(Skill Night Vision ranked up to D rank. You will be able to see better in low-light environments.)


    (Skill Shadow Melt ranked up to D rank. Your footsteps will be muffled when you walk in the shadows.)


    Ranking up my skills seemed to not only strengthen them but also expand their capabilities beyond just basic increases. That was good to know though I was yet to experience it. I wouldn’t be able to tell Shadow Melt activating if it wasn’t for this system things warning me and since my skills ranked up at the time the sun rose, I haven’t got the chance to see what Night Vision looked like.


    Looking at this status screen made me feel weird. How did it work? How did it quantify my abilities? This world is weird.


    "Soon may the Wellerman come." Larve, who was sitting on my shoulders, patted my head like she was banging on a drum. "To bring us sugar and tea and rum." She continued the song, playing with my hair. It had been several days since I started traveling with her. Guess that made… fifteen days since I arrived here?


    And for the first time since I came here, I came across a settlement. I noticed signs of tool use on the trees as we got closer but I never came across a human. It wasn’t a real surprise as the village looked very small. I saw only 3 and 4 houses, all of them small. It was apparent that this place was rustic and self-sufficient, with most houses made of wood and a few of stone.


    "Hop, there you go." I gently set Larve down on the ground. "Let''s see if they’re kind enough to let us stay for the night."


    I honestly would have preferred staying outside instead of interacting with others. The fact that I had only small amounts of coins I took off the cultists didn’t help me either. But Larve was a small child. It probably wouldn’t take long until she fell ill if we kept moving like this.


    I took her hand and approached a man chopping wood.


    "Hello, sir. How do you do?" I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. He turned to face me, rugged and somewhat worn out, reminding me of my grandfather, a farmer from a small village. His face was shriveled up from age and sun. People who made their living from the land had a certain air about them that was hard to explain if you hadn''t seen it before. He frowned, clearly displeased with my presence, then glanced at Larve and spat on the ground.


    "Can’t you see what I’m doing, boy?"


    I felt my free hand clench into a fist as Larve hid behind me, seeking refuge from the man’s glare. Never mind—this man was nothing like my grandfather!


    "It was just a figure of speech. My companion and I have been traveling for some time. Is there a place we can stay for the night?"


    "Look around you, boy. Do you think we can feed a stranger and a demihuman?"


    He pointed to the houses and I noticed how worn down they were. His tone when he said “demihuman” reminded me of racists from my previous life spitting out slurs. I was also older than him, but I didn’t mention it.


    "I''m guessing there isn''t an inn around here?"


    Instead of answering, he turned and walked into his house.


    "What a helpful fellow," I muttered. "Come on, Larve, let’s hope the rest of the villagers aren’t as…" I cleared my throat. “...mean.”


    As if to spite me further, a rock came flying toward her. Thankfully, it bounced off her horns. I quickly covered her with my body as several more rocks struck my armor.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site."Go away, monster!"


    "Go back to where you came from!"


    I pulled my sword swiftly and turned to face them, ensuring I was still shielding Larve. Several villagers stood there, rocks in hand. They hesitated when they saw my sword.


    "Come on. Throw it again, and I’ll cut off the very hand that does it. Let’s see if you can throw it with your non-dominant hand."


    Among the crowd were women, children, and men. I was half surprised by how many people there were. Why do people in poverty feel the need to make this many children?


    "You brought a monster into our village, and now you threaten us!"


    One of the men, balding and short shouted towards me.


    “She is just a child.”


    I growled, causing him to step back into the crowd.


    "It will grow up to kill us and steal our crops!"


    A hag shouted, her voice so squeaky it hurt my ears. I spat on the ground.


    "You don’t even have the decency to look at someone seeking your hospitality. You attack a girl who can’t defend herself. Maybe it would be better for you to die."


    Shouts erupted from the mob.


    "Traitor!"


    As they hurled insults and rocks, I grabbed Larve and dashed back into the forest. A few rocks hit the back of my head, but none struck her. Once we were far enough away, I felt her grip tighten around me as she began to cry.


    "You have no reason to cry," I said softly.


    "But we didn’t do anything bad?"


    I caressed her hair gently.


    "Yes. We didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes people are just mean."


    Poor child. It was normal for kids to wonder what they did wrong when others got angry. That thought process helped them learn not to repeat mistakes, like drawing on the walls. But in this case, she hadn’t done anything wrong. I knew how this story went.


    Idiot adults get angry at children for no reason at all.


    Children trying to find the reason.


    Children are unable to grasp that the adult was at fault.


    They blame themselves and carry that guilt into adulthood.


    I shook my head, dismissing the troubling thoughts. I lightly grabbed her cheek.


    "You didn’t do anything wrong. Come on. We can still find a place to stay in the forest.


    Though she released me, her sadness lingered.


    "Want me to tell you stories from my people?"


    I knew she preferred songs, but she had already absorbed all the ones I could remember. She was like a sponge when it came to melodies—perhaps that was her talent. She nodded, so I began to recount stories as best as I could remember.


    "Mother of Bo?a? Han collects forty different flowers and mixes them with her breast milk to create a potion that heals her son''s wounds."


    "Bams? Beyrek searches for a girl stronger, faster, and more skilled than himself. When he finds her, he must defeat her to prove his worth."


    "Kantural? defeats a monstrous bull, lion, and camel to marry a foreign princess."


    "Why are all the stories filled with warriors and fights?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.


    "Ughhh. I don’t know. Maybe people just like them more?"


    "I don’t like it."


    She pouted again, and I felt a pang of guilt.


    "I’m sorry; I don’t know any other stories—" I paused, crouching to inspect the tracks in front of me.


    "About two meters tall, walking on two legs, around five to eight in number, heading toward the village."


    The tracks were fresh, maybe two or three hours old. Whatever had passed through had five toes with human-shaped feet, but much larger. And they were headed toward the village we had just left.


    "Anyways. Let’s go."


    They had lost their chance.