After the naked woman fled, I just stood there for a moment, an idiot dripping next to a dead goblin. Shaking my head, I finally moved, grabbing the knife still embedded in the first goblin’s skull and yanking it free with a wet, squelching sound.

  Unfortunately, some disgusting bits of goblin brain came with it, splattering onto my face. I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Stumbling to the lake's edge, I quickly splashed water on my face, scrubbing furiously as I rinsed the knife at the same time.

  Once it was clean, I looked at the goblin knife again, turning it over in my hand. Its rough construction, the nicks in the blade… somehow, looking at it, I lost myself for a second. Suddenly, information flashed into my mind, sharp and intrusive.

  ========== APPRAISAL ==========

  Analysis Failed. Target unclear or too complex.

  ===============================

  Confused, I blinked, focusing harder. I examined the knife again, turning it slowly, taking in every crude detail. The mental text shifted, becoming clearer:

  ========== APPRAISAL ==========

  Name: Crude Goblin Knife

  Category: Weapon (Blade?)

  --------------------------------------

  (Further analysis requires higher rank)

  ===============================

  "Crude Goblin Knife… so that’s what Appraisal does. But besides the name, it doesn't tell me much…" I muttered absently. "It does say more info needs a higher rank, though. Guess I need to be patient and appraise a lot of stuff."

  Pip rubbed against my leg, purring softly and pulling me from my thoughts. "Are you okay, Pip?" I asked, stroking her gently. She looked up and gave a clear meow. Nodding, I stood up straight, only to find myself facing the same problem as before. "Where the hell is North…?" I groaned, looking up at the sun, already past its zenith. Sighing, I tried to gauge its position, scanning the surroundings. My gaze snagged on a distant treetop, then a particular rock formation… eventually, a vague hunch formed. Just as the feeling solidified, text flashed through my awareness:

  < Direction North identified via [Survival (Adept)] >

  I stared at the message for a second, then burst out laughing. A loud, slightly hysterical laugh. "Hahahaha! Oh, this just keeps getting better!"

  Pip looked up at me, startled, but she waited patiently for my laughing fit to subside. Somehow, her bewildered expression only made me laugh harder.

  Five minutes later, sanity somewhat restored, we were finally on our way north. Pip darted ahead and back, occasionally scrambling up trees. The cool air stirred the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine needles. Everywhere I looked, there was something new—strange plants with glowing leaves, colorful insects with too many wings, unfamiliar animal tracks in the soft mud.

  I, however, was mostly lost in thought. Skills and magic… Am I really in some kind of game? If not, why did I have this internal display? Did other people have it too? My mind raced, paranoia creeping in. I thought back to how 'witches' were treated in the Middle Ages on Earth… that whole logic was terrifying. Burned at the stake to cleanse their soul. Yeah, no thanks. I had zero interest in dealing with blind fanaticism. I'd have to be damn careful about who I told and what I showed anyone.

  The thought prompted an experiment. I stopped walking and focused, calling on that familiar tingling in my hand. A moment later, a small flame flickered to life in my open palm. Okay. Unsure if this was a smart idea, I cautiously held my other hand directly over the flame. I felt its warmth, but not intense heat. No burning. Interesting. So, my own fire can't hurt me. But what about natural fire? Or fire conjured by other mages, if they existed?

  So many questions. Pip looked back at me quizzically, probably wondering why I'd stopped to play with fire. Shaking my head, I let the flame die and walked on. What kind of life are we going to lead here? What if this world is overrun by monsters, and humanity is fighting a losing battle for survival? That would explain Ithrak's ruined temple. Maybe I was just fighting for scraps in the ruins of civilization. Yeah, that's probably it, my paranoid brain concluded darkly.

  But my gloomy assumptions proved wrong. As I pushed through a particularly thick patch of bushes at the edge of the woods, the landscape opened up before me. Rolling fields stretched out, dotted with hills, bordered by more forest in the distance. And there, nestled among it all, was my first sign of actual civilization. A farmstead.

  About a hundred meters away stood an old, half-timbered house with a thatched roof and a large barn nearby. The air smelled of hay, livestock, and the rich scent of turned earth. Golden wheat fields surrounded the property, alongside smaller patches brimming with colorful vegetables. Chickens pecked sporadically near the house, their clucking a gentle, domestic sound that felt a world away from the silence of the woods. A huge horse was tethered near the barn, occasionally flicking its tail. It was the most wonderfully normal scene I could have imagined.

