Chương 18: The Chieftain’s March

The twins had vanished into the woods. James wasn't surprised. Shocked? No. Alarmed? Absolutely. But surprised? Not even a little. Tember had spent exactly ten minutes glowing like a divine beacon before he and Finni announced, in perfect synchronization, that they were"going to find the mount." Then they simply walked into the forest. No one stopped them. No one even had time to try. They hadn't taken anything with them either.

No packs, no weapons, nothing even close to a plan that involved staying alive past the next bad idea. Just those matching smiles, that strange, quiet certainty… and the confidence of two people who had clearly decided the forest would sort itself out around them. James stood there for a few minutes afterward, hands on his hips, wondering if he should chase them or simply accept whatever cosmic nonsense the world had planned. Ultimately, he chose to focus on something he could control.

Which was how he ended up standing with Alder and Trell beside the Shed Blueprint, its semi-transparent walls humming gently under the late-afternoon light, trying to look like a confident leader instead of a man quietly panicking about glowing teenagers. Alder scratched his beard.

"Chieftain… this looks… simple?"

"Yes," James said, rotating the blueprint with a flick of his wrist.

"It is simple. That's the point." Trell nodded, sling bouncing against his chest as he leaned forward.

"Less beams. Less logs. Less places to fall from."

"Exactly," James said.

"I designed it so nobody can fall off anything even if they try. I know my audience." Alder pretended not to look at Trell. Trell pretended not to look offended. James pointed to the blueprint, highlighting the frame structure, the shelves, the raised floor.

"We don't need much wood. We still have leftovers from the longhouse, and I sent a few villagers to gather more." He toggled another marker.

"See this? This part here gets woven reeds. Trell, no climbing anything. Ever. I mean it." Trell scowled faintly.

"It was one ladder."

"And it tried to kill you," James said.

"So we're banning ladders. Forever." Alder snorted. Trell muttered something about "danger making men strong." James ignored him.

"Today, you two are in charge." Both men froze where they stood. Alder went pale, while Trell went pink, and between them they looked like James had just handed them the fate of the universe and a rusty knife.

"I'll be back before evening," James added, trying to make it sound reassuring.

"If something goes wrong, or if you need help, send someone to get me. But this is a small build. You've got this." Alder straightened his shoulders.

"We will do it." Trell nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Chieftain. We will." James smiled.

"Good. Oh, and Trell?" Trell blinked.

"Yes?"

"For the love of God… do not climb any ladders." Trell muttered under his breath like a chastised child, but he nodded. A shout echoed in the distance, Marla's voice, sharp as a thrown rock. Another voice answered in Wicksnap's dramatic wail. James didn't bother turning around; he already knew the two were arguing about spirits or soup or the correct number of twigs to put in the hearth. He took a breath and headed toward the central blaze. Rogan and Bren were at the edge of the clearing, preparing for a hunt.

Rogan had slung his spear across his back with the effortless confidence of someone who now had three warrior skills and muscles that could probably bench-press a small cottage. Bren was checking short spear, that looked like a poor man's sword, muttering about "sneaky deer" and "too many crunchy twigs."

"Wait up!" James called. Both men hesitated, turning with curiosity. James made a quick detour toward Marla first. The woman stood over the central hearth, stirring her enormous cauldron with the intensity of a war general strategizing for battle. Pebble sat beside her, staring at the pot with adoration, and glaring at James with suspicion, as if he personally intended to steal her lunch. Marla raised an eyebrow.

"What is it now?"

"Irla's coming with me," James said.

"She shouldn't stay here after what she did for Trell. Make sure nobody does anything stupid while I'm gone. Also, send someone to check on Elira and Ollen every so often. They'll get lost in that garden and forget to eat." Marla's lips twitched.

"I already do that." She jabbed her ladle toward him.

"Where are you going?" James gestured toward Rogan and Bren.

"Hunting. We need meat for tonight. And tomorrow. And forever." Marla frowned, then shrugged.

"Fine. Just don't die." Pebble continued glaring, tiny arms folded, as if she disapproved of James's life choices. Marla snapped orders at nearby villagers with the efficiency of a woman who could run both a household and a small army.

