Chapter 12: Whispers Beneath the Leaves

The ancient ruins faded behind Nagomi as he trudged through the forest, each step feeling heavier than the last. The battle with the masked figure had left more than physical bruises—it had planted a seed of uncertainty deep within him. The world was changing before his eyes, and he could feel it—shifting, breathing, watching.

He paused under the shade of a wide-leafed tree, its canopy glowing faintly with embedded traces of magic. Light filtered through like stars in daylight, dancing upon his face. In his hands, the scroll he'd taken pulsed with a quiet warmth, as though aware of his indecision.

“I need to understand this world better… or I’ll die in it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the parchment.

Yet, he didn’t open it. Not yet.

He didn’t want to rely on power he didn’t understand.

As he resumed walking, the forest grew denser, the trail now barely more than an animal path. Vines clung to trees like protective tendrils. The sounds of insects and distant creatures filled the air. Despite the mystery, Nagomi felt something new blooming inside him—a subtle sense of awe. Everything in this world breathed magic, not as an ancient secret, but as a fact of life. Even the birdsong felt enchanted.

A distant, high-pitched scream suddenly tore through the tranquility.

Nagomi froze.

It came again—sharper, closer.

Without thinking, he ran toward the sound.

He burst into a small clearing where a young girl, no older than ten, stood trembling beside a broken cart. Two goblin-like creatures with elongated limbs and glowing yellow eyes snarled as they crept toward her.

“Hey!” Nagomi shouted, drawing his dagger.

The creatures turned, hissing. One lunged at him, its claws slashing through the air. Nagomi ducked and countered with a slash across its arm. It screeched in pain, retreating into the trees.

The other beast leapt toward the girl.

Without time to think, Nagomi charged.

He collided with the goblin midair, dragging it to the ground. They rolled, claw and dagger flashing, until he managed to pin it beneath his knee. One brutal strike ended it.

The girl was crying.

Nagomi, bloodied and out of breath, knelt beside her. “It’s alright. They’re gone now.”

“Th-Thank you…” she sniffled. “I… I was with my brother. He went looking for help… but he never came back.”

Nagomi’s gaze darkened.

“Do you remember where he went?”

She pointed down a side path, barely visible through the underbrush. “There. He said the village was just past the trees.”

“Alright. I’ll take you there.”

They traveled together, Nagomi leading cautiously, dagger drawn. The girl—Yuna—clutched his cloak tightly. It was the first time he’d felt responsible for someone else in this world.

Half an hour passed.

Then, the smell hit him—smoke and blood.

They found the village… or what remained of it.

Houses had been reduced to charred skeletons. The well was cracked in two. Bodies lay scattered in the dirt, some burned, others clawed to death. The silence was louder than any scream.

Yuna gasped and buried her face in Nagomi’s side.

He clenched his jaw.

A part of him wanted to turn back, to tell her not to look. But another part knew… this was the reality of the world he’d chosen to walk.

Adventurers didn’t just explore ruins or chase slimes. They saw death. They failed. And sometimes, they arrived too late.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Do you think… my brother…?” Her voice was barely a breath.

Nagomi searched among the bodies.

And there, near the edge of the forest, was a young man with the same hair as Yuna—his hand still holding a broken wooden sword, as if he had tried to fight.

He didn’t speak.

Yuna didn’t ask.

She just stood beside her brother’s body, tears streaming down, and Nagomi stood guard. Silent. Watching the forest.

Not all battles were won with blades.

That night, they buried the dead.

Nagomi dug with his hands, sweat and soil mixing with dried blood. He didn’t stop until the last body was laid to rest beneath the earth. Yuna helped him mark her brother’s grave with stones, whispering prayers she’d learned from her village.

He set up camp beneath the largest remaining tree, letting Yuna rest.

And as he sat by the fire, scroll in hand again, he finally spoke to himself aloud.

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

He opened the scroll.

The text inside glowed faintly, revealing incantations written in both the language of this world and one eerily close to his own.

A memory surfaced—one from school back on Earth, when he’d studied kanji that held ancient meanings. The scroll’s symbols felt similar… like they were meant for him to read.

He didn’t cast the spell. Not yet.

But for the first time, he began studying the lines.

Not as a weapon.
But as a responsibility.

At dawn, he escorted Yuna to a nearby town, where the guards—moved by her story—offered her shelter.

As they said goodbye, she hugged him tightly.

“You’re strong,” she whispered. “But you’re also kind. Please don’t change.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Once alone, he walked back into the forest, the scroll secure in his pack, and a new weight in his heart.

This world wasn’t a game.

And if he wanted to survive—no, if he wanted to protect anyone again—he would need to learn everything it had to offer.

Not for glory. Not for fame.

But for the ones too weak to fight back.