  I stopped hesitantly at the tree line, my heart starting to pound. I needed to think very carefully about what to say… assuming they didn't just chase me off on sight.

  Just as I was debating my approach, a loud shout echoed across the yard: "FATHER, CAN WE KEEP THIS CAT?"

  My head snapped down, but Pip was gone. That cat... Sighing, I started walking slowly towards the farmhouse. I could already see a young boy, maybe eight years old, holding Pip in his arms and proudly showing her off to his father.

  The man was… solid. Hardened by fieldwork, with powerful arms and not an ounce of fat on him. He had a bald head and a voluminous brown beard. He was looking down at Pip with open curiosity, scratching her behind the ears—which Pip, naturally, was thoroughly enjoying, purring loud enough for me to hear from here.

  I stopped abruptly, my boots skidding slightly on the dry dirt. A sudden, jarring realization hit me, a thought so obvious I couldn't believe I hadn't considered it until this very second: I had understood the boy's shout perfectly. It wasn't just noise; it was language. A language I somehow knew. Gods, it would have been incredibly inconvenient if I couldn't understand the local tongue. Was this another part of Echo of Life? Feeling slightly relieved, I walked the last ten meters. Before I could speak, the man looked up, his voice warm and deep. "Hey, boy! Is this your cat?"

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  I stopped about five meters away and gave a slight, respectful bow. "Excuse me, sir. I hope my cat hasn't caused you any trouble."

  The man looked down at his son and ruffled his hair. "You heard him, Jory. That’s his cat." The boy, Jory, nodded sadly and carefully set Pip on the ground.

  The man spoke again, his eyes assessing me, curious but cautious. "That's a peculiar traveling companion you've got there, boy. Where are you from? The nearest settlement is hours away, and I know all my neighbors."

  A frantic, panicked rhythm started in my chest. I'd thought about so many things, but not what to actually say. Before I could formulate a lie, a new, bell-clear voice called out, "Father, who's that?"

  The man stepped aside, revealing his daughter in the doorway. She had dark brown hair tied back, and her face… it looked incredibly familiar. Suddenly, it clicked. "It’s you!" The words burst out of me. "You were the one attacked by the goblins! At the lake!"

  The father looked sharply from me to his daughter. The young woman turned beet red, let out a horrified shriek, and fled back into the house, slamming the door. He stared after her, shocked. A moment later, the farmhouse door burst open again, and a different woman rushed out, looking frantic. "Orin! What happened? Why did Willow run inside screaming and crying?"

  The man called Orin turned slowly, away from the house, and fixed his gaze on me. His wife came to stand beside him, her expression worried. He stared, his earlier warmth gone, replaced by a hard intensity. "I'd like to know that myself," he said, his voice low.

  Oh, shit. What is going to happen now?

  Orin started walking towards me, slow and steady. Pip, sensing the tension, pressed against my leg. He stopped about a meter away, close enough that I could see the worry etched around his eyes. He tilted his head slightly.

  "My name is Orin Clayborne," he said, his voice quiet but intense. "Please. Tell me what happened." His wife placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  I took a deep breath. No point lying now. "My name is Grim, sir," I began, keeping my voice steady. "I was passing by a lake near here when I heard a woman screaming. When I followed the sound, I found your daughter… naked in the reeds."

  Orin's eyes flashed with anger. I quickly continued, "She was being attacked by two goblins! They were trying to…" I swallowed hard, the memory making me feel sick. I lowered my gaze. "…Trying to defile her," I finished.

  The mother gasped, tears welling in her eyes. Orin’s face turned a dark, mottled red, a vein bulging in his temple. "What happened?! TELL ME!" he roared, the last word cracking like a whip.

  Pip hissed at him, her ears flat. I quickly held up my hands, palms out. "I killed the goblins," I said quickly, meeting Orin's furious gaze. "Before anything could happen. Your daughter fled right after."

  Orin ignored Pip, his eyes narrowed. He leaned over and whispered something in his wife’s ear. She nodded curtly and hurried back into the house. Orin turned his icy stare back to me, waiting. A moment later, his wife returned, carrying something long wrapped in cloth.

