Davin opened his eyes again.
Every gaze in the room was on him, each with its own shade: caution, curiosity, envy, hunger poorly concealed. Some looked at him like an anomaly. Others like an opportunity that had sat down far too close.
Very good. Plan "stay discreet" has officially died in a public fire.
He drew a slow breath.
Panic was for people who still had a chance to go unnoticed. He had just lost that luxury.
He turned his head slightly toward Sylvia and dipped his chin with a perfectly measured smile.
"I mostly got lucky. Your explanations helped a lot. Thank you again."
The sentence was polite, modest, clean enough not to sound arrogant, and vague enough to confirm nothing useful.
Fuck. Did you really need to say that?
Sylvia seemed to understand too late. Her eyes widened even more, then her cheeks turned bright red.
"I… I only meant…"
"Lucky!" a mercenary thundered from the neighboring table. "If that's luck, then I'm a duke's secret bastard!"
A few nervous laughs followed, too weak to truly ease the room.
"Congratulations, Davin," Sylvia said more softly. "You have talent. That much is certain."
Her brother, seated beside her, immediately snorted.
"Or a better pill than ours."
Sylvia elbowed him.
"Tim."
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
"No. You're saying what you think too loudly."
The giant beside them let out a low laugh. The quieter boy, the one with the injured leg, poorly hid a smile behind his mug.
Davin noted the exchange.
Tim. The brother. Impulsive, jealous, too blunt for his own good. Not stupid enough to be useless, but enough to become a problem in a room full of ears.
Beside Sylvia, an elderly man slowly raised his hand.
The simple movement was enough to calm their table, and little by little, nearby gazes drifted away. Not out of disinterest. Out of instinct. The regulars clearly knew it was better not to listen too closely when that old man spoke.
His voice was deep, steady, carrying the calm of someone who had not needed to prove anything in a long time.
"If what Sylvia says is true, then you do have talent, boy. Given the speed, an unsettling amount of it."
Davin studied him.
The grandfather. The veteran Adept.
The old man's mana felt stable and muted, far denser than his own. Nothing like Kys's sharp, crushing pressure. This was something else, a rooted weight, like an old wall that had never needed to move in order to stop someone.
Very good. The grandfather isn't just decorative. Obviously.
Davin inclined his head slightly.
"Your granddaughter was generous enough to help me. Without her explanations, I would probably have wasted far more time."
The old man narrowed his eyes.
He had heard the politeness, and what it was trying to hide.
"She mostly gave you a minor awakening pill."
The silence around the table shifted subtly.
Tim stiffened. Sylvia lowered her gaze. Davin did not move.
"That's correct."
"You took it. You reached the half-gate in a few hours. And now everyone in this room knows you are not some ordinary vagrant."
There was no direct threat in the old man's voice.
That made it worse.
He was stating a fact.
Davin held his gaze.
"Everyone in this room mostly knows that I am a newly awakened Adept, with no technique, no master, no official backing, and far too much visibility for my own good."
Something flashed in the grandfather's eyes. Amusement, approval, or simple interest; Davin could not classify it yet.
"At least you know what kind of pit you've stepped into."
"I'm still discovering how deep it goes."
Tim snorted.
"He talks like an old merchant."
"And you talk like a creaking door," Sylvia replied.
This time, the giant burst out laughing openly.
Tim turned toward him.
"Thomas, don't laugh."
"Too late."
Even the quiet boy allowed himself a faint smile.
The tension dropped by a notch. Not enough to make the scene comfortable, but enough to keep it from becoming dangerous.
The old man then placed a small dark sphere on the table.
A pill.
Davin's gaze fell on it despite himself. His reaction was almost imperceptible.
Almost.
The grandfather saw it anyway.
"You saved my granddaughter," he said. "She told me about the goblins, the forest, and how you brought her back. She also told me you did not try to take advantage of her while she was injured."
Davin remained silent.
The local moral bar is set at an absolutely terrifying height.
"I wanted to thank you in person," the old man continued, "and settle that debt properly."
He pushed the pill toward him.
