Dawn broke, showering the grassy, bloody plains with a beautiful cloak of orange, juxtaposing the sea of corpses with the airy serenity of placid nature.

For one woman, sleeping within the confines of burnt, ashy trees, wrapped in a cocoon of fur amongst the dead and decaying leaves, her slumber broke abruptly.

She opened her eyes slowly, mind foggy with sleep so early in the morning, her body still aching even after the not-so-restful sleep, to see the farmer in front of her.

His form backlit by the sun behind him, hiding his face in shadow, he looked… Powerful. He held himself up with confidence and strength, his missing arm not exuding weakness but, rather, strength in the face of adversity.

Even as he crouched down towards her, bringing his face into view and showcasing his weathered, gentle features that she was familiar with, he seemed forever changed from the farmer that she used to know, albeit briefly.

The battle, somehow, had changed him, and she had a certain hunch about it.

He spoke a few words she didn’t recognise, her delayed reaction causing her to suddenly snap upright as caution harried her mind.

She was on edge; the woman had no idea as to what their dynamic now was.

Isn’t… Isn’t he annoyed at me? Angry? I mean, I left him for dead!

But, contrary to all her emotions, all her speculation, the farmer seemed surprisingly gentle. Like she was a frightened cat, he didn’t walk any closer, maintaining a respectful distance as he presented himself openly, speaking in calm tones.

As cautious as her mind was, she couldn’t dismiss the notion that maybe—just maybe—there was nothing to worry about.

The standstill continued for a few minutes, the farmer patiently waiting the woman out as she tried to come to grips with the situation. Eventually, she relented and decided to hesitantly give the farmer her trust, some part of her mind still sceptical as to his authenticity.

The old man lead her back to the farmhouse, where she was going to sleep before the mad events that preceded the day occurred. He provided her a cold bowl of soup as well as some bread, which she reluctantly ate after triple-checking they were actually hers to consume.

Part-way through her meal, the farmer just up and left, leaving her in the house without warning. Well, he said a few words, his expression showing his uncertainty as to whether she’d even understand them, but that barely constituted a warning, in her eyes.

Nonetheless, she finished the meal, her grumbling stomach thankful for not only the sustenance but the variety as well, and stretched out her limbs absentmindedly.

A shiver ran through her as she inspected her clothes—unfortunately torn in places. A consequence she should’ve expected after being man-handled by large, sharp claws, even if momentarily.

Thankfully, with how much loose fabric and baggy her clothes were, the holes were hard to spot. She made sure to keep her cloak covering her, however, the fur helping to trap warmth close to her body.

Not knowing exactly what was expected of her, she just stood in the middle of the room for a little bit, waiting for the farmer to return.

When the man didn’t return, she changed tack; she began to inspect her surroundings.

She had been here before, yes, but barely and the visit itself was brief; she hadn’t had time to fully take everything in.

Even though there wasn’t much to see, even the lack of things was information in-and-of-itself.

For example, there was no television. No electric lights nor anything else showing an advanced degree of industrialisation.

The kitchen was lacklustre, food mostly prepared in an iron cauldron and no dedicated preparation surface.

The table was a boring affair, made of unaccented, unadorned wood of rudimentary construction—something she could see the farmer making himself, in fact.

From there, crates, boxes, and buckets were stored near the walls, holding all sorts of things.

The woman felt tempted to search them but both her sense of propriety and the chance the farmer could return stopped her.

Moving onto the bedroom, the bed was resting on a wooden frame, the mattress lumpy and uneven. The room itself was small, not serving any other purpose than where the man slept, it seemed.

She did note, however, that the bed was large for just one farmer; presumably a relic of the past when he lived with others.

Lastly, the storage room. When she entered, she was immediately assaulted by the smell, distinctive of meat. Interestingly, the meat that was hooked up there just yesterday had been moved. The shelves were also more deserted, presumably because they had been eaten.

[Well of Essence] [Level up]

Momentary joy flowed through her as she took in the notification. Checking her stats, her essence was now 240.

Having whiled away her time, she elected to go find the farmer instead, not knowing what else to do otherwise.

Leaving the house, the sheep were roaming the fields, grazing, eating grass, and generally just being sheep. The farmer, meanwhile, she found after a little bit of searching.

Inside the sheep’s little building, which they spend the night in, was the old man tending to a sheep. The animal in question didn’t look visibly injured to her eyes, so she assumed it must be some kind of ailment. Additionally, it wasn’t just one sheep but multiple, all lying on the ground, nearly lifeless.

The farmer hadn’t noticed her; he had with him a mortar and pestle and seemed to be applying something to the sheep’s body, bereft of wool covering the skin, with some plants.

