Chapter 383 A Passing Adventurer

The fading sun cast a dull, lifeless light through the cracks in the window, deepening the oppressive gloom of the already dim room.

The "floor" was nothing more than hard-packed dirt. A crooked wooden shelf occupied the driest spot against the wall, holding a few clay bowls and pots that bore obvious signs of repair. The rusted black iron pot hanging over the fire pit was the most valuable thing they owned.

Dinner had only just ended, and the aroma of food still hung in the air.

Yet the family gathering, which should have been warm and lively, was choked by silence.

No one spoke.

The father sat alone at the crude wooden table in the center of the room. His head was bowed, brow deeply furrowed as he whittled at something, the knife making a soft, rhythmic scraping sound.

The older brother was hunched in the corner. He had already sharpened his hatchet over and over, yet he just kept repeating the motion.

The mother stood before the wooden shelf, absentmindedly rubbing a clay cup that was already perfectly clean. Her eyes kept darting toward the others, her face heavy with worry.

Finally, the suffocating quiet broke.

"Thump!"

Colin slammed his bowl of bean soup onto the table and sprang to his feet. A flush of agitation spread across his youthful, slightly round face as he took a deep breath, and he declared, "I've decided!"

"Until the goblin problem near the village is solved, I'm not leaving!"

The mother's rough hands paused on the cup. Even though she had expected this, her face still paled.

"What nonsense are you talking about!" she snapped.

"You were the one nagging every single day about going out to make a living, about becoming an adventurer! Now that we've finally agreed and stopped holding you back... you want to stay? For those green-skinned beasts!?"

Her voice was frantic, carrying a sharp, biting edge that she rarely showed.

Yet anyone who truly knew her could hear the desperate, pleading undertone beneath her anger.

"Mother, Uncle John said... these things have been showing up more and more lately. They've even started roaming the forest in packs," Colin stammered, the overwhelming emotion in his chest making his words stumble.

"H-how could I leave at a time like this? How could I just abandon you all?"

Hearing this, his father, who had been sitting in silence across the table, finally lifted his head. His voice was low and gravelly, like grinding stones.

"Wilson's boy from the east, the one who herds the sheep, hasn't been seen in two days," his father said. "His family is telling everyone he just wandered off and will be back soon, but the wounds on the sheep don't lie."

"Colin, my youngest son, even if you do stay... what can you do?"

"Are you going to test how sharp those green-skinned beasts' claws are with your scrawny body? Or are you going to scare them off with those little wooden arrows you whittled?"

"I can help!" His father's words stung, making the boy's cheeks burn, but he stubbornly craned his neck. "The patrol needs manpower! I can stand guard, I can keep watch! Even if I just follow behind Uncle John and do odd jobs, that's fine too."

"Whatever it is, staying home is better than just walking away! It's better than going far away and living in constant fear, begging everyone for news about the village!"

"I'd rather you live in fear than stay here and throw your life away!" his mother cried, her voice cracking with tears. She stepped forward and grabbed Colin's hands tightly. "Colin, listen to your mother. The roads out are still safe right now. You need to leave!"

"Haven't you always wanted to go to the Southern Archipelagos to find your Uncle Paddy? I agree to it now. Go check out the Adventurers' Association, just like you wanted. Your brother is here, and there are so many adults around. We'll be fine."

She trailed off, seeing Colin standing there in stubborn silence. He didn't argue with her pleading, but his refusal to speak made his stance perfectly clear.

In the corner of the room, his older brother stopped sharpening his hatchet.

"Colin, acting on impulse won't solve anything," his brother said.

"You've been following Uncle John around, so you should know plenty about the village's current situation."

"Whether you stay or go, it makes absolutely no difference."

"Listen to Mother. Head south and stay with Uncle for a while. It will give us peace of mind."

"Brother..." Colin's body trembled. He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words.

He knew perfectly well that his brother was right. But if he truly followed his family's wishes and left the village...

If he came back later to find nothing but ruined rubble... the boy couldn't even imagine the despair he would feel.

He dreamed of becoming an adventurer, his youthful blood burning hot in his veins. He had never experienced the permanent parting of life and death, nor did he truly understand the weight and value of life.

