Garlan stepped out of the alleyway, the elf girl in tow.
She was draped in Garlan's overcoat, and from the moment they emerged, she clung to his hand with a desperate grip, trailing behind him as if terrified of being abandoned. Her eyes darted nervously at every passerby, drawing more than a few curious glances from the crowd.
Hey, hey, this is getting awkward... I look like I'm kidnapping a neighbor's daughter...
Garlan clicked his tongue, his face twitching with a mix of discomfort and resignation.
After scanning the street for a while, he finally stepped into a clothing boutique. Locke's place didn't exactly stock a women's wardrobe, and the girl's tattered chemise was caked in mud and torn in places that revealed far too much of her pale, smooth skin. She needed a change of clothes—badly.
Inside the shop, racks of diverse feminine attire lined the walls. Even in this world, fashion was remarkably developed; many of these designs could easily become seasonal hits back in his original world.
"Is there anything you like?"
He turned and led her to the racks, handling her with the gentle guidance one might show a small child.
The fear in the elf girl's eyes gradually gave way to wonder. Her gaze swept over the sea of fabrics with wide-eyed curiosity. Despite being a member of a long-lived race that might have seen centuries pass, she seemed like a child in this moment.
She's about half a head shorter than me... I wonder if she knows Frieren?
Garlan instinctively reached out and patted her head.
Her hair was surprisingly soft, smooth like the fur of a plush doll. At the touch, the girl stiffened as if struck by a bolt of electricity. She looked up, her watery eyes locking onto his.
"Sorry..."
Realizing he had been a bit too familiar, Garlan awkwardly withdrew his hand. However, she didn't seem to mind; after staring at him for a heartbeat, she returned her attention to the clothes.
At least she doesn't hate me... but she's still so timid after everything she's been through. She hasn't said a single word yet.
The girl deliberated for a long time before finally selecting a simple white shirt. Garlan noticed her glancing at the price tags; she would only look at the expensive silks for a fleeting second before moving on.
She's a child who doesn't want to be a burden, Garlan realized, a bitter tang of sympathy rising in his chest. In addition to the shirt, he picked out several well-fitting outfits according to her size and a pair of sturdy boots. She had been walking barefoot this entire time, her soles likely cut by road gravel. It was a painful sight.
As they left the shop and headed toward the outskirts of the city, the girl looked at the burlap sack full of clothes on Garlan's back, then at the strong hand holding hers. For the first time, a faint glimmer of light returned to her eyes.
Outskirts of the City
The journey home took longer than expected. Explaining the elf girl's presence at the city gates had been a bureaucratic nightmare, and her arrow-wounded leg made walking difficult. Garlan ended up carrying her on his back for a significant portion of the mountain trail. Despite the delays, they managed to reach his home just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
His house was situated a fair distance from Rohguri, perched on a small cliff overlooking the forest. It offered a wide, unobstructed view—ideal for scouting.
After pushing open the door and spending a few minutes clearing out a spare guest room for her, Garlan set to work on dinner, leaving the girl to wander the house with curious eyes. He was starving; he'd expected the trip to be a quick errand, but the day's chaos had seen to it that most shops were closed by the time they finished.
Outside, the sun sank low, and the velvet cloak of night began to drape over the land.
In the kitchen, the rhythmic thwack-thwack of a knife echoed as Garlan expertly chopped a mountain of washed mushrooms and vegetables. Years of living alone as a Shadow Warrior had forged him into a highly capable cook; he could turn a simple mushroom soup into a gourmet meal. Drawing on memories from his past life, he added a blend of spices that made the aroma truly mouth-watering.
As the pot reached a boil, sending clouds of savory steam through the house, a sound broke the silence.
"Gurgle—"
Hiding behind the kitchen door, the elf girl's stomach gave an undignified traitorous growl. She had been starving for nearly a day. Locke wasn't a cruel man, but he was a terrible caretaker; he'd slept off his hangover until noon and completely forgotten the girl needed to eat.
"Come and have a taste."
Garlan managed to force what he hoped was a kind smile. He usually wore an expressionless mask, so playing the role of the approachable "big brother" felt incredibly alien to him.
The girl walked shyly to the pot and took a small spoonful of the broth.
"How is it?"
Garlan felt a sudden prickle of nerves. He was confident in his cooking, but he had no idea if elven palates differed from humans. If she gagged or looked disgusted, he felt like his spirit might actually break.
The girl lowered her eyes, her lips moving slightly as she savored the flavor.
"It's good."
Her first words were a high compliment. Garlan felt the tension drain from his shoulders.
"Thank you."
She set the spoon down and looked at him with sudden, startling intensity.
I really haven't done much, Garlan thought. Just some clothes and getting her out of that dump. But the girl was incredibly pure—the kind of innocent soul who might trust anyone who showed her a shred of kindness.
