Chapter 45: Teacher

Winter promised to be harsh. One of those ancient, cruel winters that fall without warning and leave behind nothing but bleached bones and stories whispered by the fire. The orcs had already looted supplies; if they returned, the vikings would starve—and so would they, despite the chickens, the eggs, and the hydroponic greenhouses.

And no one here was under any illusions: in this world, survival was not a right, but a privilege wrestled from violence. Argy was helping Glen and Nicky. Derek was hunting: it was his turn to cook, and if the hunt was fruitful, he would share the surplus with the orphanage and the most destitute. A noble gesture, on the surface... or simply the whim of a man who decided, with almost cruel irony, who deserved to eat one more day.

She had been surprised to learn about the existence of a place for children thanks to her son's initiative, deeply involved as he was. It didn't feel like a simple good deed, but rather a calculated decision, almost strategic. Aaron never did anything by chance. The players had built and maintained it with the help of a young widow.

Here, free men and women went off to war; children were often left alone with trusted slaves. Many lost their parents, sometimes both at once. And in that chaos, Aaron had imposed structure, a rule, a form of order where none had existed before.

Under normal circumstances, families would take them in, but times were hard: many children had been abandoned. The survivors became exceptional vikings; the others... died. It was said plainly, accepted without debate. A brutal selection that some, like Derek, seemed almost to enjoy.

Blanche had been deeply disappointed by that mentality. But they lived in a medieval world ruled by magic and gods. If technology broke through, magic and belief would collapse. Their help was strictly limited. And Aaron enforced that limit with icy rigor: he protected the balance the way a chief protects his territory, even if it meant sacrificing what had to be sacrificed.

The very existence of slaves revolted her. She had no desire whatsoever to go to the village—otherwise she might say a thing or two to the chief, the father of Rauõr himself, the equivalent of a crown prince. And deep down, she knew Aaron wouldn't let her. Not out of kindness, but because it would put everyone in danger.

In the end, staying alone with Phoenix, who slept while she trained in the back kitchen, wasn't so bad. Aaron, for his part, had locked himself in his office, abiding by his own rules. Again, it wasn't an escape—it was calculated distance. A leader who observes before he decides.

She had plenty of time to think while leveling up her skills. That's how Derek found her. He came back from the hunt with a doe, which he placed on the work surface beside the weeds and compost.

He was covered in dried blood on his military aviator leather jacket, where he had carried the animal. The metallic smell filled the room, almost suffocating.

"Wow... " Blanche murmured. " Good hunt?"

" Pretty good, yeah. A stag and its doe. I left the male at the orphanage."

There was something falsely light in his voice. As if he were telling a joke only he understood.

She raised an eyebrow. She would never have thought this man altruistic, with such a dark aura. She didn't have time to think further.

Derek lunged at her like lightning, slammed her against the wall in a sharp, controlled motion, his hand crushing her throat. Phoenix leapt, hissing.

"Tss. No reflexes. You survived by chance."

His fingers tightened slightly, just enough to cut off her air without killing her. Just enough to savor it.

"You know, " he continued in a low voice, almost amused, " it's always the same. People like you think they have time. But time... you have to rip it away."

He let her go and stepped back as if nothing had happened. Blanche coughed, spat on the ground.

" What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"You're not worthy of us. Look at yourself: no muscle, thin as a nail, useless. You don't even know how to fight."

He tilted his head slightly, his smile stretching.

" It's fascinating, really. A prey that talks."

"Fuck you, asshole. I could've killed you without lifting a finger."

He shot her a dark look, a nearly unhinged smile.

"Me too. Without the slightest effort. Anyway, you'll die on the first quest that requires fighting without magic. And that won't be long."

He paused, his eyes gleaming with something unsettling.

"And I hope I'm there to see it."

An icy shiver ran through her: she relived her fight against the orc, where she had had nothing on her side.

Derek snickered and left the room, his laughter echoing for a few seconds longer—too long.

He's not wrong. You should take some self-defense lessons, little mouse, Phoenix commented.

Hands on her aching throat, she shot him a dark look, murmured her rest incantation once more, and sighed. What did they all have with her death? It was as if they had bet on it. And some, clearly, were waiting for the show with impatience.

She left the kitchen for her room—there, she would avoid unpleasant encounters. She grabbed a handful of weeds on the way. In the meantime, she would raise her stats. If she didn't know how to fight, she would at least make her life cost dearly.

Argy eventually came to get her for dinner. Exhausted and gloomy, she dragged herself to the mess hall. A sumptuous table awaited her, with perfectly grilled meat on her plate. But the cook could go fry an egg if he expected a thank you.

She didn't speak, despite Nicky clowning around and Glen complaining about having to eat the same dish as at noon. Argy shared two or three rumors from the village. Aaron watched Blanche and Derek in turn, silent but present—like a contained storm.

Then he spoke.

And everything stopped.

" D, after supper, and every night until further notice, you'll give combat lessons to Neige."

It wasn't a suggestion. Not even an ordinary order. It was an irreversible decision, made for the survival of the group.

Blanche's fork fell. Derek burst out laughing without joy.

"You sure?" Argy intervened. "I learned to fight with Uncle D too, I can easily—"

"No," Aaron cut in. "You learned from the best. She must learn from the best too."

His gaze left no room for discussion. He wasn't seeking agreement—only execution.

Derek stopped laughing instantly.

Psychopath.

Blanche nodded, to confirm Phoenix's words. Aaron thought it was for him.

"Perfect. It's settled. D, be gentle: she's still young."

A hint of irony, perhaps. Or a test.

She turned her head toward Derek. Him, gentle? He flashed a predatory smile, almost delighted at the idea.

Blanche swallowed.

The lesson was going to be painful.

But if that was the price to stay alive... then so be it.