"Monster… monster!"
The shout came from one of the men standing beside Elena, who had been helping her moments ago. He'd felt something press in close behind him, turned—and froze. The color drained from his face as he stumbled back, grabbing the nearest pitchfork and pointing it toward the figure that had appeared among them.
What he saw was no man.
It was a creature built out of cubes, its surfaces crudely painted with a mockery of human features. The brushstrokes were harsh and geometric, giving it a grotesque, uncanny look. And the way it moved—its body folding and straightening at unnatural speed—flickered like a crystal about to explode.
It radiated wrongness.
The villagers panicked. They scattered in all directions, dragging Elena with them.
Her vision blurred; blood loss and exhaustion left her swaying on her feet. But even through the dizziness, she saw what was happening—and terror spiked through her heart.
"Stop! Don't attack it!" she cried, voice trembling. "Don't!"
Gods above, these people had no idea what they were doing. That thing had killed a Wolf as if it were nothing. The villagers were mostly elderly or children—no warriors, no guards. If they provoked it, they'd be wiped out in seconds.
"It saved me!" she shouted again, pushing away from the arms holding her. "It means no harm!"
Her plea hung in the air. Perhaps because the monster had stopped moving, or perhaps because of the fear in her eyes, the crowd hesitated. The man with the pitchfork lowered it slightly, though his hands still shook.
"Explain, Elena," he said quietly. "What in the blazes is that thing?"
So she told them—about the forest, the Wolf, and the strange blocky savior. She emphasized its terrifying strength, begging them not to anger it.
Before anyone could respond, a voice cried out from the gate: "It's running into the village!"
Everyone turned. The blue figure was indeed bounding straight toward them, its movements sharp and jerky.
"Don't!" Elena tried to warn them, but an old man—her village chief—stepped in front of her. "You need treatment first! Tom!"
He barked an order.
"Bring your kit, quickly! Jack—you're the fastest. Run to the town and fetch some adventurers! As for the rest of you…"
He paused, glancing between Elena's frightened eyes and the square hide she still clutched. His brows furrowed.
"Evacuate everyone. Don't worry about the houses. Whatever that thing does—let it. We can rebuild walls. We can't rebuild lives."
...
Steve burst from house to house.
At first, he'd tried crouching beside villagers as usual, hoping for some kind of interaction. But after a while, it just felt pointless. He remembered how the Player would always laugh while doing this—jumping, sneaking, making silly noises—but for him, there was only motion. No sound. No warmth.
He didn't understand it.
So instead, he turned to exploration.
This village was nothing like the ones in his old worlds. The interiors were cluttered, rich in detail. Chests were replaced by all kinds of wooden cabinets, and their contents—junk. Torn shirts, worn-out shoes, faded ledgers.
Barely anything of value.
At least there was food. Each home had a little kitchen area, and he gathered about a stack's worth of dark bread. Enough to last for now.
But not a single iron ingot in sight. And definitely no diamonds.
He did find half a pair of leather pants, worn but usable, and put them on without hesitation.
Returning to the village entrance, he spotted a large open space—perfect for setting up camp. Villagers had gathered there too, surrounding a makeshift bed covered with fabric.
On it lay someone he recognized—Elena.
He liked this world's design. The villagers were easy to identify without name tags or signs. That alone saved him so much time.
He checked her trade interface again. Still discounted. Satisfied, he jumped aside to clear space.
Elena suddenly jerked upright, yanked by an invisible force, and then collapsed back onto the bed. The old healer Tom yelped in shock, nearly dropping his bandages.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Steve ignored them, setting down his crafting table, bed, two chests, and a furnace. He didn't have much wood left, so he casually tore some planks from the nearby fence, smelted them into charcoal, and crafted four torches.
Then he started digging.
He was going mining.
"That… that's Elena's bed!" someone cried.
A woman had recognized the faded doll tied to the headboard—Elena's childhood toy. The village chief's frown deepened.
"What's it doing?"
"It's tearing down the wall!"
"By the gods, it's huge! And it's square! What is that thing?"
The murmurs grew louder. But when no attack came, the fear began to fade, replaced by uneasy curiosity.
A few children, braver than sense would allow, crept closer and peered into the pit Steve had dug.
"So deep!" one of them shouted, his voice echoing.
The chief hurried over and grabbed both by their collars, hauling them back. Before leaving, he glanced down the tunnel—and his blood ran cold. It was pitch dark except for a faint glimmer far below.
How deep was it?
Back with the villagers, he sighed. "Elena was right. That thing's terrifying."
It had dug that far in mere minutes. What would happen if a human stood in its way? He didn't dare imagine.
"Pray Jack brings back capable adventurers," he muttered grimly. "Strong ones. Enough to kill it in one strike."
"Maybe he should post a bounty," another suggested. "We'll pool the reward together."
They were simple folk—farmers who'd never seen real power, only stories of adventurers ranked bronze, silver, gold, mithril, and legendary. The words meant little to them.
The chief rested his hands on the children's heads, frowning. Something prickled at the edge of his senses. He turned toward the forest—the direction Elena had come from.
"What is it, chief?"
He squinted. Then his gaze dropped to Elena's bandaged leg. His eyes widened. "Damn it! The Wolves!"
No sooner had he said it than a chorus of howls rose from the forest.
"They've tracked the scent!" someone cried.
"Get her inside!"
"The walls—oh gods, the monster tore down the wall! Hurry, repair it!"
"Damn it all!"
Chaos exploded. Villagers ran in every direction, grabbing tools and boards, their shouts drowned by the growing wind. The air howled around them, scattering leaves and dust, and fear rolled through the village like thunder.
"This is it," someone whispered, voice trembling. "We're done for."