Emilia woke to the damp scent of wet soil mixed faintly with blood. The air inside the small hut felt so cold, carrying the earthy smell of the rain-soaked ground outside. Hikarimetsu was already awake but hadn't moved away; her arms were still wrapped loosely around Emilia's waist, her warmth steady and comforting.
For a long moment, Emilia just stayed there, breathing in the faint sweetness coming from Hikarimetsu's skin. It reminded her of sakura petals and mochi, soft, sweet, and warm. It's probably the best scent she'd come across since she'd been stranded in this strange world full of mud, smoke, and monsters.
Then reality hit. "Awh, fuck," she muttered, sitting up with a groan. Her eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, where a small wooden bucket sat, half-covered with a cloth. The toilet she hate so much.
She rubbed her face. "Great. What a lovely start to my morning."
Hikarimetsu shifted beside her, still lying lazily on the bedroll, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Well," she said with a small grin, "at least you're… clean?"
Emilia snorted, pulling her tangled hair back into a loose bun. "Clean? I was cooking all night, sweating like hell. I probably smell like roasted meat and smoke." She sighed, got up, and shuffled toward the bucket with the defeated walk of someone who'd accepted her fate.
Behind her, Hikarimetsu tilted her head, clearly entertained. Emilia glanced back at her. "Why are you staring? It's not the first time I've had to do this in front of you."
Hikarimetsu's grin widened slightly. "It's just… fascinating," she said.
Emilia rolled her eyes. "You've fought barbarians and monsters and sliced through armies, and the thing that fascinates you is me taking a piss in a bucket?"
"I never said I understood humans," Hikarimetsu replied simply, her tone perfectly calm, as if it were a statement of fact rather than teasing.
Emilia muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, then finished her business and reached for the jug of water sitting on the nearby table. Hikarimetsu handed it to her before she even asked, along with a neatly folded strip of Silkfern leaf.
The soft, pale-green fern shimmered faintly under the morning light. Ever since she'd discovered it in the forest, Emilia had sworn it was one of the best finds of her life—a natural, absorbent plant that worked better than any toilet paper.
"Thanks," she mumbled, taking them both.
Hikarimetsu leaned back, her expression softening. "You complain, but you're adapting better than most humans would. Few could survive what you've endured."
"Yeah, well," Emilia said as she poured some water into her hands to clean herself, "I didn't really get a choice, did I?"
When she finally finished, she set the bucket aside, sealed it with its wooden lid, and sighed. "You know," she said, turning toward Hikarimetsu, "the things I took for granted back home—showers, clean toilets, soap that smells like citrus—yeah, I miss those. A lot."
"And yet, even without them, you've found a way to survive. That's what makes you remarkable, Emilia." Hikarimetsu's gaze softened, her voice calm and melodic.
Emilia blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. "You sure know how to say nice things in the weirdest moments," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"I learned from watching you. You always talk most when you're frustrated." Hikarimetsu chuckled quietly.
Then they noticed that the village is quiet. In the morning, they usually can hear people talking, yelling, and screaming, with the smell of breakfast. Something pungent and uneatable. However, today, they can only hear the sound of hammering, dragging, and soft voices filling the smoky air.
The once-lively Tharrosk is now trying to come back alive again, alongside its charred wood, crumbled fences, and blood-stained soil, painting a grim picture of survival. The stench of iron and smoke lingered long after the last Red Fang warrior fell.
Emilia walked out with Hikarimetsu and stood near the village square, her hands still smelling faintly of herbs and stew. Around her, people moved like tired ghosts, bandaged, limping, but alive. The soup she'd made last night had done its work; many had regained enough strength to stand, though the grief in their eyes hadn't faded.
She exhaled slowly. "This… this is what survival looks like." She whispered, only to be heard by Hikarimetsu.
A few children were gathering fallen thatch to help patch the broken roofs. The elder's hut had been half-burned, the smoke-stained timbers leaning dangerously to one side. The men and women who could still lift tools were helping each other, rebuilding walls and reshaping what little they had left.
Hikarimetsu walked beside her, not as a blade this time, but as a woman. Her black hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight, her eyes reflecting the same crimson sheen that burned when she fought. She looked human now, strangely serene, almost divine amidst the chaos.
