>> Chapter 03: Entering the Village
The morning dawned cold, but clear. The snow still shone under the pale sunlight, and the wind seemed less cutting than the night before. Radan and Nightingale were ready to leave.
Nightingale adjusted her hood, her violet eyes scanning the horizon. "The journey to the Frontier Village is long. If we keep the pace, we'll arrive at dusk. But we need to stay alert. This cold..." She hesitated, as if choosing her words.
"The Months of Demons have begun. It's not a good time to be on the road."
Radan, who was extinguishing the fire with snow, stopped and frowned.
"Months of Demons? What is that?"
She sighed, her breath forming a white cloud in the icy air. "It's what they call this cursed winter. It's not just snow and cold. Something... worse comes with it. Demonic beasts appear, creatures that aren't like normal wolves or bears. They're bigger, stronger, and somehow they seem to sense our magic." Her voice had a tone of caution, almost bitterness.
"I had to face some of them on the way. Actually, if it weren't for those fights, I should have been in the Frontier Village a long time ago."
Radan frowned, his golden eyes shining with curiosity. "Demonic beasts? Like... giant wolves or something?" He remembered the rabbit he had hunted the day before and imagined much more dangerous creatures roaming the forest.
"Worse," said Nightingale, her tone laden with concern. "Wolves, bears... and some things that don't even have names. The worst are the hybrids, mixtures of beasts, like wolves with eagle wings or boars with bear claws. They seem like living nightmares, straight out of hell. And the Church..." She paused, her eyes narrowing.
"They take advantage of these months to hunt us, saying we attract these creatures and using that to turn the people against us."
Radan nodded slowly, absorbing the information. It seemed that the world he found himself in was much more dangerous than he thought, as if the Church wasn't enough, now this.
He then asked another question: "And the energy you use... this so-called mana? What is it exactly?"
Nightingale shrugged, with a casual gesture, but her eyes betrayed caution. "No one knows for sure. We call it mana, or magical power... But there's no manual or formula. It's something mysterious that lives inside us, witches... and apparently in you too. The more we use it, the more it depletes. If you abuse it... you can faint... or worse."
Radan nodded, thoughtful. "So it's like a well that dries up if you take too much water." He laughed softly, remembering his experiments with telekinesis – moving leaves, creating fire, floating a few centimeters. Each use had a cost, a strange fatigue that weighed on his bones and especially on his mind.
"Yes, I think so," replied Nightingale, with a slight smile on her lips. "But don't count on replenishing it in the middle of a fight. Always try to save a little for the most critical moments." She pointed to the south, where the horizon blended with the snow. "Let's go. The sooner we leave, the better."
Radan followed her gesture with his eyes, observing the clear sky merging into the infinite white of the landscape. A curious gleam passed through his golden eyes. "Understood. But I think I can help make the journey a little faster."
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? And how?"
With a slight smile, he stepped back a few meters and floated a few centimeters above the snow. Then, he rose higher, gaining confidence in his flight control.
Nightingale stood still for an instant, her eyes wide. "You... You can fly? How?"
Radan opened a wide smile, spinning slowly in the air as if testing the wind. "That's my magic, remember? If I can move branches and stones, why not myself?" He tilted his head, and gave his hand in a provocative way saying:
"Want a ride, princess? I can carry you in my arms."
She crossed her arms, her face blushing slightly, but her expression was more of challenge than embarrassment. "A ride? What, you think I'm going to climb into your arms like a damsel in distress? Don't even dream."
"Hahaha, are you scared?" He smiled provocatively.
"Tch... No... I'll go with you but not in your arms." She says
"Hm?"
"Turn your back." She said
Radan frowned, but said nothing. With a smooth movement, she climbed onto his back, holding on discreetly.
"Ready?" he asked, adjusting his posture.
She rolled her eyes, but nodded, gripping his shoulders firmly.
"Ready. Just don't make me regret this."