"YOU! Watch the fire. YOU! Don't let Wicksnap near the stew. YOU! Stop chewing that leather, it's tanning, not lunch!" James gave her a quick salute and left before she could add him to her list of problem children. Marla's voice faded behind him as James stepped away from the hearth, brushing stew-scented smoke from his clothes. Pebble watched him go with narrowed eyes, guarding her mother's pot like a dragon guarding treasure. James smirked, shook his head, and headed toward the longhouse.

Inside, the light was softer, filtered through the reed curtains Elira and the other women had woven. The place still smelled of fresh-cut wood, crushed moss, and the lingering after-scent of healing magic from the night before. It was warm and quiet, giving a sense of peace. Irla sat near the fireplace on one of Trell's crooked stools, her posture straight, her brow tightly furrowed. A small bundle of green leaves lay across her lap.

Her fingers turned one leaf over and over, studying it like she expected it to reveal its secrets if she stared hard enough. James paused by the doorway, absorbing the scene. A stool, a fire, some leaves, he thought. This woman deserves a chair. A couch. A table that doesn't wobble every time someone breathes. Furniture. Another thing on the list. Another thing he needed Alder and Trell to figure out. Another building, eventually. A carpentry workshop? Maybe. Later. He approached quietly.

"You look troubled." Irla startled a little, then managed a strained smile.

"Elira gave these to me this morning. She said they help the body recover faster. But…" She sighed, shoulders drooping.

"I don't know what to do with them. Crush them? Boil them? Eat them whole?" She let out a frustrated sound.

"I'm no herbalist." James crouched beside her, elbows resting on his knees. Irla held out the leaves, as if hoping he might divine their purpose through proximity. Lumen drifted down behind James's shoulder, glowing faintly with opinion.

"Irla is a Life Mage now," the familiar announced confidently.

"Her vocation is different. Herbs and poultices are beneath her path. She need not rely on such primitive tools." James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course Lumen would think magic solves everything. He replied slowly, trying not to sound frustrated.

"That's shortsighted and you know it. Irla is one person. She can't heal the entire village by herself forever. What about fevers? Broken bones? Or, God forbid, births? Herbs matter. Knowledge matters. Magic can't be the only answer." Lumen dimmed, offended.

"Magic is always..."

"No", James cut him off.

"It isn't. And it shouldn't be." Irla's voice gently interrupted him.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Did Lumen say something bad about me? You know I am perfectly capable of managing the tribe! With or without herbs and plants!" James blinked, a faint grimace tugging at his mouth. He'd forgotten how easy it was to misread a conversation when you only heard one side of it.

"He was just being… Lumen." Irla huffed a tiny laugh.

"I can guess what that means." James waved a hand at the leaves.

"Don't worry about mastering herbs overnight. But you should absolutely learn them. Because right now we're just a handful of people, but someday… we won't be." Irla's expression shifted. Her gaze dropped to the leaves again, sadness settling quietly at the edges. She turned them between her fingers, slower this time, as if they might tear if she wasn't careful. James watched her carefully.

"Irla?" Her fingers tightened suddenly, nearly crushing the leaves. She closed her eyes.

"It's Varn," she whispered. James straightened immediately.

"What happened?" Irla swallowed.

"He's gone again." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. James frowned.

"Gone where?" She shook her head helplessly.

"I don't know. I woke up and he wasn't beside his mat. I searched the clearing. I went to the garden. To the river. To the edge of the forest. He's nowhere." Her voice wavered, and the sound of it carried a deep, quiet worry that seemed to catch on every word as it left her mouth.

"He's been leaving every day," she continued, voice small.

"Returning at night, covered in dirt, wearing torn clothes, with scratches he won't explain. I tried to make him tell me where he's going, but he won't." Her throat tightened.

"I'm afraid, James. I'm afraid he's going to do something foolish. Something dangerous. Just because he wants to be useful." James's chest tightened. He recognized it instantly, that old ache of falling short, the steady pull to be useful, to matter in a way that actually counted. Ever since the bear attack, Varn had been adrift. The man who once gathered roots and laughed at Trell's jokes now walked like a ghost between exhaustion and determination. James sighed, rubbing his thumb over Irla's knuckles.

