"What are you doing?"
As Crowne tried to approach the village chief's house, he was immediately stopped by the guards stationed there. Some of them even had their weapons already drawn.
Crowne closed his eyes for two seconds before answering, "I want to meet the village chief. There's something I need to discuss with him. Is he inside?"
"Go away! The chief is already asleep. If you want to see him, come back tomorrow. Tonight is too late," one of the guards replied.
"But this is important."
The guard shook his head. "We've already told you, it's not allowed. Don't push too much or we'll have no choice but to use force. Leave or else…"
Crowne scratched his head, even though it wasn't itchy. He nodded as if giving up and began to walk away, but through a window, he saw movement. Not once or twice, but repeatedly—as though someone inside was clearly still awake and busy.
"Isn't that the village chief? He's still awake!" Crowne exclaimed.
Instead of being let inside, Crowne was shoved so hard that he fell to the ground. His clothes were dirtied, and a sword was suddenly pointed right at his face.
"I already told you to leave!" the soldier barked.
Crowne got back on his feet, patting the dirt off his clothes. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward, until the blade's tip was less than a millimeter from his face.
Crowne did not like being threatened like that. He glanced at his system screen. It still showed that he was only level 15, with low stats.
Fighting against a dozen trained soldiers and mercenaries was certainly not a wise choice.
At least, that's what logic dictated—but Crowne despised being openly threatened.
"I've trained in sword techniques for over ten years. I should be able to use that now," Crowne thought.
He had made up his mind. His hand had already moved to grip the sword at his waist. Something he thought he would not do during his very first mission, especially since this was supposed to be just a rank F quest.
Seeing Crowne rise to his feet and challenge them, the two guards naturally felt provoked. Both of them grew angry at his attitude.
"You—!" One of them instantly raised his sword and swung it at Crowne. "Die!" the soldier shouted.
Slash!
The strike was incredibly fast, but Crowne managed to evade it. Not by leaping sideways or back, but by stepping forward two quick paces.
The soldier was caught off guard. He tried to back away to regain distance, while his partner already moved to attack.
The second soldier swung his sword horizontally at Crowne, a sharp strike that cut through the night air.
"Fall back!" the first soldier shouted.
Crowne ducked quickly, stepping back three times. His heels struck the dirt in front of the chief's house as the enemy's blade sliced only empty air, leaving a shallow scar on the wooden wall.
"They're more skilled than I expected."
Crowne steadied his breath, gripping his sword with one hand and giving it a slight spin, as if measuring distance. His gaze sharpened, focused entirely on the two soldiers before him.
The commotion Crowne caused made other guards glance his way, though none interfered. They assumed Crowne would soon be defeated.
"I have to be more careful," Crowne muttered.
The first soldier, the one who failed earlier, came at him again. His boots slammed against the ground as he raised his blade high, then brought it down with a heavy strike.
Crowne shifted half a step back, angling his body. The enemy's blade cut down only inches from his shoulder. In that instant, Crowne lifted his own sword with a short, sharp movement—clang!—their blades clashed, sparks bursting in the night.
Crowne used the force of the clash to push the soldier back half a step. But his own weapon trembled violently in his grip. He felt it clearly—his strength was far inferior.
Yet Crowne was no fool. He had learned countless tricks over his years of training.
"This should work."
He deliberately loosened the strength in his sword arm. The enemy's blade, pressed down with all its power, suddenly slipped past as Crowne's sword gave way.
The soldier, who had been exerting all his force to win the clash, was caught off guard when Crowne's strength disappeared. He stumbled for a moment, his balance lost.
And in a fight, even one second of carelessness was like a gaping hole leading straight to defeat.
Slash!
Crowne darted forward, swinging his blade at the soldier's neck.
Kliing!
The strike was blocked by the second soldier, his sword intercepting just in time. The first soldier leapt back, regaining his footing. Now both of them grew serious, their eyes sharp and murderous.
Crowne clicked his tongue. "Damn. I've wasted too much time here," he muttered.
He adjusted his stance, firmer than before. He knew he had to fight more seriously now, end this quickly before other soldiers joined in and made things worse.
Both sides prepared to strike again—but suddenly, a scream tore through the air.
"Aaaarrrrghhh!"
The scream came from inside the village chief's house. Everyone froze and turned toward the sound, including Crowne. But unlike the others, he quickly ignored it.
A grin spread across his face. He saw a perfect opening.
"Got you," Crowne whispered.
**
Brrruukg!
Ronan's body was slammed backward. Blood dripped from his left cheek, torn open by the Wendigo's claws. He clicked his tongue in frustration.
The Wendigo was cunning, relying on the darkness of night as its battlefield. Ronan struggled to predict its attacks in the pitch black.
His only source of light, his torch, had already gone out minutes ago.
Now he was forced to rely on every sense except sight. Ronan steadied his breathing, sharpening his hearing.
"Come out, bastard! Stop hiding!" Ronan shouted.
But there was no answer. His eyes darted restlessly, his ears straining as though they had grown larger from concentration. Still, he could not find the Wendigo's position.
"Damn it. This is—"
As he cursed, a sudden sound came from behind. Ronan spun instantly, swinging his blade in that direction.
But before his strike could land, a loud scream split the night.
"Aaaarrrrghhh!"
Ronan froze. At the same time, the Wendigo also stopped moving. Then, moments later, the creature let out a howl.
It was like the howl of a dog, but deeper, heavier—eerily close to the voice of a human.
"What's going on?" Ronan muttered.
He turned toward the Wendigo and saw it completely absorbed in its own howl.
Ronan tightened his stance, then dashed forward.
"Got you!" he growled.