"We're finally here." Nfirea stood on the gentle rise, pointing ahead with barely contained excitement, his voice carrying over the rustle of wind through the grass.
Helant and the others followed his gaze. Below them lay Carne Village: a modest cluster of thatched cottages encircled by sturdy new wooden walls, smoke drifting lazily from chimneys, the faint sounds of hammers and distant shouts drifting up like echoes of normal life reclaiming itself.
"It seems once you get near Carne Village, the monsters just… vanish," Ninya observed, striding easily at the front, staff tapping the dirt path. She sounded almost relieved.
"That's because the Wise King keeps them in check," Nfirea explained as they descended, boots crunching on dry leaves. "The Wise King of the Forest stops anything from attacking humans in this area… or at least, that's how it's always been." He trailed off at the village gate, frowning. "Wait. I don't remember these walls or this reinforced gate being here before…"
"Hey, who are you people? State your business in Carne Village!"
A squad of goblins in patched leather armor stepped into view behind the gate, spears leveled, eyes wary and sharp. They weren't the ragged people Nfirea knew.
"Goblins!" Nfirea's heart slammed against his ribs. How could goblins be inside the village? Had the place been overrun while he was away? His mind raced to Enri, as he'd always called her—and a cold knot twisted in his gut. If anything had happened to her…
Then a soft, familiar voice cut through the tension. "Nfirea?"
A sweet-faced blonde girl in a simple dress peered through the slats, eyes widening in delight.
Nfirea's face lit up like dawn breaking. "Enri!"
Enri pressed a hand to her mouth, then turned to the goblins. "Let them in, please. They're my friends."
…
Carne Village felt small and alive in a way Nfirea hadn't expected.
Nineteen goblins moved through the streets like a well-oiled machine: hauling timber for repairs, sharpening weapons, patrolling the perimeter, even drilling in neat formations near the central square. The villagers worked alongside them without fear, exchanging nods and quiet words.
Momonga strolled beside Helant, armored form drawing curious glances, then leaned in to whisper. "Those are the goblin retainers summoned by the [Horn of the Goblin General] I gave her. Surprisingly capable for goblins.. organized, loyal, even intelligent."
He watched the revival with genuine interest. Only days after the massacre, the village already breathed again: fields being tended, children laughing, the smell of fresh bread mixing with woodsmoke. He found himself quietly admiring the girl, Enri, who'd turned tragedy into something resilient.
Helant nodded. "Local goblins can't compare in strength or wits. These ones actually look like they know what they're doing. Since when are you generous with your collection, Momonga?"
Helant teased under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Momonga gave a wry chuckle, the sound muffled by his helm. "It only summons nineteen at a time, and you know what goblins are usually good for—cannon fodder, distractions. I have plenty more horns stashed away. I tossed this one out just to see how a YGGDRASIL item behaves in reality. Didn't expect… this."
Helant said nothing more, but in his mind he pictured Momonga's expression when Enri eventually triggered the horn's hidden clause: under the right conditions—village under siege, Commander class leveled up—she could call five thousand at once.
A trinket dismissed as trash in the game, now a potential army in the New World. Heh.
Night fell soft and cool. Helant, Momonga, Mino, and Nabe gathered in a borrowed room lit by a single lantern. The village sounds had faded to crickets and distant goblin patrols.
A lively female voice echoed suddenly in Helant and Momonga's minds—Shalltear's telepathic link.
"Lord Helant, Lord Momonga, I've reached the outskirts of E-Rantel. I've learned there's a warrior here whose skill rivals the Kingdom's Warrior Chief…"
"Oh?" Crimson light flared in Momonga's eye sockets, interest sharpening.
The martial arts Gazef Stronoff wielded were nothing like YGGDRASIL's warrior skills—raw, grounded, almost elegant in their simplicity. Now Shalltear spoke of someone on that level. Intriguing.
"Helant-san, shall we take a look?" Momonga asked, voice low.
"Sure." Helant agreed without hesitation, excitement flickering in his eyes.
He hadn't forgotten Shalltear's mission overlapped with the Black Scripture—the elite of the Slane Theocracy, guardians of the world-class item [Downfall of Castle and Country], the mind-control artifact once meant for threats like the Catastrophe Dragon Lord.
The first true world-class item of this world was about to fall into his hands.
He turned to Mino and Nabe. "Stay here and keep watch over the village."
"Come back soon…" Mino waved, grumbling softly, though her eyes lingered on him with that familiar mix of pout and worry.
…
In the forest outside E-Rantel, black clouds smothered the moon, turning the woods into a pit of ink. The air hung thick and damp, carrying the faint rot of fallen leaves.
Quaiesse Hazeia Quintia—"One Man Army," 5th Seat of the Black Scripture—scanned the shadows, nostrils flaring at a lingering metallic tang.
Blood.
"This close to E-Rantel… where Nigun was wiped out by that Sorcerer King," he muttered. "We need to be extra cautious."
In an instant he raised his sword, signaling the others to close ranks around the old woman in the qipao. Lady Kaire—the only person left in the Theocracy who could wield [Downfall of Castle and Nations]—was the linchpin. She and the item had to survive at all costs. Their mission was to charm the Ruin Dragon Lord, but survival trumped everything.
If a threat appeared he couldn't handle, Kaire would activate the world-class item, and they'd flee. To hell with the dragon, to hell with the Sorcerer King. Bringing her and the artifact home safely was all that mattered.
"Mon… monster!"
A ranger burst from the trees, sprinting blindly toward E-Rantel.
Before Quaiesse could react, hundreds of crimson eyes ignited in the darkness.
Shadow wolves, shadow spiders, shadow bats poured out like living nightmares—vampire familiars.
"Protect Lady Kaire!"
"They're vampire familiars—use faith magic!"
At his command, a priest stepped forward and shouted, "Fifth-Tier Magic: Undead Purification!"
Woosh! Jade radiance bloomed from the priest, shooting skyward and piercing the canopy. The light flooded half the forest, searing the shadows.
The beasts melted like frost under sun, dissolving without a sound.
When the glow faded, Quaiesse moved to Kaire's side. "Stay alert. Where vampire familiars roam, a true vampire is close."
The words had barely left his mouth when the stench of blood slammed into them—thick, coppery, overwhelming.
Then a pair of scarlet eyes blazed from the gloom.
She stepped out leisurely: pale skin, silver hair, crimson gown, a humanoid figure with a lamprey-like maw splitting her face in a grotesque smile.
Terror and killing intent gripped every throat like an iron fist.
Cold sweat soaked Quaiesse's back. The pressure surpassed even Zesshi Zetsumei.
"Demon God Class!"
He lunged forward without summoning his beasts, sword flashing.
"Lady Kaire, use [Downfall of Castle and Country]! She's Demon God-class!"
Damn it. No Ruin Dragon Lord, no Sorcerer King—just a straight collision with a monster beyond reckoning.
A creature like that left only one option.
Run.
________
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