C8 Chapter 8: A Fragile Respite

Astrea barely remembered how he reached the village.

One moment, he was limping forward, supported by Michaela and surrounded by five wary village guards. The next, he found himself laid out on a simple wooden bed inside a modest house, the scent of medicinal herbs thick in the air.

Pain bloomed across his forearm and shoulder as the adrenaline faded.

"Hold still," Michaela said firmly, her hands steady as she cleaned the scratches with warm water. "If you move again, I'll hit you."

Astrea gave a weak chuckle. "You sound scarier than the beast."

She shot him a glare, though relief softened her eyes. "You're lucky. Very lucky."

Around them, villagers lingered at a distance. Some whispered. Others frowned openly.

"That's the thief," someone muttered.

"I heard he nearly got himself killed again."

"Why waste medicine on him?"

Astrea heard every word. He didn't respond.

He was used to it.

Still, the sting of judgment pressed heavier than the antiseptic on his wounds.

Michaela's parents stood nearby. Her father, a broad-shouldered man with weathered hands, crossed his arms as he watched the treatment. Her mother hovered closer, eyes sharp and calculating.

Her father cleared his throat. "He was with our daughter."

The murmurs quieted slightly.

Her mother added, not unkindly but not warmly either, "If something had happened to Michaela because of him, that would've been unacceptable."

Astrea almost laughed.

So that's how it is.

They weren't helping him because he deserved it.

They were helping him because he had value to their daughter.

Selfish.

Understandable.

Human.

Michaela finished bandaging his arm and shoulder, wrapping them carefully. "You'll need to rest. No running. No climbing. And definitely no forests."

Astrea nodded. "Wasn't planning on a rematch."

One of the guards snorted. "Good."

The villagers lingered a little longer, curiosity and suspicion warring on their faces. Eventually, with his wounds treated and no immediate danger present, they dispersed. Michaela's parents exchanged a look before her father spoke.

"You can rest here tonight," he said. "Tomorrow, you leave."

Astrea inclined his head. "That's more than fair."

Michaela looked relieved, though guilt flickered across her face. "I'll check on you later."

As the room finally emptied and silence settled, Astrea lay back and exhaled deeply.

Alive.

Barely but alive.

A faint shimmer appeared before his eyes.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION:

Mission: Survive the Fledgling Beast — COMPLETED

Reward: 1 Bottle of Healing Potion (Stored)]

Astrea smiled tiredly. "Alright… time to claim my prize."

He focused, reaching instinctively for the inventory.

Nothing happened.

He frowned.

"…Inventory?"

Still nothing.

The smile slowly faded.

"…Inventory."

Silence.

Astrea's eye twitched.

"You've got to be kidding me."

He sat up slightly, ignoring the protest from his wounds. "Hey. System. Where's my reward?"

[SYSTEM RESPONSE:

Access Denied.

Reason: Inventory permission not yet unlocked.]

Astrea stared at the invisible interface.

"…What?"

He took a slow breath. Then another.

"You let me earn it. You showed me the reward. And now you're telling me I can't use it?"

No response.

Astrea clenched his fist. "You absolute—"

He stopped himself, lowering his voice.

"…You absolute menace."

A pause.

Then—

[SYSTEM RESPONSE:

One-Time Courtesy Granted.

Temporary Inventory Access: 3 Days

Reason: Player survival probability critically low.

Note: This courtesy will not be repeated.]

Astrea blinked.

"…That sounded like customer service."

The inventory finally opened.

A single bottle hovered in his awareness, glowing faintly.

Astrea let out a breathy laugh. "Unbelievable. I nearly died, and you're acting like you waived a service fee."

Still, he didn't hesitate.

He retrieved the bottle and carefully drank the contents.

Warmth spread through his body, knitting pain away, easing stiffness, accelerating recovery. The wounds didn't vanish completely but they felt manageable now.

Astrea lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

"Three days," he murmured. "Temporary access."

The relief faded quickly, replaced by urgency.

His thoughts sharpened.

I have six days left.

Six days to find a suitable location.

Six days before failure meant obliteration—no second chances, no reincarnation, no mercy.

He glanced at the simple wooden beams above him.

Rest first.

Heal.

Then plan.

His mind raced despite his exhaustion.

The mountains. The forest depths. Land untouched by beasts or defensible enough to control. Somewhere with resources. Somewhere hidden, yet accessible.

Astrea closed his eyes, jaw tightening.

"This isn't a game," he whispered.

"But if the system wants to treat it like one…"

A faint, dangerous smile curved his lips.

"…then I'll play it properly."

And for the first time since waking in this world, Astrea didn't fall asleep from exhaustion alone but from resolve.