The woman didn’t exactly know what he was doing but she doubted it would do much of anything to help.

So, in recompense, she hoped, and with guilt still chewing away at her even after the tacit acceptance from the farmer, she crouched down besides the old man, her form smaller than his, and placed her hand upon the sheep’s side.

She closed her eyes, feeling for the heartbeat of the creature, as she imagined a swirling storm of essence inside both her and the animal in front of her.

She visualised malignant, grey particles of essence inside the creature, analogous to whatever ailment the sheep had, and saw her essence flood through her hands and into the sheep’s own whirlpool, quickly transitioning from the green she had began to associate with her own skills and into the sheep’s beige colour, being subsumed by its own vortex of essence as the transferred particles enveloped the grey ones.

And, just like that, with a minuscule amount of essence leaving her body, she opened her eyes back up to see the farmer staring at her hand, not showing any particular expression.

The man said a few more words, his voice subdued and quiet, but the woman didn’t understand at all.

However, the farmer ushered her to another one of the ill sheep and urged her to do what she had just done again, something she was nervous to agree to but eventually acquiesced.

What commenced from there on was the woman going around and meeting not only the sheep still in the shelter, which needed some kind of treatment, but each and every sheep that the farmer owned.

That whole process took a couple of hours and, by the end of it, [Cleanse] had levelled up.

[Cleanse] [Level up]

Cleanse (2/10) -Learned

Cleanse an entity from any toxin, disease, or contamination

Casting Time: 1 sec

Cost: 2 es

That’s it? Only the cost changes and it’s now double? Doesn’t seem worth it to me.

The hours weren’t spent with only wandering between sheep and cleansing them; the woman tried her best to make conversation.

Given the complete and utter language barrier, there were clear difficulties involved in that endeavour; the vast majority of the time, the woman had no clue as to what the man was saying.

However, thankfully, the farmer seemed to pick up on the fact that the woman was trying to learn more of the language. Frequently, she’d point towards something and the man would name that object, be it sheep, trees, or clouds.

But, even something as primitive as the assignment of nouns didn’t go smoothly; at some point, the woman had pointed at the farmer and he gave a slightly more nuanced answer.

Firstly, he pointed to himself, then to her, and gave a word which she interpreted to mean ‘people’. Afterwards, he then pointed to himself and said another word.

The language that he spoke was definitely not romantic or Germanic in origin, and, consequently, the phonemes involved were a mixture of reproducible and completely alien ones—just another obstacle to her education.

However, translating the sounds she heard into the sounds she could actually pronounce, the farmer’s name (she believed he meant his name, since they hadn’t yet mentioned pluralities and she doubted he’d begin doing so now) was ‘Renald’.

And, thus, she was presented with a question she hadn’t expected to be asked even though she really should have:

What’s my name?

Of course, the woman had a name—the same name she had always had. It was just a name she wasn’t that fond of. She had thoughts about changing it, whenever she felt particularly hateful about it, about what it represented and the history it had, but she could never bring herself to change it.

But now? Now, she could, without any strings attached. No one here knew what her name was unless she told them. She was presented with not only a golden opportunity to choose her own name but a name people wouldn’t ridicule or mock.

Would it be disrespectful towards her parents who gave her name to her? They’d certainly think so, which was all the more reason to change it.

But… Ashley wouldn’t be happy with me. This isn’t the same thing as ‘learning to be happy with myself’, is it?

She was caught in an inner turmoil, not knowing what she should do. Wants, worries, obligations, all swirled around inside her mind, battling to convince her what was best.

Meanwhile, the farmer just looked on, confused at what was taking her so long to answer such a simple question.

Eventually, though, she came to an answer. She looked the old man dead in the eyes, a serious expression on her face, and said:

“Riza.”

As the auspicious word left her mouth, a fuzzy feeling ran through her spine.

The man repeated her name, the feeling amplifying itself as he said the word with his strange accent.

And that was it. They moved on to the next shape, the farmer giving no importance to the magnitude of what she had just done. In a way… That was nice. It affirmed the word as her name—something completely and utterly ordinary.

After that, Riza resorted back to what she had done before; scouring the nearby terrain for foxes and other pests.

When the sun began to set, she made her way back with only one dead fox to her name—the rest either fled or in hiding because of the storm. The farmer didn’t seem to mind her small harvest but Riza couldn’t help feeling inadequate for the day. After all, as useful as [Cleanse] may have been, her total expenditure took less than an hour to recover; she couldn’t really see all of that as ‘work’.

