The Paths And The Errands

A day had passed since the celebration. The echoes of laughter and fireworks had faded into memory, leaving behind the soft rustle of wind and the distant clatter of wheels. The sky is slowly rising from the horizon. It's early in the morning.

*Clatter. Creak. Clop.

A carriage approached, its sound heard over the hills toward Hervia's entrance gate, where Arthur and Luke stood waiting. The old Yok wood that framed the gate, weathered and proud, had stood to watch over the town since its founding. And now, beneath it, stood Ashfer—his boots planted on the dirt road that would soon lead him away, toward the capital, toward destiny. With his white cloak covering his back. His single earring on his left ear shone from the sun's rays.

The breeze whispered gently through his hair as he took a slow, deliberate breath, filling his lungs with one last breath of home. He turned to look at the two figures behind him—his family.

*Creak… thud… clop.

"The carriage is here… I guess this is it," he muttered under his breath, voice almost lost in the wind.

Turning to Luke, Ashfer offered a soft smile. "Take care of the town for me, Luke. And look after Dad."

He stepped closer, ruffling his little brother's hair with a gentle laugh, refusing to let the moment become too heavy.

"You better catch up to me." 

He smile softly before speaking a little louder "And being a pain in the ass..."

Luke said nothing. He simply nodded, eyes locked on the ground. The promise they'd made was still etched in his heart, but the weight of separation came too quickly, too sharply. It wasn't easy to let go—not when everything changed overnight. But he snapped when he was called a pain in the ass.

"HUH—!? You wanna fight me, smartass!?"

Arthur, ever the quiet observer, finally stepped forward. He placed a firm hand on Ashfer's shoulder, his expression calm, weathered with pride. 

"Just go," he said with a raspy chuckle. "Luke and I'll be fine. Focus on what you gotta do."

...

*Creak… thud… creak…Neigh.

The carriage rolled to a stop before them. The horses snorted and pawed the earth as a sharply dressed butler stepped out. Without a word, he bowed deeply, gesturing to the open carriage door. Ashfer swallowed hard. One foot on the ladder. Then another. Each step weighed heavier than the last. Dreams pulled him forward. His family tugged him back. Then—

"Just go already, asshole. You're making the butler waits" Luke muttered.

The voice was barely above a mutter, but it was clear enough. Ashfer turned, eyes wide, catching the familiar scowl on Luke's face. He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, quiet and full of affection.

Pathetic, such a weakling, he thought. Hesitating in front of his little brother like that.

With renewed strength, he climbed the last step and settled into the seat. The door shut behind him with a soft thud. The tension eased from his chest. Luke was right. He had to move forward. No more looking back. Ashfer leaned out the window one last time, his eyes scanning the gate, the people he loved most.

"I'll come home one day…" he said softly. "I promise."

...

The carriage wheels rolled on, their rhythmic clatter slowly fading into the distance. Ashfer leaned slightly out the window, eyes locked on the two fading figures—his father and his little brother. He knew he'd remember this day for the rest of his life.

Behind him, Luke stood motionless until Arthur draped a rough hand across his shoulders and gave a raspy laugh. Without warning, he rubbed his knuckles into Luke's hair, making the boy stumble forward with a grunt.

"Come on now," Arthur chuckled, "it's your turn next, right? Don't go disappoint your old man. HAHAHA!" He laughed raspily and wholeheartedly.

Luke didn't respond, but he gave a small nod. And with that, the two turned and walked back into Hervia—down the familiar path to a home that now felt a little emptier. Still, they both understood what had to be done. Life had to move forward. And for the first time in his young life, Luke felt something quietly powerful inside him—confidence.

...

A few weeks passed.

...

Arthur stood in the fields, hands calloused and dusty from work, when a shadow passed overhead. A messenger bird circled once before descending, a rolled parchment tied to its leg. Arthur untied it and opened it slowly, revealing a short message written in bold gold ink:

"I've arrived at the Royal Capital. It's huge."

That was it. No greeting, no signature.

Arthur burst out laughing, his chest shaking with pride. "Damn kid's still awful with words," he muttered fondly. Still, it was enough.

...