"He feels useless," he said quietly.

"Like he's failing his tribe." Irla nodded miserably.

"He thinks he owes us something. He thinks he owes me something." James squeezed her hands gently.

"He doesn't. No one here owes anything to anyone. But… I'll talk to him. I promise." Irla's eyes softened, gratitude washing over her face.

"Thank you, Chieftain." James smiled crookedly.

"It's James, Irla. Chieftain makes me sound like I'm ninety." She let out a faint laugh, soft and warm, and he watched some of the tension leave her shoulders as it faded. James stood and offered a hand.

"Now. How about we do something to take your mind off things?" Irla looked up warily.

"Like what?" James grinned.

"Let's go hunting. I want to see what that fancy new class of yours can do." Irla hesitated immediately, hands twisting in her lap.

"I'm… not really a fighter."

"I know," James said gently.

"You're a healer. But you're also part of this tribe's strength now. And seeing what your abilities can do out there will help us keep people safe." Irla drew a steady breath… then nodded, resolve blooming in her eyes.

"Alright," she said quietly. Then louder, with determination: "Let's go." She stood, smoothing her clothing, tucking the leaves aside. James reached out to steady her, but she didn't need it. Irla walked with a confidence she hadn't possessed a mere two days ago. As they stepped out of the longhouse together, sunlight brushed across her skin, and James could have sworn she carried a faint glow.

Not the strange luminescence of her class, but something quieter, steadier, purpose settling into her like it had always belonged there. They crossed the clearing side by side, the warmth of the sun lingering on their faces. Rogan and Bren were already waiting near the treeline, Rogan planted there like a carved pillar of muscle and stoicism, while Bren crouched nearby, picking dirt from under his nails with the tip of his spear. James lifted a hand in greeting.

"Alright, gentlemen," he said brightly.

"Today's the day we go into the scary forest to hunt magical beasts. How fun!" Irla shot him a look of abject horror. Rogan grunted as if he approved of the danger. Bren blinked.

"Scary?" James patted him on the shoulder.

"Relax. I have Rogan, Kerrin, and an actual life mage with me. We're covered." Irla made a noise halfway between a choke and a whimper. James turned to Bren with a grin.

"Also, change of plans. You're not coming with us today." Bren straightened.

"Why? I can hunt."

"Oh, I know," James said.

"But Trell and Alder need help with the shed. And, frankly, three warriors and one magic-wielding healer is overkill." Bren's eyes flicked toward Irla.

"Are you sure? I could..."

"Bren," James cut in gently.

"Go help Trell before he climbs that ladder again." Bren paled.

"Right. Yes. I'll go immediately." James laughed as Bren marched off toward the shimmering blue outline of the shed blueprint where Alder, Trell, and half the tribe milled about like industrious ants.

"Alright!" James clapped his hands together.

"Let's go get Kerrin from the garden, then we're off." Irla winced.

"Off… where the magical beasts live." James grinned.

"Exactly." Rogan gave a low grunt of approval. They found Kerrin exactly where James expected him, sprawled along a tree branch like a smug jungle cat, one leg dangling, arms tucked behind his head, spear resting across his lap, eyes half-closed like he was posing for a rustic glamour spread in Primitive Living Weekly. James stared up at him.

"Really?" Kerrin yawned.

"Hello, Chieftain."

"Are you ready for some adventure?" Kerrin smiled and stretched.

"Always." Irla rolled her eyes with unexpected force. Rogan smacked Kerrin's foot, which dangled too close to his face.

"Down," the big man grunted. Kerrin dropped to the ground silently, annoyingly gracefully for someone who was half-bandaged and still tender from nearly dying in the glade days ago. But James's eyes drifted beyond him, to the garden. And he paused. The once-small patch had grown into something almost impressive. Several new squares had been added, each marked by fresh soil and thin reed borders.

Strange plants sprouted from them: long violet tendrils curling upward, broad jade leaves that shimmered faintly with mana, stalks with tiny budding fruits that glowed faintly yellow. Ollen knelt in the center, planting seeds with near-sacred concentration. His fingers brushed the ground, his Seedbed Sense skill guiding him as he tested the soil and murmured small approvals. Elira stood nearby, feeding each new plant a trickle of mana, her touch light, her smile luminous.

