The acrid stench of wet ash and scorched pine hung heavy in the muggy afternoon air. Jacob stared down at the bound boy kneeling in the thin layer of mud formed from the dew that was still taking some time to dry, as his mind raced to piece the timeline together.
Thomas's wrists were tied tightly behind his back with a thick, coarse hemp rope. Two burly village guards flanked him. They planted their heavy boots aggressively in the muck and kept their rough hands clamped tightly onto the brawler's shoulders.
"Farmer Johnson," Jacob said, keeping his voice calm and respectful as he walked over to the guards. The wet mud squelched slightly beneath his boots. "When exactly did you catch him?"
"Just as the smoke started," Johnson huffed. His chest heaved with exertion, and a smear of dark soot streaked across his wrinkled brow from his earlier frantic, yet useless, efforts to smother the fire himself.
He pointed an accusatory, calloused finger directly at Thomas. "I heard a commotion out back, so I ran as fast as I could, where I found him. He was standing right next to the side door with soot on his hands. He just froze like a caught rabbit without even trying to run. Thankfully, these men were nearby to grab him and stand as witnesses before he could run off and get rid of the evidence."
Jacob looked down at Thomas. The brawler's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his cheek twitched.
A fresh, jagged cut wept dark blood above his left eyebrow, likely from the guards tackling him face-first into the dirt. The blood mingled with the dark soot smeared across his cheek.
Despite the defamatory accusations and the painful grip of the guards, Thomas wasn't yelling or pleading his innocence.
He just glared at a specific pebble in the dirt, as if he expected to be pronounced guilty without anyone standing up for him.
A look of angry resignation settled heavily on his face, but Jacob could also see the expectation within his eyes. It was like he expected nothing less from those around him than to accuse and mistreat him.
"Thomas," Jacob said, stepping closer until his shadow fell over the kneeling boy.
He could hear the labored breathing coming from his nose as he had to deal with the weight of the guards pressing down on him. "Oren and I left you on the path to the F-rank gate less than an hour ago. At the time, you had a bag full of monster cores. Where is it?"
Thomas glanced up. A flicker of genuine surprise flashed in his dark eyes, clearly shocked that Jacob was actually addressing him like a person rather than a convicted criminal.
He jerked his chin toward the overgrown weeds near the side of the main farmhouse. "I accidentally dropped it in the bushes when they tackled me. I was just cutting through the properties to get back to the main road to Ruvka when this whole mess started."
"He's lying," the guard on the left sneered. He tightened his grip on Thomas's shoulder, his knuckles whitening from the strain. "Troublemakers like him don't need a reason to start fires. Besides, it's like the old man said. We found him covered in soot, standing next to the fire when we heard the Farmer call out. There's not really a good explanation for the sequence of events that have unfolded here, and a Judge will have to settle the punishment."
"With all due respect," Jacob interrupted, his tone hardening as he took on the bearing of a warrior that had been in life-and-death combat.
He straightened his posture, letting the natural, heavy confidence of his presence and tier-1 mana seep into his physical stature.
The shift in the air was subtle but enough to make the guard blink and ease his grip slightly. "He was in the dungeon all morning. I personally witnessed his walk back, and my companion, Oren, who I'm sure has a good reputation with the guards, considering the identity of his master, has also been keeping track of him. Thomas fought his way through the second floor, which is why his hands and clothes are covered in soot and thick monster grime. Not fire ash."
Farmer Johnson frowned deeply as the guards started to murmur together, releasing Thomas from their iron grips.
The Farmer looked back and forth between Jacob and the captive boy. The heated anger was still present in his eyes, but Jacob had just saved his entire livelihood from burning to the ground. The older man was at least willing to listen. "You're saying he didn't do it? But I saw him at the door, Jacob. He's known in the village for being a trickster and not the harmless type. This can't just be a coincidence."
"I'm saying the timeline doesn't make sense for arson," Jacob reasoned, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides to maintain the de-escalation. "If he wanted to burn your barn, why would he do it in broad daylight, while carrying a heavy bag of valuable monster cores that he fought all morning to get? And why wouldn't he run when the smoke started?"
Jacob didn't wait for an answer. He turned his back to the guards and walked over to the charred remains of the barn's side door.