"Here is a second one."
Sylvia lifted her head, surprised.
"Grandfather…"
"You already gave him yours. This one comes from me."
Davin looked at the pill.
Saving that girl was proving far more profitable than he had anticipated.
Too profitable, perhaps.
A free gift did not exist.
Not in this world.
Not from a man this calm.
"That's generous," Davin said.
"It is a debt. Do not confuse the two."
The old man smiled faintly.
"And since we are speaking of debts… you seem young, not stupid, and not bad-looking once washed. My granddaughter is not engaged, you know."
"Grandfather!" Sylvia choked.
Tim set his mug down too hard on the table.
"No."
Thomas coughed.
The quiet boy looked away with the expression of a man who suddenly regretted having ears.
Davin blinked.
There it is. First marriage proposal in another world. Received before my first magic lesson. Fascinating priorities.
He kept his polite smile.
"I'm honored, but I must decline. I'm leaving for Mehian."
The old man did not seem surprised or offended. On the contrary, his smile sharpened.
"For Aethelgard Academy, I imagine."
Davin did not answer immediately.
The silence already confirmed enough.
"I was planning to send my grandchildren there myself," the old man continued. "Sylvia and Tim leave tomorrow. Thomas and Math are accompanying them. You could travel with them as far as Mehian. Only for the journey. I'm not asking you to become their nursemaid."
"Grandfather, I don't need a nursemaid," Tim protested.
"No. You would need a gag and a tutor for each arm. Unfortunately, I have neither on hand."
Thomas covered his mouth.
Math lowered his head.
Sylvia, for her part, seemed caught between shame and habit.
Davin suddenly understood that this family had probably held itself together for years thanks to the grandfather's patience and everyone else's exhaustion.
Traveling with them offered obvious advantages: protection, social cover, access to information, fewer risks on the road. But it also came with responsibilities, and worse, witnesses.
"I have only just reached the half-gate," Davin said. "I don't know any techniques, any sword art, or any spell. If the road turns bad, I will not be able to protect them effectively."
The old man observed him.
A silence of evaluation settled around the table, discreet but far harder to ignore than an open threat. The grandfather's gaze sharpened. He had noticed something; not everything, but enough.
"You learn quickly," he said at last.
"I'm doing my best not to die."
"That is an excellent foundation."
Tim frowned.
"Wait. We're really going to travel with him? We know nothing about him. He comes out of nowhere, reaches the half-gate in one night, and—"
"And he saved your sister while you were screaming in the woods," the old man cut in.
Tim froze.
The sentence landed cleanly. No anger, no volume, yet it hurt more than a shout.
Sylvia lowered her eyes. Thomas stopped smiling. Math stared into his mug.
Tim clenched his teeth.
"I wanted to save her."
"Wanting is not enough."
The old man did not look away from his grandson.
"You have wanted the Academy for years. You want to become strong. You want to be respected. Very well. Then start by recognizing reality when it slaps you in the face. This boy has outpaced you on the road of mana. You dislike that? Perfect. Work. Don't whine."
Tim's face reddened.
For a second, Davin thought he was going to explode. Then the boy lowered his head.
"Yes, Grandfather."
At least the old man knows how to discipline walking fires.
The grandfather turned back to Davin.
"Once you reach Mehian, one of my men can teach you the basics of swordsmanship. Not enough to make you a master. Enough not to cut off your own fingers with a blade."
Davin let a second pass.
He had hoped for better. Rudiments of cultivation, a manual, a method, something immediately useful. Delayed sword instruction had not been his first choice, but it was still better than nothing. Refusing now would be stupid.
"Acceptable."
The old man then placed three gold coins on the table.
The sound was light, but in Davin's mind, it rang like a bell.
Three gold coins.
One hundred silver coins each.
An absurd sum compared to his two goblin ears.
"Paid in advance," the old man said.
Davin did not touch the money immediately.
"That is far above the standard rate for an escort."
"It is not only an escort."
"Then what is it?"
The old man smiled.
"A way to settle my debt. And a way to see what you become."
There it was.
