The pursuit didn't last long.
The three fleeing soldiers had already lost all courage. To Colin and Goff, hunting them down was no more difficult than pulling weeds from a field.
Colin moved faster than any ordinary man. He didn't even bother with a weapon—he simply caught up to one of them and struck the back of his neck with a sharp chop. The man collapsed instantly, limp and unconscious.
Another didn't get far. Goff's arrow pierced through his calf from a distance, dropping him to the ground in a howl of despair. Colin approached without a word and ended it cleanly.
The last soldier ran blindly in panic—straight into one of the traps they had set earlier. The ground gave way beneath him. His leg shattered on impact. Before he could even finish screaming, Goff's arrow found its mark.
Silence followed.
When Colin and Goff dragged the three bodies back to the outpost, they were met with stillness.
Thirteen pairs of eyes stared at them—filled with awe, fear… and something close to worship.
The battle was over.
They had won.
The realization came slowly at first—then all at once.
"We… we won!" someone cried, their voice trembling.
And just like that, the dam broke.
Emotion erupted like a volcano.
Women clung to each other, sobbing uncontrollably. An old man pounded the wall, shouting incoherently. Children froze in disbelief—then burst into tears of their own.
It was relief.
It was survival.
It was everything they had been holding back.
Colin did not join them.
He simply watched… then spoke.
"Clean the battlefield."
His voice was calm, but it cut through the chaos instantly.
Silence fell.
The aftermath was swift—and bloody.
Falk's body was stripped clean. His leather armor, still intact, was carefully set aside by Goff. His noble sword now hung at Colin's waist.
From the corpse, they recovered a small pouch—five gold coins, seventeen silver.
From the others: seven silver coins and one hundred seventy-three copper.
Their first true wealth.
Weapons were gathered—five short swords, eight spears, eight shields, a longbow, and several quivers of arrows.
Two warhorses—one dead, one injured—became precious stores of food.
There were also scraps of rations, water skins.
To the remnants of the tribe, it was unimaginable fortune.
To Colin, it was something else entirely.
Kill Points: 82
Falk alone had granted thirty.
The rest came from the fallen soldiers.
A fortune—unlike anything he had held before.
Without hesitation, he opened the system.
His target had long been decided.
[Basic Healing Potion Formula — Cost: 50 Kill Points]
"Exchange."
Confirmation flashed—
Accepted.
Knowledge flooded his mind.
Herbs, properties, methods.
The appearance of blood-stem grass. The habitat of gel-blossoms. The toxicity of tri-color fungi—and how to neutralize it.
Processes layered upon processes: extraction, refinement, combination.
It wasn't learning.
It was instinct—etched directly into him.
Then—
He frowned.
"Damn… no wonder it was cheap."
Some materials simply didn't exist in the Blackwood Forest.
His gaze drifted to Lina's shoulder—the healed scar.
Understanding settled in.
"Throw all the bodies into the pit. Bury them," Colin ordered, suppressing his thoughts. "The injured—bring them here."
Two were brought forward.
A man struck in the head by a stone.
A woman whose arm had been grazed by an arrow.
Colin examined them carefully, then listed several herbs to Goff and Sarah.
"Search the area. Bring these back."
They didn't question him.
They simply moved.
Colin watched them go, already thinking ahead.
Maybe I can piece together a simpler treatment… something workable with what we have.
That night, a great fire burned in the outpost.
The dead warhorse was butchered. Thick cuts of meat sizzled over the flames, fat dripping and crackling, filling the air with a rich, irresistible scent.
For the first time since their escape—
Everyone ate their fill.
Laughter returned. Smiles flickered across weary faces.
Hope, fragile but real, took root.
But not for Colin.
He sat alone atop the highest point of the wall, looking down at the celebration.
The wind stirred his silver hair.
From the forest beyond, a cold breath lingered.
They had won.
But only barely.
He knew the truth.
This victory was built on chance.
If Falk had been less arrogant…If they had attacked with fire from the start…If morale hadn't been stabilized beforehand…
Any single difference—
And they would be the ones lying in that pit.
This had only been a patrol.
Ten men.
And now they were gone.
That would not go unnoticed.
Raymond, the Earl, would act.
Next time, it wouldn't be ten.
It might be a hundred.
Or more.
Better trained. Better equipped.
And this outpost—
would not survive.
Colin's gaze lifted toward the distant lands of the western domain, hidden beneath darkness.
That land held danger.
But it also held everything he needed.
Power.
Resources.
A future.
His eyes hardened.
The hesitation was gone.
So was the struggle.
From this moment on—
He would not fight merely to survive.
He would fight to grow stronger.
To crush every threat—
before it could even take shape.
In that silent night,
the wolf king of Blackwood Forest
finally opened his eyes.