Little Poll

It wasn't only Finn who froze in surprise at what the young boy had done—even the villagers stood in stunned silence, shocked by Poll's sudden attack. No one had expected the child to dare such a thing in front of a mysterious Adventurer who had appeared out of nowhere. But even so, they understood why he did it. Perhaps he had simply reached his limit, and the sheer weight of his anger had driven him to lash out at this new outsider.

"Little Poll!" the Village Chief cried when he finally regained his senses.

Just moments ago, he had been unable to move, paralyzed by the sudden descent of Finn from the sky. Only now did he snap back to himself, just in time to witness Poll's outburst.

The old man's staff slipped from his hands as he dashed forward toward the boy and the young stranger. When he reached them, he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground.

"Honored Sir! Please, forgive Little Poll for what he has done! He does not understand his actions. He is only a child—if someone must be punished, let it be me!" the Village Chief begged, voice quavering with desperation.

"Village Chief!" gasped the villagers behind him.

Their voices were filled with confusion and alarm. They didn't understand why their leader had suddenly prostrated himself before the young stranger.

"Grandpa…"

Poll stared in bewilderment and stepped forward, trying to help the old man up.

But the Village Chief ignored him, remaining motionless, still bowing low before Finn.

For over sixty years, he had lived in this small village. In that time, he had come to understand at least a little of the wider world they all struggled to survive in. He had seen how Finn had descended from a flying sword, and he knew this alone marked him as extraordinary.

Though he possessed no great treasures himself, he knew of their existence—and if he wasn't mistaken, the silver sword Finn rode was not an ordinary armament.

When he saw Poll strike the young stranger, dread had knifed through his heart. Without hesitation, he rushed forward to kneel and beg forgiveness. He feared that angering this young man could mean the destruction of their entire village.

Seeing the old man prostrate himself, Finn stood motionless for a moment, startled. But as the old man's trembling voice filled the clearing, Finn's eyes softened. He stepped forward, gently reaching down to help him rise.

"Kneeling before a stranger is something we should never do without cause," Finn said with a faint smile as he lifted the elder to his feet. "That gesture is meant only for our parents, or our saviors."

"But… Little Poll…" the Village Chief stammered, eyes downcast.

Finn shook his head gently. "Why would I be angry at a child who only wants to protect the people he calls family?"

A hush fell over everyone present. Even Poll, who had stood silent and tense, stared up at Finn, eyes wide and uncertain.

"You—don't you have any ill intentions toward our village?" Poll demanded, his voice firm but still edged with childlike innocence.

Finn turned to him, meeting his gaze calmly. Despite the boy's glare, he could see the innocence in those dark eyes.

He took a moment to study the child more closely—messy blue hair, thick brows, and a pair of black eyes, their depths both wary and searching.

Poll's skin was weathered, neglected, like the other villagers who had never known wealth. His brown tunic was simple, and his sandals were made of woven plant fibers.

"Little Poll!" the Village Chief scolded sharply. "Have you forgotten all we taught you about respecting your elders? Bow your head and apologize to the honored sir at once!"

Finn lifted a hand and smiled at the old man, shaking his head again. He reached out, ruffling Poll's hair gently.

"I didn't come here to harm or trouble your village," he said simply.

Confusion rippled through the gathered villagers, but at his calm reassurance, something in them eased. They dared to hope he spoke the truth.

"Honored Sir, my name is Logan—I serve as chief of this small village," the old man said, still sounding wary. "May I ask what business brings you here?"

Finn's golden eyes glimmered thoughtfully. "My name is Finn Doria—an Adventurer of a humble family in this kingdom. There's no need for formalities—just call me Finn. And as for why I've come… I'm looking for an old man named Xuan. If I'm not mistaken, he passed through this place."

Every face changed the moment they heard that name.

'Could this young man be a companion of the greedy old stranger?' The same thought raced through every villager's mind.

"Xuan?" Logan repeated, his voice taut. "It's true—yesterday an old man calling himself Inner Instructor Xuan came to us. We took him in, treated him as a guest. But instead of gratitude, he stole all our food."

Finn could feel the bitterness and fury emanating from them. He didn't bother to hide his own displeasure—his expression darkened at the confirmation.

Beside him, Poll clenched his small fists so tightly they shook. His jaw tightened—and before anyone could react, he turned and sprinted away.

"Little Poll!" Logan called, alarmed.

He quickly gestured to Matias, who nodded and ran after the boy.

Logan faced Finn again, shoulders slumping as he sighed. "Sir Finn, please forgive the boy. He's still so young, but he's already endured more than any child should. He's only ten, yet he lost his parents five years ago—to outsiders."

Finn fell silent. He looked in the direction Poll had gone, a complex mixture of pity and sorrow in his gaze.

"Sir Finn… may I ask why you're searching for Xuan?" Logan asked quietly.

Finn's eyes grew cold—so cold Logan shivered involuntarily. "I came to collect a debt. Do you know where he went?"

Logan hesitated, thinking. Though he didn't fully grasp what Finn meant by 'collect a debt,' he chose not to pry.

"I have no idea," he admitted at last, shaking his head sadly. "He vanished as suddenly as he arrived, carrying off our food."

Disappointment began to weigh on Finn's expression—but Logan spoke again before he could reply.

"However… some days ago, Little Poll noticed he carried a map. The old man got drunk—so drunk that while he slept, Poll managed to copy it. He showed it to us, but none of us is familiar of it."

Finn paused, considering this. "Does Little Poll still have the copy?"

"I believe so, Sir Finn. Would you like me to retrieve it for you?"

"That may make my search easier," Finn mused. "But… it might be better if I asked him myself."

He looked past Logan at the villagers—haggard, hungry, eyes dull from hardship. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

"Village Chief… may I ask you a favor?"

