Five Years of Saving Chap 13

Valen

Age: 15

Level:17

Location: Fenward Village

The world hadn’t changed much.

The forests still whispered with wind. Rain still fell on old thatched roofs. Smoke still drifted from chimney tops at dawn. But Valen had changed.

The boy who had once limped out of the Fenward Dungeon half-dead and barely breathing was long gone. In his place stood a young man carved by routine and discipline — hardened muscle beneath a plain cloak, calloused hands that no longer trembled when drawing steel.

His presence had shifted. He spoke a bit less. Smiled a little less. People still waved first when they saw him — many had respect for him going to the dungeon solo at this young age. Others with some unease.

That morning, like so many before it, he walked through the wooden doors of the Fenward Adventurer’s Guild just as they were opening. The same building, the same old chairs, the same adventurers nursing hangovers from cheap beer and bruises earned too cheaply.

He moved to the counter, placed a leather pouch on the polished stone.

“Collection job complete,” he said simply. His voice had deepened over the years, quieter but firmer. “Redroot, fevergrass, nightshade caps, and two stone mushrooms.”

The receptionist blinked, then smiled faintly. “All that from the northern forest again? Dangerous with all the spined boars nesting near the cliffs.”

“They kept their distance.”

She pulled out a small ledger and scale, weighing each bundle. “Everything’s clean. Packed properly too. No rot. That’s what we like to see.” A pause, then: “You know you’ve done more gathering jobs than any adventurer in the last three years?”

“I’m Still saving”

Her brows lifted. “You’re serious about that spatial bag, huh?”

“Yep 10 gold”

She tapped her pen against the counter thoughtfully. “You already have a lot probably around 7-8 gold by now surely. You could get a decent weapon or armor set for that.”

“I don’t need new gear.”

“You’ve been using the same bone sword since you were ten.”

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“It hasn’t failed me.”

She gave a quiet laugh but didn’t argue further. In truth, that weapon — made from the remnants of the Bound Warden’s own spine and enchanted marrow — hadn’t dulled once in five years. It was still too heavy for most to wield properly, but Valen had grown into it like it was an extension of his own arm.

“And you’re still avoiding the boss room?” she asked after a pause.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve cleared it five times over by now. Gotten better drops. Maybe even a second-class unlock.”

“I don’t need one yet.”

She hesitated. “You’re not afraid of it… are you?”

Valen didn’t answer. His eyes shifted ever so slightly — not fear, but calculation.

He remembered the sound of his own heartbeat in that room. The blinding pain from overusing Echo Step. The moment just before he passed out, when he felt like something else was watching him from beyond the walls — something deeper, older, waiting.

He didn’t fear the boss.

But he respected what he didn’t understand.

“No need to stir what’s sleeping,” he muttered finally, accepting his coins and updating his ledger.

“Fair enough.”

He turned to go but stopped as one of the side tables quieted. The usual murmurs of casual adventurer gossip went still.

“Hey, Valen.”

A man in a steel-padded cloak stood, arms crossed. A newer face in town — someone who hadn’t known him as the ten-year-old kid. This one was in his mid-twenties, with smooth armor and a too-confident smirk.

“Been hearing you’ve been hogging all the herb jobs,” the man said. “Why not leave some for the rest of us low-ranks, huh?”

Valen stared at him, then said simply, “You’re free to take them if you can reach them before I do. I just prefer them”

The man chuckled but there was irritation in his eyes. “You think you’re better than us just because you’ve got some fancy bone sword and a few years under your belt?”

Valen didn’t respond. Just met his eyes with that same unblinking stare he had when monsters lunged at him in the dark.He didn’t know what to say

The silence grew.

Eventually, the man looked away first.

Valen Gave up and turned to leave with a cloak trailing behind him like the tail of a shadow.

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Outside, the streets were wet from last night’s storm. Rainwater glistened in the gutters. Birds perched atop the rooftops, calling out to a morning still struggling to shake off the fog.

He passed by the baker’s shop. The scent of bread and ash reached his nose, and a boy younger than he’d been when he first entered the dungeon waved from behind the counter.

Valen gave a faint nod. Just enough to be polite.

He continued past the blacksmith’s forge, where Master Clyde — his father — worked quietly over glowing steel. The clang of hammer to metal rang out like a heartbeat. They didn’t speak, but they never needed to. Clyde looked up once, met his son’s eyes, then returned to his work.

Back home, Valen opened a wooden chest hidden beneath loose floorboards. Inside were neat rows of silver and gold coins wrapped in cloth. With today’s earnings added, he was at 8 gold, 26 silver.

Almost there.

Just a little more.

Then he could buy the bag — finally carry more than what fit in a single worn satchel. Then… maybe… he’d go deeper. Maybe back into that boss room. Maybe even further.

But not yet.

He unsheathed his bone sword, inspecting the gleam of its edge. Then stood, stepped outside, and turned toward the dungeon trail.

“Maybe I should try other weapons like daggers that willgo well with some of my other skills”

Tomorrow, he’d take another job. Maybe two.

He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need fame.

He needed freedom — and every coin brought him closer.

He wanted to leave this town after getting a spatial bag so he could take everything he needed