Meanwhile, life in Hervia continued—and Luke had his hands full. He became a familiar face across the town, always helping wherever he was needed. At the forge, he helped the blacksmith mold iron into blades. Out in the wilds, he climbed cliffside paths to harvest rare Scentia berries—prized crops worth thousands of silver pennies. Enough to build homes. Enough to feed families.

When the lumberjacks called, he helped chop trees. When farmers needed hands, he was there, digging trenches and hauling crops. He was dependable, strong, and tireless.

But one thing still haunted his mind—the monsters.

Small beasts occasionally crept from the deep forest. Ashfer had always been the one to drive them back, to protect the town with his unmatched magic. Luke had only ever assisted, never led. Even a 6th-class creature was a challenge for him. Ashfer could take down a 3rd-class monster with ease—thanks to his vast mana pool and refined spells.

Luke had none of that. No mana, no magic.

All he had was raw strength, his body tempered by hard labor and stubborn grit. But even so, he wasn't sure it would be enough. Against monsters, strength alone might not matter. And that fear—of not being enough—sat quietly in his heart, waiting. Maybe he should finally consider calling the Chevaliers from the nearby town? Hervia didn't have much protection since the government thought of this place as the safest spot to grow crops and build a stable foundation. That's why Luke and Ashfer took the role as the town protectors. Some Chevalier did patrols around here once in a while. Maybe he should let them handle it?

...

"That son of a bitch… leaving me with the worst chores and double the work," Luke grumbled to himself as he pushed through the bustling market square. Merchants called out, peddling vegetables, spices, accessories—anything that glittered or fed a stomach. He took a bite of an apple—too hard—and instantly winced. "Maybe I should depend on the Chevaliers and guards after all..."

"Ouch—!" He spat, clutching his jaw. "Bit my tongue…"

With a sour face, he tossed the apple into a nearby barrel and muttered curses under his breath. "Stupid-ass apple… stupid-ass errands… and stupid-ass brother."

Before he could spiral further into his irritation, the sound of small feet pounding on cobblestones reached his ears. A trio of children rushed toward him, familiar faces but pale with panic.

"Big Brother Luke!" they cried from afar.

He recognized them immediately—two sons of the nearby farmers and the daughter of the town's healer. He'd always play along with their pranks and mischief but this time. He looked at them, confused, until he saw their wide eyes and trembling fingers pointing behind him. 

"The monsters—! It's huge this time!"

Those words struck like lightning through his chest. His heart thudded once—twice—before instinct took over.

Without thinking, Luke turned and sprinted, weaving through the crowd with urgency. "Excuse me—! Pardon me!" he barked as he shoved through the packed street. The moment the path cleared, he sucked in a breath, clenched his fists, and whispered the only spell he could manage.

"Feather Steps."

A soft wind curled around his legs, lightening his stride. His speed doubled. It was a minor spell Ashfer had taught him—one of the few Luke could cast with his meager mana. But right now, it was all he had. This is a critical situation. He shouldn't be relying on the protectors that will take some time to arrive. It'll be too late.

The thought of the farm, of the people he cared for, of the children he'd just seen—it burned in his chest like fire.

"Damn it… If only I could use any advanced magic like Ash…"

His breaths came ragged now.

"Please… just let me make it in time."

He surged forward again, pushing his body harder, faster. His legs screamed, but he didn't care. Ashfer had entrusted him with this town. And whether he had magic or not, he had strength. He had will. No matter how dire the disaster, he would protect Hervia. Even if it killed him. 

*SKIRK—!!

He managed to stop himself with the force of his feet and reached the farm. But as he's standing there, analyzing the situation.

He sees the monster and his heart rate peaks, his face goes pale, and his body shakes a little from fear.

...

"I'm Fucked..."

Standing just a few meters ahead—bathed in dust and shadow—was a creature straight from a nightmare.

A Black Storm Wolf. A big one.

Its hulking frame loomed nearly four meters tall, muscles rippling beneath jet-black fur that shimmered faintly, like storm clouds caught in sunlight. Crackling wisps of static clung to its coat, dancing across its body with each subtle movement. Its fangs, long and curved like ivory daggers, gleamed beneath its snarling lips. Clawed paws—each one large enough to crush a man's skull—dug into the earth, tearing grooves into the dirt with every step.

A 3rd-class monster...