The ruined wood was blackened, blistered, and thoroughly soaked from his recent burst of water magic. Small wisps of grey steam still curled into the air.
He focused his intent and activated his newly levelled skill. Inspect.
The guards walked to Farmer Johnson's side to watch what the young mage would do next.
His mana pushed outward, mapping the scorched wood in a faint, unseen pulse of mechanical system-guided efficiency. It always gave him a weird feeling using the system skills instead of his own magical ability.
But he had to admit that the results spoke for themself. The skill filtered out the mundane water and the ambient heat until a specific, abnormal residue caught his attention.
The residue was thick, foul-smelling, and laced with a very specific, sickly energy. It wasn't the thin chemical trace of standard lamp oil or the metallic scent of flint sparks, as one would expect with an arson in this village.
System Notice: Residual Material Detected.
Analysis: Crude monster-fat accelerant. Trace elements of dungeon miasma present.
Inspect (3/10) -> (4/10)
Jacob's eyes widened. The scent of rancid meat and sulfur hit the back of his throat. He turned back to the group. "This fire wasn't started by a village kid at all; there's nearly no chance of that. It was started using crude monster-fat oil. This is the work of goblins."
"Goblins?" the second guard scoffed, shaking his head. "There hasn't been a dungeon break in months."
"But there are still stragglers from the last one hiding in the deep woods," Jacob countered smoothly. "Oren is out hunting them right now, and my friend Mira hunts them often for weeks at a time. Apparently, the break in the caves from the lost gate has supplied our forests with quite a population of goblins. According to Oren, they get desperate and bold when they are cut off from the dungeon ecosystem between dungeon breaks, and they're smart enough to cause a fiery distraction to steal livestock."
Jacob looked directly at Thomas, catching the brawler's eye. "I don't think you started the fire. That seems beneath someone of your strength, at least from my perspective. You were trying to stop the fire, weren't you?"
Thomas ground his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw bulging before he gave a single, stiff nod. "I was cutting through the high grass in the fields and saw a goblin sneaking around the back of the barn with a lit torch. I rushed it, but the little rat tossed the fire into the dry hay before I could snap its neck. It scrambled into the brush right as the farmer came around the corner. By the time I turned around to point it out, these two idiots were tackling me into the dirt."
The yard fell completely silent after the arguments and revelations coming from the two young boys. The only sound that could be heard at that moment was the faint hiss of the cooling wood as it fizzled out in the distant barn.
The two guards looked at each other, suddenly looking very uncertain and slightly foolish, before slowly pulling their restraints away from the brawler's wrists.
Farmer Johnson looked at the ruined door, then down at the bleeding teenager in the mud. The venom in the older man's eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of deeply troubled realisation. He rubbed his calloused hands together nervously.
With the truth finally laid bare, the tension in the yard broke. Farmer Johnson released a long, exhausted breath and ran a soot-stained hand down his face, smearing the ash further.
He gave a quiet, gruff order to the guards to leave the brawler be.
Then the farmer offered a stiff but genuine apology to the boy, clearing his throat awkwardly before turning his attention back to assessing his ruined barn.
After trudging over to the weeds and retrieving his heavy leather sack of monster cores and materials he hadn't yet been able to sell to the adventurers or merchants in the village, Thomas fell into step beside Jacob as they headed back to the Hemlock farm.
The thick bag at Thomas's waist clinked heavily as they walked back out to the main dirt road.
"Should we go after that goblin?" Thomas asked. He stopped for a second, glancing over his shoulder toward the distant, shadowy tree line with a look of lingering frustration.
"It's likely long gone by now," Jacob replied, keeping his pace steady and his eyes forward, realizing how much he had learned about goblins from Oren's ramblings when he compared what he thought was common sense to the question Thomas just asked. "It either scurried back to the caves, or it'll run straight into Oren or Mira out in the woods. Either way, its days are numbered."
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Dust kicked up around their boots as they made their way down the winding dirt path toward the Hemlock property. The afternoon sun had finally dried the moist dirt, limiting how much it stuck to their shoes.
As they walked, Jacob noticed a distinct shift in the older boy's demeanor. The rigid, defensive posture Thomas had carried all morning was completely gone.
