Chapter 3754: Returned in Kind (Part 1) The farmers lived on the outskirts of the village. Their houses were far and isolated, needing space for the cattle pens and henhouses. Also, a farm had to be built near the cultivated fields to keep an eye on the crops at all times. A single wildfire could burn everything during summer, while thefts were a common occurrence during fall, right before harvest. "By the gods, it would take a squad of ten soldiers or a single Awakened to wipe out the entire village." Morok had seen better and worse than Cerea during his tours as a Ranger, but his mind refused to associate such a place with Quylla. "Ten soldiers?" She scoffed. "Maybe if the villagers fought back. As I remember it, five thugs were more than enough." "Five thugs?" Orion wanted to say something in defense of the villagers, but Quylla’s flinty stare stopped him. The people of Cerea sounded the alarm and scurried like terrified rats at the sight of the magical car. Ten youths, covered in leather armor and wielding tools that could be called weapons only because of their sharp-bladed ends, bunched up together in the middle of the main road without a shred of battle formation. "Is that supposed to be the local militia?" Orion shuddered in second-hand embarrassment, his inner drill sergeant dying to yell orders and whip the youths into shape. "Impressive, right?" Quylla grunted as the DoLorean came to a halt. Morok stepped out of the car first, and the sight of his deep green Great Mage robe and his enchanted hammers, Grimnir, made the youths drop their weapons like a bad habit and beg for forgiveness. Then came out Orion, wearing his deep blue Archmage robe over his General of the Army uniform. Grimlock rested on his hip, and although the blade remained sheathed, the wind parted upon its touch as if cut. At that point, Cerea’s militia yelped in terror and ran into their homes, locking the door and praying to the gods it wasn’t them the Archmage was after. Quylla came out last, wearing her deep green Great Mage robe over her best day dress, worthy of the Royal Court. She straightened up despite her bulging belly and moved with a confident stride towards her destination without the need for help. Quylla stopped in front of the best house of the village, a two-story building twice as big as the second-largest house of the village. The wood had been recently painted, and the house showed all the telltale signs of regular maintenance. She knocked on the door thrice and waited for it to open. "Yes?" A terrified young girl who couldn’t be older than six asked. She was holding the door with all her strength, to either stand up or close it shut based on the stranger’s next move. "Tell village head Belam that Great Mage Quylla Ernas, formerly known as Quylla of Cerea, is here to see her." If she felt compassion for her fellow orphan forced into indentured servitude, it didn’t show. "Quylla?" The little girl echoed in disbelief as her eyes widened and awe replaced fear. "That’s me, little sister." Quylla nodded. "Now go." The house wasn’t that big, so even if the young girl hadn’t left the door open, Quylla would have still heard her knocking on the thick door of the basement while relaying the message. "Quylla, sweetie. It’s so good to see you." A plump old woman came to the door a few seconds later, still trying to fix her hair and straighten her dress. "You gave us a big scare. You should have notified us of your-" Belam’s words died in her mouth as Quylla nailed the village head with a cold stare. "Dad, dear, this is my birth village, Cerea." Quylla said, her voice filled with spite. "This is the place I lived after my parents died, and this woman is Belam, the village head. She took care of me until I became the village healer." A long pause followed, allowing Orion to remember how small and scared Quylla was when they had first met. According to Friya’s stories, by then she had already grown up quite a bit thanks to Vastor’s tonic and the White Griffon’s canteen. Morok had met Quylla much later, but she had shared lots of mind links about her past with him. He knew everything and needed sheer willpower not to set Cerea ablaze and spread salt over its ruins. Belam knew everything as well, and the pause served only to make her fear grow. "Or rather, she was supposed to take care of me." Quylla continued. "She could have sent me and the other orphans to the nearest orphanage, but she was so kind and generous that she kept us living with her. As her servants." She pointed at the young girl and used Spirit Magic to force her to expose her ruined fingers. "We had to do all the work in the house and cook, yet we were fed only the scraps of Belam’s table and only if she was satisfied with our work. Before you ask, everyone in the village knew. Everyone in the village knows. They just don’t care." Quylla offered the young girl a loaf of oven-fresh jam bread from her dimensional amulet. The girl looked at Quylla first, then at Belam for permission, and when the village head soiled herself, the girl took it as her cue to eat. Fresh white bread was a luxury for the villagers and a dream for the orphans. More children were lured out of their hiding spots by the delicious smell, and Quylla handed one loaf to each of them. "By six, I was so malnourished that even after becoming the village healer and having regular meals, my body couldn’t recover. By twelve, I looked half my age, and if not for Duke Igha recommending me for the White Griffon, I wouldn’t be half the woman I am today." "Food was scarce." Belam stuttered every word. "I did all I could, but there were too many mouths to feed-" "Don’t you dare lie in front of me, you fat cow." Quylla didn’t need to yell. A sliver of killing intent was all it took to cut the village head short and bring her to her knees. "You had plenty of food. The other orphans and I prepared every meal for your family. "We had to watch you and your children gorge yourselves every day while we starved. We painted your house, washed your floor, and all we got for our labor was a watery soup and a cot to share for the night. "I still remember the day those bandits attacked the village and killed that bastard of your husband. I thought it was the happiest day of my life, but boy, if I was wrong. The happiest day of my life was when you sent me to search the burned-down house of the healer for valuables, and I found his books. "The day when I became valuable enough for the pathetic excuses for humans that live in this village to protect me from you, give me a place to stay, and real food." She turned around, looking at the crowd that now surrounded the trio of nobles.