The truth was not complete, but at least it had the shape of honesty.
Davin picked up the coins.
The metal was heavy.
Real.
"Departure tomorrow at Kassis' rise," the old man said. "West gate. Mira will follow later in the morning."
Kassis, the large pale sun. Mira, the smaller golden one.
Davin recorded the names.
"Very well."
"Buy yourself a proper weapon before leaving," the old man added, looking at his empty belt. "An Adept without a blade attracts two kinds of people: idiots and optimists. Both are dangerous."
Davin inclined his head.
"I'll handle it."
The old man took back his mug.
The conversation was over.
Davin left the table without lingering.
Behind him, Tim muttered something.
"I can still hear you," Davin said without turning around.
A silence passed.
Then Thomas burst out laughing.
Tim said nothing else.
Davin left the guild with three gold coins, a minor awakening pill, a destination, and a fresh collection of problems.
Overall, a good day.
He first returned to the inn to leave the pill in his room, hidden deep inside a crack beneath a poorly nailed floorboard, then went back out immediately.
There was no reason to walk around carrying all his resources.
After that, he looked for a weapons shop.
He found one after about ten minutes, wedged between a tanner and a lantern seller. A black metal sign hung above the door, engraved with a simple symbol: a blade driven into an anvil.
Inside, the air smelled of oil, leather, hot iron, and dry dust. Weapon racks covered the walls, loaded with short swords, spears, axes, knives, simple bows, and round shields. Several weapons bore signs of use; others looked new, but without elegance. They were tools made to kill, not to decorate a wall.
The shopkeeper, a thin man with sinewy arms and a shaved head, looked up at Davin.
Then he sensed the mana.
His expression changed immediately. The contempt receded by a notch, replaced by a more cautious attention.
I may end up missing the days when people hated me simply because of my smell.
"I'm looking for a weapon," Davin said.
"First blade?"
The question was too precise to be innocent.
Davin did not lie.
"Yes."
The shopkeeper nodded.
"Then avoid oversized swords, paired weapons, dueling blades, and anything that takes ten years of discipline not to die with style. You want something simple. Solid. Something that forgives a little."
Finally, someone competent.
Davin almost appreciated it.
The shopkeeper presented several options: a well-balanced short sword, a broad straight saber, a slightly longer curved single-edged blade, and a war hatchet.
Davin picked them up one by one. The A.I. scanned silently.
[BEEP. Passive material analysis: local iron-carbon alloy. Variable quality. Mass balance detectable. Martial reference data insufficient for advanced technical recommendation.]
In short: you can tell me whether it's metal, not whether I'm going to die with it. Thank you.
His choice finally settled on a curved blade that immediately reminded him of something. Not a katana, not exactly, but the general idea was there: a slight curve, a simple guard, a long sheath. The back of the blade was thicker, designed for strikes capable of cutting through light armor rather than for the finesse of a perfect cut.
A hybrid between the speed of a saber and the brutality of a weapon of war.
Davin lifted it. It was a little heavy, but his new body could handle it. The grip was wrapped in white and dark brown. The sheath, made of pale lacquered wood, bore black metal reinforcements engraved with simple golden patterns. Elegant without being ridiculous.
"Good choice," the shopkeeper said. "A road blade. Not noble. Not military. Reliable."
"Price?"
"One gold coin."
Probably too expensive. Maybe not. Davin did not yet have the references to know, and he needed a weapon now.
He paid.
The shopkeeper also gave him a reinforced belt and a free piece of advice.
"Don't draw it to impress. Draw it to cut. Otherwise, someone will teach you the difference."
Davin fastened the saber to his belt.
"Advice noted."
He stepped back into the street.
Kassis was slowly descending behind the rooftops, stretching pale shadows over the packed earth. Mira, lower and golden, colored the dirty windows with warm light. The village had taken on that strange in-between shade, neither day nor evening, when people hurried a little faster without wanting to admit it.
Davin headed west, but turned aside before reaching the village gate.
