Chapter 6 Preview - How I Became The World's Strongest Warrior Book 2!

I made it about halfway to The Broken Shield before accepting that Witch was right. I needed actual healing, not just rest. The health potions had stopped the immediate danger, but several deep wounds from the Harbinger's ice spikes still throbbed with each step, and my left arm remained partially numb from the freezing attack.

So instead of turning right toward the inn, I veered left toward the Healers' Guild. At this late hour, most of the specialized healers would be gone, but the emergency services ran 24/7. And if I was lucky, Nelson might be on duty.

The Healers' Guild was housed in a modest three-story building with a distinctive green dome. Unlike the ostentatious Mage College or the imposing Adventurers' Guild, it focused on function over form. The only decorative elements were the stylized staff-and-herbs emblem above the door and the ever-burning green lanterns that marked all healing facilities.

I pushed through the doors into a small reception area where a tired-looking woman sat behind a desk, filling out what appeared to be patient forms. She glanced up at my entrance, her eyes widening slightly at my battered appearance.

"Nature of injuries?" she asked, already reaching for an assessment scroll.

"Multiple lacerations from ice spikes, partial freezing of left arm, general combat fatigue," I replied, giving the simplified version. "Is Nelson available?"

"Nelson?" Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Let me check." She consulted a roster beside her desk. "He's finishing up with another patient. Should be done soon. You can wait in Room Three." She pointed down a hallway to my right.

I nodded and headed in that direction, finding a small treatment room with a padded examination table and various healing implements arranged neatly on the shelves. I sat on the table and took the opportunity to properly assess my condition.

[Health: 111/200]

[Stamina: 87/220]

[Status Effects:]

 - Minor Frostbite (Left Arm): -15% effectiveness, mild pain

 - Laceration (Shoulder): Partially healed, mild pain

 - Laceration (Torso): Partially healed, moderate pain

 - Elemental Exhaustion: -10% to all stats for 2 hours

Not great, but I'd survived worse. The Elemental Exhaustion was new—probably a side effect of extended exposure to the Harbinger's extreme cold aura. The lacerations were uncomfortable but not life-threatening. The frostbite was potentially more problematic if left untreated, though.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?"

I looked up to find Nelson standing in the doorway, his lanky frame leaning against the jamb with casual ease. His colorful tattoos seemed even more vibrant against his pale skin in the clinical lighting of the treatment room.

"Frost Harbinger," I replied.

Nelson stared at me for a solid three seconds before bursting into laughter. "Yeah, right. And I went dancing with the Fairy Queen." He approached, pulling on examination gloves. "Seriously, what kind of monster did this? Ice elemental? Winter wolf pack?"

"Frost Harbinger," I repeated. "World boss, Level 57, killed Dartanion."

Nelson's hands froze in the act of preparing a healing salve. "Wait, you're serious?" His eyes widened as he finally processed my condition more carefully. "You actually fought the thing that killed Dartanion? Alone?"

I nodded.

"Are you insane?" he demanded, his professional demeanor momentarily forgotten. "That thing one-shotted Dartanion! And you just... what, thought you'd pop by for a quick solo kill?"

"It had Pattern Fragments," I explained with a sigh, as if that made everything obvious. "Needed them for potential restoration."

Nelson's mouth opened and closed several times before he found words again. "So you... you went and fought a world boss... alone... on the off chance it might drop something that could maybe help bring Dartanion back?"

"Yes."

"And you survived."

"Obviously."

He shook his head in disbelief, but his hands resumed their work gathering healing supplies.. "You know, I'm a trauma specialist. I've seen a lot of crazy adventurer decisions over the years. This one might take the prize."

I shrugged, then winced as the movement pulled at one of the deeper lacerations.

"Hold still," Nelson instructed, all business now. "Let me see that arm first."

I extended my partially frozen left arm. The skin had an unhealthy bluish tint, and the fingers responded sluggishly to my attempts to move them.

Nelson examined it carefully, his expression growing more focused. "Soul frost damage," he murmured, reaching for a specialized vial of golden liquid. "Not deep enough to cause permanent harm, but close. You're lucky."

"Not luck," I corrected. "Planning and execution."

He snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure you planned to get your arm nearly frozen off by soul frost. Very strategic." He uncorked the vial and applied the golden liquid directly to the affected area. "This'll hurt."

He wasn't kidding. The sensation was like being burned and frozen simultaneously, a paradoxical pain that shot up my entire arm and made my teeth clench involuntarily.

"Sorry," Nelson said, not sounding particularly sorry. "Nature of soul frost treatment. Gotta fight fire with fire, so to speak." He continued working, his movements precise and practiced. "So, you really killed it? The Harbinger?"

