'Oracle, quick scan! Did the downed or scrambling villagers drop their spears? Where are they?' you think rapidly, your eyes darting across the chaotic scene.
The information feeds instantly into your awareness, no time freeze needed for this level of environmental query.
<< Scanning immediate combat zone... Confirmed: One (1) Spear dropped by critically wounded villager (Location: Approx. 1 meter from wolf's current position, near his fallen body). One (1) Spear still held by scrambling villager (Used defensively to ward off snaps). One (1) Spear held by villager who broke ranks (Hesitating near edge of combat). >>
There it is. A spear, lying on the ground near the wolf and the man it just mauled. It’s a risk – closing distance to the enraged predator – but infinitely better than your dagger against this beast.
Decision made. You explode from behind the rock formation, speed being your greatest asset. You don't run directly at the wolf, but skirt the edge of the melee, your eyes locked on the fallen spear. The wolf is busy snapping at the scrambling villager, its massive body momentarily blocking a clear view of you from Torvin and Borin who are closing in from the other side.
You cover the ground in a blur. Two quick strides, a long reach – your fingers close around the rough wooden shaft of the spear just as the wolf pins the scrambling villager's leg under a massive paw, preparing to bite down.
You don't hesitate. Bringing the spear up, you plant your feet firmly, using your enhanced Strength (STR 22) and the momentum of your dash. You aim for the thick muscle and exposed ribs of the wolf's flank, the area directly in front of you as it focuses on the villager beneath it.
"HEY!" you roar, trying to draw its attention for just a split second as you thrust forward with all your might.
The spearhead, likely simple fire-hardened wood or perhaps crudely tipped with sharpened stone or basic metal by Borin, punches into the wolf's side. It's not a clean, deep penetration like a steel blade might achieve against softer flesh, but the force is significant. It rips through the thick hide and sinks several inches into muscle, possibly grating against ribs.
The Dire Wolf lets out an ear-splitting yelp of pain and fury, instantly abandoning the villager under its paw. It whips its massive head around, eyes blazing with agony and rage, fixing directly onto you, the source of its new injury. The spear shaft protrudes awkwardly from its side. It ignores Torvin and Borin momentarily, its entire focus narrowing onto you. It lowers its head, preparing to launch itself at you, wounded but incredibly dangerous.
The injured spear is now embedded in the beast, but you stand weaponless, having driven your only ranged advantage home. You are now the wolf's primary target.
(Oracle: Threat level escalating significantly. Host is primary target of wounded C- rank predator. Calculating attack vectors...)
Time: Mid Morning (Approx 10:36 AM)
Date: 02/05/1042
Status:
- Combat: Dire Wolf successfully flanked and wounded with spear thrust. Wolf enraged, focusing attack on Keelan.
- Weapon Status: Spear embedded in wolf, Keelan currently unarmed (dagger still sheathed/pocketed).
- Villager Status: 1 critically wounded, 1 pinned/minorly injured, 1 hesitant but unharmed. Torvin & Borin closing in.
- AI Status: Threat level critical, predictive analysis running. Temporal intervention imminent if wolf initiates unavoidable attack.
Inventory: Unchanged (Spear used is not yours)
In the ringing silence following the wolf's sudden demise, you take a moment, catching your breath, the adrenaline still singing in your veins. The sheer speed and efficiency of the kill, guided by Oracle, leave even you slightly stunned. You focus your intent, directing Oracle: 'Scan surface thoughts. Torvin, Borin, the conscious villagers.'
<< Acknowledged. Accessing surface cognitive signals... >>
The thoughts flicker into your awareness, raw and unfiltered:
- Torvin: (Shock: How...? Saw it lunge... then... dead? The speed... unnatural... Not just skilled, something else... But alive... Gregor needs help... Gods, Elara...)
- Borin: (Rage fading to disbelief: Dead? He killed it? That fast? Avenged... but Elara... Little Elara... Gregor... damn wolf... Need to... help Gregor... Stranger... dangerous... helpful...)
- Villager (Scrambling, minor injury): (Terror receding into awe: It's dead... he killed it... Light save us... Gregor... oh gods, Gregor's hurt bad...)