That night, she actually did end up sleeping in the farmhouse for the first time thus far. She didn’t sleep on a bed, for the farmer only had one, but the floor instead. She was used to sleeping rough by now so it didn’t really bother her that much, and her cloak was comfy enough. The sturdily-built house added insulation which she greatly appreciated.

Before she slept, however, Riza did make sure to [Cleanse] the floor all over, making everything clean. Part of it was to repay the farmer (if he was given her lodging, she may as well take care of it) but also, like any modern human, she preferred her surroundings to be clean.

Thus, a period of a few days passed by routinely; the farmer would consistently wake up before Riza and she would wake up to breakfast made by the old man. There wasn’t much variety between the breakfast, usually consisting of either soup or gruel, along with some bread.

After that, They’d both check on the sheep to see if any came down with anything. Unsurprisingly, none of them did.

After the inspections, which occurred in the morning, the farmer would lead the sheep out to graze while Riza secured the perimeter, hunting foxes. Her job responsibilities did eventually diversify with moving corpses of the white monsters. The grounded ones were fairly concentrated around the fence facing the caldera—which was largely burnt down by now—an area which the sheep never drew close to.

The flying ones, however, were more widely spread out. Riza began with the ones closest to the fence but on the farm side of things, such as the first one she took down.

Although her power had increased to 5, she was still firmly in the ‘human’ territory of strength. As such, the removal process consisted of cutting the monsters into pieces—with her knife doing tremendous work—and then individually carrying the pieces over to a growing pile of body parts on the other side of the fence, near the rest of the corpses.

She managed all of one and half of another monster in the first day. After that, she shifted less and less monster parts the further out the monster was. By the final day she was at the farm, she had moved on to the monster that had briefly abducted her—that one she didn’t even manage to finish in a single day.

Lunch did not seem to be a thing with the farmer but dinner certainly was; this was where all the meat she was hunting bore fruit.

Instead of meatless stews and gruels, Riza was instead treated to meat for dinner. Not as much meat as she used to eat but she didn’t feel she was in a position to complain.

She certainly didn’t feel entitled to anything when she could observe how the farmer consistently gave her meat while only occasionally treating himself, usually the day after she had hunted more foxes than usual.

The final day. It began just like any other, with the sun cresting over the horizon and Riza waking up to breakfast prepared by Renald.

Even now, after the numerous days she had spent at the farm, she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was imposing on the man, that he was just tolerating her presence for some reason. There was always a veneer of discomfort surrounding her, though she tried to ignore it the best that she could. She engaged in conversation regularly, distracting her mind while learning the language as she went.

The foxes were sparse this day, as they were the day before. Riza was slowly gaining confidence in the theory that her culling of the population was the major result for the lack of foxes, in addition to how many must’ve fled.

When she was carrying a monster leg to her pile of limbs and torsos, she noticed two figures on horseback riding up to the farm. Curious, she quickly disposed of the limb to watch from afar.

One was dressed in long, white, flowing robes while the other was, disconcertingly, clad in armour. Not full plate, thankfully, but mail and a helmet—enough to set Riza on edge.

When they rode up to the farm, they swiftly dismounted as Renald promptly made his way over to them, engaging in conversation quickly.

Riza was far enough away that she couldn’t quite hear the conversation, though she doubted she’d be able to understand it anyway. However, in the absence of information, her anxious mind began to spin tales and insinuate the contents of the conversation.

What were they talking about? She didn’t know but that didn’t stop her from feeling it was about her. After all, she had spent around two weeks at this farm and not once had someone else visited the farmer, excluding the day of the storm.

To turn up not only after she arrived but after she got involved with Renald? With warriors from the nearby village? It was too suspicious for her.

The nascent guilt of the last week unfurled rapidly as she watched from afar.

I did this. I’ve made even more trouble for Renald.

As they continued to talk, and as she continued to get no answers other than the scenarios spun by her mind, her nerves grew, the unwanted thoughts began to take over. It’s happening again.

She couldn’t stand the waiting—the inaction—so she began walking back to the corpse of the monster she hadn’t finished disposing of yet.

As she passed, she noted the two people talking to Renald; the larger of the two was the one in armour—a man, she believed—and he had a sword strapped to his side and a buckler wrapped around his arm.

The other was a woman, a hood casting a shadow on her face.

They both stood with confidence, though Renald was neither shorter nor all that smaller, Riza noticed.

The woman was primarily the one doing the talking which meant, as Riza looked at them, she caught the eyes of the man, watching her walk through the field. As soon as she realised, she tore her gaze away and hurried her steps, wanting to look like she was busy with work.

