Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 172: Dinner Invitation

"What the fucking fuck, kid?" Percival instinctively reached for his Sword Case before forcing his hand to drop.

Dared didn’t even flinch at the curse. He just stood there in the muddy alleyway, the massive Swamp God Dragon egg clutched tightly against his chest, a grin wide enough to split his dirt-smudged face.

"You were glowing!" Dared whispered loudly, looking at Percival as if he were a god who had just descended from the heavens.

"Like, actual blue fire was leaking out of your eyes for a second! Are you a high-tier Arcanist? But Arcanists don’t use swords. Hmm.. Swordsmen don’t use magic like that either. What was that?!"

Percival pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, ragged breath. He had just formed a Soul Contract with an ancient A-Rank beast, and he was being accosted by a fourteen-year-old fanboy.

"It was none of your business, is what it was," Percival said, his voice dropping back to its usual cold rasp. "I told you to leave. Do you have any idea how fast a Mercenary will slit your throat for what you’re holding? Go home, Dared. Now."

He turned to walk deeper into the alley, intending to circle back to the main road, but he heard the squelch of muddy boots right behind him.

"I am going home," Dared said, keeping pace. "But you have to come with me."

Percival stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"You have to come to my house," Dared insisted, adjusting his grip on the heavy egg. "It’s just on the outskirts of the market district. You have to meet my mom and my sister. I can’t just walk in with a literal Dragon egg and say some terrifying, glowing stranger gave it to me in an alley. My mom will think I stole it!"

"Then tell her you found it in a ditch," Percival deadpanned. "Shoo."

"Please!" Dared stepped in front of him, planting his boots in the mud. He was trembling slightly, either from the weight of the egg or the sheer audacity of blocking a man who looked like he killed people for sport, but his chin was jutted out in stubborn defiance.

"You changed my life today, sir! You changed my family’s life. You’re coming for dinner. We’re having venison stew. It’s really good."

Percival stared at the boy. For a fleeting second, he considered just vanishing into with ⸢Grave Step⸥ . But there was something uniquely enticing about the boy’s invite.

The thought of rest? Shelter? Food?

Yes, maybe food.

"Venison?" Percival asked.

Dared’s face lit up. "With root vegetables. My mom makes the best broth in Crimson City."

Percival sighed, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders. "Fine. Lead the way. But if anyone tries to mug us, I’m using you as a shield."

"Deal!"

Dared’s home was a cramped, single-story cottage with a thatched roof that had seen better days. The wooden door scraped loudly against the uneven floorboards as Dared pushed it open.

Inside smelled incredible. The rich, savory aroma of roasting meat and herbs hit Percival like a physical force, making his stomach give a loud, traitorous rumble.

He hadn’t eaten a proper, hot meal since he left the Wolsend.

"Mom! Lyra! I’m back!" Dared shouted, kicking off his muddy boots. "And I brought a guest!"

A woman emerged from the small kitchen area, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She had kind eyes and premature gray streaks in her brown hair, her face showed how exhausted she was.

"Dared, I told you to be careful at the market, you know how those Bandits—"

Her voice died in her throat as her eyes locked onto the massive, obsidian-and-emerald egg in her son’s arms. Then, she looked up at the towering, cloaked figure standing in her doorway.

"Dared?"

Percival almost turned red cheeked. He didn’t expect to feel so nervous but he was. The situation was alien to him, he felt like a homeless man who followed a boy home with the promise of a meal.

Perhaps that was what he was.

"Mom, this is..." Dared paused, realizing he still didn’t know the man’s name. "This is the sir who gave me my first beast!"

From behind the mother, a girl stepped out. She looked to be around seventeen, wearing a simple linen dress.

She had Dared’s bright green eyes, but where the boy was all sharp angles and mud, she had a soft, striking beauty.

"A beast?" the mother breathed, momentarily looking away from Percival and taking a tentative step forward. "Dared, what rank is that? It’s huge. And it looks expensive... and powerful."

"It’s an A-Rank," Dared said, unable to keep the joy and excitement out of his voice. "A Dragon."

The mother’s knees buckled. Percival moved with preternatural speed, catching her by the elbow before she hit the floor and gently helping her to a wooden chair by the hearth.

"A... an A-Rank?" the sister, Lyra, whispered, her eyes wide as she looked from the egg to Percival. "Who are you?"

"Just a traveler," Percival said smoothly, pulling his cowl back to reveal his face.

Lyra’s breath hitched slightly. Percival’s features captured her immediately. They were ruthless, starting from his jawline covered in dark stubble, his thick, sharp brows, long black hair, and his piercing blue eyes that immediately commanded the room.

A slight flush crept up Lyra’s neck as she took in his rugged, battle-hardened appearance.

"He saved me from some bullies," Dared chimed in, setting the egg down carefully on a padded woven rug near the fireplace. "And then he just gave it to me! He said I had to promise to take good care of it."

The mother looked up at Percival, tears welling in her eyes. "Sir... I don’t know what to say. We are just Farmers from Bulledrin. We have nothing to offer you for something of this magnitude. This... this is a prince’s ransom."

"I don’t need your coin, ma’am," Percival said gently, taking the seat Lyra offered him. "I just needed a promise. And a bowl of that stew, if the offer still stands."

There was silence in the room for a while. Then, Dared’s big grin broke into a laugh. His mother, tears on her face, followed after, then Lyra too.

Like that, the tension in the room broke. And even Percival was forced to chuckle.

The mother wiped her eyes, the laughter illuminating her tired face. "Of course. Of course lyra, fetch the good bowls! Quickly now!"

For the next hour, Percival found himself immersed in a world he had almost forgotten existed.

The cottage was warm, filled with the crackle of the hearth and the animated chatter of a family whose entire future had just been rewritten.

The stew was phenomenal—rich, thick, and perfectly seasoned. Percival ate two large bowls, much to the mother’s delight.

Lyra sat across from him, resting her chin in her hands as she watched him eat. She was unabashedly flirtatious, pouring his ale with a lingering touch of her hand against his, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"So, a mysterious traveler who just hands out dragons," Lyra teased, tilting her head. "Do you have a habit of sweeping into towns and changing people’s lives, sir. Or are we just special?"

Percival paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

He wasn’t obtuse. He knew when someone was flirting with him. He had recognized it with the innkeeper’s daughter back in Wolsend, and he recognized it now.