A Mother and her Daughter!

The Simulation energy within Harry had remained dormant for far too long. Ever since he arrived in this simulation world, the Simulation Coin had slipped into an odd state of silence, rendering many of its functions useless and drastically reducing his ability to gather energy.

Over the past five years, he had conducted numerous experiments, hoping to coax the energy to flow again, but nothing had worked. The energy column had stubbornly stayed flat, devoid of any movement, until now.

"Why now?" he muttered, glancing at the lifeless body of the bandit sprawled on the floor. It made no sense. Harry replayed the moment in his mind, searching for an explanation. He had simply defended himself; nothing he hadn't done countless times before without so much as a flicker of energy.

"What is it about this kill that triggered the Simulation Coin?" he wondered aloud. There had to be a reason, but deciphering it could wait. Right now, survival was the priority.

A sudden shout shattered his thoughts. "Go to hell!" A burly man with a thick beard loomed over a young villager, a long knife raised menacingly above his head. The young man's eyes were wide with terror, and he braced for the worst.

In that moment, the air crackled with tension. Then came the swift sound of steel slicing through the air; a sharp, crisp "puff" echoed in the chaos.

The burly man looked down, confusion etched on his face. A long sword had plunged into his chest, crimson blood staining the blade and pooling beneath him.

Harry emerged from the shadows, his movements fluid and deliberate. With one powerful swing, he severed the man's head from his body, which tumbled to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Jack! Are you okay?" Harry rushed over to the boy, lifting him to his feet with a firm but gentle hand.

"Brother Jabari?" Jack stammered, his eyes wide with shock. It took him a moment to process what had just happened, his mind racing.

But then fear washed over his face, and he pointed shakily behind Harry. "Look!"

Turning to follow Jack's gaze, Harry spotted a group of figures advancing toward them, roughly a dozen bandits, their intentions clear in the way they moved. Panic surged through him as he calculated the odds.

"More than a dozen?" he muttered, anxiety tightening his chest. "We need to move, now!"

He grabbed Jack by the arm, pulling him along as they darted for cover, adrenaline surging through him. Harry's mind raced as he strategized their escape. He couldn't afford to let fear dictate his actions; he had to think fast if they were going to survive this onslaught.

Harry surveyed the chaotic scene around him, a calm smile breaking through the tension. "Well, this is just right," he declared, his voice steady.

He swiftly grabbed the long knife from the burly bandit's side and turned to Jack, who stood frozen in shock. "Here, take this," he instructed, pressing the knife into Jack's trembling hands. "Find a place to hide and stay safe."

Without waiting for a response, Harry charged forward, a determined glint in his eye as he faced the group of more than a dozen bandits surrounding him. His heart raced, but fear had no place in his mind.

Behind him, a few survivors braced for the worst, shutting their eyes as if anticipating the inevitable carnage. They had seen too much violence, and the sight of Harry rushing into danger was almost unbearable.

Yet, instead of the anticipated scene of bloodshed, an astonishing spectacle unfolded.

With the grace of a seasoned warrior, Harry wielded his sword with precision. He moved through the group of bandits like a whirlwind, his strikes sharp and calculated. Thieves stumbled back, their heads rolling one after another as panic spread among them. In mere moments, the once-menacing group scattered, abandoning their attack.

Harry, fueled by adrenaline, pressed on without a second thought. His boldness ignited a fire in the hearts of the survivors around him. They watched him, wide-eyed and inspired, and before long, they too were grabbing weapons, eager to join the fight.

"Let's go! We can't let them take our village!" Harry shouted, his voice ringing with encouragement.

Jack, newfound determination gleaming in his eyes, rallied beside him. "I'm with you, Brother Jabari!" he cried, lifting his knife with a shaky but resolute hand.

In no time, what began as a lone stand evolved into a small battalion of ten villagers, all fighting fiercely alongside Harry. Their lack of formal training was no barrier; under his leadership, they quickly adapted, showing a fierce resolve to protect their home.

As dawn broke, the thieves found themselves overwhelmed. The villagers fought with a desperate ferocity, unwilling to allow their families and homes to be destroyed. Harry had underestimated the natives' will to defend what was theirs. With his strategic guidance, they held their ground, pushing the bandits back until, by morning, only a few managed to escape. Most lay defeated, their bodies a grim testament to the battle that had just unfolded.

After the last thief fled, Jack approached Harry, a bottle of wine and a handful of herbs clutched in his hands. "Brother Jabari!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and reverence.

Looking closely, Harry saw admiration shining in Jack's eyes. The boy seemed transfixed, unwilling to break eye contact as if Harry were a hero out of a legend.

"Thank you," Harry replied, accepting the offering with a grateful smile. He began to treat his wounds, taking care to cleanse the cuts and bruises.

Around them, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of camaraderie and relief. The villagers who had once felt powerless now stood taller, emboldened by the fierce battle they had just fought together. It was a night they would never forget, one that had woven their fates together in a way that would forever change their lives.

The battle from last night had been brutal, leaving Harry breathless as he assessed his injuries. Though his skills as a knight apprentice far surpassed those of the thieves, the intensity of the fight had taken its toll. His leather armor, usually a reliable shield, was cut through in several places, revealing angry red slashes on his chest.

But as he cleaned and bandaged his wounds, a sense of satisfaction washed over him. He glanced at the energy displayed on the coin was : 75.

