(Timeline: The afternoon of the same day, the final full day of peace)
[The Yard: Brute Force vs. Discipline]
The sun was high, baking the earth. I sat on the porch, nursing a cup of water, watching the "men" work.
Arthur's father, a man named Gareth, was mending the low wooden fences between our properties. He was a man of few words, with hands that looked like they were carved from oak roots. He wasn't a knight or a mage, just a farmer—but there was a solidity to him that even my System couldn't quantify.
Arthur was helping him. Or rather, Arthur was trying to help.
"HAA!"
Arthur swung the hammer like he was trying to slay a dragon. CRACK. The wooden post didn't just drive into the ground; it split down the middle, shattering into splinters.
Arthur blinked, looking at the destruction. "Oops."
Gareth didn't get angry. He didn't yell like my mom. He just sighed, a deep, rumbling sound. He took the hammer from Arthur's hand.
"Son," Gareth said, his voice low and steady. "You are strong. Maybe the strongest boy this village has ever seen. But strength without control is just a rock falling down a hill."
He placed a new post. He didn't wind up. He didn't grunt. He just tapped the nail—once to set it, once to drive it home. Tap. BANG. Clean. Perfect.
"Precision over brute force," Gareth said, looking Arthur in the eye. "You hit the wood like you hate it. You need to hit it like you know exactly where it needs to go. A strike isn't about how hard you start, but where the momentum ends."
Arthur nodded, trying to mimic him, but I could see his muscles twitching with restrained energy. He didn't understand it yet. He wouldn't understand it until years later, when a rival named Kael would dismantle him in an arena using these exact same principles.
[The Evening: The Last Supper]
That evening, the air turned crisp and cold. Our families gathered at my house for dinner. My mother had made a stew that smelled like heaven and garlic.
The room was filled with noise. My mother was scolding Arthur for tracking mud in. Elena was laughing at Dante (me) for getting a "mustache" from the milk. Gareth was quietly eating, nodding occasionally at the chaos.
I sat there, looking at them. The System was quiet. No red boxes. No warnings. Just... people.
"You know," Arthur said, his mouth half-full of bread. "When we go to the city, I'm going to become a Knight Commander. And then I'll buy Dad a golden hammer so he doesn't have to fix fences anymore."
Gareth smiled—a rare, cracking smile. "I don't need a golden hammer, boy. I just need a son who doesn't break the fences he's trying to fix."
Everyone laughed. Even I laughed.
Then, the mood settled into a comfortable silence. "Dad said once," Arthur continued, staring at the fire in the hearth. "That the measure of a man isn't how hard he hits, but how much he protects."
He looked at Elena, then at me. His eyes were fierce, promising. "I'm going to protect you guys. Always."
I felt a cold shiver crawl up my spine, despite the heat of the fire. It sounded like a death flag. It sounded like a promise that Fate was eagerly waiting to break.
"I'm sure you will, Arthur," I said quietly, clutching the copper coin in my pocket. "But let's focus on protecting the fence first, okay?"
Arthur grilled me. "You ruin the moment, Dante!"
[The Night: The Silence Before the Scream]
Later that night, after everyone had gone home, I lay in bed. The house was silent. My mother was sleeping in the next room.
I looked at the ceiling. 'It's too quiet,' I thought. The peace felt heavy. Synthetic. Like the calm surface of the ocean before a tsunami.
I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep. I calculated. 'We need money. The Mithril Button. We have to sell it. Tomorrow. We go to the city tomorrow.'
I didn't know that "Tomorrow" was already too late. I didn't know that the Noble's carriage was already parked on the outskirts of the forest, waiting for dawn.
The next morning, I would wake up with the urgency of a bomb going off in my chest. But tonight... tonight was just quiet.