The Ultimate Skill System: Absorb, Upgrade, Create, Transfer-Chapter 38 - : Lionkin’s History

The news spread like wildfire through the village: the demons had entered the forest of Fiora once again.

The air grew thick with tension, and the villagers moved with urgency, preparing for the battle that loomed ahead.

The forest was their home, their sanctuary, a place of life and beauty that they could not afford to lose. Everyone worked together, their movements quick and purposeful.

Weapons were gathered, blades sharpened, and armor donned. The Lionkin warriors, tall and imposing, wore armor crafted by Pio.

The armor was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, strong yet light, designed to protect without hindering movement.

Pio stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, watching his creations being worn by his allies. A small, proud smile tugged at his lips. He had poured his heart into every piece, and seeing them now, ready for battle, filled him with a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Keiran emerged from the open area of the village, his presence commanding yet calm. Unlike the others, he wore only thin leather and iron armor. He had always preferred lighter clothing, something that allowed him to move freely and react quickly.

Pio had insisted he wear at least some armor, arguing that it was better than going into battle wearing only pelts. Keiran had reluctantly agreed, though the added weight still felt unfamiliar to him. The armor was simple but well-made, the leather supple and the iron plates polished to a dull shine. It fit him well, but he couldn't help but feel a little constrained.

Leina, standing nearby, watched Keiran with admiration. Her eyes softened as she looked at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

She had always admired his strength and determination, but seeing him now, dressed for battle, made her heart swell with pride. "You look like a proper hero, my lord," she said, her voice warm and sincere.

Keiran shrugged.

Greon approached Keiran and knelt before him, his thick iron gauntlets resting heavily on his knees. He was a brawler, built for close-quarters combat, relying on speed and raw strength.

His thin armor allowed him to move freely, but it was his gauntlets that made him truly dangerous. Newly forged, the iron was smooth and unblemished, their weight perfectly balanced for devastating strikes.

He flexed his fingers, adjusting to the fresh, untested grip. Though the gauntlets lacked the wear of battle, they were crafted for destruction, each plate reinforced to withstand and deliver crushing blows.

They gleamed under the light, untouched by war, but Greon knew it wouldn't be long before they bore the marks of countless fights.

Greon's face was serious as he delivered his report.

"The demons have entered the southern boundary of the forest," he said. "Soon, they will reach the nearest tribe."

Keiran's expression grew serious, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "What tribe is it?" he asked.

"A Cervitaur tribe," Greon answered.

Keiran nodded, his jaw tightening. "Then we don't have time to waste. Let's go."

The group, consisting of fifteen members including Keiran, set off into the forest.

They moved quickly, their footsteps light but determined. The forest was dense, the trees towering above them, their leaves filtering the sunlight into a soft, green glow.

The air was filled with the scent of earth and leaves, and the sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze created a peaceful atmosphere.

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Keiran could have flown ahead, scouting the area or even reaching the tribe faster, but he chose to stay with his companions. They were a team, and he would not leave them behind.

As they traveled, the group stopped briefly by a river to rest. The water was clear and cool, reflecting the sunlight like a mirror.

The riverbank was lined with smooth stones and patches of soft grass, and the sound of the water flowing over the rocks was soothing.

The forest around them was alive with the sounds of nature. Keiran sat by the riverbank, his eyes scanning the horizon. Greon joined him, sitting down with a heavy sigh.

Keiran turned to Greon. "I've heard about your former tribe," he said. "They say your tribe used to be the most powerful in Fiora."

Greon's expression darkened, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Used to be," he said quietly. "My father, the last tribe leader, tried to conquer all of Fiora through force. He almost succeeded, but in the end, he failed. And we lost everything. Now, we are the only ones left."

Keiran nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "I see," he said.

"Fiora is a land of freedom. It's a paradise. My father should have kept it that way." Greon sighed, his eyes filled with regret. "He should have," he said. "But the past cannot be changed. All we can do is protect what remains."

The group continued their journey, moving deeper into the forest. After a few more miles, they finally reached the Cervitaur village.

The village was nestled among the trees, the homes built from wood and leaves, blending seamlessly with the forest. The Cervitaurs were humanoid creatures with the lower bodies of deer and the upper bodies of humans.

The village was a picture of harmony, with small gardens filled with flowers and herbs, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming plants.

As Keiran and the group approached, the villagers grew wary. The sight of a human leading a group of warriors was unusual, and the Cervitaurs were hesitant to trust them.

The old village leader, a tall Cervitaur with a long, gray beard, stepped forward to greet them. His eyes were cautious but not unkind.

Keiran spoke first, his voice calm and steady. "We are here to stop the demon invasion," he said. "They are on their way here, and we want to protect your village."

The villagers' faces lit up with hope. The idea of saviors arriving in their time of need was a relief. But then, Greon and the other Lionkin warriors removed their helmets, revealing their faces.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The Cervitaurs' expressions turned from hope to fear. The old village leader stumbled back, his legs trembling.

"Lionkin!" he gasped, his voice filled with terror. "They still exist! Please, do not kill us! Take whatever you want, but spare my people! Do not harm us!"

Greon and the Lionkin warriors stood silently, their faces filled with sadness. The weight of their past hung heavily over them. Greon stepped forward, trying to reassure the villagers, but the old leader crawled backward, his fear overwhelming him.

"We are not here to take anything," Greon said, his voice calm but firm. "We are here to protect your village from the demons."

But the villagers were too afraid to listen. A group of Cervitaur warriors emerged from the village, holding wooden spears. Their eyes burned with anger and distrust as they pointed their weapons at Greon and the Lionkin.

One of the Cervitaur warriors with red hair stepped forward, his spear aimed at Keiran. "What do you want from us, human?" he demanded. "Why have you brought the most evil beastkin tribe in all of Fiora to our village?"

Keiran looked at the situation, his expression calm but thoughtful. He glanced at Greon, then back at the Cervitaurs. Finally, he nodded, as if understanding something important.

"Now I fully understand," he whispered to himself.