With a gentle impulse, Radan rose into the air, the telekinetic energy sustaining both. The cold wind cut their faces, carrying the smell of ice and pines. The forest stretched below like a white carpet, the treetops shining under the pale sun. Nightingale, clinging to him, let out a low sigh, her eyes wide with contained enthusiasm.
"This is... incredible," she murmured, without hiding the enthusiasm.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the sound of the wind and the distant rustling of snow. Radan kept the flight low, gliding over the treetops to avoid attention. The effort weighed – the mana drained faster with Nightingale's extra weight –, but he held firm, focused on the horizon.
Around noon, the silhouette of the Frontier Village appeared in the distance, nestled between snow-covered hills. A gray wall, unusually solid for such a remote village, rose around the houses. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the muffled sound of hammers echoed, as if the village were alive with some kind of frantic work.
"Finally... we've arrived." Radan landed slowly, feeling his body relax. The cold wind hit his face, but for the first time since dawn, he seemed not to mind.
Nightingale smiled from the corner, adjusting her hood that almost flew with the breeze. "Weren't you enjoying the ride?"
Radan arched an eyebrow, exhausted. "Enjoying? You're heavier than you look."
She turned her face slowly, with a look that would make any man reconsider his last words.
Radan coughed, quickly. "I mean... your dagger! It was pressing against my back. That's all."
A provocative smile appeared on her lips. "Ah, of course. The dagger." She crossed her arms, laughing softly. "Well, I thought the flight was great. You seemed like a winged horse. Strong, obedient... Maybe I'll ask for another ride later. Who knows, maybe even ride you again."
Radan averted his gaze, but a half-smile escaped. "We can arrange... if it's in a more private place. Just the two of us."
She laughed and gave him a light pinch on the neck. "You insolent. You think you can play with me like that?"
"Depends... am I succeeding?" he replied, amused.
"Almost," she said, trying to hide the smile.
After a few seconds of laughter and teasing, Radan landed softly near the village entrance. The air smelled of burned wood and distant smoke — a sign of life.
Nightingale analyzed the place carefully. "I'll go in first," she said, adjusting her hood and tone of voice. "I need to get some clothes for you. Any preference? A skirt, perhaps?"
Radan sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "I just want something that doesn't make me look like an idiot, okay?"
"We'll see what I can do." Her smile was mischievous before her body began to dissolve into mist. In seconds, she disappeared completely, vanishing into the wind like a whisper.
Radan crossed his arms, observing the nothing where she had been. "Okay... that's officially more scary than useful."
A few minutes later, the mist formed again in front of him. Nightingale appeared with a small bundle of clothes in her hands. "Done. Traveler's clothes. Thick enough not to freeze, simple enough not to draw attention."
She threw the clothes at him, smiling satisfied. "Now yes, you'll look like a common human."
Radan caught the pieces, analyzing them. "Not bad. And they even match me."
"Of course they match," she replied, adjusting a strand of blonde hair. "I have good taste."
A few minutes later, Radan emerged from behind a formation of trees, already dressed. His clothes were simple, a thick worn leather coat, dark pants, and sturdy boots, but they made him look like a common traveler.
"Alright," he said, adjusting the coat. "But how exactly am I going to enter this village? It's surrounded by walls, and I saw at least six guards at the main entrance."
Nightingale crossed her arms, with a small smile at the corner of her lips. "While you were changing, I went back in there and... let's say I did some 'quick shopping'."
She then took something strapped to her back and threw it to him.
A bow and a quiver full of arrows.
Radan caught the items in the air, looking from one to the other. "You're thinking of making me a hunter?"
"Look at that," she said, arching an eyebrow, amused. "You're smarter than you look. I thought it would take longer for you to understand."
Radan let out a short laugh. "So I'll pretend I spend my days hunting rabbits and deer, is that it?"
