Eron woke up.
His testicles were still in place, and that was achievement enough to start the day.
He headed toward the dining room.
Garon? There, laughing like a fool, waving at him as if last night hadn't been a crime against dignity.
"Ha! Morning of survival! Come, the soup is still warm!"
Eron sat, half of his consciousness still cursing the system.
Then he looked.
Selena.
Silent, eating. Not raising her head, not even a glance.
Yesterday, she looked at him like a judge.
Today? Nothing.
"This is new."
Not angry. Not disgusted. Just… avoiding his eyes.
"Embarrassed?"
He thought quickly.
She hadn't told Garon.
Why? He gave himself two possibilities:
First, because she knows her husband worships him. Telling him might flip the house upside down.
Second—and he hoped it was the reason—because she's… interested.
"Maybe she saw something she liked."
Half a man rises at her name. Raw lust… for her.
Maybe, just maybe…
She too
longs for an experience she never had.
"A man who sees her as a woman, not a household statue."
He smiled, swallowed the bite.
Selena didn't look. But she heard. Felt. Burned.
And him?
He would make that burning… an entrance.
"Want to see the village?"
Garon said it as he wiped his mouth with a piece of bread, his tone like someone offering a tour through local hell.
Eron blinked, then smiled:
"Of course. I'm curious to see a world that sells slaves and worships saints at the same time."
Garon laughed, stood up, and patted his back.
"Come on then, I'll show you D'rin. The jewel of the border that the kingdom forgot."
D'rin.
A border village with the features of a former city.
Half its houses were ruined, the other half held together by stubbornness, and the dogs barked like they had lost hope a long time ago.
Cracked wood, leaning walls, barefoot children chasing a one-legged chicken.
D'rin wasn't a village… but the corpse of a city, pieced together from the trash of forgetfulness.
To the right: slave market.
To the left: a stable for horses… or humans—by the smell, there was no longer a difference.
A bald man screamed at a slave tied with a filthy rope,
A woman sold burnt bread with a helpless smile.
A little girl stole an apple, got slapped, and laughed like pain was a game.
"This is the market."
Garon pointed to a wide square with a rusty gallows at its center.
The slaves were lined up like goods.
Naked or half-naked bodies, some with a single eye, or fur and tails even, or an iron chain on the neck… and their gaze? Dead.
"D'rin used to be the central slave transit point between north and south. Before the kingdom forgot us, of course."
"Why did they forget you?"
"Spiked wolves' attacks."
Garon said it without turning.
Eron blinked.
That name again.
"Wolves again? They sound like dirty diapers following you around."
Garon let out a single, short laugh, as if from a punctured lung.
"Five years ago… they attacked us."
He pointed toward the far hills, beyond the line of black trees.
"They came out as if the earth had spat them out. Dozens. No, hundreds. They weren't just wolves… but nightmares with spikes and teeth."
"And you lost your family?"
"All of them."
He said it like reading an old joke that lost its flavor.
"My first wife. My son. My father. My siblings. Only my little brother survived."
He pointed to his arm, which had a twisted scar:
"One bit me here… tried to gnaw my bone."
Then he spat to the side:
"I led the defense. I was a fighter back then. My flesh still burned, and my heart hated losing."
Eron blinked.
This was the first time he saw another face to this laughing fool.
"We were fifty fighters. Only ten survived. Me, my little brother, and the nightmares."
He paused a moment, then added:
"And Selena? She lost all her family that night. Her mother, sister, even her dog."
Eron didn't reply.
The dust in the air grew heavier.
They passed by a primitive oven, steam escaping from a crack in the roof, and a boy trying to seduce a pie to look fresh.
Then, without warning, an old woman threw a urine pot from the window.
It almost hit them.
"Wicked morning to you!" Garon shouted at her and laughed.
"That's Magda… lost her mind, but remembers every man who cheated on his wife 20 years ago."
Eron sniffed the air and said sarcastically:
"Salted piss. Local flavor."
"After the attack… something inside me went out."
Garon said it in a softer tone, having stopped near a half-collapsed iron fence.
"After that…" Garon continued, "I lost something inside. The doctors call it 'eternal dullness'… but I call it: surrender."
"And that's how you became… more religious?"
He shrugged.
"When your body stops working, you either start praying… or collecting corpses."
They passed by a salt warehouse, above it a torn banner with the kingdom's emblem.
"There's no ruler here."
Garon said it like confessing a buried secret.
"But they… consult me a lot. I think they see me as the man who wants nothing, and that's why they trust me."
Eron chuckled lightly:
"The one who wants nothing… doesn't betray."
Garon nodded, then continued the tour.
The road widened.
A woman passed by, glanced at Eron, smiled… then vanished behind a curtain.
A limping man watched him with half an eye.
A vendor waved a small axe, offering it like he was saying: "Cheaper than honor."
A funeral passed silently.
A man carrying a small coffin, a child wrapped in white cloth.
Eron didn't ask.
But the scene carved itself into his chest.
