Accidental Healer

Ellison stood amidst his fellow Guildians, their cheers echoing across the battlefield as the last raider fell—his skull caved in by Durkil’s huge wooden club.

It was over. The stench of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, bodies strewn across the battlefield—silent testaments to the price of victory.

Ellison exhaled, allowing himself a rare moment of relief. They had done it.

He turned his gaze toward Durkil, watching as the young warrior caught his breath. He stood tall, club at his side, his humble clothing painted red with the blood of his enemies. This was always what Durkil was born for. Not toiling away in the mines.

Durkil had been nothing short of heroic during the raids. If he hadn’t been there even with their advantages in the first raid they would’ve failed. Ellison was certain of that.

Ellison had known Durkil’s father, Tenson, before his death. A good man, if not a stubborn one. He had seen that same stubborn fire in Durkil’s eyes these past few weeks.

And now, against all odds—he had survived. Ellison was proud of him. But this was just the beginning.

They had crossed their first major hurdle, but greater trials awaited. For now, however, they could celebrate.

It had been a hard-fought victory. And with it came rewards.

More Guildians would soon arrive, strengthening their numbers. As they completed objectives, their new faction would grow in level—Expanding. Thriving. Surviving.

Ellison couldn’t help but smile. They had been so lucky. It could’ve, no it SHOULD’VE been so different.

Ellison didn’t pray to the immortals like many Guildians. He didn’t believe them to be deity’s, but he did still pray. He prayed to the system. He would never admit to anyone, but he had prayed before the raid. He had even thanked the system for their good tidings.

Was their good fortune a coincidence? The abandoned territory had given them a rare advantage—the chance to fight on the defensive, rather than attack headfirst into unknown dangers. Probably. He had prayed to the system many times and never had answers.

It didn’t stop him. He would continue to pray as he did, it brought him peace of mind.

Now here they were with their very own territory. This was their best chance at survival. And he had no intention of squandering it. But something didn’t sit right.

As the victory cheers faded into the night, he took a deep breath, scanning the strange alien sky above them. This planet was so different then his native land but the distant suns looked the same as they did on Ulm.

The raids were over. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly wonder—Why had this territory been abandoned?

What had driven its former occupants to flee?And more importantly—Were they really alone? There were so many questions that would need answered. For now though they could breathe. He gazed over his faction's new land, its beauty fresh and majestic.

Massive mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks veiled by mist, whispering of hidden ores and untapped riches.

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Thick forest and large trees for building new homes. For now, they had no crafters, that would make things hard at first but that would change in time.

He smiled, letting his shoulders relax–soaking it all in. He was about to join in the celebration with the rest of the Guildians when he froze stone still. His stomach dropped.

His eyes locked onto something in the distance. A figure. No—several.

Silhouetted by the fading light, they stood atop a nearby hill—silent and unmoving. The leader, clad in a simple gray robe, bore a sword across his back, its hilt catching the last rays of the sun.

And beside him…A monstrosity.

A massive, four-legged beast wrapped in flaming orange–yellow hair. Ellison’s blood ran cold.

The creature stood poised, muscles coiling beneath shifting fur. Its predatory aura sent a shiver up Ellison’s spine. This was no ordinary creature.

This was something else entirely. A beast of nightmares. Another silent prayer formed on Ellison’s lips, did the system really listen? For all their sake please let it listen.

His fingers tightened around his weapon. Were the new rewards enough? Would they survive this? Ellison’s pulse quickened. If those figures chose to fight...

He knew deep in his core, it wouldn’t be his people who lived.

-

“Well, what do we think, team?” Layton asked, glancing back at his small group of fighters from Faction LM.

Alex was the first to speak, his deepening voice carrying easily. “After watching them handle the last raid? Honestly, Layton, you or Mischief could probably wipe their whole group out without breaking a sweat.”

Layton looked at him—the guy had grown again. Several inches taller than Layton now, Alex had filled out, his frame thicker with muscle.

The guy was a freak.

Elise spoke up next, her voice quieter but firm. “I feel bad for them.” She hesitated, looking down at the deer-like people celebrating their victory. “They look… happy. Just like us, after a win. Are we really gonna take that from them?”

Layton exhaled. He wanted to believe in peace too.

“I don’t know, Elise. So far, every non-human we’ve run into has had a ‘murder first, ask questions later’ mentality.” And that was the truth—every encounter outside of their own had ended in bloodshed.

“Yeah, but those were raids. Dungeons. System-generated stuff.” Elise folded her arms, watching the deer-people carefully. “These guys? They’re not a raid or a dungeon. And come on, look at them. They’re basically deer people. We have to at least try to talk, right? It’s not like you can’t just slap on one of your stupidly overpowered shields and go supernova if they attack.”

Layton smirked at her not-so-subtle manipulation. Besides it had always been his tradition to try and reason with every enemy they encountered. Why stop now?

Peace was always preferable—he just wasn’t sure it was possible.

“What do you think, buddy?” Layton turned to Mischief, who had grown massive—his head nearly at Layton’s shoulder now. “You wanna go down there and see what they have to say? Might need an interpreter.”

Mischief just nodded.

Layton grinned. “Alright. Let’s go try and make some new friends.”

As they moved toward the group below, Layton saw the deer-people take notice. Weapons shifted in their hands. Their celebration dulled into tense silence.

I raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. Still covering myself and Mischief in a barrier. Just in case.

When we were within twenty yards or so, two of the deer-like people stepped forward cautiously but not outright hostile.

One of them was impossible to miss—the massive, seven-foot-tall club-wielding warrior they had watched during the raid. I noticed how he looked so similar to every raid monster they had faced. They all did.

The other was older, his fur showing streaks of gray through his beard. Mane? I wasn’t exactly sure what to call it.

I take a breath. I’m not worried about fighting, if it came to that I was confident. But this is the first time an alien force didn’t outright attack on sight. Time to see if they’d be different.

“Hello!” I shout. My voice loud but controlled. “My name is Layton! I come in peace, fellow travelers!” I groaned internally, where had this fellow traveler's nonsense come from?

I let out a silent prayer. For once, let this work.

The older deer-man placed a hand over his chest, stepping forward—and then he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Hello, Layton. My name is Ellison of Ulm, and these are the people of my faction. Are you the leader of yours?”

I nearly faint, my jaw dropping to the floor.