Alaric sat down heavily on one of the wooden logs.
He planted the blade tip-first into the ground beside him.
Blood dripped from his shoulder. His side.
His breathing ca in ragged gasps.
"Now," he said, forcing the words out between breaths. "About those directions to the nearest town..."
The rchant just stared at him.
Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Like he was trying to process what he’d just witnessed, a boy cutting through a dozen bandits like they were made of paper.
His wife clutched their daughter tighter. The girl peeked out from her mother’s arms, her tear-stained face showing equal parts fear and fascination.
Silence stretched.
Broken only by Alaric’s breathing and the crackling of the campfire.
Finally, the rchant found his voice. "You... you’re not with them?" His hand still gripped that useless knife.
"The bandits?"
Alaric looked at him flatly. "Does it look like I’m with them?"
"But you..." The rchant’s voice was shaking. "How do I know you’re not just—"
"If I wanted to rob you," Alaric interrupted, "you’d already be dead. I would have just let them do the work and taken the wagons after."
The logic was cold. But accurate.
The rchant swallowed. Nodded slowly. His grip on the knife loosened slightly.
"Right. Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, I just..." He gestured helplessly. "It’s been a very difficult night."
"Yeah." Alaric’s hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder.
Then his wife finally spoke.
Her voice was quiet but steady. "Anya. Get the dical supplies."
Her daughter hesitated. Then nodded and scrambled toward one of the wagons.
"You’re injured," the wife continued, addressing Alaric directly. "We have bandages. So healing salve. It’s not much, but—"
"I’ll take it," Alaric said imdiately. Because his essence reserves were too depleted for proper healing techniques. And these wounds needed treatnt before infection set in.
Anya returned carrying a wooden box. Her mother took it and moved closer to Alaric, still cautious, but willing to help.
"May I?" She gestured at his shoulder.
Alaric nodded. Let go of Nightfire’s handle. Started peeling off his torn and blood-soaked shirt with movents that made every wound protest.
The wife worked efficiently. She was not a healer, just soone who’d clearly bandaged injuries before.
Probably from traveling dangerous roads.
She cleaned the wounds with water from a canteen. Applied salve that stung but helped. Wrapped bandages with practiced hands.
"Thanks," Alaric said quietly when she finished.
She nodded, then stepped back, returning to her husband’s side.
The rchant had finally put away the knife. He looked at Alaric.
Then the rchant’s wife spoke.
"Thank you." She t Alaric’s eyes directly. "Thank you for saving us. For saving our daughter."
The rchant seed to shake himself out of his shock. "Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you. We..." His voice caught. "We would have died if you hadn’t—"
He stopped. Drew breath.
"Thank you. Truly."
Anya was still half-hidden behind her mother, peeking out with wide eyes. Terrified but curious.
The woman gently touched her daughter’s shoulder. "Anya. Say thank you to the... to the big brother who saved us."
The girl’s eyes went even wider. She looked up at her mother. Then at Alaric, at his blood-soaked appearance, at the blade planted in the ground, at the bodies surrounding them.
"Th-thank you," she whispered. So quietly Alaric almost didn’t hear it. "Big brother."
Alaric just nodded.
The rchant cleared his throat.
"The nearest town from here is Ashfeld. We’re actually heading there ourselves to sell our goods at the market." He paused. Looked around at the carnage surrounding his camp. "We hired those rcenaries to protect us on the road, but..."
He didn’t need to finish. The reality was obvious, the rcenaries had been useless.
Alaric nodded. "How far?"
"Half a day’s journey by wagon," the woman answered. "We’ll leave at dawn."
She paused. Then added more gently, "You can stay here with us until then and rest."
Alaric looked at her. "You sure about that?"
"You saved our lives. Our daughter’s life." Her voice was firm despite the fear still lingering in her eyes. "The least we can do is share our fire."
"Vanessia—" The rchant started.
Clearly torn between gratitude for the rescue and deep discomfort at having a clearly dangerous stranger in their camp.
But she cut him off. "Henry."
Her voice dropped lower but remained steel-firm. "He saved us. We’re not sending him back into that forest alone and injured."
Then she leaned closer to her husband and whispered. "Can you protect us if more bandits co? If sothing else shows up?"
Henry’s face went pale. He looked at his wife. At his daughter. At the bodies proving exactly how useless he’d be in actual combat.
He shook his head slowly. "No. I... no."
Vanessia nodded. Looked back at Alaric. "We won’t forget this favor. When we reach Ashfeld, we’ll pay you properly. Whatever you need."
Alaric just nodded. Didn’t argue. Because he did need things. Supplies. Information.
A place that wasn’t the middle of a forest.
He shifted position. Sat on the ground properly instead of perched on the log. Leaned back against the wood for support. Closed his eyes.
Grrr
His stomach growled again.
Vanessia smiled slightly. "I’ll bring you food."
She moved to one of the wagons. Returned with a bowl of stew, still warm from earlier.
Thick with vegetables and chunks of at. She handed it to him along with a wooden spoon.
"It’s not much, but—"
"It’s fine," Alaric interrupted.
He took it gratefully. Started eating without ceremony or manners. Just shoveling food into his mouth because his body needed it.
Vanessia watched him for a mont. Then gently took Anya’s hand. "Co on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed."
"But..." Anya looked at Alaric. "Is he going to be okay?"
"He’ll be fine," her mother assured. "He’s very strong. Now co."
They disappeared into one of the tents.
Henry stayed outside. Sat on a log across from Alaric. Watching him with expression mixing wariness and sothing approaching awe.
Minutes passed in silence.
Alaric finished the stew. Set the empty bowl aside. Leaned his head back against the log and closed his eyes again.
Henry continued watching him. Not speaking. Just... observing. Like trying to understand what he was looking at.
Alaric said nothing. Kept his eyes closed. Let his breathing even out.
The fire crackled softly.
The forest rustled with night sounds.
And in the camp surrounded by bandit corpses, two survivors sat in silence.
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