By the time she made it to the corpse, her mind was made up. The nerves, the guilt, the worry… It all amalgamated and resolved itself into a decision; she had to leave.

There’s no other option.

She wasn’t wanted here and her conscience wouldn’t let her stir up even more trouble.

By the time her feet hit the grass-less, dirt road, she turned and continued walking, straight past the corpse.

Unease permeated her body from head to toe but she continued walking, her feet carrying her further and further away from the farm.

From the first week here, she had scouted out the location; she knew roads that were nearby, the river that trailed from the caldera and all the way to the village, and patches of trees dotted about the place.

As she walked, she began to plan out her next few moves, to take her mind off what she was doing.

She was going to need water. That was easy enough, as she’d stay near the river where she could both drink and wash.

After that was food—more of an issue. Her abrupt departure meant she couldn’t take any food with her. She’d have to satisfy herself with berry bushes and fruit that she scavenged from the flora.

Luckily, with cleanse, practically anything could be edible; poisonous berries were no longer poisonous as long as she had essence.

Even in the case that there was no food she could find, the village wasn’t that far away; no more than two days on foot, she estimated.

It was only fifteen minutes later, however, when her ears began to pick up a new, strange sound. The soundscape so far had been silent so any disruption was made only more obvious.

Hooves. The distinctive sound of hooves resounding against uneven earth, of horses galloping towards her. Quickly turning around as soon as she registered the sound, two small figures emerged in the distance, a cloud of dust and dirt behind them.

Worry assailed her mind as Riza quickly considered her options.

Instinctively, she considered her greatest weapon, [Leech].

If I use [Leech] for one second, the sudden drain of strength should pull out the horses feet from under them. The cold thought sparked into existence quickly, a remnant of her time in the forest.

What am I even thinking? Using [Leech]? Her tone changed as quickly as she realised her situation. They haven’t even done anything yet and I’m considering potentially killing their horses? Slightly horrified, she dismissed the notion entirely.

Calm down, Riza. Surprisingly, simply saying her new name helped in that regard. You haven’t done anything yet; there’s no reason to panic. Just be friendly.

Quickly, the riders drew near and revealed themselves to be the two people who were just at the farm moments ago. They urge their horses to an abrupt stop, the man remaining on his horse while the woman promptly dismounts upon seeing that Riza wasn’t going anywhere.

As soon as she has a solid footing on the ground, the woman speaks in a rapid tone, her accent different from Renald’s.

Even with all the new words Riza had been learning the past week, she struggled to make out everything she was saying, her speed not helping in the slightest.

Uncertain, Riza believed that the woman was asking her to go with them, presumably to the village.

She did not respond. For one, there was the undeniable fact that she may have misunderstood what was said, something that Riza felt was glaringly likely given how little she actually understood.

Number two, even if her interpretation of what was said was correct, obeying them consisted of travelling with strangers on a desolate road, one of which was equipped with armour and a weapon. The risk inherent to that decision was obvious.

And so, Riza, once again, didn’t know what to do. Dealing with people was just so directionless, unobvious, and obtuse.

Seeing the non-response, however, the robed woman shot a look at the man before turning back to Riza and awkwardly began to mime.

They definitely want me to go with them, it seems.

After a full minute of internal debate, she finally arrived at a decision.

“I go,” Riza answered, nodding her head even as her voice betrayed her worry.

As soon as the woman heard those words, she promptly mounted back up and patted behind her on the saddle.

Riza fumbled a bit but managed to clamber up onto the horse, wrapping her arms around the woman’s torso as the horse rapidly broke out into a gallop.

She had never ridden a horse before and, for her first time, the journey itself was actually a bit frightening; the wind whipping by her, the undulating motion of the horse under her, and her sweaty grip all contributed to a nervousness that dominated her thoughts in the moment.

She even drew some comfort from the warmth emanating from the woman she was holding onto, combating the harsh coolness of the winds, the physical presence acting like an anchor for her.

Thankfully, the whole ordeal didn’t last for very long, the horses making quick work of the distance. Before she even knew it, the outer buildings became larger and larger, their cobbled walls evident to her eyes, as well as their respective destruction.

Yes; the houses were partially demolished, with holes through walls and rotted, decaying wood strewn on the ground. The surrounding buildings were similar, all in varying states of desolation.

The horses slowed down as they entered the proximity of the village, the road still dirt beneath them.

Riza relaxed her grip somewhat, the fear growing smaller, as she began to look at what was around her. The riders were clearly familiar with this place, urging the horses onwards in the same direction without communication. The lack of hesitation in their navigation suggested they knew exactly where they were going.

