A nearby villager holding a forging hammer set down his tool, straightened his aching back, and asked with a frown, “Still not a single sign of movement? Is that talk about a monster tide even real?”
Another villager nearby lowered his voice in agreement. “The person who fled here from Calais Town described the disaster so vividly. The whole village is talking about it.”
Chas didn't jump in to argue the controversial topic. He picked up his short dagger from the wooden block, tucked it back into his belt, and casually tugged at his slipping armor strap. “For now, it's certain that there's no sign of any monster tide nearby.”
Having said that, he looked up at the watchtower. “Who's up for the next patrol?”
Just then, a young man squatting in the corner of the fence adjusting his armor parts looked up, stopped what he was doing, and volunteered, “Going by the rotation, it's my turn to head out.”
He stood up, tightened his loose shoulder straps, and bent down to pick up a spear leaning against the wall. He hefted the weapon in one hand to gauge its weight, ready to set off.
Daily chores in the village were still being carried out.
Several women squatted under the eaves of their homes, sorting green beans, their nimble fingers shelling the beans into coarse earthenware bowls. Everyone kept their heads down and worked; the entire village was dead silent, a suffocating atmosphere hanging over everyone.
In a corner, a young girl bent over to gather scattered hay. Leaning beside her was an oversized iron rake with a wooden handle longer than her arm.
She couldn't help but look up toward the village entrance every now and then, only to silently lower her head and resume working a few seconds later.
In the open space inside the fence, a temporary rain shelter had been set up, its waterproof tarpaulin pulled taut by thick ropes secured to wooden stakes.
A group of people sat under the shelter, their equipment far superior to that of the ordinary villagers. They wore worn leather armor, carried short blades at their waists, and had bows and arrows slung across their backs.
Some of them leaned against the support pillars with their eyes closed to rest, while a few others chatted in hushed tones about the current situation.
Carson sat at the edge of the shelter, slowly wiping his short dagger with a piece of coarse gray cloth.
His wiping motion was slow, moving at a steady pace from the hilt to the tip, as if he wanted to use this repetitive action to suppress the rising anxiety and unease in his heart.
Sitting beside him was a man with a short, thick beard, cradling a hunting bow in his arms. The bow's grip was wrapped in non-slip leather cord for a secure hold during battle.
The man glanced toward the village entrance before pulling his gaze back, asking, “That person who fled from Calais Town earlier—was what he said true? Did Calais Town really fall?”
Carson didn't take his eyes off the blade, and his wiping hand didn't stop. “That refugee was covered in blood. He ran all night to reach our village. By the time he arrived, he was completely exhausted, and his words were barely coherent.”
“According to him, a massive horde of monsters broke through Calais Town's gates, and the entire town's population was fleeing for their lives.”
He flipped the dagger over and continued wiping the other side of the blade. “If even a well-defended place like Calais Town couldn't hold, our small village stands almost no chance of surviving.”
The short-bearded man fell silent for a moment, weighing their current situation before asking bluntly, “Then should we just evacuate immediately?”
Carson stopped his movements, folded the cloth neatly on his lap, and calmly explained the village's plan. “The chief's decision is to finish reinforcing all the defenses first, while simultaneously stockpiling and organizing emergency supplies.”
“If the monsters are just passing by outside the village, we'll stay and carry on with our lives. But if the monster tide comes straight for us and our defense line can't hold, these preparations will at least buy everyone in the village some time to escape.”
He looked up toward the distant woods outside and added, “We've already sent out several groups of mobile scouts to keep watch, rotating patrols. Someone returns every half-day to update us on the situation outside.”
He turned his head toward the high watchtower. “All the reports we've received so far have been reassuring. The patrol has found no traces of large-scale monster groups.”
A man resting against a pillar on the other side opened his eyes, his voice raspy and deep from sleep.
“Going by the time that refugee arrived, the monster tide should have reached this area by now. Yet there's absolutely no sign of them. Could that person have lied to us?”
The short-bearded man didn't reply. He merely adjusted his grip on the hunting bow in his arms. He wasn't sure either, so he could only wait silently for further news.
Carson sheathed his short dagger and rested it on his lap. “Let's wait for the next group to return and report. Speculating now is useless.”
After he said this, silence fell over the shelter once more.
A gentle breeze swept overhead, causing the tarpaulin of the shelter to flap slightly. The soft rustling of the fabric became the only sound in this suffocating space.
Suddenly, the sentry on the watchtower stood up straight. He raised his longbow but hesitated and lowered it, unsure for a moment whether to verify the target first or sound the alarm immediately.
He stared intently at the distant sky for a moment before shouting down to the village below, “Something is coming!”
Hearing this, Carson looked up, following the direction the sentry was pointing.
The woods outside the village were open and vast. The midday sun bathed the entire forest, casting a layer of blinding white light on the ground, leaving his field of vision completely empty.
A villager beside him patted his shoulder and pointed higher up into the sky. “Up there!”
Carson squinted, following the finger's direction. High above the forest canopy, a blurry dark shadow was slowly flying toward the village.
The creature was flying at an extremely high altitude, and against the light, only its general outline could be made out. Its wings were spread wide, and its wingbeats were incredibly slow—the interval between each flap was so long that it made one wonder if it was simply hovering in the air.
This was definitely no ordinary bird. Carson's heart sank instantly, his body's instincts sensing the danger even faster than his brain could process it.
The dark shadow continued to draw closer, its altitude gradually decreasing, yet its wingbeats did not speed up in the slightest. It glided on the air currents the entire time, riding the wind effortlessly rather than struggling against it.
As the distance closed, its form gradually became clear.
The edges of its massive wings had an irregular, jagged curve. Its giant shadow crept slowly across the ground, sweeping over the forest canopy and defensive trenches outside the village like a heavy curtain of night falling from the sky.
A powerful aura of mental pressure enveloped the entire area before the creature itself even arrived. The surrounding air suddenly felt heavy and thick, making every breath noticeably harder to draw.
The children in the village were the first to succumb to this pressure. One after another, they collapsed onto the ground, their faces pale and their bodies trembling uncontrollably, yet they were too terrified to utter even a single cry.
Several villagers carrying defensive stakes were also weighed down, forced to half-kneel against the base of the fence, gasping for breath.
Carson felt his knees go weak, sinking downward as if the ground beneath his feet had turned soft and unstable.
He was suddenly reminded of many years ago, when he was on a city defense patrol in the deep northern mountains and had run into a top-tier predatory magical beast perched on a sheer cliff.
Rate on N.U.