"Exactly," she replied, adjusting her hood. "Hunters are common around here, no one will suspect. Besides, the bow helps disguise your posture. You walk with an irritatingly confident air for someone normal."
"Ah, so that's what irritates you?" he teased.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed the smile. "Just try not to act like the world revolves around you, Mr. All-powerful. And let me do the talking if someone approaches us."
Radan spun the bow in his hands, testing the weight. "Great, now at least I have another weapon besides simple stones."
"If you know how to shoot, maybe you'll survive," she retorted, laughing. "Come on. Let's enter."
After a few minutes of walking and small teases along the way, they finally spotted the village gates. The wooden wall seemed tall and resistant, covered by a thin layer of ice. Two guards were at the entrance, armed with spears and wrapped in heavy fur cloaks.
As soon as Radan and Nightingale approached, a firm voice echoed:
"Stop there! Who are you? And what the hell were you doing outside the walls during the Months of Demons?"
Radan raised his hands, trying to look as harmless as possible.
"Easy, easy, sir guard!" he said with a nervous smile. "My wife and I are hunters. We were in the forest when one of those beasts appeared out of nowhere. We had to run and ended up straying farther than we should. We only managed to return now because the trail was blocked by snow and—"
Before he could finish, he felt a strong stomp on his foot.
"Ow!" he bent slightly, disguising the pain. Nightingale, beside him, kept a serious face — but her eyes clearly said 'wife? seriously?'.
The guard looked them up and down, assessing every detail.
"Hunters, huh?" he asked suspiciously. "And did you bring any proof of that?"
Radan lifted the bow and quiver with a confident expression. "Of course. We lost part of the hunt while fleeing, but the bow is still intact, which is already lucky."
The guard seemed to hesitate for a moment... but before he could ask more questions, a metallic bell sound echoed from the east side of the wall.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
"Demonic beast to the east!" someone shouted from above. The sound was followed by commotion, running footsteps, and orders shouting from all sides.
The guard cursed under his breath and looked at them again.
"Shit... get in already! We'll talk later. Stay away from the confusion."
Nightingale nodded, pulling Radan by the arm.
"Come on, dear," she said with irony, forcing a smile.
As soon as they passed through the gate, Radan whispered from the corner of his mouth:
"See? My plan worked."
"Your plan almost made us sleep in the ice," she retorted, without stopping walking. "And never call me wife again, understood?"
Radan laughed softly. "Okay... but admit it sounded convincing."
"Convincing would be if I didn't want to strangle you now," she replied, but there was a slight smile on her face.
As soon as they passed through the gates, Radan felt the weight of the air change. The village was small, but alive — the sound of bells and shouts mixed with the hammering and hurried footsteps. Guards ran through the narrow streets, and residents closed windows, trying to hide from the approaching danger.
Wooden houses with snow-covered roofs formed crooked rows. In the center, a stone tower rose above everything, with a gray flag fluttering in the wind.
While walking, Radan observed everything carefully. People wore simple clothes, thick and full of patches; there was nothing that resembled technology or modernity. No sound of engines, no glow of lamps — just torches, smoke, and the distant sound of hammers striking hot iron.
"Definitely a medieval world..." he thought, adjusting the bow on his shoulder. "Castles, nobles, and even monsters roaming around. I should be in a nightmare, but... it seems so real."
"Lively place," he commented, looking around. "I didn't imagine this 'frontier village' would be so bustling."
Nightingale adjusted her hood, keeping a discreet tone. "Don't be fooled. This here is just appearance. Half the people here are refugees or convicts trying to start over."
Radan looked at the tower in the center of the village. "And who's the lucky one in charge of all this chaos? A count? A baron?"
"Neither one nor the other," she replied, with a half-smile. "This village, and the whole region, is under the direct command of a prince of the Kingdom of Graycastle."
He stopped, frowning. "A prince? Like... a real prince? Son of the king?"