When she saw James and Irla, she waved so enthusiastically that she nearly fell over a rooted vine. James felt the rush of mana signatures even without trying, his Mana Resonance humming softly. So healthy. So vibrant. So full of potential. Irla whispered, awe coloring her voice, "A garden… a real, big garden. Why… why didn't we ever think of this before?" James smiled gently at her.

"Because you were trying to survive. And survival doesn't leave much room for creativity." Irla nodded slowly, eyes softening with understanding. From above, one of the plants fluttered its leaves as if agreeing. James clapped Kerrin on the shoulder.

"Grab your spear. You're coming with us. Hunting time." Kerrin froze. His eyes flicked immediately to his sister. Ollen didn't notice, too deep in the zen trance of planting seeds. Elira did notice. And she lifted her hands.

"I'll be fine!" she chirped.

"Go hunt! Bring something delicious!" Kerrin made a noise like someone had swapped his spear for a soggy noodle.

"I... she... someone should stay with her..." James sighed loudly.

"Kerrin." Kerrin looked at him with the expression of a man being asked to abandon his only child.

"She's safe," James said firmly.

"If you hover over her every moment, she'll never learn to be independent." Irla nodded.

"And someone will check on her later. She's not alone." Kerrin looked… betrayed. Like James had kicked his puppy. And then taken the puppy. And then given the puppy to a neighbor who definitely fed it sugar.

"Fine," Kerrin grumbled.

"But if anything happens..."

"Nothing will happen," James cut in.

"Now let's go before Rogan starts hunting without us." Rogan, already walking toward the forest, gave a low grunt of agreement. With that, the small group gathered and set off toward the treeline. James found himself grinning despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach, while Irla walked beside him with her chin held high, swallowing her fear. Rogan led with his spear ready, broad shoulders steady, and Kerrin followed close behind, eyeing every bush like it had a personal grudge against his sister.

Behind them, Elira called out, "Bring back something big!"

"Preferably not poisonous!" Ollen added. Lumen chimed from James's shoulder, glowing cheerfully.

"Yes, James! Let us see what danger we can stumble into today!" James sighed.

"Oh good. Encouragement." The forest swallowed them gently. Sunlight sifted through layers of emerald leaves, falling in soft mosaics across the mossy ground. The air was cool and damp, carrying hints of wildflowers, glowing fungus, and the distant burble of streams. Birds called in strange trilling patterns, and something rustled among the underbrush, too quick for the eye, but bright with mana signature. James wasn't looking with his eyes, though. He was feeling.

His Mana Resonance hummed like a low tuning fork in his chest, buzzing against his ribcage in ways that were both familiar and newly sharp. There… and there… and... what the hell is that? Small pockets of mana pulsed in odd places, beneath a fallen tree, in a cluster of mushrooms, somewhere high in the branches above. Some were weak, little bubbles of ambient magic. Others… tickled the back of his mind, tugging a thread he didn't yet know how to interpret. Then the hum sharpened, brightened, and began to expand.

A soft chime echoed in his ears. James blinked as a notification flashed. Skill Level Up! Mana Resonance has reached Level 4"Oooh!" Lumen chirped, zipping in excited spirals above James's head.

"Goodie! Your understanding of mana grows stronger. As your skill levels, you will more easily grasp what you are sensing, and your range will steadily increase." James rubbed at his face.

"Well, that'll be handy. Maybe now I'll understand why that patch of mushrooms is screaming at me."

"It was?!" Kerrin yelped.

"Not literally," James muttered.

"Probably. I think." Rogan grunted like someone who was already imagining this would become a headache. James shook out his hands, letting the lingering mana-tingle fade. Then he stopped walking. Rogan stopped, too, instinctively positioning himself forward, scanning the trees. Kerrin halted beside him, spear angled defensively. Irla stood between them all, breathing quickly but staying close, her fingers twitching with nervous energy.

