Chapter 145 | Village Head

Chapter 145: 145 | Village Head

Andrew turned and walked out of the stone tower.

He emerged from Godfall Cliff into the open air. The sky above was dark—night had fallen while he was inside. Stars dotted the black canvas overhead, cold and distant, watching him with ancient, indifferent eyes.

The next thing to do was clear. Go back to Beginner Village. Complete the quest. And then go for his class change—his class advancement—so that he could level up past level 10 and continue growing stronger.

Andrew started walking.

---

It didn’t take long to reach the village.

The path from Godfall Cliff to Beginner Village was straightforward—a well-worn trail through low hills and scattered trees that even a child could follow. Andrew walked it at a steady pace, the black sword hanging at his side, his body still aching from the branding, his soul still carrying the faint tremors of its recent ordeal.

By the time he reached the village gates, it was fully dark. Night had settled over Beginner Village like a blanket, but the village itself was far from asleep. Torches lined the streets. Lanterns hung from doorways. The village square buzzed with activity—players moving about, talking, trading, preparing.

Some were farming. Some were killing monsters in the fields outside the walls. Some were looking for quests, approaching NPCs with hopeful expressions and eager questions. Some were simply roaming—wandering through the village and its surroundings, searching for hidden quests, secret areas, anything that might give them an edge.

Andrew walked toward the gate. The guards stationed there straightened up the moment they saw him.

"Hero," one of them said, nodding respectfully.

"Village hero," the other added, with a slight bow of his head.

Andrew nodded back. He was already known throughout the village—as the village hero, a title he had earned through his actions and accomplishments. The guards recognized him on sight, and the gate opened for him without question or delay.

He passed through the gate and entered the village. The streets were familiar now—the same cobblestone paths, the same wooden buildings, the same NPCs going about their nightly routines. He navigated through them without hesitation, heading directly for his destination.

The blacksmith’s house.

He arrived at the front door and raised his hand to knock—but before his knuckles could touch the wood, the door burst open from the inside.

The blacksmith came barreling out, his massive frame filling the doorway. His eyes were red-rimmed. His face was streaked with tears. His hands—huge, calloused, capable of bending metal—were trembling.

"Thank you, hero!" the blacksmith cried, his voice thick with emotion. "You brought my son back! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

He grabbed Andrew’s shoulder with one massive hand, gripping it with the desperate strength of a father who had nearly lost his child. Tears rolled freely down his weathered cheeks.

"Thank you," he said again, his voice breaking. "Thank you."

Andrew opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the system rang.

[ Ding! ]

[ You have completed the quest: Find the Blacksmith’s Son. ]

[ Rewards: ]

[ • Fame +1 ]

[ • 20,000 EXP ]

[ • Mysterious Letter ×1 ]

Andrew blinked.

’Was that it?’

The words almost escaped his mouth. He had gone through Godfall Cliff. He had fought bosses. He had nearly died—multiple times. He had been trapped in a dead god’s domain, nearly had his soul consumed by an eight-thousand-year-old deity, survived the Nine Lamps Inheritance by the slimmest of margins, and walked away with a permanent curse that tripled his EXP requirements.

And the reward was one fame point, twenty thousand EXP, and a mysterious letter.

He wanted to scream.

But he couldn’t complain. Not really. Because while the quest rewards were underwhelming, what he had gained from the journey—the god domain, the black sword, the Nine Ancient Lamps, Aurora, the Soul Sovereign authority, and the path to becoming a god—was worth more than any quest reward the system could offer.

So he swallowed his frustration and nodded.

The blacksmith was still crying, still gripping his shoulder, still thanking him with every breath.

"Anything you want," the blacksmith said, his voice wavering but sincere. "Anything you want me to craft for you, I will craft it to the best of my abilities. Just come to me. Just ask. Whatever you need—weapons, armor, tools—I will make it for you. Thank you, hero. Thank you."

He released Andrew’s shoulder and stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Now let me go take care of my son," he said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more urgent. "I’m sorry to cut this short. Please. Let me go take care of my son."

Andrew nodded in understanding. "I understand," he said.

The blacksmith gave him one last grateful look, then turned and disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind him.

Andrew stood there for a moment, the mysterious letter sitting in his inventory, the black sword hanging at his side, the nine brands pulsing faintly against his flesh.

Then he turned and headed toward the village head’s house.

He walked through the village streets, passing players and NPCs alike, until he reached the large, well-maintained building at the center of the village. The village head’s house. The building where the village’s leadership resided—the place where class advancement quests were issued, where important matters were discussed, and where the next step of Andrew’s journey would begin.

He walked up to the front door.

He entered.

The village head looked up the moment Andrew stepped through the door. A warm smile spread across his weathered face, cutting deep lines into his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Andrew," he said, rising from his chair. "You’re finally here."

He walked forward, his movements slow but steady—the careful, deliberate pace of a man who had lived long enough to know that rushing got you nowhere.

"I heard," the village head continued, clasping Andrew’s hand between both of his own. "I heard you succeeded in helping the blacksmith save his son. Finally. Finally, he’s been saved."

He shook his head slowly, his smile softening into something quieter—something tinged with the relief of a man who had watched his village suffer one loss after another and had been bracing for another.

"We can’t do much to reward you," the village head said. "I know that. And I’m sorry for it. But I can say this—thank you. Thank you for helping our village through these trying times."

He looked at Andrew the way a grandfather looks at a grandchild who has just done something extraordinary—with pride, with gratitude, and with the quiet, aching knowledge that the world would demand even more from this young man in the days to come.

"You are our hero," the village head said simply.

Andrew smiled. "It’s my pleasure," he replied.

The village head held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once—firmly, definitively—and released his hand.

"Come, come," he said, waving Andrew toward the back of the house. "Have dinner with us. We’re about to eat. You must be hungry after everything you’ve been through."

Andrew was about to refuse. The words were already forming in his mouth—a polite decline, a brief explanation that he had matters to attend to, a smooth exit that would let him get back to his own affairs. He had things to do. Class advancement. System checks. The mysterious letter sitting in his inventory, waiting to be opened. The Nine Ancient Lamps burning against his flesh, demanding study and understanding.

But then he remembered.

He remembered the last time he had stayed with the villagers—eating with them, talking with them, being part of their world for a few brief hours. He remembered the rewards that had come from it. The eating quest. The bonuses. The unexpected benefits that came from simply sitting down and sharing a meal with ordinary people.

He couldn’t afford to turn down opportunities. Not now. Not with the 200% EXP curse hanging over his head like a guillotine. Every advantage mattered. Every reward mattered. Every hidden quest, every bonus, every sliver of EXP he could scrape together would help offset the crushing weight of the Nine Lamps curse.

So instead of refusing, Andrew smiled and nodded.

"I’d be happy to," he said.

The village head beamed and led him through the house.

---

The dining room was warm. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering orange light across the wooden walls and the long table that dominated the center of the room. The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and steamed vegetables filled the air—rich, savory, comforting in a way that made Andrew’s stomach clench with the sudden, sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten in hours.

The table was already set. Bowls and plates were arranged along its length, steam rising from dishes of stewed meat, boiled potatoes, and greens. The village head’s granddaughter was already seated, along with his daughter—two women Andrew recognized from his previous visits to the house. They nodded politely as he entered, and he returned the gesture.

But there was one other person at the table.

Andrew saw her and stopped.

His gaze hardened.