The village square was a battlefield of broken carts, shattered barrels, scattered tools, and bloodstained cobblestones. Orin Voss stood at the center, sword in hand, as the villagers gathered around him. Their faces were a mix of awe, fear, and desperate hope.
Mira stayed close, her hand gripping his sleeve. Master Harlan approached, his cane tapping a slow rhythm on the stones. "Orin," he said quietly, "what happened to you?"
Orin hesitated. The truth pressed against his lips, but the words felt heavy. "I… don't know. Something changed when the rift opened. I just… knew what to do."
The villagers murmured among themselves. Some looked at Orin with gratitude, others with suspicion. He caught the eye of Old Bram, the miller, who spat on the ground and muttered, "No one should have that kind of power."
Before Orin could respond, the system window flickered before his eyes.
[Level Up! Stat Points Available: 5]
[Distribute points among: Strength, Agility, Endurance, Intelligence, Perception]
Orin blinked, trying to focus. The words hovered in his vision, invisible to everyone else. He concentrated, willing the window to respond.
He thought of the fight—how strength had saved him, but speed and awareness had kept him alive. He split the points: two to Strength, one to Agility, one to Endurance, and one to Perception.
[Stat Allocation Complete]
[Strength: 7 (+2)]
[Agility: 5 (+1)]
[Endurance: 6 (+1)]
[Perception: 5 (+1)]
[Intelligence: 4]
A subtle warmth spread through his body, muscles tightening, senses sharpening. He felt more alive than ever. He sighed heavily as relief washed over him.
Mira tugged his sleeve timidly, "Orin, are you all right?" She asked.
He nodded, forcing a smile. "Just… tired." He said
A shout from the edge of the square drew everyone's attention. A group of villagers dragged a wounded man forward—Joren, the baker's son. Blood soaked his shirt, and his face was pale.
"He's badly hurt," one villager said. "We need Master Harlan now!"
The old apothecary went forward and knelt beside Joren, examining the wound. "It's deep. I'll need my supplies. Mira, please fetch my satchel from the shop."
Mira dashed away, leaving Orin standing awkwardly among the crowd. He felt their eyes on him, weighing and judging him. He wanted to disappear, to be just another villager again.
But the system had other ideas. A new system window popped up. There was a new quest to test him again.
[New Quest: Defend the Village]
[Objective: Prepare for the next wave. Fortify defenses, train villagers, and gather resources.]
[Reward: Skill Upgrade, Reputation Increase]
Orin's jaw tightened. The rift pulsed silently in the sky, a constant reminder that the danger wasn't over. He glanced at the villagers—some wounded, some weeping, but all of them were very exhausted.
He stepped forward, raising his voice. "We need to get ready. That thing wasn't the last. The rift is still open, and more monsters could come."
Old Bram scowled fiercely . "And what do you suggest, boy? We're farmers, not soldiers."
Orin met his gaze, steady and unwavering, "We can fight. We have to. I'll help train anyone willing. We need barricades, weapons, and a plan."
A few villagers nodded, murmuring agreement. Others looked uncertain, but no one argued. The memory of the beast's attack was still fresh. They needed someone to lead them so they couldn't argue with Orin for his survival method.
Mira returned with Master Harlan's satchel, and the old man set to work patching up Joren. Orin moved through the crowd, offering words of encouragement, helping where he could. He showed a few men how to brace a door with a beam, and helped Mira gather tools from the forge. All these knowledge appeared in his mind suddenly but it felt natural to him.
As the sun dipped lower, the village began to change. People moved with purpose, stacking crates, sharpening tools, and setting up makeshift barricades. Orin worked alongside them, sweat soaking his shirt, muscles aching.
During a break, Mira grinned at Orin and challenged him to lighten the atmosphere, "Bet you can't beat me at arm-wrestling." The villagers gathered around, some placing playful bets.
Orin, still sore from the fight, hesitated but sat across from her. They locked hands, and the contest began. Mira's grip was surprisingly strong, and for a moment, Orin thought she might win. The crowd cheered, laughter echoing through the square. With a final effort and his newly awakened Warrior Class, Orin managed to win, but only barely. He grinned sheepishly as Mira shook out her hand, and the villagers teased him about his "heroic" strength. The tension eased, if only for a moment.
The system chimed again.
[Quest Progress: 30% - Defenses Improved]
He smiled grimly. It was working. Even if progress was slow, it was still progress.
Later, as dusk settled over the village, Orin found a quiet moment by the well. Mira joined him, her face smudged with soot and worry.
"You're different," she said softly. "Stronger. Braver. But you're still you, right?"
Orin looked at his hands, flexing his fingers. "I hope so. I don't know what's happening to me, Mira. I see things—words, numbers, quests. It's like… the world changed, and I changed with it."
She touched his arm, gentle and reassuring. "Whatever it is, you saved us. That's what matters."
He met her eyes, gratitude swelling in his chest. "I couldn't have done it without you."
A distant howl echoed from the forest, chilling the air. Orin tensed, scanning the shadows. The rift still glowed, a wound in the sky.
"We should get some rest," Mira said. "Tomorrow will be harder."
He nodded, but sleep felt impossible. Too much had changed, too quickly.
As night fell, Orin climbed to the roof of the apothecary's shop, sword across his knees. He watched the rift, its violet light pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
The system window appeared once more.
[Warning: Rift Instability at 67%. Next wave estimated in 12 hours.]
Orin's jaw clenched. He had twelve hours to prepare, to turn a village of farmers into defenders. He wasn't sure it would be enough.
But he would try. He had to.
As the stars blinked into existence above the bleeding sky, Orin Voss made a silent promise: he would not let his home fall. Not while he still had the strength to stand.