The two mile walk from the Golden Boar market camp to Pravend felt longer than the three week journey across Vlandia.
Jade, Numerius, Yuzon, Mataranas, and Nathaniel walked in a quiet line behind Torvald. Their new gear felt heavy, but solid. Numerius had his Vlandian iron kite shield slung across his back. Yuzon carried his new hunting bow and steel arming sword. Mataranas held his heavy cavalry shield under his uninjured arm, the flange mace resting at his belt. Nathaniel had his light crossbow slung over his leather jack. Jade walked with his spear in hand and his round shield strapped to his left arm.
They looked like proper mercenaries, but as they crested the final hill overlooking Pravend, none of them felt like heroes.
The village sat quietly in the valley, its thatched roofs and stone chimneys glowing under the late afternoon sun. Golden wheat fields stretched out around the wooden palisade, untouched by the war that had devastated the northern border.
A horn blew from the village lookout post, a single sharp blast announcing returning travelers.
Within seconds, the village erupted into activity. Women wiped their hands on aprons and ran out into the dirt paths. Old men leaned on gnarled walking sticks. Children sprinted ahead, cheering as they headed toward the gate.
"They are back!" a boy shouted. "The militia is back!"
Jade felt his chest tighten. He glanced at Numerius, whose usual cheeky grin was completely gone. Yuzon kept his eyes fixed on the dirt path. Mataranas walked silently, his jaw set.
The villagers gathered around the stone well in the center of the square, shouting greetings and waving. But as Torvald led the small group through the gate, the cheers began to sputter and die.
Eyes darted across the line. Minds counted heads.
Fifteen militia members had marched out of Pravend three weeks ago. Only six men stood in the square. Jade, Numerius, Yuzon, Mataranas, Nathaniel, and Torvald.
The joyful noise vanished, replaced by a cold, suffocating silence.
An old woman pushed through the crowd, her hands trembling as she looked past Jade and Numerius. "Where... where is Thomas? Where is my boy?"
Torvald stopped near the well. He slowly took off his leather cap and held it against his chest. His scarred face looked carved from granite, but his eyes were heavy with grief.
"The Sturgians breached the castle gate on the second day," Torvald said, his rough voice carrying across the silent square. "Two hundred raiders surrounded the keep. Your boys held the inner wall to the very end. They died like true Vlandian men, protecting the realm."
A sharp, ragged sob broke from the old woman, and she collapsed into the dust. Other mothers began to weep, clutching their younger children. Fathers stared at the ground with hollow eyes, their knuckles white as they gripped their tools. Nine families in Pravend had lost their sons, and no amount of glory could heal that wound.
Before Jade could process the wave of grief filling the square, a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder.
Jade turned to see his father standing beside him. The burly farmer looked older than he had three weeks ago, his face lined with worry. He looked Jade up and down, taking in the mail coif, the padded gambeson, the round shield, and the sword at his hip.
"You made it back," the man rumbled.
"I am back, Dad," Jade said softly.
The man stared at him for several seconds, then pulled Jade into a fierce, tight hug, pressing his rough tunic against Jade's mail coif. "You foolish boy," the father muttered, his voice shaking. "Your mother... she always said you were meant for greater things than a plow."
A short distance away, Mataranas was swarmed by his grandma. The tiny old woman wept loudly, smacking his chest before wrapping her arms around his waist. She fussed over his splinted arm, inspecting the wraps with frantic fingers.
Mataranas stood still like a stone pillar, letting her fuss. "I am fine, Grandma," he said softly. "I came back."
Meanwhile, a slender figure ran out from the crowd and threw herself directly into Nathaniel.
Hilda did not care about the dried mud, the leather jack, or Nathaniel's crooked, bandaged nose. She slammed into his chest, burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing with overwhelming relief.
Nathaniel stiffened in surprise, then slowly brought his arms around her, resting his chin against her hair. "I told you I would survive," Nathaniel whispered, his voice unusually gentle.
Before Nathaniel could say more, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air.
"Nathaniel! Look at you!"
His mother bustled over, smoothing down her faded velvet dress. Though she now lived in a humble village cottage, she still carried the sharp posture and commanding tone of her former life as a wealthy merchant's wife. She gripped Nathaniel's face with two fingers, inspecting his bandaged nose with horrified eyes.
"Your face is ruined!" his mother gasped, throwing her hands up. "What were you thinking, fighting raiders like some common foot soldier? I did not raise you in trade guilds so you could get beaten black and blue in a ditch!"
"I am fine, Mom," Nathaniel muttered, stepping back.
"Fine?" his mother scoffed, looking at Hilda and then back at Nathaniel. "You belong in a merchant's guild, Nathaniel! I am still arranging for you to meet the daughter of Master Osgar in the city. A proper merchant family, not... not farm work!"
Nathaniel rubbed his temples, feeling an instant headache coming on. "Mom, please. Not right now."
Numerius walked down the dirt path to his family's crowded timber house near the blacksmith shop. As soon as he pushed the wooden door open, four of his younger cousins shouted and tackled his legs. His uncle stepped out from the kitchen, taking one look at Numerius's back shield, his new mace, and the faint scar across his forehead.
"Look at you," his uncle boomed, grabbing Numerius by the shoulders and grinning. "Sailing through a war and coming back looking like a proper Vlandian warrior."
His cousins immediately crowded around, tugging at his new kite shield and asking if he had slayed ten Sturgians. For the first time in weeks, Numerius let out a small, genuine laugh, slinging his shield onto the table while his family poured him ale and demanded every detail of the battle.
Yuzon headed down the quiet lane toward his family's cottage behind the village chapel. His mother dropped her laundry basket the moment she saw him standing in the doorway with his new hunting bow and steel sword. She rushed over, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping into his tunic.
His father sat by the hearth, looking up from a stack of parchment. The older man stared at Yuzon's calm eyes, the new leather arm guards, and the sword at his hip.
"You are alive," his father said quietly, setting down his quill. "Thank the gods. Now put those weapons away. There is a stack of village tax records that need copying, and no son of mine is going back out to get shot at by raiders."
Yuzon looked at his father's parchment, then down at his steel arming sword. He nodded politely, but inside, he felt completely disconnected from the quiet desk work.
By nightfall, the five friends gathered near the quiet village well.
Numerius leaned against the stone wall, adjusting his back shield. Yuzon sat on a wooden crate, stringing his new hunting bow. Mataranas stood quietly beside them. Nathaniel joined them a moment later, looking completely drained.
"How did your meetups go?" Jade asked softly.
"My house was a circus," Numerius said, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. "Cousins everywhere, uncle pouring ale. They treat me like I am some legendary warlord."
"My mother wept for an hour," Yuzon said, staring at his bowstring. "And my dad pointed at a pile of tax scrolls and told me my warrior days are over."
"Grandma made me eat two bowls of soup," Mataranas offered, giving a small nod. "She is just glad I came back alive."
Nathaniel groaned loudly, rubbing his sore nose. "Hilda wants to plan a wedding, and my mom spent an hour screaming about my face and nagging me to marry some rich merchant's daughter in Ocs Hall. I don't know how I am supposed to fit back into this."
Jade leaned against his spear, looking at the quiet stone cottages surrounding the square. The village was peaceful, but after three weeks of steel, blood, and UI leveling, everything felt strange and distant.