Right now, Colin only wanted to stay in the village. Even if they all died together... it was better than living on all alone.

At this very moment, similar scenes were playing out in every household in the village, just as they were in countless nameless towns across the continent.

A single goblin tribe, seemingly springing up from the very earth, was enough to push family after family—and an entire village—to the brink of destruction.

This was reality.

Desperate and helpless.

Of course, they did not just sit back and wait helplessly for death.

Led by the hunters and the experienced village chief, the strong young villagers formed patrol squads, regularly scouting the village outskirts and main paths to monitor potential dangers and relay information.

They used what few materials they had to build crude wooden walls, set up sharpened wooden stakes and chevaux-de-frise, dig trenches, and even lay out tripwires and warning bells at night.

The villagers voluntarily contributed any useful items they had, modifying farm tools like sickles and pitchforks into weapons, and organized basic formation and combat training.

No one ventured out in the dim light of dawn or dusk anymore. Farming, gathering firewood, and fetching water were all done in groups, and some of the farmlands and hunting grounds further from the village had been temporarily abandoned.

The villagers felt they had made ample preparations to face the green-skinned Goblins prowling around their borders.

Yet, knowing the cruel nature and habits of these vile creatures all too well, they still had to prepare for the absolute worst.

Some might ask: faced with such monstrous danger, why not seek help from the nearby lord, or directly hire a team of adventurers?

Setting aside their isolated geography deep within the old-growth mountains—a place so remote they barely saw a few passing merchant caravans all year round—

As for the former, how could those grand figures living in beautiful, majestic castles care about the life or death of a tiny, insignificant village that barely paid any taxes year after year?

And as for the latter, hiring adventurers for help...

One could only say this.

If they faced the goblins, the villagers at least had a chance to fight to the death and possibly emerge victorious.

But actively inviting an Adventurer Squad—people with strength far exceeding that of ordinary folk—into the village was basically handing over the lives of every resident to them, especially in such a desolate place.

It was a far more lethal gamble.

If they happened to encounter a few individuals with poor professional ethics and malicious intent, the only outcome would be the entire village getting slaughtered.

Under certain circumstances, adventurers were even more dangerous than goblins.

"Shhhhk... Shhhhk..."

The sound of the hatchet being sharpened echoed through the room once more, his brother's movements slow but forceful.

"A few days ago, Uncle John took a risk and followed a few goblins back to their nest," his brother said. "He said... the size of the nest's entrance was unusual, and the number of Goblins was far greater than anyone imagined."

"If we can't hold them off, at least you'll still be out there. Our family... can't all perish here."

His father lit his pipe. Spicy white smoke spiraled upward, blurring his weathered features.

"These aren't the adventure stories people pass around, Colin," he said.

"This is a matter of life and death."

"Colin, you're my son. I know exactly what you're thinking. But true protection isn't built on hot blood alone. It's about weighing the options and making the choice that's best for the family."

He suddenly paused, letting out a long, heavy exhale. His exhausted, profound eyes locked onto the boy before him, as if trying to carve his son's figure deep into his memory.

"Tomorrow morning, when the sun is bright enough to pierce through the dark corners of the forest, take the dried rations and copper coins the family scrounged up for you. Go to the village entrance and gather with the other boys and girls leaving with you. They're about your age; you should know them all."

"When the time comes... make sure you listen to the village chief."

Colin opened his mouth. He looked at his father's graying hair, his mother's red, tear-filled eyes beside him, and his older brother hunched in the corner, a figure as steady and reliable as a mountain.

A complex emotion—one impossible to describe in words, one he had never experienced in his ten-plus years of life—slowly seeped out from the bottom of his heart, like spring water bubbling up through the cracks in a stone.

Finally, under everyone's gaze, he gave an extremely slow, heavy nod.

But just as the atmosphere grew stagnant, suffocating to the extreme...

"Knock, knock, knock."

A sharp, abrupt knocking sound shattered the dead silence in the air.

"Who is it?" his father called out loudly.

There was no answer from outside the door.

The older man's clouded eyes instantly turned sharp. Rising quietly to his feet, he shot a look at his wife, signaling her to quietly lead Colin toward the back window of the house.