"Yes."

"How?" He glanced up briefly from his work. "I mean, Dartanion was no slouch in combat, and it took him out instantly."

"Dual wielding," I said, seeing no reason to overcomplicate the explanation. "Discovered it mid-battle."

Nelson paused again, squinting at me. "You discovered a completely new combat style... in the middle of fighting a world boss... and used it to win?"

"Yes."

He shook his head and resumed treatment. "Only you, Chuck. Only you."

The burning sensation gradually faded from my arm, replaced by pins and needles as normal feeling returned to the previously numb tissue. The color improved too, the unhealthy blue giving way to my normal skin tone.

"You should've told me," Nelson said as he moved on to the lacerations. "I'd have come with you."

"You'd have died," I replied matter-of-factly.

"I could've hidden in the bushes," he countered. "Waited until you needed emergency healing."

I considered this. "Fair point. Didn't think of that."

"Of course you didn't." He applied a different salve to the deep cut on my shoulder. "Because your entire plan was 'kill world boss, get loot, figure out the rest later.' Am I right?"

I shrugged with my good shoulder. "It worked."

Nelson laughed again, the sound echoing in the small treatment room. "I can't argue with results, I guess." He finished with the shoulder wound and moved to the torso laceration. "So, did you get them? The Pattern Fragments?"

"Thirty-seven of them," I confirmed. "Plus a Soul Ice Core and an Ancient Spellbook of Winter. Delivered everything to Witch for analysis."

"Thirty-seven?" Nelson whistled low. "That's... a lot more than I expected. Historical records suggest most Pattern Fragment drops are in the single digits."

"The kill was clean," I explained. "Perfect execution maximizes loot drop potential."

"Of course it does." Nelson rolled his eyes. "God forbid you do anything sub-optimally.”

I accepted the good-natured jab for what it was. Nelson was one of the few people whose humor didn't grate on my nerves, probably because it was never mean-spirited, just observational.

He continued working in silence for a few minutes, applying various healing salves and occasionally channeling restoration energy through his hands. The pain gradually subsided, and I could feel my health and stamina bars filling.

[Health: 111/200 → 195/200]

[Stamina: 87/220 → 210/220]

[Status Effects:]

 - Minor Frostbite: CLEARED

 - Lacerations: CLEARED

 - Elemental Exhaustion: Duration reduced (30 minutes remaining)

"There," Nelson said finally, stepping back to examine his work. "Good as new. Well, almost. The Elemental Exhaustion will wear off on its own, but you should avoid strenuous activity for the next hour or so."

"Define strenuous," I said.

"No fighting world bosses," he replied with a smirk. "Walking to the inn is fine. Eating dinner is encouraged. Maybe even have a conversation that doesn't involve combat statistics."

"Unlikely," I muttered.

Nelson laughed. "Yeah, I figured." He began cleaning up the used supplies. "So what's next after Witch analyzes those fragments?"

"Unknown," I admitted. "Depends on the results. If Dartanion's data pattern is recoverable, we'll need to determine the restoration method."

"Well, count me in," Nelson said firmly. "Whatever you need. Dartanion was..." he paused, something like grief flickering across his features before he controlled it. "He was a good guy. One of the few who never treated healing like a vending machine service."

I nodded, understanding the sentiment even if I wouldn't have expressed it the same way. Dartanion had been... different. Genuine in a way most weren't.

"Anyway," Nelson continued, apparently sensing my discomfort with the emotional turn, "you're all patched up. No charge. Consider it my contribution to Project Resurrection."

"Thanks," I said, standing up and testing my newly healed arm. Full mobility restored, no pain. Nelson was good at his job.

"Just don't make fighting world bosses a habit," he called after me as I headed for the door. "I like my friends alive, even the weird ones who think combat stats are a personality!"

I raised a hand in acknowledgment without turning around. It occurred to me that Nelson had called me a friend, and I hadn't immediately rejected the classification. Interesting.

The walk to The Broken Shield was uneventful, the late hour leaving the streets nearly deserted. A few night guards nodded in greeting as I passed, and a couple of nocturnal adventurers hurried by, likely headed for specialty hunting grounds that only appeared after dark.

The inn was quieter than usual when I arrived, most of the evening crowd having dispersed. A few dedicated drinkers remained at scattered tables, along with what appeared to be a bard quietly practicing in the corner. Martin was behind the bar, polishing glasses. He spotted me immediately, eyes widening slightly at my appearance. Despite Nelson's healing, my armor was still torn and bloodstained, clearly showing signs of serious combat.

"She's been worried sick," Martin said without preamble, jerking his head toward the kitchen. "Barely stopped pacing all night."

I didn't need to ask who "she" was. "Where is she now?"