His shoulders dropped away from his ears, and he walked with a relaxed but exhausted gait. The prickly, defensive glare he usually reserved for absolutely everyone in Ruvka had been replaced with a lingering reverence whenever he looked sideways at Jacob.
"I owe you," Thomas suddenly said, breaking the quiet sounds of their footsteps. His voice was blunt and completely devoid of its usual defensive gruffness.
"You don't really owe me anything," Jacob countered easily with a shrug, looking at the rolling hills ahead. "I just pointed out the obvious. The guards were so eager to blame you that they ignored the facts right in front of them. It was helpful that they seemed to trust my magic, though. Besides, with their testimony, the village will use part of the subsidy to repair the barn, so everyone won today."
"That's exactly my point, they listened to you, but it was more than that. Your presence commands attention; even I was inclined to believe what you had to say when I already knew the truth of the matter," Thomas muttered. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the thick strap of his leather sack.
"And no one has ever stood up for me in this village. Not ever. Especially not someone like you. People see the bruises and the wrapped hands, and they just assume the worst. If you hadn't been there, I would be sitting in a wooden wagon on my way to a damp prison cell in Spring City right now. Honestly, even my own father would have just handed me over to the guards without putting up a fight."
Jacob glanced sideways at the brawler. He could hear the bitter resignation coating Thomas's voice. It was a heavy burden for a teenager to carry completely alone.
"Well," Jacob said gently, making sure to meet Thomas's eyes, "you're not alone right now. If we're going to be diving into dungeons and fighting bosses together, we have to have each other's backs. That starts out here."
Thomas stopped walking for a brief moment in the middle of the road, letting the weight of the words sink in. He let out a slow breath as a genuine smile broke through the grime and fresh bruises on his face.
"You and Oren are serious about this Big 3 party, aren't you?" Thomas asked, his tone shifting into one of quiet amazement.
"Completely serious," Jacob nodded, turning to face him. "We have a swordsman, a mage, and potentially a rogue and a healer lined up, not to mention a competent tinkerer. We need someone who can hold the front line and take a hit. The tinkerer is a wild card, but I can attest to his spunk, at least."
Thomas let out a short, huffing laugh.
He adjusted the heavy bag of cores on his shoulder, the stones clattering inside the leather. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's taking a hit. My dad was right about developing a tough skill from the drunken beatings all these years. Count me in, Jacob. You've got your brawler, as long as you're the one leading this group, then I'll have nothing to worry about. That swordsman friend of yours is too serious and rigid; it would be a liability down in the dungeons."
"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Jacob asked as they approached the final bend in the road leading to his home, shifting the conversation away from leadership as he wasn't prepared for that conversation so soon. "My mother bakes a great apple pie. We can discuss the delving group details with Oren tonight once we've all gotten some food in us. It would be good to have everyone there today, I'm pretty sure Bran said he would be showing up to tinker, and Mira's due a visit with how long she's been absent."
Thomas shifted the heavy monster core bag on his shoulder again, looking a bit uncertain. He hesitated, turning his head to look back toward the distant, thatched village roofs.
People rarely invited him inside their homes, let alone to sit at their family dinner table. "You're sure your parents won't mind? I lack a good reputation around here, and I'm sure it's reached their ears, especially with how prominent the Hemlock farm is in the village."
"They won't care," Jacob assured him with a warm smile. "Besides, has that reputation you've heard of ever pointed towards my parents being the type to listen to rumors?"
"It's not just rumors, though, Jacob." Thomas replied with a bit of reluctance and embarrassment, "Before I unlocked the system, I really was quite the nuisance. Even afterwards, I used my power to bully those weaker than me rather than actually try to apply myself. It wasn't until my dad actually put me in my place when he was lucid instead of in the tavern that I realized that I needed a change."
Jacob shook his head in disagreement, "It sounds to me like you figured yourself out in the dungeons then, and it seems like you want to use those fists for good rather than for tricks. Or were you just going to join that goblin in harassing Farmer Johnson today?"
Thomas nodded slowly, swallowing hard with a slight blush working its way up his neck. "Alright." He mumbled, "I'll stay for dinner. I'm quite hungry from my delve earlier anyway."
