A few days had passed since the battle.
In Lyon's mind, the events replayed quietly, like a calm recap.
When he had first arrived at the village after dealing with the beast, he hadn't even made it five steps past the entrance before people noticed him. Word spread fast. Too fast. Within moments, he had been surrounded by villagers—some shouting questions, others staring wide-eyed at the blood on his clothes and the injuries he was barely staying upright through.
He remembered trying to respond, opening his mouth to say something, only for his legs to give out.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up on a simple bed inside the village clinic.
The healers there had worked quickly. Nothing life-threatening, they said, though the slashes on his arm and chest would have been bad if he'd kept pushing himself. He spent the next few days resting, sleeping far more than he thought possible, his body slowly knitting itself back together under proper care.
During that time, the village chief visited him more than once.
Lyon had explained what happened on the route—about the fog, the beast, and how he took care of it. He kept it simple, leaving out the parts that sounded too strange or complicated.
That had been more than enough.
The chief had gone quiet after hearing it, then bowed his head deeply. Not just him—many of the villagers followed, thanking Lyon with sincere voices and expressions that carried real relief.
Once Lyon was cleared to leave the clinic, the village didn't let him rest for long.
They threw a party.
It wasn't anything extravagant—simple food, shared drinks, laughter echoing between wooden homes—it was nice. People laughed freely, children ran around him without fear, and more than a few villagers insisted on sitting beside him, talking as if he had always been part of the place.
Lyon had smiled through it all, embarrassed more than anything.
I really didn't do anything that special…
The memory faded as the present returned.
Lyon stood at the village entrance, completely recovered and rested. The morning air was crisp but no longer biting, the snow long gone behind them.
Nearly the entire village had gathered to see him off.
"Travel safely!"
"Please take care!"
"Come visit again someday!"
Their voices overlapped, filled with worry and gratitude.
Lyon scratched the back of his head bashfully. "I will. Thanks for everything."
Just as he was about to turn and leave, the village chief stepped forward from the crowd.
"Please wait," he said gently.
Lyon paused.
The chief handed him a sturdy backpack, heavier than it looked. Along with it came a medium size bag that jingled softly when placed in Lyon's hands.
"Supplies for the road," the chief said. "And some money. You'll need it more than we will."
Lyon blinked. "This is too much—"
"It isn't," the chief interrupted with a warm smile. "What you've done for us can't be repaid. Please… let us at least do this."
Lyon hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. I'll use it well."
The villagers smiled, some of them wiping at their eyes. A few bowed their heads. Others simply watched him quietly, as if trying to memorize the sight.
"'Thank you for letting me stay here these past few days," Lyon said sincerely.
"Please," the chief replied softly, "you don't need to thank us, we owe you far more."
Lyon just shrugged, a gentle smile on his face. "Well anyway, make sure to take care of yourselves okay." he would say, receiving some nods of acknowledgement from the crowd.
He waved once more, then turned and began walking down the path.
"Safe travels!"
"Be careful out there!"
Their voices followed him until the village disappeared behind the road's bend.
Lyon continued forward, alone once more.
—
A few moment's later...
By the time Lyon reached the town, the sun was already beginning to dip toward the horizon.
Unlike the quiet village he had left behind, this place was lively. People moved through the streets in steady flows, merchants called out from their stalls, and the air carried a mix of voices, footsteps, and distant laughter. Lyon slowed his pace as he walked, taking everything in without rushing.
He explored the town for a while, weaving through narrow streets and wider market roads. Whenever his legs started to feel tired, he stopped briefly—leaning against a wall, sitting on a low step, or watching people pass by.
Eventually, his gaze dropped to his clothes.
They were clean enough, but only barely. The light blue sweater he'd been wearing since the snowy plains was stitched in several places, the fabric worn thin despite the villagers' careful repairs.
Yeah… I definitely need some new clothes.
With that decided, Lyon headed toward a nearby clothing shop.
The visit itself was simple. He browsed quietly, fingers brushing over different fabrics while occasionally glancing at his reflection. After some thought, he made his choice and paid without fuss, silently thanking the village chief and everyone who had insisted he take the money.
A short while later, Lyon stepped back out onto the street.
His appearance had changed noticeably.
The worn sweater was gone, replaced by a clean white jacket, worn open over a black shirt. Black long pants and sturdy boots completed the outfit, giving him a more practical, travel-ready look. He adjusted the jacket slightly, testing how it felt, then nodded in approval.
"This feels great," he muttered.
As he continued walking through the town, he felt more refreshed.
Not long after, Lyon made his way out through the town's gates, the noise gradually fading behind him. The open road stretched ahead.
He walked forward at an easy pace, hands in his pockets.
Wonder what's next, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Whatever it was, he'd find out soon enough.
With that quiet thought, Lyon continued onward.