Kael limped for what felt like two days. His health regenerated, but it was agonizingly slow. The
system was brutally honest: [HP: 82/100]. Three hit points in over an hour of rest. His wounds,
now wrapped in dirty strips of his tunic, were raw and stung with every movement. The 1 EXP
he'd gained felt more like an insult than a reward.
He finally found water—a clear, fast-running stream that he drank from like a man possessed.
He followed it, his logic simple: water leads to people.
He was right. On the third day, delirious with hunger and pain, he stumbled out of the forest and
into a small, hard-won clearing. It was a village, perhaps twenty simple wooden huts huddled
together, surrounded by a flimsy-looking palisade wall. A thread of smoke rose from a central
longhouse.
Kael collapsed just inside the tree line. He was found by a young girl named Mila, who had been
out gathering mushrooms. She didn't scream. She just looked at him with wide, solemn eyes,
then ran to get her father.
He was half-dragged, half-carried into the village and placed on a cot in their small, smoky
infirmary. An old woman with a face like a dried apple silently cleaned his wounds with a
sharp-smelling liquid and bound them in clean linen. They gave him a bowl of hot, savory broth He tried to speak, to thank them, but the village elder, a man with a long, grey braid, simply put
a hand on his shoulder. "Rest, traveler. You were lucky to escape the Green-Fangs. They don't
usually roam so far south."
Kael slept. He recovered. His HP bar, over the next two days, finally crawled back to [100/100].
The villagers were kind, if wary. They were simple folk—farmers, loggers, and hunters. They
didn't have Qi. They were, in the parlance of his old world's novels, mortals.
And they were terrified.
He learned why on his third evening. He was sitting with Mila's father, a man named Elara,
carving a piece of wood. The entire village was on edge. No one was smiling. The usual
evening chatter was replaced by a heavy, fearful silence.
"They're coming tonight," Elara said, his voice a low tremor. He didn't look up from the axe he
was needlessly sharpening.
"Who?" Kael asked, his own stomach tightening.
"The Red Talons. Bandits." Elara spat the word like a curse. "They come every season, after the
harvest. They take half of everything. Half our grain, half our medicine... this year, the harvest
was bad. We... we don't have enough to give."
"What happens then?" Kael asked, though he already knew.
Elara's hands tightened on his axe handle. "They'll make an example. They'll burn a house.
They'll... they'll take what they want." His eyes flickered to where Mila was quietly setting bowls
on their small table.
"The cultivator sects," Kael said, the words from his readings coming automatically. "Don't they
protect you? Isn't there a city, a magistrate?"
Elara gave a bitter, hollow laugh. "Them? The 'Immortals' in Sky-View City? We're ants to them.
They don't care what ants do to other ants. The Red Talons have a cultivator, too. A real one.
That's why no one can stop them."
A cultivator. Kael felt the same cold panic from the forest. But this time, it was mixed with a hot,
unfamiliar anger. These people had saved him. They had given him food, shelter, and medicine
when he was a bloody wreck on their doorstep.
He looked at his system interface. [Vows: None].
He had a choice. He was a "mortal." He was still weak, armed with a plain sword and one
pathetic passive skill. He could slip out the back gate right now. He owed these people nothing,
not really. It was their world, their problem.
Then he looked at Mila, who nervously offered him a small, wooden cup of water. Her hand was
trembling.
"Protect the weak, defend the innocent, and stand firm."
The words of his Path echoed in his mind. This was it. This was the test. Not a hypothetical, not
a line in a tutorial, but a real choice with real consequences.
"They have one cultivator?" Kael asked, his voice surprisingly steady.
"Just one," Elara said. "Their leader. 'One-Eyed' Jian. They say he can kill a man just by
shouting."
Qi-pressure, Kael thought. First-level Qi Condensation. The very bottom of the ladder. But to a
village of mortals, he's a god.
Kael stood up. The plain longsword was leaning against the wall where he'd slept. He picked it
up. The weight was familiar. Comforting.
"Kael?" Elara asked, his eyes wide. "What are you doing? You can't fight them. You're... you're
like us."
"I am," Kael said. He walked to the center of the hut, his mind clearing. The fear was there, a
cold, hard knot. But his [Iron Will] held it at bay, turning it from a paralyzing fog into a sharp, clear focus.
"I am like you," Kael repeated. "And they've taken enough."
He closed his eyes and said the words aloud, not to the system, but to himself. To the world. "I
am Kael. I am in debt to this village. They have shown me kindness. I will not stand by and let
them be harmed."
He spoke with the absolute, unshakeable conviction of a man with nothing left to lose and one
thing to protect.
A sound, like a deep, bronze bell, chimed in his soul. His vision lit up.
[Vow of Conviction Registered!] [VOW (Primary): "I will not let these people be harmed."]
[System Responding to Vow... Power Manifesting...] [New Skill Unlocked: Aura of
Protection (Passive) - Lvl 1] [Skill Effect: Your conviction forms a tangible shield.
Passively negates a small amount of all incoming damage. Effectiveness increases
based on Vow adherence.]
Kael felt... something. Not Qi. It was a cold, steady, solid feeling, settling into his bones. It felt
like a shield.
Just then, a horn blasted from outside the walls. A rough voice roared, "Tribute time, you
dirt-grubbers! Open the gates, or we burn them down!"
Kael opened his eyes. He looked at Elara, then at Mila. He gave them a tight, grim smile. "Stay
inside. Lock the door."
He walked out of the hut and into the village square, just as the flimsy front gate splintered and
burst open.