“Ugh, thank the gods I won''t have to deal with this any longer.” The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood as a man stood tall, his armored frame silhouetted against the fading light of the setting sun. His heavy plate armor, worn and dented from the brutal battle, reflected the dimming sunlight in a sharp glint of gold and steel. His breath came in slow, controlled bursts, and the piles of bodies that lay around him began to stink up the air as the man in question grabbed his sword, pulling it out of the chest of the giant ogre he had been fighting moments ago, his body almost collapsing onto the ground in exhaustion as he moved.


    As the man straightened up, his sword dripping with thick, black blood, he allowed himself a brief moment to survey the carnage. The battlefield was littered with the remains of men, beasts, and monsters alike. Broken weapons, shattered shields, and tattered banners lay scattered across the blood-soaked earth. It had been a long battle, and by the time it was done, he was, along with a few others, the only remaining survivor.


    “So... this is victory, huh?” he muttered under his breath, his voice a bit hoarse from all the exhaustion he was feeling. His hand fumbled in his pocket for a waterskin but was disappointed that he couldn''t find one. He wiped a gauntleted hand across his face, smearing a bit of dirt and blood across his cheek, but he didn''t really care. At the very least, he could get clean later when he was back home. The cold wind blew through the battlefield, carrying the acrid scent of smoke and death, and for the sake of his warriors, he had to resist vomiting from the smell.


    Stepping carefully over the lifeless bodies that littered the ground, he moved forward, his steps eventually coming to a halt as his breath caught in his throat. Lying on the ground, with a hundred wooden arrows piercing his chest, was his best friend, whom he had known for years. His eyes were still open, but the fear he had been expecting from his expression was completely gone, his friend''s face hardening in resolve as his lifeless eyes looked at the sky. At the sight, his chest tightened as he knelt slowly beside the lifeless body. He couldn''t hold it anymore, and the tears just burst out of his eyes.


    It was weak to cry on the battlefield, and not only that, it was disrespectful. The souls of his brethren could never move on if he didn''t let them, but he just sat there, unable to control the tears that fell from his eyes.


    His gloved hand trembled as he reached forward, gently closing his friend’s unseeing eyes. "You deserved better," he whispered, his voice raw with grief. "We all did." And he continued... he didn''t know when, but eventually it had begun to rain.


    "Crow!" The sharp cry of a bird pierced the air, drawing his attention upward. His eyes tracked its flight, watching as it moved in the air, weaving and circling above the scattered bodies of the fallen. The bird itself was an odd creature, since at this current time it should normally be in a cave or under a tree to protect itself from the rain, but his suspicion told him that the crow wasn''t a regular bird. Eventually, it decided to land, and slowly, the shape of the bird blurred and shifted, its form stretching and reshaping until the wings were no more, replaced by the figure of a man.


    “State your business, shapeshifter!” The man''s voice cracked, the sword in his hand felt too heavy to continue another battle, but he didn''t let that show. Shapeshifters were very opportunistic, and if his suspicion was right, this creature could be gauging whether he would be a good meal. His gauntleted fingers twitched, but he didn’t raise the blade.


    “I have only to deliver you a message, Lord Paul.” Paul''s brow furrowed. "And what may that be?" The man reached into his satchel, grabbing out a small piece of paper before throwing it at him. He caught it in mid-air, quickly opening it to examine its contents.


    “Very well then, tell my wife that I have received her note and ask her to prepare a festival for my friend, who sadly fell on the battlefield. I would like to give him and my other men a party to honor them and their families, commemorating the dead and celebrating the ones who fought alongside us and are still alive.”


    The shapeshifter bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Your wishes will be carried out, Lord Paul." And with that, he assumed the form of a dragon before flying off into the distance.


    <hr>


    The little flame creature chirped in response to his comment, the sound reminding him of the crackling of dry leaves in a fire, and it tilted its head again as if curious. “I don''t have any idea what to call you.” The little creature tilted its head the other way at his words, letting out another soft chirp. It hopped down from his shoulder onto his lap, its tiny flame-like wings flickering softly as it peered up at him from the cage.


    He knew it could talk since every homunculus type that had a magical affinity generally had the ability to speak. But, for some reason, it didn''t want to speak to him, which was fine for the moment. He just stared at the little guy, watching it hop around in the cage with curiosity. Averting his gaze from it, he turned to grab his grimoire that was lying on the floor. Opening the page to the 6th chapter of the book, his eyes searched for a while until they landed on the description for a homunculus.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Soul bonding was off the table since he didn''t have any idea how to cast any spells beyond a basic fireball, so he needed to find another way to bind the homunculi to him. The page on homunculi had a detailed section on bonding methods. Most of them were complex rituals requiring mastery over specific branches of magic, particularly soul tethering and binding glyphs, which were, unfortunately, well beyond his current capabilities. He frowned as his eyes skimmed over the dense text, searching for a simpler method.


    Unfortunately for him, though, though, there were none. Simpler methods didn''t exist, and the ones that did were very dangerous for very obvious reasons. Developing a relationship with the homunculi he was supposed to be the master of was perilous since they could start developing the wrong ideas and rebel against him. The books laid out various scenarios that could and would absolutely happen with every simpler method they provided, which didn''t sound very pleasing to him. ''A servant should never start thinking that it is better than the master.'' That was the final note in the chapter, and he had to close it since that was all the book had to offer in terms of its knowledge on homunculize.


