Chapter 4

Having left the village behind, Silead followed the river downstream, stepping into a dark and damp forest.

Branches tangled overhead, sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, leaving only scattered beams dancing on the forest floor. He sat beside a moss-covered stone, his heavy crimson armor starkly out of place in the quiet stillness of the woods.

It was eerily silent. Even the chirping of insects seemed absent, as though sound itself had been pushed away.

Just as he was about to close his eyes for a moment of rest, a soft rustle disturbed the grass to his front-left. The faint sound, in such silence, rang like a needle piercing water, sending ripples of caution through him.

Silead’s eyes snapped open. His body tensed in an instant.

His first instinct: an ambush.

He slowly stood, his hand already resting on the hilt of the longsword he had taken from the village—only to freeze a moment later.

From the grass emerged a strange-looking rat.

It was larger than a normal rodent, its body faintly wrapped in a near-transparent green glow that shimmered in the dappled light.

Silead held his breath, eyes locked onto the rat, but he didn’t attack.

The rat spotted him. Its front paws paused, whiskers twitching. Then, without hesitation, it turned and darted into the deeper woods, vanishing in seconds.

Silead remained still, hand on the sword’s grip, but he didn’t draw it.

Not an enemy.

Maybe just passing through.

Still, that green glow was certainly unnatural.

As Silead stood silently in the dense forest, staring in the direction where the glowing rat had vanished...

...

Elsewhere, several kilometers away—

A staggering figure crossed the grassland, boots crunching over cracked dirt as he entered the charred heart of a battlefield.

John.

John had journeyed east across the plains and arrived at the ruins where two feuding counts had recently clashed.

The battlefield was still fresh. The echo of lances piercing armor seemed to linger in the air.

The ground was scorched, cracks splintered across it, shattered weapons and armor fragments scattered among the dirt. Sunlight glinted off rusted edges.

He didn’t pause. Moving deeper into the ruins, his eyes scanned urgently while he shouted aloud:

"Yuri—you there? If you hear me, come out!"

As John called out, rubble shifted in the distance.

He turned sharply, hand tightening on his dagger, stepping half a pace back, eyes locked.

The sound grew nearer—like someone dragging gear, heavy and rushed, with a hint of panic.

"...Yuri?"

He called again, low and cautious now, more suspicion than warmth.

The bushes rustled. A tall, thin figure stumbled out, clutching a battered metal canteen, his backpack bulging with who-knows-what.

It was Yuri. His face was caked in grime, but John recognized the gray robe.

Their eyes met.

Yuri hesitated. His expression darkened. He clearly hadn’t expected to run into his father here. His mouth twitched.

"...What is it, old man?"

John ignored the tone and began speaking as if narrating a trade deal:

"That armored bastard we captured before—I thought he was some noble's knight, that armor... maybe not the best, but definitely custom work."

He licked his cracked lips, chuckled bitterly.

"Turns out he wasn’t human at all. If I hadn’t run when I did, I’d be a corpse like the rest of those idiots back in the village."

"You should’ve seen the way he looked at me—like he was wondering how to skin me."

He waved a hand, as if brushing off a bad memory.

"That armor? I was thinking we could sell it, but now I think it’s some demon beast pretending to be human."

"...Too convincing. Almost fooled me."

He stopped, glancing coldly at Yuri.

"How long have you been poking around this ruin?"

John’s gaze dropped to Yuri’s pack, eyes narrowing like blades as if they could cut straight through the fabric and reveal what lay inside.

"You picked up a lot, didn’t you?"

He stepped closer. His tone turned icy, emotionless:

"Open the bag. Let me see what you’ve taken."

Yuri didn’t move. His face darkened, gaze drifting away.

"Just some junk. Scrap metal, mostly."

"I'll decide what's junk."

John’s voice rose, sharp and pressing.

He seized the pack strap and yanked it down, nearly pulling Yuri off balance.

"Hiding something again, aren’t you? Don’t think I don’t know your little tricks."

Yuri’s jaw clenched. Anger flickered in his eyes. But he didn’t resist.

He slowly, reluctantly, pushed the pack forward and unbuckled the flap.

"See for yourself."

Inside was a mess: cracked armor fragments, scorched copper coins, a half-intact heraldic belt bearing the symbol of some long-burned noble house.

John rummaged through the contents, snorted.

"Not bad... you've got a nose for scraps. Might get a few meals out of this in the city."

He held up the belt, fingers brushing the embroidery, then muttered:

"Too bad it’s not from that monster. If we could peel that armor off him... now that would be worth real coin."

His eyes lingered on the pile of bloodied metal. He scoffed in disappointment.

"That’s it? You stayed here for days and this is all you found? A few chunks of garbage?"

Yuri said nothing.

Because it wasn’t all.

He had taken more. Hidden it.

Including a serrated red shard—armor with jagged edges, soaked in blood.

It wasn’t normal metal. He could feel it.

It felt alive.

No way he was handing that to John, only for it to be traded for a few coppers.

"Let’s go," John said coldly, gathering the junk. "Head north. That greedy count up there’s buying old knight gear, right? This set could fool him out of fifty silvers. Maybe we’ll get some food or intel."

He didn’t wait for a reply. Turned, and walked the rubble trail leading north.

Yuri clenched his teeth, glanced back at the scorched and bloodstained battlefield, then bowed his head and followed.

They walked along the dirt path for nearly an hour. The sky darkened. Grass trembled in the chill wind. There were no villages ahead, only a crumbling stone pavilion—an ancient waypoint from ages past.

John slumped down, tossed aside his bundle, and exhaled heavily.

"Bring out the food."

Yuri didn’t move.

"You deaf? I said get the food. All of it."

John raised his hand threateningly.

Yuri bit back his frustration. He set his satchel down and pulled out a dry bundle—a sliver of cured meat and half a loaf of hard bread. Even the salt was shaken out.

...

Dusk had fallen. Wind stirred the dust. On the horizon, the jagged silhouette of castle walls emerged faintly.

The count’s gates were drawing near.

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