Unlike his brief bout of rebellion just moments ago, Colin acted exceptionally sensible now. He immediately shielded his mother behind him, grabbing the hunting bow resting on the table as he backed away to create some distance.

As for the steady older brother, he had stopped sharpening his blade the instant the knocking rang out.

Now, gripping the hatchet that still looked dull no matter how much he sharpened it, he stepped up to the front door.

"Who's there? Speak!" his father shouted again, quietly picking up the pitchfork he kept on hand for emergencies and taking two steps toward the door.

The only response was the sound of three light, rhythmic knocks echoing from outside once more.

"Knock, knock, knock."

The father gripped the pitchfork tightly with both hands, his arms trembling slightly from the exertion. The prongs were pointed straight at the doorway, ready to thrust out in an instant.

He took a deep breath.

Then, he gave a slight nod to his eldest son beside the door.

Immediately, Colin's stoic brother raised the hatchet high with his right hand, while his left hand slowly reached for the latch.

Holding his breath, he gestured for his father to be ready.

And then... he violently yanked the door open!

"Bang!"

The sound of the hinges grating and colliding blurred together in a fraction of a second, producing a harsh, ear-piercing screech.

The rapidly swinging wooden door kicked up a cloud of dust from the floor, and due to the immense force, it slammed brutally against the wall, sending dirt shivering down from the ceiling with a deafening crash.

Whoosh—

A warm breeze from outside poured into the room through the open doorway, sweeping away the stale, oppressive air.

A brilliant, dazzling golden twilight flooded in, instantly melting away all the gloomy darkness that had filled the room.

Bathed in the intense, radiant glow of the setting sun, a tall, slender figure stood quietly at the threshold.

With his back to the light, his body formed a deep silhouette, obscuring his facial features. Yet, the edges of this figure—who bore two swords on his back—were outlined with a glaring golden halo by the sunset.

Suddenly illuminated from their dim surroundings, time seemed to freeze inside the house. Colin's family of four subconsciously froze in place.

Colin's eyes instinctively widened to their limits, his pupils reflecting the silhouette traced in gold.

An exceptionally youthful male voice rang out leisurely, "Hello there. I'm a passing adventurer."

"Just call me Xia Nan."

...

...

The atmosphere in the room was silent once again.

But the oppressive, deathly stillness that had previously choked the air had unknowingly dissipated into nothingness.

White smoke rose from the pipe amid bursting sparks, and the hand gripping the hatchet, though still tense, had faintly relaxed.

Colin stood to the side, staring at the figure in the center of the room who was holding a plate and gorging himself.

His body was just as stiff and taut with nerves as his parents and brother.

But his eyes darted around quietly, filled with a mix of timidity and intense curiosity.

His gaze traveled upward from greaves that possessed a peculiar, bone-like texture, pausing briefly on the silver-gray iron armor that bore obvious signs of battle damage and scuff marks. It swept past a frigid, pristine black Arm Shield, and finally rested on the two longswords with only their hilts exposed. His mind subconsciously recalled the exquisite dagger the man had brandished to cut the ingredients earlier—a blade with a unique pink luster, looking as though it were forged from precious gemstones.

'An adventurer...'

At this moment, Colin felt as though the adventure stories he had grown up hearing had truly become reality.

Just moments ago, it was this very adventurer—with his black hair, dark eyes, and exceedingly youthful face—who had knocked on their door.

And then, with a bizarrely gentle demeanor that seemed almost impossible for an adventurer to possess, he had politely asked if he could briefly borrow their kitchen and some ingredients.

After Colin's father nodded in bewildered shock, the young man proceeded to drag half of a thoroughly cleaned wild boar carcass into the house right in front of everyone.

Cutting, boiling, plating...

By the time the family snapped back to their senses, the black-haired youth was already sitting at the wooden table, enjoying his dinner.

He even left behind an entire front leg of the boar and a few coins as compensation for borrowing their kitchen and using some of their rations.

"Are you sure you don't want a taste?"

Xia Nan swallowed the chunk of meat in his mouth and raised the earthen jar in his hand toward the stunned family, faintly revealing the crystal-clear, viscous, semi-transparent liquid inside.

"This kind of anvil bee honey is quite rare, and it tastes absolutely incredible."