The Ultimate Skill System: Absorb, Upgrade, Create, Transfer-Chapter 39 - : Cervitaurs

Keiran stood in the clearing, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. The late afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of the forest, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. On one side, the Cervitaurs stood in a loose formation, their antlers casting long, jagged shadows across the grass.

Their fur, a mix of earthy browns and soft grays, blended with the natural tones of the forest. Each one held a wooden spear, their tips sharpened to a fine point, and their eyes—large and wary—watched Keiran with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

On the other side, the Lionkin warriors stood tall, their golden fur catching the sunlight in a way that made them seem almost radiant.

Their muscular frames were adorned with light armor, and their weapons—curved blades and short spears—gleamed with a practiced sharpness.

Their faces were calm, but their eyes, sharp and focused. Between these two groups, Keiran stood as a bridge.

The largest of the Cervitaurs, a towering figure with fiery red hair that seemed to glow in the fading light, stepped forward.

His antlers were massive, branching out like the limbs of an ancient tree, and his fur was a deep chestnut brown. His spear, carved from a single piece of hardwood, was polished to a smooth finish, and the tip was darkened with what looked like soot or ash.

His sharp eyes narrowed as he pointed the weapon at Keiran, the tip hovering just a few inches from the human's chest. The others followed his lead, their spears bristling like a wall of thorns.

Keiran, however, did not flinch. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect but not submission.

"I am Keiran Graywood," he said, his voice steady and clear, carrying a quiet authority that seemed to cut through the tension. "I am a hero. Along with my subordinates, we are here to face the demons on their way to this village."

Behind him, Greon and the other Lionkin warriors bowed their heads in unison, their movements smooth and respectful.

The Cervitaurs exchanged uneasy glances, their confusion evident. The village leader, an older Cervitaur with a weathered face and a staff carved with intricate runes, stepped forward.

His fur was a muted gray, and his antlers, though still impressive, showed signs of age, with small cracks and chips along the edges. His voice was hesitant, almost disbelieving.

"A hero?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism. "You claim to be a hero?"

Keiran nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes."

The Cervitaurs murmured among themselves, their voices a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

A human, appearing out of nowhere, declaring himself a hero? It was something out of the tales told around campfires, not something that happened in the real world.

One of the younger Cervitaurs, a lean figure with a mischievous glint in his eye and a patch of white fur on his chest, couldn't hold back a laugh.

His spear, though smaller than the others, was no less sharp, and he twirled it idly in his hands as he spoke.

"Do you want me to believe that?" he scoffed. "A level 10 human? A hero? Don't joke with us!"

Keiran's gaze didn't waver. He turned to the young Cervitaur, his voice calm but firm. "The demons are already within a critical distance. Ten kilometers away. It's either you cooperate with us, or you let your fate unfold as it will."

The laughter died in the young Cervitaur's throat, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.

Another Cervitaur, this one with a scar running down his cheek and a patch of fur missing from his left shoulder, stepped forward. His voice was low, almost a growl. "I don't work with Lionkin."

The village leader raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. He finally managed to stand up properly and approached Keiran. His eyes, though aged, were sharp and probing. "How do you know they are near?" he asked.

Keiran's response was immediate. "I can feel them. I can see their mana. That's also the reason why I know that in this village, there are only four capable combatants." He paused, then pointed toward the dense forest to the east. "And the fifth one is currently with the others, escaping. You who remain here are just buying time for them to flee."

The Cervitaurs stared at him, their jaws slack. Keiran's words had struck a nerve, cutting through their defenses with unnerving precision. The village leader's grip on his staff tightened, his knuckles whitening. He looked at Keiran, his eyes searching for any hint of deception, but found none.

Keiran's gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. He wasn't the type to sugarcoat things, and he had no patience for long explanations. He spoke plainly, his words carrying the weight of truth.

"They won't survive," he said. "The escaping group will meet a smaller army of demons at the intersection."

The old village leader's legs gave out, and he sank to his knees. The hope that had flickered in his eyes moments ago was now extinguished, replaced by a hollow despair.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Around him, the Cervitaurs lowered their weapons, their shoulders slumping. Tears welled in the eyes of some, their resolve crumbling under the weight of Keiran's words.

"One after another," the village leader whispered, his voice trembling. "Tribes have been annihilated by the demons. Now it's our turn to be wiped out. There's no hope for us."

Keiran's voice cut through the despair like a blade. "They can be saved."

The village leader looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and fragile hope. "What did you say?"

Keiran's tone was firm, unwavering. "They can be saved. Just say the word."

The village leader hesitated, his mind racing. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please... save our people. We are willing to pay whatever you want in return."

Keiran shook his head. "I need no payment."

With a wave of his hand, he turned to Greon. The Lionkin warrior stepped forward, his golden eyes gleaming with determination.

"Greon," Keiran said, "save the others. Bring everyone with you."

Greon hesitated, his brow furrowing. "What about you, my lord?"

Keiran's expression didn't change. "I'll be fighting the demon's main force here."

Without another word, Greon nodded and turned, sprinting into the forest with the other Lionkin warriors close behind.

The Cervitaurs watched them go, their expressions a mix of awe and confusion.

The red-haired Cervitaur, who had been the most vocal in his skepticism, stepped forward. His voice was hesitant, but there was a newfound respect in his tone.

"You're fighting the demons alone?" he asked.

Keiran turned to him, his gaze piercing. "What is your name?"

The Cervitaur straightened, his chest puffing out slightly. "Agwil Itinali. Son of the current village leader, Ihalot Itinali."

[Common: Cervitaur — Level 21.]

Keiran studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Agwil, do you want to work for me?"

Agwil blinked, caught off guard by the question. He glanced at his fellow Cervitaurs, then back at Keiran. "I don't even know if I'll survive this," he admitted.

Keiran turned away, his attention already shifting to the horizon. "Prepare," he said. "The demons are flying."

Agwil hesitated, then nodded. His doubt toward Keiran was fading, replaced by a growing sense of determination.

He gripped his spear tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. Around him, the other Cervitaurs exchanged uneasy glances, but they, too, began to ready themselves.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the distant rustle of leaves. Keiran stood at the center of it all, a lone figure against the coming storm.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the first signs of the demon army were beginning to appear. The battle was coming, and with it, the chance to prove himself—not just as a hero, but as a leader.

The Cervitaurs, once skeptical, now stood beside him, their weapons at the ready. Agwil glanced at Keiran, his earlier doubts replaced by a flicker of hope.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this human was more than he seemed. And perhaps, against all odds, they might just survive the night.