The campfire flickered, causing the shadows to sway like reeds.
The men gathered around spoke in deliberately hushed voices.
"Old Mander, those damned wanderers have scattered. Today Little Pete caught one." The speaker waved his hand dismissively: "Chopped his head off!"
"You know, we had no quarrel with him."
Old Mander rolled his eyes, pretending not to understand.
People living in this land had no real quarrels; everyone was just a stray dog digging for scraps.
Because every encounter was a fight for life and death, any concept of "grudges" felt petty in the face of the survival instinct.
His companion smacked his lips. "I'm talking about the women they took."
Old Mander emphasized: "Those women are nothing but burdens."
Those women wouldn't fare well if they ran into his group again.
Although they wouldn't fare well in anyone else's hands either, as long as he didn't have to witness their suffering… that was all that was left of his conscience.
If the settlement had no food, women were a liability.
But if the settlement was strong, women were the most valuable ornaments.
Besides, his companions were already blinded by "Lady Celine's favor."
"They used to be burdens, of course, but once we join Lady Celine, women who can bear children are a fortune. I hear the new noble lord in the east, the one Lady Celine serves, is collecting children to raise, and each one can be sold for a good price."
"Lady Celine's demands… ugh."
Old Mander sighed.
Ever since the wanderers broke through their settlement, he and a few companions had embarked on a wandering journey. Which was really just a different kind of wandering.
But they still had their limits.
...Like not eating their own.
Completing Lady Celine's task and officially joining her ranks probably wouldn't be so easy.
Crack!
The sound of a branch breaking came from the direction of the dead forest ahead. Old Mander's gaze went past the campfire to the source of the sound.
It was too obvious; it was really hard to pretend they hadn't heard.
Someone was approaching.
It wasn't just Old Mander who noticed; the others did too.
Old Mander gave a look, and his companions understood, pretending not to have heard anything.
They couldn't figure out who was coming.
Even though they were in a backwater corner of the border, the power dynamics in this area were complicated, even very complicated.
There were several individuals Old Mander couldn't afford to cross.
Thump. A footstep.
The person must be wearing iron-reinforced boots and probably armor as well; their footsteps were quite loud.
Could it be that someone powerful was coming to attack them directly?
Old Mander's face was grim.
Although they thought they were pretty strong, they knew their own limitations. If they actually ran into a skilled opponent, even just one, they'd be easily dealt with.
The others were the same; their swords were slowly being drawn, gleaming in the firelight.
The volume of their conversation also lowered involuntarily.
Suddenly, Old Mander noticed something odd. The person was hiding behind a tree. From Old Mander's perspective, he couldn't see the person directly, but the light from the campfire cast the person's shadow from behind the tree onto the ground.
Crouching low.
Approaching like a thief.
Did this person really think they hadn't been spotted?
It couldn't be that ridiculous, could it?
Old Mander's expression was strange.
It was already dark, so only the companions nearby could see the changes in his expression. Those further away could only see a blob of sticky blackness and a swaying blob of red on his face.
"So!" Old Mander raised his voice. "So, which faction should we hit first?"
The person "sneakily" approaching stopped in their tracks, as if listening intently.
That indicated the person was from a nearby powerful faction.
So, where were they from?
Prey Town, or the Wanderers?
He couldn't imagine a third powerful faction besides those two.
Conquering and collecting territories west of Dragon Tooth Pass and east of Misty Cliff, or at least harassing and beating them until they cried, was the rite of passage Lady Celine wanted.
His companion understood Old Mander's signal and immediately said, "Hit Prey Town first? But it's a bit tough. I know of a small gathering nearby, with a lot of people."
"Hmm..." Old Mander gripped his sword tighter and tighter. He actually had no desire to chat; he was just drawing out the syllables of his words to make it look like he was thinking, while actually using his eyes and gestures to give instructions to his companions.
Next, it was time to fight for their lives!
...
WhiteStockingsLover was sneaking. After the experience of his last failed attempt, he had learned his lesson. After several internal simulations and searching for special forces sneaking techniques online, he had finally developed his own sneaking skills.
As soon as he saw the firelight and heard people talking, he immediately entered "stealth mode."
Although he had stepped on a branch in the process, he hadn't been discovered, which meant his sneaking skills were very successful.
Reassured, WhiteStockingsLover slowly closed the distance.
He wouldn't make such foolish mistakes again; he wouldn't use such a stupid method as throwing a rock to test the waters.
Now, it was Assassin's Creed time. (referencing the popular video game series)
Sleekly sneak in, assassinate, turn around and leave, leaving no trace, showing off his amazing skills!
If possible, he would even deliberately leave one person alive for interrogation.
The Lady Celine they were talking about was clearly a boss-level character. And Prey Town and the Wanderers were definitely key pieces of information for the plot.
This was the joy of opening up the map.
WhiteStockingsLover approached, getting closer and closer.
He raised his sword.
Backstab! Assassination!
Heh heh, we gamers, we only know how to count to potato! (This is a made up idiom, replacing the string of numbers with something absurd, but conveys the same sense of "we only care about winning")
He thrust his sword forward, trying to keep the movement as small as possible, trying to make as little noise as possible, trying to ensure a one-hit kill.
Holy crap, he missed!
WhiteStockingsLover suddenly sensed something was wrong, especially when a kick landed on his chest. That feeling of unease immediately surged like a rising tide.
He wasn't hurt, just a little shaken. He took a step back with his right foot to regain his balance.
As one of the first Undead to encounter Linde, WhiteStockingsLover had already noticed that his body was getting stronger as he leveled up.
That was normal. If players couldn't respawn infinitely and level up, then there was no point in calling them the Fourth Calamity.
Both were indispensable.
His body's defense was strong, and he was wearing fairly rare, excellent armor. The damage it absorbed was negligible to him, at most like being pushed and stumbling a little.
What bothered him was that these mobs seemed to have spotted him a long time ago. They were acting, waiting for him to get close.
"Seriously? The monsters in this game are sentient now?"
He got owned by the Dog King back when fighting jackals, but whatever; the guy was an animal.
Later, when he, BlackTurtleShield, and the other two were sneaking around investigating, they encountered Wanderers, and everyone knew how to fight. They were forced to play cautiously. But that was okay because he won in the end.
Last night's confrontation with the Corpse Eaters was even beyond his imagination. The four of them were brutally beaten by low-level mobs, not even qualified to face the Corpse Eater Queen. But even then, he still thought it was fine, because it was a cutscene, for Linde to show off his muscles.
Now, he was being outsmarted and outplayed with acting skills by the mobs while sneaking. He was really upset.
This game was really out to get the players.
Every single mob was so strong. It's one thing to be able to fight, but you can also think?!
Although he had a lot of complaints in his mind, it was only for a moment.
The man, who looked quite old, drew his sword and strode around the campfire, rushing towards WhiteStockingsLover. He raised his sword high above his head, bringing it down in a signature overhead chop - the "New Year's Greeting" strike.
"Parry!"
WhiteStockingsLover reacted very quickly.
He really liked the parry mechanic. Based on his experience, as long as he raised his sword and swung the moment the opponent started their swing, he could create a stagger, and then...
Clang! His sword was knocked away by the downward force of the "New Year's Greeting" strike.
WhiteStockingsLover's eyes widened. The situation was playing out a little differently than he'd imagined. Why couldn't he parry a simple downward strike from a mob?