The clear-eyed young Ranger spoke casually, hanging his cloak aside and crouching directly by the hearth.
"Make some room for me."
The other rubbed his hands and squeezed over, practically pressing against the stove. Seeing that both seemed quite cold, the old man brought some firewood and threw it in, rekindling the fire.
The warm stove continuously radiated heat outward, drying the moisture from their bodies.
"I'm getting a bit homesick."
"Pathetic."
The two young Rangers chatted intermittently. The old man silently dampened a fresh towel with warm water and wiped the pale face of the child still unconscious on the bed.
This action was quickly noticed by the two Rangers. They exchanged glances, and at one's signal, the other immediately stood and looked over.
An unconscious boy, eyelids still twitching constantly, lips purple, face pale, breathing barely noticeable.
"This is Pete," the old man broke the silence first. "He was fine yesterday. Today he went out and got caught in the rain. He's been like this since coming back, unconscious."
"Looks like he's ill."
Of course he was ill. But no matter how they thought back, they couldn't identify what kind of sickness this was, finally settling on the vague, broad classification of "poisoning."
Though they couldn't recognize the symptoms, it didn't matter. The standing Ranger felt around on himself and pulled out a bottle of milk.
"Perhaps this can help him."
"...Milk?"
The old man was puzzled.
"Yes, milk. But this milk is special. It's magical milk given to us by our lord that can cure all ailments and toxins."
"Magic." The old man repeated the word, hope rising in his heart.
To ordinary people, magic existed only in legends and stories. Illusory, untouchable miracles. But who in this world wouldn't yearn for miracles?
The old man nodded solemnly to the two Rangers, choosing to trust them. He could only trust. There was no other way. The child's condition was dire.
"Whoever it may be, please bless Pete and let him wake up..."
The old man muttered, carefully pouring the milk into Pete's mouth. His hope wasn't misplaced.
As the last drop of milk was swallowed, visibly, Pete's complexion became much rosier, his lips no longer purple, gradually returning to normal color. At the same time, his breathing became much steadier and stronger.
"My God, he's really better!"
The old man was quite excited, not knowing where to put his hands for a moment.
"Thank you, thank you..."
"No need for thanks. This is what we should do."
The Ranger was responding when suddenly a black shadow flashed by. Pete's eyelids, which had almost opened, suddenly stopped moving, and his complexion paled again.
Everything returned to how it was.
The old man's expression froze, and the two Rangers frowned, sensing something unusual.
"The milk actually failed?"
"This kind of thing... there are some records in the manual our lord compiled."
One of them recalled terms from the book, analyzing: "The milk didn't fail. From what just happened, it definitely worked, but only for an instant. This means the toxin affecting him might be a 'beacon' effect. There must be something nearby influencing him."
"How bizarre." The other Ranger couldn't stop shaking his head.
Lightning split the dark clouds, a white flash crossing the sky.
"Ahhhh!"
Phil, the other child who had been silently watching, suddenly burst into screams, pointing at the window and trembling speechlessly.
RUMBLE!
"What is that thing!"
One Ranger shouted, instantly drawing his sword. The other quickly followed his gaze to see a dark, terrifying face had somehow appeared at the window.
The face hung right in the center of the window, hollow eye sockets emanating cold, faint light. Its skin was green and withered, the protruding jaw suggesting it was little more than skin over bone.
Below the skull was some kind of pitch-black shadow, apparently its body.
Slap.
A twisted, large hand struck the window frame. The monster squeezed out deep, stiff laughter from its throat. Everyone felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees, all hearts shrouded in gloom.
"Get away!"
The young man with the drawn sword mustered courage and thrust toward the window frame. The next moment, lightning flashed and the large face immediately vanished.
"I think I know what this illness is about."
The other grabbed his shoulder, stopping him from charging outside.
"Didn't you recognize that thing?"
"What?"
"A barrow-wight."
Thump.
His heart lurched, and the sword-wielding young man calmed down slightly.
"This is the first enemy our lord once encountered?"
Fighting spirit surged in his heart.
"Not to be underestimated, but not to be feared either!"
The two exchanged glances, both understanding the other's meaning.
Fight!
"Sigh..."
The old man finally came to his senses, trying to stop them, but it was too late. This was no longer something he could interfere with.
"May fortune follow in your footsteps."
The old man murmured at the two figures in the rainy night, his body still trembling, clearly not yet recovered from the earlier fright.
These two young men had rushed out without even taking their cloaks, and the rain outside hadn't stopped. Too reckless. Wonder who they learned that from.
RUMBLE!
Thunder continued. Gloomy laughter shrouded the entire village, startling one sleeping person after another, yet no fires were lit. In darkness, no one dared move.
The harsh sounds gradually moved away, two figures following close behind, chasing all the way to a grove south of the village.
"Where did it go!?"
In the rainy night, one Ranger shouted.
"I didn't see!"
The other responded loudly.
Whoosh.
Suddenly a shadow passed by a tree trunk. One quick-eyed man immediately nocked his bow and shot an arrow in an instant.
Swoosh!
The arrow passed through the shadow and stuck in a tree branch.
"Don't!"
The other stopped him.
"Ordinary weapons are useless against them."
"Then..."
The bow-wielding Ranger silently put away his nocked arrow and drew his sword like the other. It flickered with barely perceptible, hazy light.
"Our lord blesses us."
Both whispered.
ROAR!
Suddenly a tremendous sound came from behind, followed by the noise of soil and branches being crushed. The two almost instinctively rolled away in opposite directions.
Looking back, they saw the ground had been plowed into a deep furrow. A withered shadow several meters tall pulled its twisted palm from the earth, shaking off mud as it swung toward them.
No reaction time given throughout.
Clang!
The enchanted sword collided with a ring on the barrow-wight's hand, the scraping sound making teeth ache. Thank heavens, the lord-blessed sword could touch the barrow-wight.
The Ranger blocking the wight's attack felt grateful. But even so, under the barrow-wight's crushing force, the young trainee Ranger quickly fell into disadvantage. Seeing that hand about to press the sword toward his neck, he shouted: "Help me!"
Swoosh.
The other charged with his sword, solidly striking the barrow-wight. Though successfully forcing it back, he only left a shallow scratch on its arm.
"Hard as an iron golem," he commented.
"I'm afraid we're in trouble."