After leaving the mercenary office, I headed toward Duracal's house.
Rusty carried me through the streets while I continued maintaining Beast Breathing.
The constant rhythm had become more natural than before, though it still demanded concentration.
By the time I arrived, the sun was already beginning to set.
I led Rusty to his stable, gave him some feed, and walked through the back entrance.
As always—
Duracal was working.
The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the forge.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
He glanced at me briefly before returning to his work.
I didn't say anything.
Instead, I sat quietly nearby and watched him.
The orange glow of the forge reflected across his weathered face as he hammered the heated steel.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he stopped.
Placing the hammer aside, he sat on a nearby stool and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
I walked over and sat beside him.
Still maintaining Beast Breathing.
Without thinking much about it, I lowered my head onto his knee.
Then I spoke.
"Thank you."
Duracal looked down at me.
"For what?"
I stared at the forge flames.
"I don't know."
The answer surprised even me.
Maybe it was because of the baby.
Maybe because seeing that child safely returned to her parents had stirred something inside me.
I had experienced death countless times.
Killed monsters.
Fought battles.
Watched people suffer.
Yet somehow—
saving a single life felt different.
Duracal's rough hand landed on my head.
He gently ruffled my hair.
"Kid."
His voice was softer than usual.
"I don't know who your parents are."
"But you're family."
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then he suddenly grinned.
"Now stop acting sentimental."
"I've got something for you."
He stood up and disappeared into the workshop.
A few moments later, he returned carrying a full armor set.
My eyes widened.
The armor was dark green with black accents running across the edges.
It wasn't flashy.
But it looked sturdy.
Reliable.
Built for fighting.
Duracal placed it down proudly.
"This is a hybrid armor set."
"The outer layer is made from Troll Skin."
My eyebrows rose.
Trolls were large monsters famous for their regeneration.
Their bodies healed rapidly, making them difficult to kill.
Because of that, their skin was highly valuable.
Some larger cities even maintained troll farms specifically to harvest materials.
Duracal tapped the chest piece.
"The outer layer is troll leather."
"The inside contains steel folded five times and layered together."
He knocked on it proudly.
"It won't stop everything."
"But it'll save your life when a blade gets through your guard."
Then his eyes narrowed.
"And I can still smell blood."
"Shoulder wound?"
I scratched my cheek.
"Yeah."
"Another fight?"
I nodded.
He studied me for a moment.
"Were you close to dying?"
I thought about the battle.
The poison.
The contractions.
The dizziness.
Then I smiled.
"Honestly?"
"Not after the fight started."
Duracal burst into laughter.
"Good answer."
I spent the next several minutes trying on the armor.
It fit perfectly.
Almost unnervingly so.
The movements felt natural.
No stiffness.
No restrictions.
The shoulder joints moved smoothly.
The waist allowed easy turning.
Even my Beast Footwork felt unaffected.
Duracal also handed me reinforced arm wraps.
"They're made from layered Goblin Skin."
I examined them curiously.
"They'll protect your forearms."
"Most fighters instinctively raise their arms during combat."
"These will keep you from losing them."
I equipped everything and tested my movements.
Running.
Stopping.
Turning.
Jumping.
Swinging my sword.
Every movement felt comfortable.
The armor moved with me instead of against me.
It was perfect.
That night, after bandaging my shoulder again and eating dinner, I lay down to sleep.
But before closing my eyes, I thought about the swamp battle.
One lesson stood out clearly.
I needed a ranged option.
A bow was useful.
But not practical during fast-paced close combat.
Throwing knives would be better.
Fast.
Simple.
Deadly.
With that thought in mind, I finally fell asleep.
The next morning arrived peacefully.
Even after a full night's sleep, every muscle in my body ached.
The poison was gone, but the battle had left its mark.
My shoulder still throbbed whenever I moved it too quickly, and the strain from maintaining Beast Breathing for so long lingered throughout my body.
I woke early.
Cleaned the forge.
Swept the floor.
Cleared the ashes from the chimney.
Then sat outside watching the sunrise.
The sky slowly shifted from darkness to gold.
For once—
everything felt calm.
A few minutes later, Duracal stepped outside carrying a mug.
He sat beside me.
For a while, we simply watched the sun rise.
Then he finally spoke.
"You've seemed different since yesterday."
"What happened?"
I told him everything.
The baby.
The rescue.
The strange feeling that came afterward.
When I finished, Duracal nodded slowly.
Then he said something that stayed with me.
"It's easy to kill."
"It's easy to destroy."
"It's easy to take."
His eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
"But saving someone?"
"That's hard."
I stayed silent.
Duracal took a sip from his mug.
"I think that was the first life you've truly saved."
"The first time you saw someone's face after protecting them."
He glanced at me.
"Kid."
"I know you want strength."
"I know you chase it harder than anyone."
His voice grew serious.
"But never forget something important."
"Always control your strength."
"The day your strength starts controlling you..."
His gaze sharpened.
"...is the day you stop being the master of your own mind."
For a long moment, I simply watched the sunrise.
Thinking about his words.