The rain had stopped before dawn. The road was still damp, and wagon wheels carved deep ruts into the soft earth. On either side, oaks and birches stretched overhead, their branches weaving together and hiding the sky. It was not an important road. Only merchants, travelers, and, from time to time, mercenaries bound for nearby villages ever passed this way. An elderly man with a gray beard walked beside a wagon loaded with sacks of flour. His son held the reins. "If we reach Elar before noon, we'll sell everything." "I certainly hope so. The mill needs a new roof." The young man looked up. "There's someone ahead." A lone traveler walked along the edge of the road. His dark blue coat nearly brushed the ground. Silver trim caught the faint light of the morning sun, while the breeze stirred his long, almost silvery blond hair. He carried no backpack. Only a silver sword hung at his waist. The older man watched him for a few moments. "He must be a mercenary." "He doesn't wear an emblem." "Then perhaps he's a noble." "He doesn't look like one." As they drew closer, the merchant raised a hand. "Good morning." "Good morning." The young man's voice was calm. "Are you heading to Elar?" "We are." "The stone bridge is damaged. You'll want to cross by the eastern stream instead." The merchant frowned. "You've seen it?" "Less than an hour ago." "You've saved us a great deal of trouble." The traveler gave a slight nod. "Have a safe journey." Without another word, he continued walking. The merchant's son watched him until he disappeared down the road. "He's... strange." "What makes you say that?" "I don't know... there's something different about the way he speaks." "There are people from every corner of the world." The wagon rolled on. Saphryn never looked back. He had no immediate destination. He simply kept walking. --- By noon, he reached a small village surrounded by golden wheat fields. Children chased one another between the houses. A blacksmith hammered a sword upon his anvil. Two soldiers in the local lord's service stood talking beside a well. Outside the tavern, several mercenaries were gathered around the village notice board. "Fifty coins for a wolf pack." "That's not worth the effort." "Then take the swamp contract." "No thanks." Another man pointed to a different notice. "They say an ogre's been spotted near the northern pass." "That's a job for someone with a Silver rank." Saphryn walked past them. Several mercenaries followed him with their eyes. One of them called out. "Hey." Saphryn stopped. "Yes?" "What rank are you?" "I don't have one." A brief silence followed. "You've never registered?" "No." "What about that sword?" "It's mine." The mercenary chuckled. "Fair enough." Another looked him over from head to toe. "Dressed like that, you look more like a lost noble than a fighter." "I'm not a noble." Saphryn continued on his way. No one tried to stop him. --- The innkeeper set a bowl of stew on the table. "That'll be four coins." Saphryn placed the coins beside the bowl. "Thank you." As he ate, conversations filled the common room. One group argued over the rising price of iron. Others spoke about a delayed caravan. In one corner, three mercenaries studied a map. "If we cross here, we'll get there sooner." "Assuming the swamp lets us." The tavern door burst open. A man covered in mud staggered inside, struggling to catch his breath. "Help!" The room fell silent. Every eye turned toward him. "A beast attacked the Heller farm!" One of the mercenaries shot to his feet. "What kind of beast?" "I don't know... it was enormous." Another drew his sword. "How many are dead?" "None yet... but it won't stay that way for long." The three mercenaries rushed outside, followed by several villagers. Saphryn calmly finished the last bite of his meal, took a drink of water, and rose from his seat. He straightened his coat, concealing his sword once more beneath the blue fabric. Then he stepped outside. In the distance, the village bells had already begun to ring. Chapter 2 — The Heller Farm The bells continued to ring as villagers ran along the dirt road. Some carried pitchforks, others woodcutting axes, while a few grabbed whatever tools they could use as weapons. The three mercenaries led the way. "How much farther?" "It's behind the mill!" The mud-covered man kept glancing over his shoulder. "It killed two cows! Then it smashed the barn!" One of the mercenaries clicked his tongue. "Let's hope it's only a young troll." "I hope you're right." Several paces behind them, Saphryn walked at an unhurried pace. The farm was surrounded by a wooden fence, now shattered in several places. One cow lay motionless near the well, while another struggled to breathe. The remaining livestock had scattered across the fields. A deafening crash erupted from inside the barn. The doors burst open. The creature that emerged stood taller than a horse. Its body was covered in thick, dark fur. Long arms ended in curved claws, and its head resembled that of a bear, though far narrower. The beast let out a deep snort. One of the mercenaries stepped forward. "It's a Garm." The second drew his sword. "I never expected to find one this close to a village." The third lowered a short spear. "Let's surround it." The Garm roared and charged. The spearman managed to drive his weapon into its shoulder, but the beast didn't even slow down. It slammed into him, sending the man flying several meters before he crashed into a wagon. The other two attacked together. One blade carved a wound across the creature's foreleg. The other bounced harmlessly off its dense fur. The Garm answered with a sweeping claw. The sword was knocked from the mercenary's hand. He stumbled backward, clutching his injured arm. "It's too strong!" The villagers remained behind the broken fence. Not one dared move any closer. Saphryn arrived and quietly took in the scene. The Garm turned its head toward him. It stood perfectly still. The mercenaries seized the chance to retreat. "Don't just stand there!" The beast took one step. Then another. Saphryn rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. The silver blade slid slowly from its scabbard. It reflected the sunlight like a mirror. The Garm roared and lunged. The distance between them vanished in an instant. A massive claw came crashing down. Saphryn shifted his body only slightly. The claw missed his coat by mere inches. At the same moment, his sword traced a single, flawless arc. The creature staggered forward two more steps. Then it stopped. Its body collapsed onto its side. Silence returned to the farm. One of the mercenaries drew a shaky breath. "...Is it over?" Saphryn wiped the blade clean with a cloth before returning it to its scabbard. "It would seem so." A villager cautiously approached the corpse, staring at it for a long moment. "It's dead..." The others slowly emerged from behind the fence. The owner of the farm looked at Saphryn. "Thank you..." Saphryn gave a slight nod. "Take the wounded to someone who can treat them." "And you?" "I'll continue on my way." The farmer blinked. "At least let me pay you." "There's no need." "But—" "Buy another cow." The farmer lowered his gaze. "I will." Saphryn turned and resumed his journey.

A Traveler Without an Emblem