The three of us walked toward our destination, shrouded in a silence so thick it felt like walking through fog.
The kind of awkwardness that didn't just hang in the air—it suffocated it.
It wasn't just uncomfortable. It was downright weird. Borderline surreal.
I took the lead, deliberately putting some distance between us.
My footsteps were slow but steady, crunching over the dry earth, while behind me, the two of them shifted uncomfortably with every step.
They walked like unsure ducklings trailing after their mother, too afraid to close the gap and too embarrassed to stay behind.
And yeah... in this ridiculous analogy, I was the mother duck.
The whole image would've made me laugh under any other circumstance, but right now, humor was the last thing on my mind.
I couldn't really blame them, though.
Last night… was something else entirely.
It was one of those moments where emotions ran too high, thoughts blurred, and logic got thrown right out the fucking window.
A moment driven by impulse and by heat.
Not just from bodies, but from the weight of tension we had been trying to ignore for too long.
And in the aftermath… what remained was this lingering, unshakable awkwardness.
Yeah, I could assume we were all just victims of the moment, swept up in something we didn't entirely understand.
And honestly, I didn't blame them if they were cringing on the inside thinking about how it all played out.
Not that I had any complaints. I mean, let's be real.
I wasn't exactly suffering from it.
In fact, my body still remembered the warmth. The pressure. The closeness.
But even with that satisfaction lingering in my limbs, I couldn't stop the sigh that escaped my lips.
My old man's voice echoed in the back of my mind.
He used to say, "Chase one ass at a time, son. That's how you win in the long run."
He'd say it with this ridiculous mix of smugness and sincerity with his brow furrowed, eyes squinting like a wise old sage dispensing sacred life lessons, while he nursed a cup of whatever piss-smelling alcohol he liked to drink.
He told me that men in our family were born cursed, with an unrelenting hunger for women. And he wore that curse like a badge of honor.
With a look of pride, he once said to me, "I'm loyal to your mother now, but when I was your age, I chased skirts like a dog chasing carriages. I would've loved to teach you the art of seduction, son—but with your dried-up fish personality, I doubt it would've worked. So for your own good—for stability and balance—just chase one ass. That ass being Alice."
To this day, I still don't know if I should've felt insulted, horrified, or honored.
Probably all three.
He never shut up about his "adventuring days."
How wild he used to be.
How he'd bedded one of his own party members.
How he charmed a noble lady into his bed like it was nothing.
Hell, he even bragged about having a threesome with both of them.
I used to think it was just old man nonsense. A drunk talking shit.
But the way he always repeated it, grinning like a madman...
It made me wonder if there was some truth to it.
And every single time my mother heard him start on that topic, she'd appear like a ghost summoned by pure rage.
Her smile would freeze the room.
Her knife would be in hand, glinting near her face. And she'd say, in a voice colder than death, "Dear, what did you just say?"
That smile never reached her eyes. And my dad? He'd start scrambling like a cornered animal, trying to spin his way out of it.
Honestly… right now, I might be in a similar position.
Well—not exactly.
I didn't fuck either of them.
But still… I had no idea what to even call this situation between us now.
Friends with benefits?
No. That sounded disgusting. Gross. Completely off.
But honestly, I had no better answer.
I glanced back just enough to speak, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.
"It looks like we're almost there," I said, just loud enough for them to hear.
Up ahead, past the uneven terrain and over the last stretch of rising ground, was the village.
Its silhouette had finally come into view beyond the treeline.
After days of trekking through dust, dirt, and tension...
We were finally close.
I couldn't help but reflect on just how many things could've been avoided—how many awkward, uncomfortable, and downright ridiculous moments—if only Cecilia had brought a sleeping bag with her from the start.
Seriously, a damn sleeping bag.
Out here in the wilderness, it wasn't just a luxury—it was a borderline necessity.
A sleeping bag wasn't just for lying down on.
It was like a personal fortress.
It gave you something soft to rest your aching back on, something to wrap around you like a warm embrace when the cold of night bit at your skin.
It shielded you from the buzzing, crawling pests that lurked in the grass and trees, waiting to make a meal out of any exposed flesh.
It kept the cold from seeping into your bones.
And finally—finally—we were about to buy one for her.
That should've made me feel relieved. Like a burden had been lifted. But…
Something itched at the back of my mind.
