The wooden door creaked softly as Glenn stepped over the threshold, glimpsing that tall, hunched figure pacing anxiously across the neighboring lawn. The old man clutched some dark object while his hoarse calls echoed eerily through thick fog.
Hearing the door, the neighbor whipped around. Recognizing Glenn, his cloudy eyes narrowed as if wanting to interrogate something, yet swallowing it back. Only a yellowed-tooth grimace remained plastered across his wrinkled face.
The former timid youth would have retreated indoors by now, door bolted tight. But present-day Glenn merely returned the smile calmly, fingers unconsciously tracing door frame cracks.
The old man's grin froze. He looked this suddenly brazen neighbor up and down before squeezing a cold snort from his throat, gripping his object tighter while turning inside. The wooden door slammed behind him, shaking dust from the frame.
He hasn't found the dog's corpse. Glenn's gaze shifted from the neighbor's door toward where the bulldog had fallen last night. The lawn was indeed empty, only several bent grass blades maintaining strange postures.
He strode to that area and crouched down. Close examination revealed nearly vanished dark brown spots—bloodstains carefully wiped clean, or rather, licked clean by something. Extremely faint rust scents still lingered in the air.
So something truly prowls the town at night. Glenn stood, finally glancing at the neighbor's house. Need to find an opportunity to investigate properly.
He walked directly into the storage room, rummaging through accumulated junk to extract a solid oak cudgel. The shaft was polished quite smooth with perfect weight in hand. Glenn tested two heavy swings—the air-breaking sounds proved satisfying.
"You'll do."
Though confident in his combat skills, this was no reason for carelessness—the enemy had guns after all. That bearded man's revolver still lay in the forest; he'd retrieve it after finishing business. Just need ammunition...
Glenn emerged carrying the cudgel as the town remained shrouded in deathly silence. Distant views were swallowed by gray mist—common weather here. Clear days weren't nonexistent but so rare that outsiders believed this a perpetually fog-locked ghost town.
He stepped from his yard while warily scanning surroundings, mentally rehearsing possible conflicts. Lightly vaulting the fence to land on neighboring lawn, he concealed the cudgel behind his back and raised his hand to knock.
Thunk. Thunk.
Two clear knocks echoed through mist. Glenn stood waiting, breath condensing into white vapor in cold air.
Long moments passed without interior response.
Something's wrong. Given that old man's temperament, he should have charged out swinging by now. Glenn's eyes narrowed slightly as he knocked again.
"Old man!" He raised his voice. "Need to speak with you. Open up—promise not to harm you—" silently adding: just a simple robbery.
After more knocking, the house remained deathly quiet. Glenn switched from knocking to pounding, palm impacts producing dull thuds, still no answer.
Can't have vanished into thin air? He paused thoughtfully before suddenly speaking:
"Don't you want to know where your precious went?"
Immediate metallic clattering sounded from within.
Now he should come out. Glenn tensed muscles while staring at the door.
But he'd miscalculated. The door remained tightly shut.
Glenn's eye twitched, temple veins pulsing. "In that case, don't blame me for forcing entry!"
He retreated two steps before spinning into a flying kick!
Bang!
The flimsy wooden door splintered apart. Glenn didn't rashly charge in, instead flashing left—perfectly dodging the whistling lead shot.
Bang!
Gunfire was deafening. The shotgun-wielding old man clearly hadn't expected his target to evade, freezing momentarily before frantically working the bolt.
But Glenn had already burst inside. The oak cudgel tore through air with shrieking whistles, chopping toward the old man's skull!
Hastily, the old man could only raise his gun to block. Metal and hardwood collision numbed his arms. Before he could adjust stance, his abdomen took a heavy punch, stomach acid surging up his throat.
He wildly swung the shotgun trying to drive back his attacker, yet these struggles proved meaningless to Glenn—his previous life's professional training made disarming gunmen elementary.
As the old man staggered backward, Glenn seized the shotgun while kicking him to the floor.
"Behave yourself, old man." Glenn's fingers stroked the shotgun's cold barrel. "Otherwise you'll suffer."
The opponent struggled upright. Nearly six feet tall with thick arms indicating considerable strength, yet his current pathetic state made vigilance difficult.
"Boy," the old man spat bloody saliva, voice hoarse, "I don't know what's wrong with you, but neighbors dislike noisy residents."
He definitely sensed my abnormality earlier, hence the uncharacteristic hiding. Glenn ignored the threat, asking bluntly:
"Where's the food? Speak up and I'll spare your life."
This abrupt question stunned the old man: "You... what do you mean?"
"Literal meaning!" Glenn impatiently tapped him with the gun barrel. "Can't you tell this is robbery? I'm hungry—don't waste time."
The old man's face shifted from green to black before reluctantly pointing toward the inner room: "Kit... kitchen."
Glenn strode unhesitatingly toward the indicated direction. Soon the kitchen echoed with cabinet opening sounds and food packaging being torn, followed by urgent chewing.
The old man slumped on the floor, bewildered and helpless. This kid had completely changed—where did such smooth skills come from? Could he be possessed by undead spirits?
Unlike Glenn's meager stores, the old man's kitchen proved abundantly stocked. Cabinets bulged with cured meats, black bread, and cheese. Glenn devoured everything until stomach burning was replaced by satisfaction.
Only after eating his fill did he begin examining his physical changes. That recent scuffle clearly showed bodily strength far exceeding normal humans—including his previous life's self. That final punch, had he not held back, would have prevented the old man from ever standing again.
Yesterday's wounds had all healed, leaving virtually no traces. Stranger still was the peculiar surging sensation in his blood vessels, as if some force had enhanced his muscles. When did this begin? Right after transmigration he'd been severely weakened...
Glenn clenched his fist, feeling power flowing through tendons. He stopped thinking and returned to the slumped old man.
"Thanks for the hospitality." He spoke sincerely. "Don't feel too wronged. You've bullied me plenty these years—today's just karmic payback. As for this gun... I'm taking it."
Under the old man's suppressed fury, Glenn shouldered the shotgun and stepped into thick fog.