"Kitchen. Stress cooking." He set down the glass he'd been polishing. "Word is you went after the Harbinger." His tone made it a question.

I nodded once.

"And?"

"It's dead," I replied simply. "For now."

Martin's eyebrows climbed higher. "Alone?"

Another nod.

He studied me for a long moment, then reached beneath the bar and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. "On the house," he said, pouring a generous measure into a clean glass. "Not many can say they've soloed a world boss."

I accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. The liquor burned pleasantly going down, warmth spreading through my chest and taking the last edge off the lingering cold from the Harbinger's domain.

The kitchen door swung open, and Mayra emerged carrying a tray of freshly baked bread. She froze when she saw me, the tray tilting dangerously before she caught herself.

"You're back," she said, her voice unnaturally flat.

"Yes," I confirmed, already sensing something was off about her reaction. I'd expected relief, maybe curiosity about my expedition. Not this strange, controlled stillness.

She set the tray down carefully, wiped her hands on her apron, walked around the bar with measured steps, and stopped directly in front of me.

Then she slapped me.

The sound cracked through the quiet inn, turning heads at the few occupied tables. It wasn't particularly painful, Mayra wasn't very strong, but it was certainly unexpected.

"What was that for?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"What was that for?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You went after the Frost Harbinger! Alone! Without telling anyone! Without backup! Without even saying goodbye!"

Ah. She was angry. That explained the slap and the unusual tone.

"Witch needed the Pattern Fragments," I explained reasonably. "The Harbinger was the only known source."

"I don't care!" The controlled façade cracked completely, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. "You could have died, Chuck! Not just regular death with a respawn penalty! Permanent death!"

"That was unlikely," I countered. "My combat capabilities exceeded the Harbinger's, despite the level difference."

"You didn't know that!" she nearly shouted. "Nobody knew that! That thing killed Dartanion instantly!"

"Dartanion was Level 23 with significantly lower combat proficiencies," I pointed out. "The statistical comparison—"

"Stop it!" Mayra cut me off, actually stomping her foot in frustration. "Just stop with the numbers and statistics! This isn't about optimization or efficiency or whatever other calculating nonsense goes on in your head! This is about you risking permanent death without even saying goodbye to people who care about you!"

I blinked, genuinely startled by her outburst. The emotional reasoning was so alien to my thought process that I struggled to formulate an appropriate response.

"I... didn't think it was relevant," I said finally.

Wrong answer, apparently. Mayra made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob, then suddenly threw her arms around me, burying her face against my chest.

"You idiot," she mumbled into my torn armor. "You absolute, complete idiot."

I stood frozen, arms slightly raised, utterly unprepared for this development. Physical contact wasn't something I typically sought or enjoyed, yet her embrace didn't trigger the usual discomfort. It was... strangely acceptable.

After a moment of awkward stillness, I cautiously lowered my arms to rest lightly on her back. This seemed to be the right move, as she tightened her hold in response.

"Don't ever do that again," she said, voice muffled against my chest. "Promise me."

"Do what?" I asked. "Fight world bosses?"

She pulled back enough to look up at me, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. "Leave without saying goodbye. If you're going to do something stupidly dangerous, at least let me know first."

I considered this request. It seemed reasonable enough, and the cost of compliance was minimal compared to the apparent benefit to her emotional state.

"Agreed," I said with a nod. "I'll inform you before future high-risk expeditions."

This appeared to satisfy her. She pulled back slightly but didn't fully release me, instead reaching up to touch my face with surprising gentleness.

"You really did it, didn't you?" she asked, wonder creeping into her voice. "You actually killed the Harbinger."

"Yes."

“And you got what you needed?” She swallowed. “To help Dartanion?"

"Potentially," I clarified. "Witch is analyzing the fragments now. Their utility remains unconfirmed."

Mayra nodded, then suddenly rose on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "For trying to bring him back."

The kiss was unexpected, causing an odd flutter in my chest that I couldn't immediately categorize. Before I could analyze it further, she stepped back completely, her professional demeanor reasserting itself.

"You must be starving," she said, her tone almost normal again. "Sit. I'll bring you something."

I complied, taking my usual corner table while she disappeared back into the kitchen. Martin caught my eye from behind the bar and gave me a knowing look that I chose not to interpret.

Mayra returned moments later with a tray laden with food, a large bowl of beef stew, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and what appeared to be some kind of fruit pastry.

"Eat," she instructed, setting it all before me. "Every bit of it."

I didn't argue. The battle with the Harbinger had depleted my energy reserves more than I'd realized, and the smell of the food triggered an immediate hunger response. I ate methodically at first, then with increasing enthusiasm as the flavors registered.