"Garon…"
Eron said as he watched a blind dog piss over an old grave,
"You said eternal dullness has no cure… so how did your condition improve? Temporarily at least?"
Garon stopped.
Looked around, then whispered as if the secret might sting the air:
"The alchemist."
Eron blinked:
"The alchemist? Aren't you supposed to be poor?"
"She's the only one here."
He nodded toward a stone house buried in wild grass,
the walls groaning from humidity, the roof holding itself like it regretted not collapsing.
"Old. Ancient. Says she studied alchemy in the capital fifty years ago.
People fear her… but no one suspects her."
"And she gave you the remedy?"
"Yes.
A strange brew… but nothing magical like you'd imagine.
Just a decoction of bitter herbs, something like black root, mixed with drops of oil extracted from a bat's liver.
She told me: 'If you don't vomit it, your body will start remembering.'
And indeed… things worked for a few days."
Eron raised an eyebrow:
"Expensive?"
Garon shrugged:
"No clear price. She doesn't ask for gold or silver.
But I paid… in her way."
"How?"
He looked toward the hills, as if recalling the taste of fear:
"She asked me to bring her something.
A specific plant that only grows deep in the forest. I don't know its name, and she didn't ask if I understood.
Something for alchemists… not my business.
She only said: 'Either bring it… or stay cold forever.'
So I went."
Then he stopped near a flat stone, sat on it like his feet had grown tired of the tale.
He looked at the village, then sighed deeply and said:
"D'rin? Its summary is easy."
He gestured as if reviewing an imaginary map:
"Population: 180. Not counting slaves or foreign merchants.
The men? Either old, former slaves, or injured beyond combat.
The women? Half are widows, the other half waiting. No one knows for what exactly."
"The medical building? A large tent with one table and the smell of rotten fungus.
The one running it used to be a midwife… then a doctor… then nothing.
She stitches wounds with fishing line and pours alcohol like holy water."
"The temple?
Old. Cracked. Abandoned.
The former priest disappeared last winter.
People still light candles there, but not for the gods… for the loneliness."
"The governor? None.
Decisions are made in the market, or during drunk gatherings.
Sometimes… they ask me."
He fell silent.
Then said calmly:
"Because as I said, I ask for nothing. I aspire to nothing.
And in a village like this, that's rare."
"The general state?"
He shook his head:
"We're a forgotten dot. The kingdom abandoned us.
And the forest is creeping closer.
People live because they haven't learned how to die yet."
He looked at Eron carefully, then added:
"But you're not that type.
Your eyes have something… that doesn't sleep."
The road narrowed.
The sounds of the market behind them became a distant whisper.
The smell of ash, and something like rotten onion, came from shut windows.
Then Garon said:
"By the way… the house is yours.
Stay in it as long as you like. Don't move much at night… the attack is near!"
Eron raised an eyebrow.
"The wolves?"
"I saw traces before you found me yesterday. Close. The next attack… is a matter of time."
Eron didn't comment.
But he felt something in his chest… an internal pull.
Not fear.
But the tension of instinct before an earthquake.
Then…
Ding!
A transparent panel appeared before his eyes, pale red like dried blood:
[Quest Discovered: Cleanse the Lower Forest]
Required: Kill 10 Blood Rabbits.
Time Limit: Open
Reward: Unspecified EXP, Random Item, Chance to obtain B+ Dagger.
Accept? [Yes] [No]
"…Blood Rabbits?"
Eron whispered as he stared at the system notification like a spit suspended in the air.
"Perfect, my system wants me to kill a rabbit. Bloody. Ten of them.
Maybe it wants me to sew a hat from their skins later?"
He closed the screen, sighed, then turned to Garon.
"By the way, can I borrow your knife?"
Garon, who was busy scratching his mustache with a small peeling knife, stopped.
"My knife? What for?"
"Bad dreams."
Eron said it quickly, in a tone of lies wrapped in wisdom.
"Sometimes I wake up screaming… thinking I'm still a slave, someone behind me, breath on my neck… you know the feeling.
The knife helps me sleep better. Just self-defense, nothing more."
Garon blinked, then laughed.
"You're a priest… but weirder than any killer I've met."
He pulled the knife from his belt and handed it to him.
Old leather handle. Worn. But the blade? Clean… and proven.
"Take it. But don't dream too much, okay? Especially in the forest."
Eron took it, fixed the knife to his side like it was natural.
"The forest? Who said I'm going there?"
He said it in an innocent tone, like a whore wearing a nun's veil.
Garon looked at him long.
Then shook his head, laughing with sarcasm:
"Just moments ago I told you the wolf attack is near… and now you act like you're on a night stroll."
"I just… like to be ready."
Eron said it, eyes drifting to the distant tree line.
"Sometimes, the best way to face nightmares… is to walk into them yourself."
Garon didn't reply.
But his eyes were filled with a look that didn't say foolishness… but a strange respect for a mad man.
"I don't know who you really are, Eron…"
He said in a softer tone,
"But it seems you're not afraid of being bitten."