Chapter 44: The price of peace
Zodac woke to the pale light of morning slipping through the narrow window like a cautious intruder. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beam, turning the air into something almost tangible, as if the room itself were breathing. For a brief moment, he lay still, eyes open, body tense, listening.
Silence.
Not the comforting kind, but the sort that demanded inspection.
His gaze swept the room in slow, deliberate movements. The chair by the wall was still where he had left it. The table bore the same faint ring from the mug he hadn't touched. The door was closed, the latch intact, no marks, no scratches, no subtle signs of tampering. He rolled to the side and slid out of bed, bare feet touching the cold wooden floor.
Old habits never died. They sharpened.
He crouched and lifted the bed frame with practiced ease. Beneath it lay his cross bag and money pouch, exactly where he had hidden them, straps neatly folded, leather untouched. He let the bed fall back into place with a muted thump.
"*Sigh…*"
The sound escaped him before he could stop it. A long breath, heavy with tension slowly uncoiling from his chest. Only then did he straighten, running a hand through his hair as fragments of the previous night replayed in his mind—the monster's roar, the impact reverberating through his bones, the way it fled instead of dying.
"I didn't kill it," he muttered to himself, voice low, almost resentful. "No kill… no experience."
His lips twitched in mild irritation. Experience points were crude, mechanical, but necessary. Power in this world was measured, quantified, and without it, survival became a gamble stacked against you.
"It's been a while since I checked," he said, more to fill the quiet than out of curiosity.
As if responding to his thought, a faint chime echoed in his mind.
A translucent blue panel shimmered into existence before his eyes, hovering in the air with a soft glow.
---
**Elemental: Wood**
**Level: 20**
**Affinity:** Fire
**Skills:**
• Spatial Awareness
• Hectorgon
• Hector Aura
• ...
**Primary Weapon | Secondary | Tertiary**
**Kogetsu** | **Raygust** | *Empty*
---
Zodac stared at the panel, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Level twenty," he murmured. "Not bad."
He tilted his head, a habit born from years of reading enemy movements, and expanded the interface with a flick of his finger.
---
**Primary Weapon: Kogetsu**
• Whirlwind
• Crescent Slash *(Unlocked – Lv. 18)*
• Quick Draw *(Unlocked – Lv. 20)*
• ************* *(Locked)*
• ************* *(Locked)*
---
His eyes widened.
"What?" The word left his mouth sharper than intended.
He leaned closer, as if proximity alone might change what he was seeing. Crescent Slash. Quick Draw. Skills he should have known about. Skills he *should* have been using.
"So I had access to these," he growled, jaw tightening, "and I didn't even know?"
His hand clenched into a fist.
"What kind of twisted, half-broken system hides this?" His voice rose, echoing faintly off the walls. "What other things am I missing?"
He dismissed the panel with an irritated wave and immediately pulled up another.
---
**Secondary Weapon: Raygust**
• Flame Thrust *(Unlocked – Lv. 13)*
• Blaze Slash *(Unlocked – Lv. 15)*
• Flowing Flame *(Unlocked – Lv. 17)*
• ************* *(Locked)*
• ************* *(Locked)*
• ************* *(Locked)*
---
Zodac exhaled through his nose, a humorless sound.
"This is saddening," he muttered.
Not because of the locked skills—those were expected—but because of the unlocked ones. Power left unused. Potential wasted. Every fight where he could have ended things faster. Every wound he could have avoided.
The system panel flickered, then vanished.
He straightened, irritation settling into something colder, something sharper.
After a quick shower, the chill of water grounding him back in his body, he dressed with efficiency. Armor secured. Cross bag slung around his neck. Money pouch tucked safely away. He double-checked everything once more before opening the door.
Downstairs, the inn was quieter than the night before. Morning sunlight spilled through the windows, illuminating worn tables and half-empty mugs. The innkeeper stood behind the counter, posture stiff, face arranged into a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good morning," the man said, a little too quickly.
Zodac nodded once. "How much?"
"Four silvers."
He placed the coins on the counter without comment, metal clinking softly against wood. The innkeeper scooped them up with relief that was poorly hidden.
Zodac turned and walked out.
The town was already awake. Villagers moved about cautiously, voices low, eyes darting toward rooftops and alleys. Fear clung to the air like morning fog.
Roxy stood near the center of the street, staff in hand, watching everything with an alert expression. She turned slightly as Zodac approached, sensing him more than seeing him.
"Good morning," she said, offering a small smile.
Silence.
Zodac stopped beside her, eyes scanning the town rather than her face.
"So," he said finally, breaking the quiet, "how bad is it?"
Roxy blinked, then straightened, slipping easily into explanation. "Not great. This is the third day of attacks. Some villagers are still injured. Others are packing up, preparing to leave. A few are hiding. Morale's low."
She spoke quickly, efficiently, like someone used to reporting bad news.
"Hm."
That was all Zodac offered.
She continued anyway. "I've been here four days. My crew can't leave until the job's finished. Until the monster's dead."
"Why?" Zodac asked.
She hesitated, fingers tightening around her staff. "It's a guild job. And… I want to be a hero."
The word hung in the air.
Zodac's lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but something close to pity.
*Hero mentality,* he thought. *Naive.*
"Listen," he said aloud, turning to her. "Little girl—"
"Little?" she snapped, spinning to face him. "I'm twenty-one!"
Zodac blinked. His gaze dropped instinctively—from her face, to the top of her head, then further down.
"This girl needs height," he thought dryly.
He looked back at her, expression unreadable. "Even heroes suffer," he said calmly.
"The world doesn't care about your ideals. The obsession with preserving peace is what leads to wars. And if you're not strong enough—truly strong—this world will crush you. Along with everything you believe in. You becoming a Hero won't change anything, the world is cruel even more so to Heroes than you think."
Roxy stiffened, mouth opening in protest—
—but footsteps interrupted them.
The old man from the previous night approached, face lined with exhaustion and worry. Zodac subtly shifted, drawing his coat tighter, concealing the orb at his side.
"Thank you," the man said, bowing deeply. "Both of you. We are in your debt. Unfortunately—"
"It will be back," Zodac said flatly.
The man nodded. "Yes."
"I'll pay any amount," the old man said desperately. "Just rid us of it."
"That won't be necessary," Roxy said quickly, smiling brightly.
"Two hundred silvers," Zodac said.
Roxy's head snapped toward him. The old man's eyes widened in shock.
"Two… hundred?" he stammered.
Zodac met his gaze without flinching.
"200 silver" He said.