Hey, hey, you're exactly the type who gets tricked and sold off...
Her gratitude left him feeling flustered. He didn't know why she hadn't spoken before, and he didn't intend to pry. He just wanted to help this girl who had suffered so much.
"So... what's your name?"
"Lia," she said, her eyes blinking. They were no longer hollow; the spark was definitely there now.
"If you have anywhere else to go, you're free to leave once your wounds are healed. I can give you some travel money..."
Garlan didn't assume she'd want to stay with a human who had "bought" her. But surviving alone without a tribe would be nearly impossible. He wasn't a saint—he'd done enough to satisfy his conscience, but he couldn't be responsible for her entire life.
"Actually, I want—mmpf!"
Before Lia could finish, Garlan's hand clamped over her mouth. The movement was lightning-fast but controlled, silencing her instantly.
"Shh—"
Something is approaching.
As an elite warrior, he felt the subtle shift in the air outside. The intruder was cunning, moving with almost no sound, but it couldn't escape Garlan's honed senses.
He slowly released Lia, signaling her to stay put and remain silent. He then pressed his back against the wall and glided toward the door like a shadow.
His hand went to his waist, drawing a shortsword. This magical blade had been his companion through dozens of assassinations; it was imbued with both paralysis and lethal toxins. It was the weapon he trusted most.
Whew.
This was the first time he'd felt a real threat since his reincarnation. He felt a familiar, sharp tension.
Peering through a crack in the wall, he spotted the enemies lurking in the darkness: two Lizamolves.
They had the bodies of wolves but possessed unnaturally long tails tipped with jagged, armor-piercing spikes. These tails could regrow even if severed, making them a nightmare to fight.
I spread monster-repellent powder around the perimeter every day. Why are they here?
Then he remembered the Purple Moon Dragon Grass. Of course. To a monster, that herb was a potent delicacy. The preservation magic on the box kept the plant fresh, but it didn't mask the unique scent that acted like a beacon for predators.
Great. I spent four silver coins just to invite trouble to dinner...
The Lizamolves crept closer, their blood-red eyes fixed on the door. The scent of the grass was driving them into a frenzy, but their predatory instincts warned them of a threat inside.
BOOM!
The front door kicked open. In that split second, a cold arrow whistled through the gap, aimed straight for the head of the lead wolf. The timing and decisiveness were staggering. A normal soldier or low-level monster would have been dead instantly.
But the Lizawolf's reflexes were supernatural. It twisted its head just in time; the arrow missed its brain but tore through its eye, blinding it.
"ROAR—!!!"
It let out a thunderous howl of agony and rage. Since they had been spotted, there was no longer any need for stealth.
Swish—
A black-clad blur erupted from the house, leaping into the air. Garlan descended upon the second Lizawolf with his shortsword. Despite the small blade, his momentum carried the weight of a heavy claymore, like a meteor crashing down.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In the span of a few heartbeats, the sword collided with the Lizawolf's spiked tail multiple times. The flashes of steel and bone were so fast they left afterimages. The creature's tail was as hard as refined iron.
You're fast, but not fast enough!
Garlan touched down lightly and immediately lunged forward with unstoppable force. He moved like a medieval knight charging with the weight of faith and honor—a man who only stops for victory or death.
The spiked tail whipped toward his face, aiming to impale him. But at the point of impact, Garlan displayed terrifying body control. He twisted his torso mid-charge, causing the shortsword to deflect the tail by a hair's breadth. He didn't stop. He slid past the tail and drove the blade deep into the Lizawolf's skull.
Violet blood sprayed. Before it could even whimper, Garlan cleanly severed its head.
The entire exchange had lasted less than ten seconds.
He flicked the blood off his blade and turned toward the first wolf—the one he'd blinded. It was already collapsing. The arrow had been dipped in a lethal poison; even an elephant wouldn't have survived the scratch. Mixed with a heavy dose of anesthetic, the creature had lost the strength to move after its initial roar.
Schwing—
One more stroke, and the second head rolled.
"Phew." Garlan exhaled, feeling a bit frustrated.
He still wasn't fully adjusted to this body. The physical capabilities of a Shadow Warrior were monstrous, and while he could easily handle these beasts, he wasn't sure he could win against something like a Great Demon of the Seven Sages of Destruction or a General-class threat.
Let's hope I never run into them. I might not even get the chance to run.
"I need to train harder. Starting tomorrow: a hundred push-ups every day."
As he was mentally mapping out his training regimen, a chill ran down his spine. He sensed a third presence. Another monster had circled around the back and was slipping into the house through the other side—likely trying to steal the Purple Moon Dragon Grass while he was busy.
Dammit!
Lia was still inside!