The village square echoed with the clash of wood against wood.
Itsuki stood at the center, holding a wooden sword, sweat dripping down his face. Before him were rows of villagers men, women, even teenagers each clutching spears or wooden practice weapons. Their stances were awkward, their movements clumsy, but their eyes burned with determination.
"Again!" Itsuki shouted.
The villagers charged, and he deflected their attacks with quick motions, showing them openings. He wasn't a master swordsman, but with his Power of Adaptation, every day his body adjusted, his movements sharper, his instincts keener.
Lyra loosed arrows at straw dummies, demonstrating precision.
"Don't just aim breathe with the forest," she instructed, correcting the stance of a young elf girl.
Elara drilled the militia in formations. She barked commands like a seasoned knight, teaching them to hold shields together and thrust spears in unison.
"Discipline wins battles, not bravery alone!"
Selene, though untrained in combat, worked tirelessly on logistics. She organized food, built supply storage, and even helped craft arrows.
"The fighters can't win if the stomachs are empty," she said with a smile.
Itsuki, seeing their progress, realized something. This isn't just a group of survivors anymore. They're becoming a real village… my people.
At night, he used his creation power sparingly, forging a few steel blades, some crossbows, and sturdier shields. He handed them to the most promising warriors.
"Protect your families, protect this home," Itsuki told them. "And know this I will fight alongside you."
The villagers raised their weapons and shouted his name. A fire of unity spread among them.
But beyond the walls, shadows moved. Scouts reported figures seen in the forest armed men, too organized to be simple thieves.
The bandits were coming.
And this time, the village was ready.