[Hearty Beef Stew]

[Quality: Excellent]

[Effects:]

 - Strength +10% (30 minutes)

 - Stamina Regeneration +15% (45 minutes)

 - Health Regeneration +0.5% per minute (60 minutes)

 - Well-Fed: Immune to hunger penalties (4 hours)

[Fresh Baked Bread]

[Quality: Superior]

[Effects:]

 - Vitality +5% (45 minutes)

 - Comfort: Stress effects reduced by 15% (2 hours)

[Roasted Winter Vegetables]

[Quality: Excellent]

[Effects:]

 - Cold Resistance +10% (3 hours)

 - Minor Attribute Boost: +2 to all base attributes (1 hour)

[Apple Cinnamon Tart]

[Quality: Superior]

[Effects:]

 - Intelligence +8% (1 hour)

 - Pleasant Warmth: Immune to minor cold effects (2 hours)

 - Contentment: +5% to all positive emotional responses (3 hours)

The combined stat bonuses were impressive, clearly reflecting Mayra's high Cooking skill. More interesting was the last effect on the dessert, a modifier to emotional responses. I hadn't encountered that particular buff before.

Mayra sat across from me while I ate, watching with obvious satisfaction as I consumed everything on the tray. She occasionally refilled my drink or offered more bread, but otherwise remained uncharacteristically quiet.

"Thank you," I said when I'd finished, genuinely appreciating both the food and the stat bonuses it provided. "That was excellent."

She smiled, the expression softening her features in a way that created another of those strange flutters in my chest.

"You're welcome," she replied. "It's the least I could do for the man who soloed the Frost Harbinger."

I started to correct her, since I didn’t believe it was an achievement worthy of special treatment, but stopped myself. Something told me that particular perspective wouldn't be well received after her earlier outburst.

Instead, I simply nodded, mentally noting the strange social dynamics at play. People seemed to value the concept of gratitude and recognition for actions they deemed impressive, regardless of the practical motivations behind those actions.

"You should get some rest," Mayra said, gathering the empty dishes. "It's late, and you've had... quite a day."

That was an understatement. Between discovering dual wielding, defeating a world boss, leveling up to 20, and potentially acquiring the means to restore Dartanion, it had indeed been "quite a day."

I stood, suddenly aware of the deep fatigue settling into my muscles. Nelson's healing had addressed the injuries, but only rest would fully restore my stamina and mental acuity.

"Goodnight," I said, turning toward the stairs that led to my rented room.

"Wait," Mayra called softly. When I looked back, she seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. "Would... would it be okay if I stayed with you tonight? Just to sleep," she added quickly. "I just... after everything with Dartanion, and you going after the Harbinger... I don't want to be alone."

Something in her expression stopped me from immediately declining. There was a vulnerability there, a need that transcended my usual logistics.

"If you want," I said finally, unsure why I was agreeing but feeling it was somehow the right answer. “You’d do it anyway.”

Relief flooded her features. "Thank you. I'll be up in a few minutes. I just need to finish closing the kitchen."

I nodded and continued upstairs to my room. It was exactly as I'd left it, neat and functional, with the growing stack of Mayra's notes still on the bedside table. I removed my damaged armor, made a mental note to have it repaired tomorrow, and cleaned up briefly using the basin of water always kept fresh by the inn's subtle enchantments.

By the time Mayra knocked softly on the door, I was sitting on the edge of the bed reviewing my status window and considering my Level 20 attribute and skill improvement options.

She entered quietly, now wearing a simple nightdress instead of her work clothes. Her hair was down, making her look younger and somehow more vulnerable.

"Is this really okay?" she asked, lingering by the door.

"Yes," I replied, closing my status window. "It's fine."

She nodded and moved to the bed, slipping under the covers on the far side. I joined her after a moment's hesitation, maintaining a careful distance between us.

We lay in silence for several minutes, the only sound our breathing and the occasional creak from the old inn.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Mayra said finally, her voice barely above a whisper in the darkness.

"Me too," I replied honestly.

She laughed softly, then reached across the space between us to take my hand. Her fingers were warm and surprisingly strong as they intertwined with mine.

"Goodnight, Chuck," she murmured, already sounding half-asleep.

"Goodnight," I responded, finding that I didn't mind the hand-holding as much as I would have expected.

As I drifted toward sleep, my thoughts turned not to combat statistics or grinding efficiency, but to the strange new variables entering my existence. Friendship. Concern for others. Being concerned for. Hands held in darkness.

None of it fit neatly into my optimization framework, yet somehow it didn't feel wrong either. Just... different. A new parameter to incorporate into future calculations.

My last conscious thought before sleep claimed me was that Dartanion would probably have found this development amusing.

And strangely, so did I.