After the Battle, "Not Bad Spoils"

After the battle ended, the caravan stood rooted to the spot.

No one had yet recovered from the bloody battle or Cui Ciyou's godlike arrival.

Everyone's gazes, as if drawn by a magnet, fell in unison upon the black-haired young man standing in the center of the camp, blood spattered across his body—Cui Ciyou.

Their eyes were filled with shock, confusion... and a trace of undisguised awe.

His fighting just now had completely surpassed anything she understood. Captain Carl's heart churned like stormy seas.

Especially that bizarre ability of his that rendered battle aura and magic completely useless! What kind of power was that?

Compared with that, though his swordsmanship appeared powerful, it did not belong to any known school. He had purely relied on terrifying physical abilities to crush his opponents. What a monstrous fellow!

Carl gave Cui Ciyou a deep look, then, supported by her son Dak, walked toward the rest of the caravan.

A deathly silence descended upon the camp, but what hung in the air was not despair.

It was the daze of surviving a catastrophe, along with profound gratitude toward Cui Ciyou.

The bonfire crackled, illuminating the mess strewn across the ground—corpses and blood.

The thick stench of blood mingled with sweat and burnt flesh, forming a heavy, nauseating atmosphere.

Every caravan member was wounded. Captain Carl and her son Dak included, all were exhausted.

They supported one another or leaned against the wagons, gasping heavily.

After counting their numbers, they found that although several people had suffered severe injuries and would be unable to fight again for some time,

thankfully, not a single person had died. In the situation just now, when death had seemed certain, it was practically an unbelievable miracle.

And the person who had created that miracle stood in the center of the camp, silently and carefully wiping blood from his blade with a rag.

All the surviving guards, Carl and Dak included, looked at him with exceedingly complicated expressions.

This cold-looking man in strange clothes had saved them.

He had done so in a way that completely overturned everything they knew, relying on that bizarre "anti-magic" ability and immense physical strength.

He had cut down most of the bandits as easily as slicing vegetables, even instantly killing that mage and forcibly changing the fate that should have ended with their total annihilation.

"Who... who exactly is he? And what is that power?"

Dak clutched his still-bleeding shoulder and asked his mother in a trembling voice.

The way he looked at Cui Ciyou was filled with a teenage boy's longing and worship for powerful strength.

"I don't know either..." Carl shook her head, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and blood loss.

"But he... saved every one of us."

"His fighting style... I have never seen anything like it. He does not rely on battle aura or technique at all, only on overwhelming physical prowess."

"Before him, the three great swordsmanship schools seem to have... lost all meaning."

The other guards also murmured among themselves, their words filled with shock at Cui Ciyou's bizarre ability and terrifying strength.

A long while later, when Cui Ciyou had finally wiped away the last trace of blood from his blade and slowly slid it back into the leather scabbard he had "borrowed" from a bandit's waist,

Carl, supported by Dak, finally endured her pain and dragged her heavy steps over to Cui Ciyou.

This time, she directly and solemnly bowed deeply to Cui Ciyou, using the most formal etiquette she knew.

In a hoarse voice full of sincere emotion, she said—even though Cui Ciyou could not understand the specific meaning:

"...A long string of words expressing the highest respect and gratitude..."

Then Carl straightened up and gazed firmly at Cui Ciyou.

She solemnly extended her rough right hand, covered in calluses and fresh wounds, her eyes full of sincerity and intense gratitude.

Cui Ciyou quietly looked at the gratitude in her eyes. After a moment of silence, he extended his right hand as well and clasped the hand she offered.

Their hands gripped tightly together, symbolizing a fledgling trust and acceptance.

On the night after the battle, no one was destined to sleep peacefully.

Disposing of the corpses, treating the wounded, reinforcing their defenses, rearranging the night watch...

Under Carl's command, the guards endured their exhaustion and carried out the aftermath in an orderly fashion.

Cui Ciyou did not take part in any of it, nor did anyone ask him to.

He sat alone beside the bonfire, silently regulating his breathing to recover while continuously reflecting on and analyzing his abilities.

"The 'Anti-Magic Field'... a radius of three to five meters... absolute nullification..."

"It seems to possess an 'absorption' trait... the drain on me... does not seem great? At least, I recover very quickly..."

Cui Ciyou carefully sensed the flow of that strange power within his body and its relationship to the speed of his physical recovery. "My physical abilities... strength and speed are absolute advantages, but technique... is a fatal weakness.

I have to learn this world's combat techniques as soon as possible. Otherwise, if I encounter a true expert, I will probably suffer badly."

Just as Cui Ciyou was deep in thought, Carl walked over.

She had already given her wounds basic treatment. Her face was still pale, but she looked much more alert.

She held a clean leather waterskin and the bark cup Cui Ciyou had used earlier, gesturing for him to drink.

Then she pointed at the sword wound on Cui Ciyou's right arm. Though the bleeding had stopped, it was still red and swollen.

She took out a small jar of ointment with a cool herbal scent and gestured for him to apply it.

Seeing the sincere concern in her eyes, Cui Ciyou felt a faint warmth in his heart. He silently accepted the things and nodded.

Carl grinned at that, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.

She sat down beside Cui Ciyou and then, as naturally as if she were a patient teacher, began "language lessons."

She pointed at the bonfire and clearly pronounced the syllables for "fire." "Fi... ra? Fira?"

Cui Ciyou listened attentively and tried to imitate her. "Fi... ra..."

Carl nodded, then pointed at the waterskin. "A... qua? Aqua?"

"A... qua..."

Then came "sword," "wound," "medicine," "thank you," "you're welcome"...

She pointed at herself and solemnly said, "Carl."

Then she pointed at Dak, who was watching them curiously nearby and whose injuries were not too serious, and said, "Dak."

Cui Ciyou tried hard to connect those pronunciations with their meanings and commit them to memory.

"Carl... Dak..." he repeated quietly.

"Cui... Ciyou." Cui Ciyou pointed at himself too and said his name in standard Chinese.

But when he saw Carl and Dak awkwardly trying to imitate it as "Chui... chi... yo," the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Several other guards with lighter injuries also gathered around, joining this unusual language lesson.

They chattered away, using all kinds of gestures, expressions, and repeated pronunciations as they tried to help Cui Ciyou understand more words:

"Sky," "earth," "tree," "stone."

..."Eat," "drink,"

..."Danger," "safe"...

The bonfire crackled, illuminating a group of people gathered around one man.

These unexpected "spoils" seemed... not too bad after all.

At the very least, they had shown him kindness in this unfamiliar other world.

Cui Ciyou silently rubbed the rough leather waterskin in his hand, filled with clear water, as he thought this.

Unnoticed by anyone, the corner of his mouth lifted once more into a faint smile from the heart, full of relief.