The walk back to the Village felt longer than usual.

Every step was a monumental effort. Lukas’s legs felt as heavy as lead, and his lungs burned with every breath.

The sun, which had been high and warm before, now seemed to hide behind heavy gray clouds, casting long, cold shadows across the dirt road.

The air was heavy and humid, as if the forest itself were exhausted after the battle.

Lukas dragged the giant rat’s body by the silver web wrapped around his hand.

The creature’s dead weight left an uneven trail in the damp earth, a deep mark that stretched for meters, cutting through the vegetation like a scar.

Every few steps, he stopped to adjust his grip, his small fingers tightening around the shining strand, his skin aching from the constant friction.

The wounded man walked beside him, leaning on Tilbo whenever the pain in his legs threatened to bring him down.

His steps were dragging and uneven, and with every movement, a low groan escaped his dry lips. Blood still trickled from his wounds, though more slowly now, proof that the bleeding was being controlled, but not stopped. His skin was pale and covered in cold sweat.

Prata walked a little ahead, alert, her silver body gliding between the trees like a living shadow. Her multiple eyes scanned the surroundings, catching every movement, every sound, every scent.

Her legs touched the ground with a lightness that contradicted her size, and her web gleamed faintly beneath the light filtering through the canopy.

Astra remained quiet on Lukas’s shoulder, her golden eyes watching the surroundings, her head turning at every suspicious noise. Her wing was still bound, but her body was tense, ready to react.

The man, who introduced himself as Harlan, breathed with difficulty, but he did not stop talking. The words came out in bursts, as if he needed to expel what he had seen, what he had felt, as if silence were worse than the pain.

"Lord Lukas... I don’t know how to thank you. If you and your companions hadn’t appeared... I would have been food for those monsters." His voice faltered, and Harlan wiped the blood from his face with his torn sleeve, leaving a red streak across his cheek.

"My brother... he wasn’t as fortunate."

He paused, his eyes lost in some painful memory, his jaw tight.

"He was attacked while distracted. We were hunting near the hillside when those creatures appeared out of nowhere. He pushed me back and shouted for me to run... and when I looked back, it was already too late."

Harlan squeezed his eyes shut, and a tear mixed with blood ran down his face.

"You’re only a child, but you fought like a warrior. That ant... and the spider... are they your guardians?"

Lukas nodded without looking directly at the man. Exhaustion weighed on his legs, and every step seemed to require superhuman effort. Spending so much mana that he did not possess came with a price.

Kyrian could only endure it because of his abnormal strength.

"It’s alright, Harlan. I’m glad we arrived in time. What matters now is treating those wounds. The village healer should be able to help."

Harlan stopped for a moment, his eyes filled with sincere gratitude. His trembling hand touched Lukas’s shoulder, and he squeezed it lightly, as if trying to convey something words could not express.

"May the spirits of the forest protect you, boy. You saved my life today."

They entered the village under attentive and silent gazes.

The news spread quickly, faster than fire through dry straw. Peasants repairing damaged barns turned their heads, tools forgotten in their hands, their eyes wide with astonishment.

Women talking near the fields stopped in mid-sentence, their hands flying to cover their mouths.

Children carrying baskets stopped, open-mouthed, their little fingers releasing the wicker handles, which fell to the ground with a muffled sound.

The giant rat, the size of a large dog, dragged by a silver thread in the hand of a little boy, was something no one there had ever seen. The creature was grotesque, its dark fur bristling, its teeth long as daggers, its red eyes seeming to retain a remnant of fury even in death.

"By the gods... what is that?" an old man murmured, approaching cautiously. His white beard trembled slightly, and his hand tightened around a wooden staff.

"A rat? That’s no rat at all! Look at the size of it!"

"The eyes... they’re red as blood."

Whispers multiplied, growing like a wave. Some stepped back in fear, while others approached with curiosity mixed with doubt.

An older woman clutched her shawl against her chest, her eyes fixed on the dead creature, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

"I’ve never seen anything like it. If there’s one, there must be more... in the forest... I hope they don’t come to the village."

Lukas did not stop to explain. He gave Harlan a brief nod, and the man was quickly taken away by the healer, a gray-haired woman with steady hands, who grabbed him by the arm and led him into her hut with practical efficiency.

Lukas continued walking down the dirt road, dragging the rat behind him. Tilbo and Prata, at his sides, kept anyone from getting too close.

The ant emitted a low metallic click whenever someone approached too near, a sound that made even the bravest villagers step back.

Prata merely raised her front legs, which was enough to make the peasants retreat a pace.

The sun was already higher when he spotted the gates of the Dmond mansion.

The accumulated exhaustion made his muscles burn, and his breathing was short and uneven. But he did not slow down.

"DAD!!"

Lukas shouted the moment he crossed the main entrance, his voice echoing through the courtyard like an alarm bell. It was the first time he had called his father like that, urgent, loud, carrying an emotion he could barely control.

Clavor appeared almost immediately, running from the mansion’s side wing. His heavy footsteps made the ground tremble slightly, and dust rose beneath his boots.

He wore a simple tunic, without armor, but a sword was already in his hand, an automatic reflex born from years of training and vigilance.

Aurora came right behind him, her white braid swaying, her violet eyes wide with alarm. Her light-blue dress was disheveled, as if she had risen in haste, and she was barefoot.

"Lukas! What happened?" Clavor stopped abruptly, examining his son from head to toe. His eyes swept over the small body, searching for wounds, blood, any sign of injury.

Aurora arrived breathless, cupping his face with cold hands. Her fingers ran across his cheeks, forehead, and shoulders, as if checking whether he was still whole.

"Are you alright? You’re filthy... and is that blood?"