"It's strange," Emilia murmured. "You're easier to talk to when you're not alone with me."
Hikarimetsu smiled faintly. "And you're easier to protect when I have hands." Emilia snorted softly, brushing the hair from her face. The exhaustion clung to her bones. She hadn't slept properly since the attack.
They walked through the ruins together. Every hut they passed told a story—half-burned cooking pots, shattered clay jars, and a wooden toy scorched beyond repair. Yet despite the destruction, there's determination in their eyes.
Villagers spoke quietly but moved with purpose. The old women were tending to the injured, the men were chopping new logs from the nearby woods, and the teenagers, those reckless, restless few, were already helping haul timber for rebuilding.
The village elder, his arm still in a rough sling, was barking orders near what was left of the communal fire pit. "Move the poles there! We'll start with the palisade first, before the beasts smell the blood!" His voice cracked with strain but carried authority.
He then told the men to burn the dead bodies of the barbarians; when he saw Emilia, he turned and gave a weary smile. "Pathbreaker. You're awake."
"I've been up since dawn," she said, bowing her head slightly. "How are the wounded?"
"Alive, thanks to your miracle stew," the elder replied, his expression softening. "Four dead, as you know. The rest… recovering."
Emilia looked down, her throat tight. "I wish I could've done more."
"You already did more than we could ever dream of," the elder said, patting her shoulder. "Without you and your spirit swords, there would be no Tharrosk left to rebuild."
Hikarimetsu's gaze swept the horizon. "They'll come again. The Red Fang. They don't stop after one failed raid."
The elder nodded grimly. "Which is why I've ordered the young ones to build a stronger fence. Double-thick logs. A proper watchtower, too. If we can hold them off even a few minutes longer next time, it might make all the difference."
Emilia's mind is already racing. Protection, healing, food. Those were the pillars of survival, but now she had another one to add. Sustainability. She stood there in silence, staring at the grim sight before her.
Dozens of bodies of barbarians were being stacked in a single clearing, their blood soaking into the damp earth. Smoke from smoldering fires drifted through the air, mixing with the metallic tang of death. And yet, instead of breaking down or screaming like she might have a few days ago, Emilia just thinks about it.
If she were still back in Japan, she would've cried until her throat burned, probably thrown up, and maybe even passed out from the shock. But now, after everything she'd seen in this world—the monsters, the blood, the fear—her heart no longer trembled the same way.
She exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as her gaze lingered on the pile of corpses. Death has become normal, she thought bitterly. And then, another thought crept in. "Would their ashes make good fertilizer?" she murmured to herself.
The idea made her stomach twist, but it's the kind of question she asked now without flinching. The kind of thought that came from someone who had learned that survival didn't always leave room for morality.
"Elder," she began, stepping closer, "I need a piece of land."
The man blinked. "A… land?"
"Yes," Emilia said, nodding firmly. "Something near the stream, if possible. And to pile those bodies there and burn them above it. I need to cultivate herbs, maybe a few others from the forest. If we can make them grow here, you'll have a steady supply of medicine and food."
The elder's hand moved to his beard as he studied her, his expression torn between curiosity and disbelief. "You can make such things grow outside the Gloamspire?" he asked at last, voice low. "The forest of death has swallowed every seed we've ever tried to plant near it."
Emilia exhaled slowly, her gaze sweeping over the smoking ruins of the village, the broken fences, the wounded men resting against walls, and the faint traces of ash carried by the wind. "Yeah," she said finally. "I just need a place to start."
Beside her, Hikarimetsu stood in her human form, arms folded and an amused smile tugging at her lips. "She can grow it," she murmured, a note of pride hidden beneath her teasing tone.
The elder chuckled softly, the sound rough but warm. "A spirit sword that speaks, and a woman who grows life in the shadow of death," he said. "Truly, the gods have strange plans."
He turned toward a group of men patching the palisade and raised his staff, his voice carrying authority once more. "You heard her! Prepare the land near the old millstone by the stream. Stack the fallen upon it and burn them before dusk, as the Pathbreaker commands!"
The men exchanged uneasy looks but obeyed without hesitation. To them, Emilia is no longer just an outsider; she's a sign, a bridge between the mortal and divine.
Emilia gave a faint smile and nodded in gratitude. "Perfect," she said quietly, watching the villagers move to carry out her instructions.