- Villager (Hesitant, broke ranks): (Relief mixed with shame: Didn't run far enough... froze... but wolf dead... Stranger did it... Thank the spirits... Need to help...)
Their minds are a whirlwind of shock, grief, relief, and lingering fear, but the immediate, unifying thought emerging is concern for the injured man, Gregor.
Snapping yourself back to the urgent reality, you break the stunned silence, your voice loud and commanding, cutting through their daze. "It's dead! Gregor needs help, now!" You gesture sharply towards the man mauled by the wolf, who is now moaning pitifully, clutching his mangled shoulder, blood pooling beneath him. "Torvin! Borin! Stop staring, let's move!"
Your words jolt them back to action. The shared shock breaks, replaced by grim necessity.
"Right! Gods, right!" Torvin snaps out of his stupor. He rushes towards Gregor, pulling out strips of cloth from a pouch at his belt. "Borin, you two!" he points at the less injured villagers, "Help me lift him carefully! We need pressure on this wound!"
Borin, shaking off his conflicting emotions, moves to help Torvin, his usual gruffness returning. "Easy now, Gregor, easy," he murmurs, surprisingly gentle as they maneuver the wounded man. The other two villagers quickly assist, their earlier fear channeled into focused action.
You step back slightly, giving them space to work, but remain vigilant, scanning the surrounding woods. While the immediate threat is gone, Rowan's words about why the goblins and wolf were acting so aggressively linger. Could there be more threats nearby? Your eyes scan the shadows, listening intently.
The scene is grim. Elara's small body lies still and tragic nearby. Gregor is critically injured, his survival uncertain. The mood is heavy with loss and the brutality they just witnessed – both the wolf's and, perhaps, yours. They work quickly, applying makeshift bandages to Gregor's shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding. They need to get him back to the village, fast.
"We need a stretcher," Torvin grunts, looking around. "Use spears... jackets... anything! We can't carry him far like this." He glances towards Elara's body, his face tight with grief. "We'll... we'll come back for her with a proper burial shroud. Can't carry both now."
Borin nods curtly, already directing the other two villagers to cut sturdy branches with their axes to fashion a makeshift litter, using their own outer tunics or jackets to create a sling. Grief is momentarily shelved for the desperate need to save the living. You watch them work, ready to lend your strength when needed for the carry, your mind already processing the next steps and the impact this will have back in Oakhaven.
<< Experience points processed for C- Rank hostile neutralization. Stat/Skill Point allocation available. Passive monitoring active. >> Oracle's notification registers almost as an afterthought amidst the immediate aftermath.
Time: Mid Morning
Date: 02/05/1042
Status:
- Aftermath: Dire Wolf dead. Elara confirmed deceased. Villager Gregor critically wounded, receiving rudimentary first aid. Preparing transport.
- Experience: Significant XP Gain confirmed. Level up likely occurred or imminent.
- Team Morale: Shock, grief, urgency. Awe/fear directed towards Keelan.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Inventory: Unchanged
You fall into step behind the makeshift stretcher, your senses still on high alert even within the relative safety of the village walls. The procession moves quickly, Torvin and Borin setting a brisk pace driven by desperation. Villagers scatter before them, clearing the main dirt track. Faces peer from doorways and windows, etched with horror and pity as they see Gregor's pale, blood-streaked face and the soaking bandages.
Whispers follow you, louder now, less guarded. "Dead... the wolf?" "...killed Elara..." "...Gregor, Light save him..." "...the stranger fought it..." "...killed it alone?" Eyes flick towards you, wide with a mixture of fear, awe, and morbid curiosity. You are no longer just the strange outsider; you are the one who walked into the deep woods after a monster and came back, leaving death behind – both the beast's and the child's. The black, functional clothing that seemed merely odd yesterday now looks menacing in the context of the morning's violence.
You reach Elder Rowan's house. Torvin doesn't bother knocking; he shoulders the door open, yelling, "Elder! Meredith! Gregor's hit bad! Dire Wolf!"
You step inside just behind the stretcher party. The scene erupts into controlled chaos. Elder Rowan is already on his feet, his frailness forgotten, directing Meredith with sharp commands. Meredith, her face pale but set with determination, rushes forward with clean cloths, a bowl of steaming water, and pungent-smelling herbs fetched from the back room.