The realization hit him like a rush of adrenaline. He had accumulated seventy-five points of Simulation energy in one night, a remarkable feat. Just days ago, when he had first entered this simulation world through the Simulation Coin, he had only around one hundred points. Now, he had recouped almost all of that, and it felt like a tremendous victory.

"Not bad at all," he murmured to himself, a grin spreading across his face despite the sting of his wounds.

Yet, as he bandaged himself, a question nagged at his mind. He thought back to the energy he had harvested. Initially, he believed it stemmed from killing thieves, but that theory had quickly unraveled. At first, each thief had netted him two or three points of energy. But as the battle wore on, that number dwindled to just one point, then nothing at all.

It seemed that the real source of simulation energy came from the very act of defending the village against the thieves. In the beginning, when the odds were stacked in favor of the thieves, every kill had provided a surge of energy. But as the tide turned and the villagers began to rally, the energy flow slowed dramatically.

"Why is that?" he pondered aloud, scratching his head. "What's different about this group of thieves?"

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something unique about them, something that other bandit groups lacked. But he decided to set that thought aside for now. 'One thing at a time', he reminded himself.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Harry joined his fellow villagers in their efforts to locate any remaining survivors. He gathered the injured and directed the village's elders and healers to tend to them, his heart heavy with the responsibility that now rested on his shoulders.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the reality of their victory and its cost; settled in. The bodies of those who had fallen during the raid needed to be handled with respect. "We can't let these bodies lie here," he said to Jack, his voice steady. "We need to burn them before disease spreads."

Together, they moved the lifeless forms to the center of the village. Harry lit a fire, and soon the flames roared to life, crackling as they consumed the fallen. The heat radiated outwards, mingling with the thick, acrid scent of burning flesh.

Around him, villagers gathered, their faces streaked with tears as they watched the flames dance. Jack, standing close by, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "We fought hard," he said, his voice breaking. "But it hurts to see them go like this."

Harry nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Jack's grief. "We won, but at such a cost," he replied, his heart heavy. "They fought for us, for our homes. We'll honor their memory by rebuilding."

As the fire crackled and the smoke curled into the morning sky, the villagers clung to each other, sharing their pain and their resolve. Though victory had come at a price, they were determined to forge ahead, united in their grief and their strength.

The air around the village was heavy with grief, the losses from the previous night's raid weighing down the spirits of the survivors. Families mourned, and many gathered near the center of the village, their faces etched with sorrow. But amidst the quiet, a sudden, distressing sound cut through the tension: the wails of a girl, laced with the sharp edge of anger.

Harry turned, his brow furrowing as he spotted a group of villagers encircling a mother and daughter. The atmosphere shifted palpably, their grief morphing into outrage.

"It's your fault!" one villager shouted, his voice thick with venom. "You brought the bandits here! You led them straight to us!"

The village chief, a man who usually commanded respect, was livid. "You think we don't know? You've brought ruin upon us!" He pointed an accusing finger at the mother, his face flushed with rage. "So many lives lost! How can you justify this?"

Harry stepped closer, drawn by the commotion. He listened intently as others chimed in, their anger bubbling over. "We welcomed you into our home, and this is how you repay us? My brother died because of you!"

The crowd swelled with hostility, their eyes narrowing as they turned toward the mother and daughter. Even Jack, who had seen so much at his young age, felt the heat of anger rise in him. They needed a target for their pain, and the newcomers had become that target.

"Please," the mother pleaded, her voice trembling as she held her daughter tightly. "I'm so sorry. We didn't mean for any of this to happen." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bowed deeply, desperation etched on her face. "We'll leave right now. Just please, let us go."

"Leave?" A voice shot back, dripping with disdain. "You think that's enough? You need to pay for what you've done!"

"Burn them!" another voice roared, and the crowd surged forward, emboldened by their anger. "They deserve to suffer!"

The tension was thick, and Harry felt a surge of conflicting emotions. He watched as the mother clutched her daughter, the girl's eyes wide with fear, trembling in the face of the mob's fury. He understood the villagers' pain, their need for a scapegoat in the aftermath of such loss.

But he also felt something stirring within him, a deeper sense of justice. 'This isn't right.' He had seen enough bloodshed for one night.

As he stood there, a familiar sensation crept into his mind, the dormant energy of the coin seemed to awaken, responding to the turmoil around him. Could it be that this situation held some significance?

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward, raising his hands to silence the crowd. "Wait!" he called out, his voice steady but commanding. "This isn't the answer."

The villagers turned to him, their anger momentarily paused. "What do you mean, Harry? They're responsible for our losses!"

"I know you're hurting," he said, looking into the faces of those gathered. "But punishing them won't bring back your loved ones. It won't heal the wounds we all carry."

He glanced at the mother and daughter, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion. "They are not our enemies. They're just as lost as we are right now."

The crowd murmured, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Harry pressed on. "Let's channel our grief into something stronger, into rebuilding and protecting our home. We can't let our pain blind us to what truly matters."

Slowly, the tension began to dissipate. The angry shouts faded, replaced by a thoughtful silence. Harry could feel the Simulation Coin resonating within him, as if it recognized his actions.

The villagers hesitated, the fire in their hearts cooling as they considered his words. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to heal together.