Logan blinked in surprise but quickly nodded. "Of course—anything I can do, Sir Finn."

Finn offered a grateful smile and inclined his head. "Thank you. Could you gather everyone here again? And… would it be all right if I started a large fire in this clearing?"

Though Logan was clearly puzzled, he didn't hesitate. There was no harm in gathering the people or letting this stranger start a fire in the open space.

"Village Chief," a few of the men interjected, stepping forward. "Leave this to us. We'll also fetch Matias and Little Poll."

Finn smiled warmly at them and inclined his head again. "Thank you."

Once they departed, he moved to the wide clearing, raising a hand to touch the interspatial ring on his finger. A brief glow pulsed—and those who witnessed it gasped in wonder. They could scarcely believe such a thing existed in this world.

Yet it wasn't the ring alone that left them slack-jawed.

The light faded—and in its place appeared the enormous carcass of a crimson wild boar.

Shock rippled through every face. No one could comprehend what they were seeing—a dead giant Vicious Beast laid before them.

This was the first time any of them had laid eyes on such a creature, and they trembled in awe and fear.

But before their questions could find voice, Finn ignored their reactions. He calmly retrieved his cooking tools and began preparing the necessary ingredients.

He had gathered a great deal of Vicious Beast meat during his time in the Mystic Treasure Realm. It cost him nothing to cook one for these villagers. If he could help them, even a little, he wouldn't hesitate.

In truth, this boar was the weakest of the creatures he had slain—a Lurking Wild Boar, known for its succulent flesh. As a Third Grade Vicious Beast, it was the only one safe to serve here. Anything stronger could kill these people outright—most weren't Adventurers, and the rest were only Bronze Rank. Their bodies would never withstand the fierce energy in the meat of a Fourth Grade Vicious Beast.

Drawing his Blood Heavy Sword, Finn swung it in a single smooth arc. The boar's massive body split into large and small pieces, scattering across the ground. Before the blood could seep into the soil, he made a sweeping motion with his hand—instantly, the thick crimson liquid vanished.

The villagers watched him work, spellbound. Their eyes were riveted by the enormous red sword. Never had they seen a weapon capable of cutting such a monster with such ease.

Finn quickly kindled five large fires, earning startled gasps. But as realization dawned, shock gave way to incredulous excitement.

'Was he… planning to cook?'

They could not suppress the thrill that welled in their hearts. Hope bloomed at the thought—perhaps they would receive a portion of this meal.

Meanwhile, Finn summoned his Silver Flying Sword once more. He mounted it and flew to the crown of an enormous tree. With a single swing, he sliced the trunk into four long sections, then used his soulforce to suspend them in midair. He trimmed the logs until they were thinner, returned to the meat, and skewered the boar's massive legs onto the makeshift spits.

Soon, the others returned—Matias and Little Poll among them. Their expressions mirrored the astonished wonder on every other face.

They watched as Finn calmly mixed spices in an enormous pot, while rich, mouthwatering aromas began to drift through the clearing.

After some time, the fires died down. The cooking was finished. Finn approached Logan and whispered a few words.

When Logan understood what he was being told, joy shone in his tired eyes. He turned to the villagers and raised his voice:

"Everyone—fetch your containers! This honored gentleman has prepared all this food for us!"

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, in an eruption of cheers and tearful cries of thanks, the villagers scattered to their homes, returning in moments with baskets, pots, and bowls.

Logan organized them into neat lines and waited for Finn's signal.

For the first time in so long, there was light in their eyes—hope, relief, gratitude.

And seeing this, Finn felt his heart ease.

To him, helping those who truly needed it was never a burden. Even so, he was always careful in choosing who he aided. He never wanted to regret his decisions, so he weighed them with care.

As he watched the villagers sharing the meal with their families, Finn noticed a lone child sitting apart, staring sadly at the ground.

He looked to Logan, but the old man was busy tending to the other children and the women carrying infants.

With a quiet sigh, Finn took two bowls from his interspatial ring. He approached Logan to ask for a portion set aside for Poll.

"Little Poll probably blames himself," Logan murmured gently as he ladled steaming broth. "He was such a happy boy when his parents were alive—kind and eager to help. But after they were killed by cruel outsiders… he began shutting everyone out."

Finn listened in solemn silence. His gaze shifted to the lonely child, and he sighed again. He thanked Logan and slowly made his way to Poll.

Setting the food down before him, Finn sat beside him without a word.

Poll glanced up at him, then quickly looked away.

"I hit you… Aren't you angry?" he whispered.

Finn smiled softly. "What's there to be angy about? Your strike didn't even leave a scratch. If you truly want to grow strong… you should start by eating well. You're remarkable already—for a ten-year-old boy in this place to reach 2nd Level Bronze Rank."

Poll looked up at him again, unsure whether to feel offended or grateful. Was he being belittled or praised?

As the two sat together, the air filled with joyful shouts. All around them, villagers were discovering their strength had risen after the meal.

Finn wasn't surprised. The meat of a third-grade vicious beast, prepared with his skills as a soul chef, retained its abundant natural energy. For Bronze and Silver Ranks alike, it was an invaluable boon.

He looked back at the boy—and to his astonishment, Poll had begun to eat quietly, as if he didn't want Finn to notice.

Moments later, the child finished his meal and let out a loud, satisfied belch. His face reddened, and he turned away, embarrassed to be caught.

And then—while Poll sat in thought, eyes closed—a familiar sensation prickled at Finn's awareness.

He stiffened, eyes widening in disbelief.

A flickering blue flame had appeared, dancing on the boy's small hand.

Finn stared at it, almost unable to breathe. His mind screamed the truth he could hardly grasp:

'That flame…'