"Lay him down! Here, by the fire, gently!" Rowan instructs, pointing to a space cleared on the rush-covered floor.
Borin and the others carefully lower the stretcher. Meredith is instantly at Gregor's side, her expression focused as she begins cleaning the horrific wound, assessing the damage beneath the soaked, crude bandages. Rowan hovers nearby, examining Gregor's pallor, feeling his pulse, murmuring incantations that might be prayers or perhaps some form of minor healing magic, though you detect no obvious energy shifts via Oracle.
You find yourself standing near the doorway, slightly apart from the intense focus around Gregor. Borin and the other two villagers who helped carry the stretcher lean against the wall, breathing heavily, covered in sweat and grime, their faces reflecting exhaustion and grim satisfaction mixed with deep sorrow. Torvin stands beside Rowan, relaying clipped details of the attack and Gregor's injury. No one pays much attention to you for the moment; all focus is on the desperate attempt to save Gregor's life. The air is thick with the metallic smell of blood, the sharp scent of herbs, and palpable tension.
Seeing that your presence is largely ignored amidst the focused efforts to save Gregor, and feeling acutely aware of the grime and likely blood spatter on yourself, you quietly slip back out of the Elder's house. The air outside feels fresher, though still heavy with the village's collective shock and grief.
Murmurs quieten slightly as you pass, but eyes still follow you, filled with complex emotions you can now partly decipher thanks to Oracle and common sense – awe at your power, fear of its implications, gratitude for the removal of the threat, sorrow for Elara, anxiety for Gregor. You ignore the stares, heading purposefully towards the communal water trough in the central square you used last night.
Kneeling beside the trough, you splash the cool water onto your face and hands again, scrubbing vigorously. You try rinsing the worst of the bloodstains from your jacket sleeve and pants, but the dark fabric and the nature of the stains mean you achieve little beyond making damp patches. Your clothes remain filthy and distinctly out of place. The need for local attire feels more pressing than ever.
Clean but still dishevelled, you look for somewhere quiet to sit. The central square feels too exposed, too much the focus of village activity, however subdued. Instead, you wander back towards the quieter southern edge of the village, near the now-empty Fletcher cabin that served as your shelter. Finding a relatively secluded spot where you can lean your back against the rough timber of the palisade wall, partially shaded from the midday sun, you slide down to sit on the packed earth.
From here, you can see a slice of village life continuing – the distant clang from Borin's smithy (someone must have taken over while he was gone), smoke curling from chimneys, figures moving purposefully but slowly, the weight of the morning's events hanging over them.
You close your eyes for a moment, letting the whirlwind of the past few hours settle. The images are sharp, visceral. Elara's small, still form by the rocks. The terrifying bulk of the Dire Wolf rising, jaws dripping. The chaotic scramble of the fight. The jarring stillness of frozen time. The sickening crunch as you drove the spear home. Lyra's devastating sob back at the gate.
It's only been two days. Two days since you woke up confused on a mossy forest floor. Since then, you've killed ten sentient or semi-sentient beings – nine goblins and a massive wolf. You've navigated first contact, secured temporary shelter, and now, become inextricably linked to the village's latest tragedy and its salvation. It's an overwhelming pace, a brutal introduction to this new reality.
And then there's Oracle. The power humming beneath your consciousness is staggering, almost terrifying in its scope. Perfect simulation. Time manipulation. Instant analysis. Tactical perfection delivered directly into your mind. It allowed you to anticipate the wolf's lunge, to execute a counter that killed a C-rank beast in a single move – something that likely would have resulted in multiple deaths, including potentially your own, without it. It feels... godlike. Cheating reality itself.
But sitting here, the phantom scent of blood in your nostrils, the image of Elara's vacant eyes burned into your memory, the power feels less like a simple 'win button' and more like a heavy, double-edged sword. It brings incredible capability, ensures your survival against daunting odds, but it doesn't erase the horror, the grief, the sheer ugliness of the violence. It distances you, makes you hyper-efficient, perhaps dangerously so. The villagers saw that efficiency. They saw something beyond normal skill in how you dispatched the wolf. Their awe is tinged with fear for a reason. How long before that fear outweighs the gratitude?