The camp appeared beyond a low rise of packed earth, pressed against the edge of the road like something the village had pushed away so it would no longer have to look at it. Broken carts stood in the dust, some overturned, others held upright by scraps of rope and rotten wood. Thin fires smoked between the wheels, barely warming the ragged figures curled around them.
The smell reached him before the stares did.
Old hunger, damp filth, cold sweat, resignation. The smell of bodies that had stopped expecting anything better.
Davin slowed slightly.
A few heads lifted as he approached. Hands closed around crusts of bread, torn blankets, pieces of wood. No one recognized him at first, and that alone told him how quickly the world changed once you stopped crawling through it.
He was no longer the trembling body they had trampled.
No more rags. No more stench of death. A blade at his belt. Mana clinging to his skin.
Davin advanced slowly, studying the faces, until his gaze stopped on the man he was looking for.
The clothes, the way he held himself slightly hunched to the right, the broad jaw, the calloused hands: there was no doubt. This was the one who had struck first.
Carle.
The beggar looked up, saw a clean man approaching, and automatically held out his hand.
"A coin, my lo—"
Davin's fist struck his face.
A sharp crack cut off his sentence. Carle toppled backward and crashed into the dust, eyes wide, his nose already bleeding.
Around them, the camp froze.
Davin bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him a meter before dropping him near a broken wheel.
"Do you remember me?"
Carle groaned, lost, trying to catch his breath.
Davin placed his foot on his chest. Not on his throat. Not yet.
"Under the cart. The starving kid. There were five of you."
Understanding arrived in Carle's eyes, then fear.
Davin pressed down a little, not enough to break anything, just enough to make the point.
"Good. So there's still something left in that skull of yours."
Two beggars sprang to their feet. A third grabbed a piece of wood. A fourth was already backing away.
Davin slowly turned his head toward them, then drew his saber from its sheath.
The blade came out with a clear sound. His motion was neither perfect nor mastered, but it was enough. Kassis' light slid along the steel, and Mira added a golden line to it.
A heavy silence fell over the camp.
Davin felt their hesitation. Before, they had beaten him because he was weak, starving, alone, unarmed, and without status. Now, they were seeing something else. Not a powerful man, not yet, but someone who had crossed a boundary they had never touched.
An Adept, even an Initial one, even clumsy, even young, was still more than a beggar with a stick.
It was enough.
Almost.
One of the beggars spat on the ground.
"You're still the same little thief."
He lunged forward with his piece of wood.
Davin moved.
His body responded faster than before. Not fast like Kys, nor like a true fighter, but fast enough for the man's movement to become readable. The shoulder announced the strike, the front foot committed too much weight, and the man offered his temple as if he were determined to make the exercise easier.
Davin pivoted and struck him with the pommel.
There was nothing elegant about the blow, but the temple did not require elegance.
The man collapsed sideways, unconscious or close to it.
Davin turned back to Carle.
The first beggar was trying to crawl away. Davin planted the tip of his saber in the dust, right in front of his face, and Carle froze at once.
"I'm not going to kill you," Davin said.
He crouched down.
"That would be too expensive for what you're worth."
Carle was trembling.
Hatred, shame, and fear twisted together across his face.
Davin looked at him without any particular pleasure. He had imagined this moment differently, cleaner, more satisfying, perhaps even with a little warmth in his chest. But now that he was here, he felt almost nothing.
Only a dry calm, almost disappointing.
An old pain had found its equivalent. Nothing more.
He struck Carle one last time, a closed fist into the cheek.
The beggar collapsed sideways, dazed.
Davin straightened.
"Next time you beat someone under a cart, make sure he doesn't get back up."
No one answered.
Davin sheathed his saber, turned, and walked away at an even pace.
The violence had neither excited nor disturbed him. It was not justice, not really revenge either. Only an old mark he refused to leave open.
Back at the inn, he ate little, went up to his room, checked the hiding place of his pill three times, then set his new saber beside the bed.
He wanted to cultivate, to test the second pill, to force another step forward. He did not. Too much visibility, too much fatigue, too many unknowns around him.
A stupid ascent was still a fall with better intentions.
He slept badly.
But he slept.