Chapter 9 – Blood on the Foundations
The next morning, Ashton rose before dawn. His crimson eyes glimmered faintly as he stepped out of his newly-built hut, the cool air brushing against his skin. He didn't waste time. With dagger in hand, he strode straight into the forest.
The trees loomed tall, their trunks thick and sturdy. Ashton ran a thumb along the edge of his dagger, then let his Ether flow into it. The blade glowed faintly, sharp enough to cut through stone if he willed it. He picked the nearest tree, planted his feet, and with one clean strike, carved through the wood.
The tree groaned, then toppled with a heavy crash.
"Take it back to the village," Ashton called out, glancing at the group of villagers who had followed him.
For a moment, they hesitated. The log was huge, far too heavy by normal standards. But then a skinny man stepped forward.
Without a word, he bent, hoisted the tree onto his shoulder, and began walking back toward the village as though it were nothing more than a sack of grain.
Ashton froze, dagger still in hand, eyes widening slightly.
Right. I almost forgot… this world is overflowing with Ether.
Even without training, their bodies are naturally stronger than normal humans from my world.
He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Guess I'll have to raise my expectations for them too.
With that, he resumed cutting. For five hours, the sound of chopping echoed through the forest as Ashton felled tree after tree, his body moving like a machine, precise and efficient. By the time he returned, the villagers had already stacked the logs neatly in piles near the edge of the field.
Now came the real task.
"Listen," Ashton called, gathering the villagers around the lumber. "Before we think of houses, there's one thing we must build first. Toilets."
The villagers blinked at him in confusion. Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"Toilets?"
"Why waste time with that?"
"What use does it have?"
Ashton sighed, rubbing his temples. "Because if you don't manage your waste properly, you'll get sick. Diseases spread. People die. A house won't protect you from that. Hygiene comes first, always."
Still doubtful, but trusting him, they followed his lead.
Under Ashton's guidance, they dug pits at the far edge of the village, lining them with stone and wood, then crafting simple enclosures for privacy.
By the end of the day, there were ten proper toilets ready for use.
Only then did Ashton allow them to start on houses.
Drawing diagrams in the dirt, he taught them how to build strong foundations with stones, how to fit logs together at the corners, and how to weave thatch tightly for waterproof roofs.
His instructions were clear, patient, and sharp — he carried himself less like a villager and more like a seasoned builder.
It took three full days, but by the end, ten proper houses stood tall, sturdy and protective, far stronger than the crumbling huts they had known all their lives.
Among the villagers, a woman in her thirties caught Ashton's attention. She had sharp eyes and an eagerness to learn.
While others struggled, she memorized every instruction, every measurement, and even suggested small improvements.
"What's your name?" Ashton asked as they rested by a fire one evening.
"Christina," she replied.
From that day, Ashton entrusted her with managing the building projects.
"You'll oversee construction when I'm not around. Teach others as I've taught you. From now on, you're in charge of housing."
Christina nodded firmly. "I won't let you down."
The elder, seeing Ashton's tireless efforts, offered him a house near his own. Though simple, it was spacious and warm.
Ashton accepted, and that night, after the villagers celebrated their new homes with laughter and feasting, he sat inside, cross-legged on the wooden floor, and began his training.
He closed his eyes, reaching for the rhythm of his Ether Heart.
Pain still lingered whenever he forced more Ether into it, but he endured, shaping the flow, strengthening the technique. After two hours, sweat drenched his body, his chest heaving.
Good. It's becoming easier. My control… sharper.
He reached for his dagger and began practicing, stabbing the air, slashing with precision, combining the flow of Ether with each motion until the blade felt like an extension of his body.
But then—
Noise. Shouts. Screams.
Ashton froze. His crimson eyes snapped open, and without hesitation, he rushed outside.
At the village entrance, a crowd had gathered. Fear hung thick in the air.
Several villagers lay beaten on the ground, groaning in pain. And standing before them—five demi-humans, towering, fanged, their bestial features twisted in cruelty.
Ashton's gaze darted to the elder. The old man was on his knees, breathing heavily, his cane snapped in two, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Elder!" Ashton ran to his side, kneeling quickly. "Are you alright?"
The elder's wrinkled hand gripped Ashton's sleeve weakly. His voice trembled, weak and broken. "Go… Ashton… you must run. They came for you. They will kill you. Leave while you can…"
Ashton shook his head fiercely. "No. I'm not running. Not this time. Don't worry, Elder. I'm strong too."
The elder's eyes softened, though pain flickered across his face. He coughed, blood staining his lips. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Then… please… protect them. Protect our people…"
"Yes," Ashton said firmly, his throat tightening.
"I promise. Rest now, Elder. I'll keep them safe."
A faint smile curved the old man's lips. A gentle, genuine smile. And with his final breath, the elder closed his eyes.
Ashton froze, staring at the lifeless body in his arms. His chest tightened, grief surging through him like a knife. Slowly, he laid the elder down on the ground, brushing his eyes closed with trembling fingers.
When he rose, his crimson eyes burned with fury. His voice was low, deadly calm.
"Why?" Ashton asked, stepping forward toward the demi-humans. "Why attack our village?"
One of them sneered, baring sharp fangs. "Look at this human, acting brave. Asking questions like he matters." Without warning, he lunged, his massive fist swinging with bone-crushing speed.
But Ashton was faster. His Ether surged, strengthening his body. At the last instant, he sidestepped, his dagger flashing.
The blade pierced straight into the demi-human's heart. The beast gasped, eyes wide, then collapsed lifelessly.
The others snarled, rage twisting their faces. But Ashton was already gone.
"Shadow Step."
It's a skill he gain when he was training.
He melted into the darkness, vanishing from sight. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind another demi-human. His dagger sank deep into its throat before it could react.
With fluid, merciless motions, he struck again and again, each stab precise, aimed at vital points.
One minute. That was all it took.
When the shadows cleared, all five demi-humans lay dead, their bodies sprawled across the dirt. Ashton stood among them, dagger dripping red, his chest heaving.
The villagers stared in shock, silence filling the night.
Ashton's crimson eyes softened, tears welling at the corners. He sheathed his blade and dropped to his knees beside the elder's body.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I was too late…"
The laughter of the villagers from days before felt like a distant dream. Now, grief weighed heavy in the air. And though Ashton had protected them, it came at a cost he could never forget.
For the first time since he arrived in this world, Ashton cried.
Hello readers what do you think is my story good. Then please leave a comment and I will post the appliance of our mc "Ashton" in the comments I hope you like it.