The morning after the siege of Korvath was unnaturally silent.
Where there had once been the clamor of traders, children's laughter, and the rhythmic sound of smiths at work, now only a low wind whispered through broken streets. Ash coated everything—stone walls, abandoned carts, shattered shields. Embers still smoldered in corners of the city, releasing faint curls of smoke that wove upward into a pale, gray sky.
Adventurers, soldiers, and townsfolk moved like specters among the ruins. Their faces were drawn, eyes hollow. Some carried buckets of water to douse lingering flames; others picked through rubble to salvage what they could. A few stood motionless before lifeless forms wrapped in cloth, whispering names as if saying them might call the fallen back.
By dusk, Korvath gathered by the river.
Hundreds of lanterns were prepared—each one carefully crafted from thin paper and wood, marked with the names of those who had died defending the city. The river, usually busy with barges and fishermen, now reflected nothing but the faint orange glow of flickering flames.
As the first lanterns were lit and set afloat, silence fell across the crowd. The lights drifted slowly downstream, like stars on a dark current. A quiet prayer was led by Rick Kaiser, his deep voice carrying over the water with an almost commanding calm. Beside him stood Hilaria, arms folded, expression composed but respectful.
Yoshiya, Omina, Lia, and Seikaku stood among the gathering. None of them spoke. There were no words to make sense of what had happened. The battle had been won, but the cost lingered like smoke in the air.
As the night deepened, the city refused to sleep. Lanterns faded into the horizon, but hammers struck, ropes pulled, and fires burned in forges. Adventurers joined townsfolk to patch walls and reinforce the gates. Soldiers set up makeshift watchtowers on rooftops. Even wounded men and women sat together, sorting through broken weapons and shattered armor.
Korvath was wounded, but not defeated.
---
Away from the crowds, in a quiet corner near the damaged guild outpost, Yoshiya worked alone.
Before him lay the massive carcasses of Baboar and Laboar, the twin beasts who had fallen during the chaos of the siege. Their thick hides were intact, their tusks gleaming even in the dim lantern light. There was no ceremony in his hands—only steady, deliberate work.
He began by cutting clean strips of hide, drying and layering them with reinforcing magic. His mana flowed in controlled pulses, hardening the material without breaking its natural toughness. He set the tusks aside, carving them down carefully. Each movement was precise, purposeful.
For Omina, he shaped a sleek pauldron from layered hide and tusk fragments. The tusks formed a curved edge, almost like teeth framing her shoulder. When imbued with his magic, it pulsed faintly—a latent strength waiting to awaken. He whispered the skill name under his breath:
Boar's Fury — a relic of the beasts' spirit, granting increased defense, stamina, and a surge of power when striking back.
Omina approached quietly, arms crossed. She had watched the funeral in silence earlier, now watching Yoshiya with a different kind of focus. He didn't speak, didn't glance up; his concentration was absolute. When he finally handed her the finished piece, she ran her fingers over it, feeling the faint pulse of power beneath the surface.
"It fits," she murmured, almost surprised.
For himself, he crafted something heavier—layered hide reinforced with silver runes etched along the seams. It was simple, not ornate, but it carried a quiet strength. He felt the magic settle into it like a heartbeat.
Boar's Resilience — toughness, regeneration, and the heightened instincts of the beasts themselves.
He lifted the pauldron and strapped it onto his shoulder. It sat perfectly, as though it had been waiting for him. A faint warmth spread across his chest—comfort, not power. He wasn't just wearing armor. He was carrying a memory.
Omina stood beside him as he finished, their silhouettes outlined by the forge's dim light. Neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn't awkward; it was shared understanding. They had both lost something. And now, they were carrying it forward.
---
As the last lantern disappeared downriver, Korvath began to settle. Fires dimmed, voices softened. Somewhere beyond the walls, the night stretched endlessly northward—toward answers, vengeance, and battles yet to come.
Yoshiya adjusted his new pauldron and glanced toward that dark horizon. The weight on his shoulder wasn't a burden. It was a promise.