  Orin took it, unwrapped it quickly, and suddenly, the cold steel of a drawn sword was pressed against my throat. It wasn't a fancy blade—scratched and slightly rusted, its edge uneven—but it was a well-used, practical weapon, and Orin held it with the practiced ease of a man who knew how to use it.

  "If you're telling the truth," he said, his voice dangerously low, "you have nothing to fear. But if you lied, boy… I will kill you where you stand."

  I slowly lowered my hands, meeting his intense gaze unflinchingly. "I didn't touch your daughter," I said, my voice tight. "And if you try to kill me, I won't make it easy for you."

  Orin stared for a long moment, perhaps surprised by the defiance. Then, something in his expression shifted. He slowly, reluctantly, lowered the sword. "Show me," he said flatly. "Show me where you killed these goblins."

  "Uh… Right. Haha…" I let out a nervous chuckle. "Okay, so… I walked north from the lake. So… I just need to go south from here, right? South?" My eyes darted around frantically. Which way was south?! Just as panic set in, text flashed through my awareness:

  < Direction South identified via [Survival (Adept)] >

  Relief washed over me. "Look, I'll tell you straight," I said quickly. "I'm from far away and only stumbled across the lake by chance. So please don't think I'm trying to trick you if I don't find the exact spot immediately."

  To my surprise, Orin's wife leaned in and whispered something else to him, then gave me a quick, unreadable glance before disappearing back into the house. Orin watched her go, then looked at me thoughtfully before finally sheathing his sword with a soft scrape of metal on leather.

  "Don't worry," he said, his voice less hostile now, more weary. "There's only one lake like that nearby. I'll lead us there. But," his eyes hardened again, "no funny business, understand?"

  I looked Orin seriously in the eye and nodded. "I swear."

  "Good. Let's head out then." With that, he turned and headed towards the edge of the woods. As we entered the shade of the trees, I spotted a worn path leading deeper into the forest.

  Walking behind him, my mind raced. How can I subtly get some information? "Sir," I began respectfully, "I have a question, if you'll permit it."

  Orin glanced back over his shoulder. "Ask your question."

  I ducked under a low-hanging branch. "I come from far away. On my journey, I saw something... unusual. A man was being attacked by goblins, and it looked like... he threw fire from his hands. Do you perhaps know what that might have been?"

  Orin's steps slowed. He stopped and turned, his expression thoughtful. He scratched his chin. "Hm," he grunted. "Sounds like Fire Magic. Basic stuff for some folks, but dangerous if you don't know what you're doing." He stated it matter-of-factly, then turned to continue walking.

  A small weight lifted from my heart. So, it’s a known thing. "So," I pressed, hurrying to keep up, "knowledge of magic is somewhat common around here?"

  "Out here in the sticks?" he said without turning back. "You won't find high and mighty Court Mages, no. Mostly simple farmers, traveling merchants, maybe the odd adventurer. Adventurers sometimes sling spells, sure. Usually means trouble's not far behind. The real powerful magic? That's mostly city business, or for wars. So, yeah, magic's real alright. Just not something simple folk like us deal with day-to-day. Mostly."

  I furrowed my brow. "Mostly?" I echoed, confused by his weary, bitter tone.

  Orin stopped again, his back to me. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken grief. The air felt heavy, hard to breathe. "My daughter, Willow… she's very ill. Our simple herbs and village remedies… they can't help her anymore." He paused, bitterness creeping into his voice. "But I've heard there are mages out there who can work wonders. Heal illnesses even the gods seem to ignore."

  He shook his head slowly, a gesture full of weary resignation. "Unfortunately," he continued, his voice flat, "finding a mage willing and able to use that kind of healing magic way out here… even if we could, the cost… Gods, the cost would be astronomical. Far beyond anything simple farmers could ever dream of affording." He sighed, a heavy sound, and then walked on, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

  His words hit me with the force of a physical blow. I knew exactly how he felt, that crushing helplessness. The memory surfaced, sharp and painful—me, sitting in the sterile quiet of the vet's office, Pip frail in my arms. Lymphoma… incurable… The sheer, soul-crushing weight of that hopeless situation, the feeling of utter powerlessness as my world fractured. This man, Orin… he was carrying that same burden every single day. Maybe he was strong only because he had to be…but strong nonetheless.