If I got Cecilia her own sleeping bag, then that would mean the three of us were now fully equipped.
Each of us would have our own.
No more sharing. No more awkward arrangements. No more cramped spaces under the same blanket.
That should have felt like progress.
But instead, the idea left behind a strange, bitter aftertaste in my mouth, like something mildly sour you couldn't quite spit out.
I glanced to the side, just enough to steal a glimpse at the two girls following closely behind me—almost like baby chicks following their mama hen.
If Cecilia had her own sleeping bag, then the goddess wouldn't need to slip into mine anymore.
And without that… would the things that happened between the three of us ever happen again?
I squeezed my eyes shut and gave my head a quick shake. No. This is a good thing. Right? This is how it should be.
So why… why did it still leave me feeling unsatisfied?
That bitter sensation lingered like the ghost of a taste on the tip of my tongue.
But before I could drown any deeper in my thoughts, we arrived closer to the village—and that's when I noticed something off.
Like a tiny tug in my gut. A feeling that didn't quite sit right.
"…Huh? Where are the people?"
The village should've been lively.
There were stalls set up like they hosted a small market, ready for trade and chatter, but not a single soul was in sight.
Not a child playing, not a merchant shouting, not even the scent of freshly baked bread in the air. Nothing.
The place was dead quiet.
"There should've been people here," I muttered under my breath.
"My Presence Detection skill is picking up a lot of presences," Cecilia suddenly said, her voice calm but focused.
"Presence Detection… what now?" I blinked at her, genuinely caught off guard.
She blushed, a faint red coloring her cheeks. "I-It's one of the perks of having the Sword Master's Blessing," she explained, scratching her cheek and turning her gaze away shyly.
My eyes flicked away too, uncomfortably.
Goddamn it… why was she acting so damn cute right now?
Anyway—what the hell? I didn't even know blessings came with special skills.
"Wait," the goddess spoke up, staring at me. "You seriously didn't know?"
"Didn't know what?"
"That when you receive a blessing, you get a set of skills with it."
My brain stalled. "Huh?! Wait, are you telling me I actually have that kind of stuff too? Why the hell didn't you tell me earlier?!"
She gave me a deadpan look. "Uh, duh? Maybe because you punched me in the face, remember?!"
"W-Wait, punched? Wha—?"
Cecilia tilted her head between us, obviously confused by the whole back-and-forth.
Well… we hadn't exactly told her the specifics of our first meeting. So her being baffled was completely fair.
Then—suddenly—Cecilia stiffened.
Her back went rigid like she'd just touched ice.
"U-Um…" she whispered. "I don't think the presences I'm detecting… are human."
"…Huh?"
Both the goddess and I turned to her, expressions shifting from confusion to alertness.
And that's when we noticed it.
From the shadows at the edge of the market, a voice echoed out, laced with arrogance and malice.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here? Adventurers, huh?" the man said, stepping into view like he was some kind of stage actor revealing himself on cue.
He wore a ragged cloak that fluttered slightly with each step, dust trailing behind his boots.
His face was twisted into a smug grin, his eyes gleaming with something predatory.
At each hip, he had a sword sheathed, and his posture screamed arrogance. His lips curled into a lecherous smirk.
But it wasn't just him.
Around him—gray wolves.
Dozens of them.
Their yellow eyes glinted beneath the shadows, their low growls sending vibrations through the ground.
But it wasn't only wolves.
Other beasts too.
Creatures native to these lands. Some furred, others scaled. All of them glaring at us.
And behind that man… was a group of thugs dressed in similarly tattered clothing, carrying weapons and the same greedy look in their eyes.
Bandits.
"It's them, boss!" one of them shouted, jabbing a finger in our direction.
I squinted. I recognized him.
One of the bastards who attacked Cecilia's village.
"Oh?" the leader's smirk widened as his gaze swept across Cecilia and the goddess. "Them, huh? Now this just got a whole lot more interesting…"
His tongue slid over his lips.
He looked at us like we were prizes to be won. Or meat to be claimed.
"I'm in a pretty good mood today, so here's the deal," he said. "How about you three just surrender, huh? I promise—no harm will come to any of you."
Then he shifted his eyes to me, dismissing me like I was an afterthought.
"In return, the lad goes back to where he belongs, and the two of you lovely ladies stay here with us. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"