Narvel had walked a good distance and yet there was nothing.
No lingering sense of danger. No rustle of leaves or chirp of birds. No signs of life at all. Only the dusty, worn road that curled downward along the edge of the plateau. The wind drifted lightly and indifferently, brushing against his skin and creating the illusion that all was well.
But the quietness was unnerving.
Despite the sun blazing overhead, casting light generously upon the land, everything around felt off—eerily off. It wasn't the peace of a safe world but the silence of something waiting to happen.
Voidscale was perched on his shoulder, less concerned with the surroundings and more invested in the half-finished stick of meat it held in its claws while licking the oil off its scales with sleepy satisfaction.
That, more than anything else, calmed Narvel's nerves.
The little beast was sensitive to changes in energy and atmosphere. If something dangerous had been nearby, Voidscale would've dropped the food and hissed at the wind. But it hadn't. It simply gnawed and chewed, which meant that—for now—they were fine.
They continued down the road and soon, Ironwood Anchor was out of sight behind them. The horizon stretched vast and dry as the base of the plateau not too far ahead now.
Then he heard it—music.
Not a single instrument but several, playing together in imperfect harmony. It sounded distant yet clear, upbeat and celebratory, the kind of melody that might've accompanied a festival or wedding. There were no vocals, only the occasional whoops, and laughter of those dancing along with it.
The notes themselves were cheerful, but beneath that joy, there was something else—something ancient. As if the rhythm came from a painful past, one that didn't belong here.
Narvel stopped in his tracks.
"Why would anyone set up a camp at the base of this place?" He uttered. "Especially with an Anchor just behind? Who parties in an area crawling with monsters?"
His instincts, though not alarmed, pressed on his mind.
There was no logical reason to ignore the road entirely, but something about the celebration felt too convenient, too well-timed. Still, the danger wasn't palpable, only suspicion.
He considered veering off the path, thinking to climb down the rest of the plateau and give whatever was ahead a wide berth. On his way to put his thoughts into action, as he bent toward the edge, preparing to crouch, a voice rang out behind him.
"Why don't you come and join us, stranger? We've got women, drinks, and music!"
Narvel spun around, immediately taking a defensive stance.
Standing a few feet away was a young man in an oversized pair of overalls, stained and creased. A straw hat hung loosely around his neck, bobbing with every movement. His black hair was messy with strands glued to his sweat-slicked forehead.
His grin was wide, toothy, and strangely serene as he raised both hands in a show of peace.
"No need to be alarmed, friend. I mean no harm," the stranger said. "Was out answering nature's call, and on my way back I saw you there, scoping the edge like a nervous squirrel. Thought I'd invite you to the fun."
His voice carried an accent Narvel couldn't place. Every syllable felt just a little off, stretched in odd places and landing in the ear with an unnatural rhythm.
"The name's Chocho. I farm by day and drink by night. You look like someone who could use both."
Despite the harmless words, nothing about Chocho put Narvel at ease.
If anything, his instincts now screamed in his mind. This man—if he could be called that—was stronger than the innkeeper from the night before. Not just stronger, but older in a way that had nothing to do with age.
And Narvel couldn't tell whether he was even human.
He glanced around quickly. There was no one else nearby. Either the rest of the group was still engrossed in their strange party, or they didn't exist at all.
'What kind of monster would rather dance than hunt?' He wondered. 'Or worse, what kind of person decides to throw a party in a place surrounded by monsters? And there's no farmland anywhere near here except around Ironwood. No real farmer would leave that safety to party here.'
Still, on edge, Narvel stepped back slightly.
"I don't want anything to do with your little celebration," he said coldly.
"A shame," Chocho replied, still grinning.
"Would've loved to share a drink. But not everyone's built for this kind of life. Can't fault you for that." He tilted his head, eyeing Narvel's crouch by the ledge. "But if you don't mind me asking, you planning to jump off this thing? I respect a shortcut as much as the next guy, but that one might cut your story short."
"I'm fine with it," Narvel said, voice flat.
Chocho shrugged. "Suit yourself. It was good meeting you, stranger."
He turned around, heading back toward the music, his shoulders swaying with the beat. He even threw in a little jig as he walked, half skipping.
Narvel's gaze stayed locked on him until the man vanished down the road, swallowed by the curve.
Then his senses flared.
Move!
Without a second thought, Narvel leaped to the side—just in time.
A massive claw crashed down where he'd stood a heartbeat earlier, gouging a crater into the side of the road. Dust surged into the air, choking the breath from the scene in a cloud of grit.
As the haze began to settle, Narvel turned sharply and laid eyes on the attacker.
It was exactly what he had faced the night before.
A Huskmask.
"You've got some impressive reflexes, stranger. Didn't even let your guard drop for a second," it said with a voice that echoed with an eerie familiarity. It was the same voice as Chocho—the farm boy who had walked away dancing just moments ago.
Narvel's expression tightened into a frown.
His gaze darted across the landscape, scanning for others. Yet nothing stirred in the dust beyond the creature before him. No other presence registered in his senses.
The music from down the road still played, undisturbed.
'If it's only this one, then I can handle it. But if there are more… I need to know where they are—and how strong. If something beyond my limits is out there, I'll throw everything I've got into making it back to the city.'
The thoughts passed in a breath, and he moved.
Before the Huskmask could follow up its attack, Narvel surged forward, both fists clenched. Power surged through his arms as he activated [Maddened Fist], the technique propelling him with brutal momentum.
Each punch he threw left a phantom in the air, blurred frames of his movement. Half a dozen in total. They all collided with the Huskmask in rapid succession, hammering into its body with shattering force. Its flesh ruptured in bursts of black blood that sprayed across the road as it crumpled to its knees, stunned by the unexpected barrage.
It hadn't expected that the person it targeted possessed such strength as it had only sensed the aura of an Awakened from Narvel.
The wounds writhed as they began to mend, but Narvel didn't give it the chance.
He launched another series of phantom blows aimed directly at its head.
The strikes landed with a sickening crunch, pulverizing the creature's skull. Its head collapsed inward with the wet, hollow sound of something that should not be alive breaking apart.
It didn't even have the chance to scream.
Its body slumped to the ground, twitching once before it lay still. The sunlight hit the black blood pooling around it, and almost instantly, the liquid began to hiss and evaporate, vanishing in thin curls of smoke.
Then, the music stopped.
As if silenced by the death of one of its players.
A chill rolled across Narvel's skin, deeper than the breeze and heavier than fear. A sharp, stabbing sensation crawled down his spine. Then came the screeches, high-pitched howls that tore at his eardrums, and a growing tremor beneath his feet.
Then footsteps followed, heavy and thunderous, and too many to count.
They were coming.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. A part of him still argued for resistance, whispering to him to stay and fight or find another route down the plateau.
But that part was drowned beneath a pressure that now flooded the land.
An aura unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Darker and more crushing than Amadeel's. Something strong and angry wrapped around the air like a suffocating shroud.
'Run.'
That was all his mind could form.
He activated [True Double], pouring everything into his speed.
His form blurred as his body streaked down the road like a flash of light. The world narrowed into motion as he raced back toward the safety of the Anchor.
Regardless of how much he had grown, whatever owned that aura wasn't something he could confront now. And he knew that with every fiber of his being.