burst.
The boy collapsed to his knees, sobbing as he crawled toward the body. With shaking arms, he lifted the sheet and pulled the smaller boy into his lap. Cradling the lifeless body, he screamed.
"Wake up! Please wake up! I—I was gonna give you your gift today, idiot! Wake up so I can yell at you!"
His voice cracked. He clung tighter.
The younger boy remained still.
The woman knelt beside him, embracing them both. Her tears joined his.
Around them, the village stilled. People stopped lifting planks. They stopped rebuilding. They stared at the scene, and the grief that had been suppressed finally surged like a tide.
Men cried openly. Women knelt beside the dead, whispering apologies. Children clung to their parents, wailing.
Mira sobbed harder and ran into her mother's arms. Her mother held her close, shielding her from the sight.
The chief lowered his head. Shame etched his face deeply. He was supposed to protect this village. And he had failed.
Aria turned his back.
He couldn't watch.
He had grown used to death in this world. He understood it was inevitable—especially for remote villages without proper defense. Unlike Nila Town, the central hub protected by adventurers, these small communities were exposed. Vulnerable.
And left behind.
Most government support never extended this far. The real reason was something far more sinister.
A document.
The Pantial Agreement.
It was a legal form handed to every village elder by the capital. By signing it, they handed over the rights to their land in exchange for military protection. On the surface, it seemed reasonable.
But the truth was cruel.
Once signed, villagers were subjected to forced labor. Taxes. Conscription. Worse still, soldiers and adventurers stationed in Pantial villages were granted unchecked power—they could abuse, enslave, even kill without consequence.
The law protected the abusers. Not the people.
And once the agreement was signed, it could never be revoked. If any village retaliated or resisted, the capital would send enforcers to wipe it off the map.
Like they did to the village near Nila Town.
That massacre was a warning to others.
Now, most villages refused to sign. They fled the capital's influence and took up residence in dangerous areas—like the edge of the monster forest. Where no law existed. Only survival.
Dawn Village was one of them.
The quest to slay five ogres near Dawn Mountain had been sitting on the guild board for months. No one wanted it. The pay was pitiful—only seven bronze pieces—because the village wasn't recognized by the capital.
When Aria first picked up the quest, the receptionist had raised an eyebrow.
"You know it's not worth it, right?" she'd said. "Even if you bring in twenty ogre heads, the pay stays the same."
He had almost dropped it then.
But something about the injustice gnawed at him. The pile of similar unclaimed quests from other non-Pantial villages only made it worse.
Absurd.
It was all so absurd.
Yes, this world wasn't perfect—but did it have to be so cruel? Did justice only belong to those within the capital's reach?
It reminded him of his world.
Back home, despite the government's efforts, people still slipped through the cracks. Exploitation thrived in the shadows. Entire neighborhoods were left to rot because they weren't profitable to save.
Here, it was the same story.
Only the names were different.
He let out a long sigh.
"…How cruel."