As they rode on, the houses gradually began to become less and less destroyed; fewer houses had torn down walls, fewer holes in the structures, more intact roofs.

And people. This wasn’t some sort of ghost town; there were actually people living here!

Somewhat strange people as well; their clothes were similar to what she had expected, having experienced Renald’s fashion sense—that was, medieval in quality and fashion, it seemed. That wasn’t the odd thing, however; no, it was the fact that all the women were so damn tall!

The men were all heights she was used to but the woman seemed to be not an inch shorter than the men. Are they all basketball players or something?

The roads beneath them transitioned from the rough, loose dirt to a cobbled road as they travelled through a livelier part of the village; more people were walking about, carrying something, and generally living their life.

Riza even got a few stares from the locals as she passed them. Clearly, this wasn’t exactly a common occurrence here.

And then something caught her eye; something she positively wasn’t expecting to see not just in this village but this world at all.

A machine. There was no other word to describe it. A large, metallic carapace was half buried into the ground, one limb of metal sticking out from the large, house-sized metal body. The behemoth of metal was so unlike anything else she had seen it was like it had jumped straight from the present to now; the technology surpassed anything she had seen so far and the craftsmanship seemed impossible with what she knew of medieval blacksmithing.

This was just one of the curiosities hidden here, it seemed. Unfortunately, the other one—that concerning the large, gaping crater—was still hidden to Riza, occluded by rows of buildings between the hole and her.

That is, until they began to arrive at their apparent destination. The horses slowed to a trot as the general populace underwent a change. Rather than tunic-wearing civilians, the people here were instead wearing the same styled robes as the woman she was holding or a variety of dyed gambeson.

People were unpacking crates, rolling barrels into positions, setting up tents as they rode by. From the looks of things, it seemed like these people were setting up an outpost of some kind in this very village.

The horses drew to a stop just outside what seemed to be a partially-destroyed blacksmith or stables. The man dismounted from his ride and headed on inside while the woman remained put.

Riza, however, was growing more and more uneasy. The militarised populace, the military camp-like conditions, and her lack of knowledge of the language all contributed to her mental state.

She didn't like this, not one bit.

Releasing her grip from around the woman’s waist, Riza quickly hopped off the horse, thankfully for being able to feel the earth under her feet.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, the woman called out to her before quickly clambering down herself and planting her hand on Riza’s shoulder, causing the young woman to flinch at the unexpected touch.

She didn’t move, however, the hand effectively locking her into place.

Maybe it was meant to be a reassuring grip but Riza certainly didn’t feel that way; as soon as she felt the pressure on her shoulder, her anxiety spiked and her mind began to race.

The whole situation she was presented with sent shivers of fear through her; she had no idea what was happening, no idea where she really was, and no idea about anything.

She had options, that she did know. Should she follow these people who she knew had been looking for her? Had been wanting to take her to the village, into their camp? Not running away in the moment meant listening to someone else, giving them control over her own life, albeit momentarily. Should she do that?

Was there really anything to fear, though? They had been nothing but polite so far, showcasing no clear disdain nor dislike towards her. They didn’t really even abduct her; she had accompanied them by her own volition. They always allowed her agency with her actions. Was the fear really warranted?

But she still knew too little; these people could’ve been acting, they might have said something, or just anything else that she had missed. The language was one thing but every other detail about this society she was now in was unknown to her; could she accurately ascertain details about her situation? Not likely. Caution was practical here.

Leading back to her original question; should she run?

With the woman squeezing her shoulder gently, she came to a conclusion; she should stay. She simply knew too little.

With the man exiting the building, he spared a confused look at them before all three of them mounted the horses once again, trotting over to what seemed to be an abandoned but intact house.

Outside, on a barrel working double-time as a table, were two men and one woman playing some sort of game, all wearing gambesons . They had a wooden board laid out as well as four tetrahedrons. One of them shouted excitedly, before quickly repositioning some pieces obscured by his hand.

At least they don’t seem too serious.

This, it seemed, was their destination. Urged off the horse, the woman walked Riza up to the wooden door of the building, the presumable guards briefly glancing at her, and she was nudged inside by the woman.

She barely took a few steps before the door quickly closed behind her, leaving her in the room, able to appraise both occupants.

One, a man wearing a torn and dirtied tunic, sat against the wall on the floor at the far end of the room. He overall looked dirty and rough, not giving off very welcoming vibes.

The other, however, was a girl who seemed younger than even Riza herself. She wore leather clothes, clearly makeshift much like her own apparel, and dragged her unnerving feline-like eyes from her mug and stared straight into Riza’s own.

Great. Someone finally shorter than me.