The goblin's body lay still, its blood seeping dark into the grass. Villagers hurried in from every direction, some clutching tools, others simply staring wide-eyed at the green corpse. The air was thick with the iron tang of blood and the low, panicked murmurs of a village that had not seen battle in years.
"Gods preserve us..." one woman whispered, pulling her child closer.
Omina stood apart, her sword still dripping. Her knuckles were white around the hilt, though she didn't seem to notice. People pointed at her - some with awe, others with fear.
"She killed it..."
"A mage, but she fights like a knight."
"...what if more of them come?"
Meanwhile, I knelt beside the wounded man, pressing cloth against his side. His breathing had steadied, thanks to Omina's herbs, but his skin was still pale as chalk. "Stay with me," I told him, adjusting the bandage with as much care as I could manage.
When I looked up, one of the villagers - a wiry farmer with soil still under his nails - bowed his head to me. "Bless you, sir. Your hands saved him."
I wasn't sure what to say. My shield still hung heavy on my arm, but no one praised me for that. Their eyes kept returning instead to the bandages, the steady pressure of my palms.
Omina finally sheathed the sword with a trembling breath. Her gaze flicked to me, and I caught the storm behind her eyes - not pride, but unease.
---
By the time Mako led us back to his hall, the village had gathered into a restless crowd. Smoke from the goblin's corpse curled outside, stinging the night air.
Inside, the headman's hall felt close and tense. Villagers sat shoulder to shoulder, whispering sharp fears.
"No walls, no soldiers-"
"If goblins roam the woods, we're finished."
"Strangers bring trouble. Maybe we shouldn't let them stay."
Mako silenced them with a lift of his staff. "Enough. Fear will not keep us safe. Action will." His eyes swept to Omina and me. "And perhaps these two were sent here for a reason."
The whispers did not stop. Admiration warred with suspicion. I noticed Omina sitting stiffly beside me, scrubbing faint bloodstains from her hands with a damp cloth. She rubbed harder than necessary, as though she could erase the memory of the goblin's face.
---
That night, when the hall finally quieted, we sat outside under the soft glow of lanterns. The village was hushed now, save for the faint croak of frogs by the river. Omina leaned on her knees, staring at the dirt path.
"I wasn't thinking," she said suddenly. "I just... moved. And then it was dead." Her voice was thin, almost cold. "I don't want to kill, Yoshiya. But in that moment... it felt natural."
I set the shield aside and rested my hands on my lap. "I understand," I admitted. "Because when I saw that man bleeding, my body moved on its own too. Not toward the fight... but to heal him."
She looked at me then, surprised.
I managed a small smile. "Strange, isn't it? You were supposed to be the healer. And me, the fighter."
Omina gave a weak laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe we're both doing this wrong."
"Or maybe," I said softly, "we're finding what we're really meant for."
For a moment, the silence between us wasn't heavy - just honest.
---
Later that evening, Mako joined us outside, his staff tapping softly on the wood. His expression was grave.
"The hermit warned us years ago," he said, lowering himself onto the step. "He said war would spill past the great kingdoms, that even the smallest villages would bleed. We dismissed his words as madness. Now... I fear he was right."
His eyes studied both of us carefully. "This place has no defenses. If more monsters come, Orleaf will fall. I ask you - will you stay a while, to protect us?"
Omina hesitated, her gaze flickering to the distant fields, to the quiet houses that now seemed so fragile.
I answered before she could. "Yes." The word came without thought. Not because of duty or destiny - but because I could not forget the weight of that man's blood on my hands, and the relief when he breathed again.
Mako bowed his head. "Then Orleaf owes you both a debt."
---
Before dawn, the villagers burned the goblin's body on a pyre outside the village. Black smoke curled into the sky, scattering sparks into the dark. Everyone watched in silence, their faces lit by the fire's glow.
Omina stood close to the flames, her eyes reflecting the orange light. She didn't speak, but her hand lingered over the hilt of the sword at her side, as if testing its weight again.
I stood beside her, hands raw from wrapping bandages, heart heavy with a different kind of burden. I didn't feel like a knight. Not anymore.
As the fire crackled, I knew one thing with clarity:
I didn't want to be the sword that struck.
I wanted to be the shield - the steady hands that kept others alive.
And somehow, that path felt truer than any I'd walked before.