    Sighing, he set the grimoire aside with a quiet thud, glancing down at the little creature that was looking up at him with an expecting gaze. It looked a little cute, but the way its eyes looked at him kind of reminded him of an actual person, which was, in itself, a bit disturbing. Deciding not to think much of it, though, he reached into the cage and gave it a pat on the head. It was magic, so he didn''t think any further than that. Pulling on his own mana a bit, he shaped it into a small ball before offering it to the creature.


    It didn’t even hesitate for a second. It hopped eagerly onto his hand and quickly began gobbling down the small offerings of mana he had conjured, its feathers fluttering in delight. At that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh softly at how quickly it had accepted him. It was almost as if the creature had been waiting for this moment, its tiny beak nipping at the mana with surprising enthusiasm. “Guess you were hungry, huh?” he chuckled, giving it a few more small orbs of mana. The creature responded with a satisfied chirp, its molten-gold eyes sparkling as it flitted about, clearly pleased.


    He then gently reached up to grab the small cage by its top handle, lifting it carefully so as not to disturb the creature. He set it down on his desk beside his bed, positioning it so the creature had a bit of space to move around and enough sunlight to be warm. “I’ll come see you later, okay?” he said softly, giving the little homunculus a warm smile. The little flame creature blinked at him, letting out a soft crackle that sounded suspiciously like a contented sigh. It hopped onto the perch inside the cage, curling its tiny flame-like body into a resting position. “Cute,” he said, smiling again at the sight.


    “Rest up, little guy. I’ll figure out what to call you later.” He stood, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. His body still felt a bit sluggish and awkward to move around, and he knew that pushing himself too hard would probably do more harm than good. Maybe a walk around the village would help clear his mind and give him some inspiration for a name.


    <hr>


    Brida whistled a jaunty tune as she made her way down the corridor, the pouch of coins resting in her back pocket jingling lightly as she moved through the tinsel estate, her footsteps following shortly after as an ear-to-ear smile hung on her face. Her grin hadn’t faded since she left the lad’s room. Thalos was a curious one and not at all what she’d expected when Beatrice had told her about him. To be honest, she was expecting an arrogant boy, especially since elves were known to have a tree up their ass, but the fragile-looking, a bit awkward, and not yet comfortable in his skin boy had not been at all what she was expecting. He was sharp-eyed and polite, which she liked and was abnormally polite despite her being a dwarf.


    “Good lad,” she muttered to herself, her thick boots thudding softly against the stone floor. “Anna’s done well with him.” Reaching the end of the hallway, she paused to adjust the thick leather straps of her apron. The pouch of coins was safely tucked into her belt, but she patted it absentmindedly, reassured by its weight. It wasn’t often she asked for favors, but after a long week of forging and mending tools for the village, and of course handling the delicate task of crafting the chieftain''s sword, she figured she’d earned a night off. A drink or two at the tavern would do her good. Maybe three, if old Garrik was pouring.


    The only thing that soured her day was seeing that woman walking around the estate without a care in the world, but she didn''t let it linger in her mind.


    After placing the staff key that she had back into the front pocket of the back door''s room leading out of the estate, she quickly took off her maid''s suit before donning her armor and leaving the house. The village outside was already coming to life as the evening drew closer. Some of the village children darted through the streets, laughing and shouting as they chased each other around the market stalls that had begun to close for the day. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat lingered in the air, and for a moment, she almost discarded the idea of drinks in favor of food but stopped herself.


    ‘A true dwarf would always prioritize mead and vín before food,'' she reminded herself. With that thought, Brida straightened her back and made her way toward the center of the village, where the old tavern was. It was a sturdy, squat building made from brown oak wood, with ivy creeping up the sides and a faded wooden sign swinging above the entrance.


    The carved image of a frothing mug was barely visible anymore due to being worn down by so many years of rain and the elements, but she didn''t really mind. Pushing open the door of the tavern, Brida was greeted by the familiar sounds of laughter, the clatter of mugs, and the deep, hearty voice of Garrik, the tavern keeper, calling out orders from behind the bar. The air inside was warm and thick with the smell of mead, smoke, and stew. It was just the way she liked it. "Brida, ye old warhammer!" Garrik bellowed, spotting her immediately. He was a massive man with a beard almost as impressive as hers, though his was a bit scruffier. "Come to drink me dry again, have ye?”


    "Aye, Garrik. Someone’s gotta keep you in business," Brida shot back with a grin, making her way to the bar. She slapped the pouch of coins onto the counter, a smile on her lips all the while. "Pour me something strong, and keep it flowing." Garrik chuckled and reached for an earthenware mug. As he poured, Brida glanced around the tavern. It was bustling, as usual, with villagers and travelers alike. People laughed all around her, and some even returned her stare with a friendly gesture in her direction.


    Brida took her mug with a nod of thanks and raised it in a small toast to Garrik before taking a long swig. The mead was strong and sweet, with a pleasant burn that spread down her throat and warmed her chest. The sudden news of the mistress''s son’s awakening was shocking, but to her, it was a blessing. Now she just had to figure out a way to deal with Garrik and everyone else who might try to ask her to pair their daughters with the boy.