You run a hand over your face, feeling the rough stubble starting (how long since you shaved? Another lost detail). You have immense power, yes. But you're still alone, adrift, with no resources beyond what you can take or what's given in fragile trust. This power is your key to survival, maybe even success, but navigating the human element, the relationships, the politics of this world... that might be the harder challenge. Oracle can read thoughts, predict outcomes, but it can't make people trust you, or grieve for you, or see you as anything other than a dangerous, powerful enigma.
For now, though, you are here. You are alive. And you have a decision to make about what comes next, now that the immediate crisis seems contained.
Sitting against the rough wood of the palisade, you pull out the small loaf of dark bread and the chunk of hard, yellowish cheese Meredith pressed into your hands earlier. It's simple fare, but after the morning's exertions and the lingering adrenaline, it tastes substantial and grounding. You eat methodically, washing it down with cool water from the leather waterskin she also provided. The basic acts of eating and drinking help center you, pulling your focus back from the dizzying heights of Oracle's power and the grim depths of the morning's events.
Finished, you carefully repack the waterskin and tuck the remaining half of the bread and cheese back into your jacket pocket. Wiping crumbs from your filthy pants, you push yourself to your feet. Staying hidden away isn't productive. You need to know Gregor's status and what the village plans next. You head back towards the center of Oakhaven, towards Elder Rowan's house.
As you approach, you notice the small crowd that had gathered outside earlier has dispersed. The door to the Elder's house is closed now, but you can hear low voices from within. You knock softly.
After a moment, the door opens. It's Torvin this time. He looks utterly exhausted, his face drawn and grim, but the frantic energy from earlier has subsided into weary competence. He sees you and nods curtly, stepping aside to let you in.
The scene inside is calmer, though still tense. Gregor lies pale and still on a makeshift bed of blankets near the hearth, breathing shallowly. Meredith is sitting beside him, gently wiping his brow with a damp cloth. The bleeding seems to have been controlled – the bandages are still extensive but not actively soaking through. Elder Rowan sits in his armchair, looking drained, watching Gregor intently. Borin is gone, likely back to his smithy or perhaps informing Gregor's family.
Rowan looks up as you enter, his sharp eyes assessing you. Torvin closes the door behind you.
"Keelan," Rowan says, his voice quiet. "Gregor... is alive. For now." (Relief: He stabilized... Meredith's herbs helped... But weak... infection risk high... touch and go...) "Meredith has done all she can with her poultices and stitches. The bleeding is stopped, but the damage is severe, and fever is a risk. He rests, and we pray."
Torvin steps forward, running a weary hand over his face. "Gods, that was close. Another minute..." He shakes his head, then looks directly at you, his expression a mixture of grudging respect and lingering awe. "You saved him, you know. When you drew its focus, when you... did whatever you did. If that wolf had finished him..." He trails off, the implication clear.
He takes a deep breath. "We need to arrange a burial party for Elara. And deal with that wolf carcass before it draws scavengers. Borin has gone to gather volunteers and bring wood for a pyre for the beast, far from the village. We'll retrieve Elara's body with reverence after."
Rowan nods slowly. "A dark day for Oakhaven. One that would have been far darker without your intervention, Keelan. We owe you a debt that..." He pauses, looking at Gregor, then back at you. "...that complicates things." (Gratitude vs Fear: He saved us, twice now... but his power is frightening... unnatural... How do we repay that? How do we live alongside it?)
The implication hangs in the air. Your power saved them, but it also sets you apart, makes you something they don't understand and perhaps instinctively fear.
Time: Early Afternoon (Approx 1:30 PM)
Date: 02/05/1042
Status:
- Gregor: Condition critical but stabilized for now. Receiving care from Meredith/Rowan.
- Village Plans: Preparing burial party for Elara, organizing disposal of Dire Wolf carcass.
- Keelan's Status: Fed, hydrated. Relationship with villagers complex (gratitude mixed with awe/fear).
Inventory: - (Food partially consumed: Approx. 1/2 loaf bread, 1/2 chunk cheese remaining)
- (Other inventory unchanged)