Keane sat near the flame, his hands resting on his knees. His breath steamed faintly, curling around a mouth set in a casual line that gave away nothing. He watched the group in silence, tracking their movements as they pieced together order from the chaos he'd left them.
The men moved with a kind of grim coordination, half supporting, half dragging their wounded into the ring of wagons. Someone tore up a cloak for bandages, another used a knife to cut splinters from a thigh. The one who'd lost consciousness was awake now as it turned out he hadn't died but unconscious, slumped against a barrel, eyes rolling as two companions forced him to drink from a battered canteen. Blood loss had left him pale, but not panicked, as if all had seen worse and survived it, or at least expected not to.
'If this was a game, they'd be NPCs,' Keane mused, smirking.
As for Elara, she never looked directly at Keane, but he felt her eyes on him, the way a sniper might watch a target through glass. When one of the wounded men approached her and said something, too soft to hear over the crackle of flames even though Keane trued, she only tilted her head, replying with a few measured words, with unmistakable deference in their faces.
'She's no ordinary merchant,' he thought, dissecting her calm authority. 'Power or influence... she's at least got one, maybe both.'
As he waited near the fire, they soon brought food, The food was simple, but hot; some kind of stew poured into dented metal bowls. A young guard, not much older than eighteen handed Keane a bowl and a chunk of brown bread. The young man's hands shook just a little as he did it. Keane gave him a look, half gratitude, half warning, and the kid retreated, nearly tripping over. It brought almost made Keane laugh, but he suppressed it into a sly grin. He was only messing with the kid, nothing much.
After two mouthfuls of the broth, Keane set the bowl aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The group was huddled around the largest wagon, swapping low words and casting glances that oscillated between Elara and the hulking mass of the beast.
Not long after he set the bowl aside, still holding the hard bread, wondering how they ate something so hard, Lady Elara approached, her stride smooth and unhurried. Her robe hugged her figure well, with hips that swayed like a promise. 'She's trouble,' Keane thought, his grin hidden behind a sip of water. She stood just beyond the firelight, so her eyes were twin chips of blue, cold and reflective.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the log near him.
"Be my guest," Keane said, shifting over a few inches.
She sat, arranging her skirts with a practiced flick.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"You're quiet for a hero," she said, her diplomatic tone teasing out his secrets.
"Heroes make noise," Keane replied, his voice smooth. "I just do what's needed." His Charisma made the words land perfectly, drawing a faint smile from her. 'She's testing me,' he thought. 'Good... Two can play.'
"You have a gift for violence." Elara said, glancing at Keane.
Keane shrugged. "Luck, mostly. The thing was slow, all muscle, no brain."
She almost smiled. "Slow, yes. Yet none of my men could so much as scratch it. I watched you fight. You moved like you knew exactly what it would do before it did it."
Keane didn't reply. He dipped a finger into the bowl and licked it clean, the gesture calculated, almost mocking.
Elara seemed to catch the cue, and leaned in. "Forgive my curiosity. You appeared from the woods with the bearing of a man who expected to find a monster, and killed it with the ease of someone used to such things. Yet you claim to be a lost traveler."
He gave a faint nod. "I get around."
Her lips pressed together, and for a moment she studied him, as if seeing past the blood and the flippancy to whatever lay beneath. "I have traveled this road many times," she said. "Men like you are not common. Not even in Valewind's old guard, and certainly not among the mercenaries these days."
Keane said nothing, the silence stretching, thick with meaning.
On the far side of the camp, the old man was speaking to the others in a low, carrying voice. "...back in the city, they say the Captain's uncle hit Earth Realm before the wasting got him. Never seen anyone do what he just did, not even the King realm assassins from the border wars."
The others nodded, muttering. Another man, arms wrapped in bloody linen, spat on the ground. "He's a freak. Whatever they teach in the West, it ain't natural. That beast was tougher than tempered steel."
Keane's ears twitched at the mention of "Earth Realm" and "King realm," and he filed it away. The terms were unfamiliar, but the tone was clear. They spoke of power the way gamers compared levels, only here the language was... different.
He glanced at Lady Elara. "Your men seem well-trained," he said, half-question, half-observation.
She followed his gaze, then looked back at Keane. "They are. Most served in the city watch, or in the old lord's militia before this. Some have more exotic backgrounds..." She let the words hang.
Keane smirked. "And you?"
Elara arched a brow. "Commerce."
He grunted, as if he didn't believe her, but let it slide. He watched the fire for a while, letting its rhythm slow his pulse. Every so often he'd catch Elara's gaze on him, lingering a moment too long before returning to the flames.
"Where's this caravan headed?" He asked.
"Valewind," Elara said, her voice crisp with a faint smile. "A trade city, three days' ride from here. We carry different goods… and hope to avoid more beasts like the one earlier." She glanced at the beast's corpse, her smile tightening. "You've made that easier."
"Glad to help," Keane said, his tone light but eyes sharp.
'Valewind,' he thought. 'Sounds like a hub. Perfect for answers.'
"What kind of people run a city like that? High-level types?" He said almost uncaring of the answer.
Elara's brow arched, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "High-Level?" she echoed, then smoothed her expression. "Valewind's lord is strong, some say he's touched Mortal realm. Only someone in the King realm could challenge him." Her words were casual, but they hit Keane like a glitch.
"I see." He said.
'Is this not a game world after all?' He thought to himself.
He also picked up some things from the others' conversation, mostly about him than anything.
"He's probably from the East. His accent's strange."
Another suggested. "Or just out of town. There are some places within the kingdom where its possible..."
Then one of them dropped his voice, conspiratorial. "So you're saying he's got the Baptism, then?"
"Possibly. Even if he has, its not easy to find someone this young at this level of strength... outside those with rich fathers or affiliated with the nobles."
"Right?"
Keane kept his face neutral, but inside, his curiosity spiked. Baptism? A ritual, maybe, or a rite of passage. He'd expected talk of classes, stats, spells... normal game jargon, but this was something else. Leaving it be for the moment, he opened his system.
…
[SYSTEM]
Name: Keane
Level: 2
Class: None
EXP: [██████████]
[STATS]
Strength (STR): 99
Dexterity (DEX): 99
Constitution (CON): 99
Intelligence (INT): 99
Wisdom (WIS): 99
Charisma (CHA): 99
HP: [9902 / 9902]
MP: [9902 / 9902]
Resistances: []
[Skills]
None
[Sub Skills]
None
[Distributable Points]
Stat Points: 10
Skill Points: 10
Mastery Points: 10
…
He poked at the numbers, willing the stat screen to expand. The caps held tight at 99, even with his level bump.
Just then he caught wind of another conversation, halfway in, hearing something that caught his interest.