James took them in properly this time, his gaze moving from one to the next as something in his chest settled into place. Good. Alert. Focused. Ready. It was time to make this official. He looked at them again, not at their weapons or their clothes or whatever the system thought they were worth, but at the people themselves, three lives that, only two weeks ago, had been balanced on the thin edge between survival and starvation. He drew in a breath and let it steady him.

"Alright," he said.

"We need to talk. Really talk." All three stilled at once. This time, James didn't try to hide the seriousness in his voice.

"You need to understand why we're here. Why I brought you. Why this matters more than any hunt we've ever done." They watched him with eyes too big, too earnest, too full of expectation. He gestured around them at the deep, ancient forest.

"The truth is… the tribe is surviving. Barely. By the skin of its teeth. Yesterday's longhouse? A miracle. Irla's healing? A miracle. Finding garden soil, tameable beasts, a water spirit, guardian plants. All miracles." He let the weight settle.

"But miracles don't last forever." Irla's hand tightened around her cloak. Kerrin swallowed. Rogan listened like every word was a commandment being carved into stone. James continued.

"We are thirty people," he said quietly.

"Thirty. That's nothing. A spark of a village. A flicker of life in a forest full of things that can wipe us out before breakfast." Irla looked down at her feet.

"But we won't stay that way," James said, voice strengthening.

"We can't stay that way. If we want to survive, really survive, we need strength. The tribe has a very low population, and an even lower average level. Except for Rogan… everyone else is way too weak to survive serious threats. And make no mistake, more are coming. We need people who can protect others. Champions. Defenders. Fighters who can stand when everyone else is too scared to breathe." Irla's eyes widened, and Kerrin stiffened beside her while Rogan's jaw tightened before he gave a slow nod.

James pointed at Kerrin.

"You're one of them, whether you believe it or not." Kerrin went still, his fingers tightening around his spear. James shifted his hand toward Irla.

"And you? Your class, your magic… it's rarer than diamonds. You can change the course of a fight with a single touch." Irla's breath caught, but she didn't deny it. He turned to Rogan last.

"And you… you're the first warrior this tribe has had in years. You're strong, Rogan, incredibly strong. But you've spent your whole life fighting alone. That ends today." Rogan's eyes flickered, a flash of something like vulnerability crossing his stern face. James stepped closer, giving them a moment to feel the weight of it.

"I want all of you to grow strong. Not because I'm your chieftain, and not for glory or territory or fame." His hand came up, pressing briefly against his chest.

"I want it because I refuse to lose anyone I've come to think of as my people. Not a mother, not a husband, not a child. Not anyone." Silence settled over the clearing. Even the forest seemed to hold still, listening. James lifted three fingers.

"Today, we have three goals, and they matter more than anything." He pointed first to Kerrin.

"One: we help Kerrin get a combat class. Another warrior. Another protector. Another shield between the tribe and danger." Kerrin's lips parted, trembling. He blinked fast. James pointed to Irla.

"Two: we test Irla's new class. We learn what she can do, what she can't do, and how she can keep us alive when everything goes wrong." Irla straightened, fear giving way to determination. Then James pointed to Rogan.

"And three: you three learn to fight together. To trust each other's movements. To fill each other's gaps. To cover each other's weaknesses. Heroes don't stand alone, they stand with someone." He let the words linger, rich as honey.

"The hunts from now on won't be just for food. They'll be for training. Growth. Preparation. Because whether we like it or not… this forest will test us. And when it does?" James drew himself up, steadying before he spoke.

"I want us to be ready." The words settled between them, and he could see it take hold. He saw it in the way Kerrin's fear shifted, no longer scattered but focused, in the way Irla's hesitation eased as she drew a quiet breath and held it, and in the way Rogan settled into himself, standing just a fraction taller as understanding clicked into place. Finally, James asked:"Do we understand one another?" The forest seemed to quiet around them, the wind easing through the trees as if it were listening.

Then all three spoke at once.

"Yes, Chieftain." The sound of it settled into James's chest, warm and steady. He kept his expression even, but the feeling lingered there all the same. A grin slipped through anyway.

"Good. Then let's go find something dangerous to kill." Irla made a small, startled noise, Kerrin let out a long-suffering groan, and Rogan rumbled his approval. And together, the four of them walked forward into the forest, into magic and danger, and into something still taking shape between them.