They walked up the packed dirt of the Hemlock property driveway. The familiar sounds of the working farm greeted them.
They found Arthur standing by the rusted exterior house spigot. He was aggressively scrubbing dark field soil from his sun-baked forearms, taking a brief pause between his endless farm tasks.
Hearing the crunch of their boots approaching, Arthur reached over and twisted the iron handle, stopping the water flow. He grabbed the nearby grey cloth towel draped over its drying rack.
A warm, welcoming smile spread across his weathered face as he dried his hands.
Jacob waved to his father to get his attention, "Hey, Dad! This is my new friend Thomas!"
To Arthur's credit, he showed absolutely zero recognition regarding Thomas and his negative village notoriety, treating the battered older boy exactly like any normal, welcome guest that Jacob would bring home.
"Welcome to our home, Thomas," Arthur greeted the brawler warmly, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Any friend of Jacob is welcome here. We'll have plenty of hot food ready tonight if you're staying for dinner."
Thomas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by the genuine warmth. He gave a stiff but respectful nod, his posture straightening. "Thank you, sir. I'd love to stay for dinner."
Arthur gave Thomas a serious nod as he turned to Jacob, "How was the situation at Farmer Johnson's place? Before I could grab Ellis and head over there after Caleb warned me, the smoke turned white, so I'm assuming that you managed it?"
"Yes," Jacob replied, "there was a little goblin arsonist that got away, but he was headed straight for Oren, so I think his days are limited. There were guards to witness the situation, so Farmer Johnson should be supported by the village to repair the damage. I personally put out the fire and saved the barn animals, so the repair will just be replacing the barn doors and some planks, I think."
Arthur smiled, "Good job, boy. I knew it was alright when Caleb said you flew off faster than a crow chasing some food."
Arthur then tossed the towel back onto its rack. He turned his full attention back to his son, the smile softening into a look of parental focus. "Did you need anything specific from me, Jacob? I've still got several field tasks awaiting my attention before sunset, but I can spare a few minutes."
"Actually, yes," Jacob said, suddenly remembering a forgotten item from his camp return. "I forgot to ask you about this amulet. What should I do with it?"
He held up the Trial Year amulet given to him by the village chief that marked him as a royally protected asset for the duration of his Trial Year. He knew he needed to return it at some point, but he wasn't sure when that would be, at this point.
Arthur's expression quickly turned serious as he began to contemplate the specifics of the village customs. The warm wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out into hard lines of concentration.
He lowered his voice instinctively. "Keep it safe for now. Hold onto it until the winter frosts hit us in a week or two. Our traditions allow for a short extension of the Trial Year for situations such as the one approaching; you'll understand once you turn it in, but we've run into a problem caused during the trial year that opts you into the protection clause. That amulet will provide crucial additional leverage for the baronial inspection, mainly for your personal benefit instead of the protection of the farm. The count's men should arrive in less than a week, given the typical timing of the royal injunction."
Hearing the unexpected mention of a baronial inspection, Thomas narrowed his dark eyes slightly. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, the leather bag creaking.
His curiosity was clearly piqued regarding the high-level political talk, but he kept his lips pressed firmly together, keeping his thoughts entirely to himself out of respect for his host.
Jacob nodded, filing the strategic information away in his mind. He shifted the topic toward his immediate, practical system goals. "Before you head back out to the fields, can we get permission to organize the barn? I have a minor system quest regarding enhancing the organization of the barn, specifically. Thomas can help me finish it quickly before dinner."
"Of course," Arthur agreed immediately, waving a hand toward the large structure without any reservations. "Go right ahead. Quests regarding the farm are nearly always welcome; just let me or Caleb know what you need to work on when you get them. I'm guessing your class is similar to the farmhand class that assigns random menial tasks around the farm for quest experience. Just ensure you leave the main tool bench clear for Bran. He plans to work on the rusted seeder mechanism with Caleb again tonight."
Arthur gave them both a quick parting nod. Then he turned and headed toward the western fields, his boots crunching rhythmically against the gravel.
He left the two boys standing in the yard, ready to turn their attention to the barn that had managed to get a bit out of order with the exploding mallets and tinkerers moving gear and materials in and out of the building.