"Exactly," she said, turning to him. "Roland Wimbledon, the fourth prince of Graycastle."
Radan blinked, surprised. "And what is a prince doing in a place like this? I thought nobles stayed in castles, bathed in gold, and not in... villages surrounded by snow and monsters."
"Let's say he was 'sent here' by the king." Replied Nightingale, with a slight irony.
"The royal family created a strange competition: The king simply sent his children to govern distant territories, and the one who does best... becomes the next king."
"So this is like a survival game between siblings," murmured Radan, crossing his arms. "Seems... cruel."
"It is. And efficient," she said, without emotion.
While they walked, Nightingale took out a small folded map from her cloak. The paper was worn, but still legible. She opened it and pointed with her finger.
"Look..." She pointed with her finger.
"This here is the Frontier Village, where we are now. It's part of the Kingdom of Graycastle, one of the four great human kingdoms."
Radan leaned over the map, observing the names scribbled with precise calligraphy.
"So that's the name of this place... Graycastle."
She nodded. "To the east, after the mountains, is the Kingdom of Dawn. A little further north is the Kingdom of Wolfheart, full of warriors, barbarians, and hunters. And well beyond it, in the frozen lands, the Kingdom of Eternal Winter."
Radan observed every detail of the map, trying to piece it all together in his head. For him, that world seemed a living mixture of ancient eras, castles, walls, swords, and magic. A true medieval setting... but pulsing with life, with kingdoms in conflict and ideologies clashing.
"And the Church?" He asked, raising his gaze.
"You said they're everywhere, but where is their headquarters, in the capitals of the kingdoms or somewhere else?"
Her expression changed, becoming more serious.
"Their headquarters is in Hermes, high in the mountains, right here." she pointed to a spot above the Kingdom of Eternal Winter.
"That's where the Pope is, and where their soldiers are trained. From there, they send orders and hunters to all the kingdoms."
"I see... So Hermes is where their center is."
"Exactly. And its poison spreads throughout the continent." She replied with bitterness.
"Even the Kingdom of Graycastle, which is one of the most powerful, still fears the power of their sermons and blind faith."
Radan stayed silent for a moment, looking at the map.
Kingdoms, religion, monsters, magic...
All that seemed straight out of a fantasy book, but now it was his reality.
A whole world shaped by fear and faith.
Nightingale then put the map back in her cloak and crossed her arms.
"Well, I think it's time for us to separate, for a while."
He raised an eyebrow. "Separate?"
"Yes," she replied, adjusting her hood. "As I said before, I came here because of a witch. They say she's in this village... I hope she's still alive."
Radan looked around, seeing the small snow-covered houses, the distant sound of bells, and the hurried people in the narrow streets.
"I understand. And I..." He averted his gaze, staring at a wooden board covered with torn papers and announcements.
"I think I'll try to join the village militia. It seems they're desperate for people... and who knows, there I can figure out what to do from now on."
She smiled slightly. "You really want to mix with them? You barely know how to use a bow."
"I learn fast," he replied with a half-smile. "And who knows, if I'm smart, I might even get a roof and free food."
While speaking, Radan cast a glance at the bow hanging on his back. A brief flash of memory crossed his mind – the familiar weight of the weapon, the sound of the string tensioning.
He had used a bow before, in another world, in his other life. Maybe that one wasn't so different, even if it seemed more rustic and fragile.
Nightingale laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Radan."
"I prefer the term practical," he retorted, with a satisfied smile.
She took a step back, the mist beginning to envelop her feet. "So I think that's it. Good luck, hunter."
Radan raised his hand in farewell, with a provocative smile.
"Bye, dear."
She stopped for an instant, surprised, and then replied in the same tone:
"Bye, dear."
The mist dispersed slowly, leaving Radan alone in front of the inner gate of the village. He let out another sigh, looked at the announcement board, and murmured to himself:
"Alright... time to find out what the hell a 'recruit' does in this world."
....