Chapter 303

UGH—

The captain slipped once again, his massive frame slick with the blood of his fallen comrades. He landed face-first with a heavy thud on the bloodstained floor of the village hall. The women inside instinctively recoiled, backing away in fear as their eyes shot toward the entrance. There, in the threshold, stood a tall, imposing figure in black—the man responsible for the massacre outside.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward.

"NO, please! I'll do anything!!" the captain screamed, flailing onto his back and raising his trembling hands in surrender. The once-imposing brute now looked like a panicked hog in a slaughterhouse, tears mixing with sweat on his bloated face.

WOOOOOOSH.

A blast of wind swept through the hall as a massive shadow eclipsed the light from outside. The women shrieked, ducking as the captain's bulk was suddenly lifted from the ground. His screams echoed as he was thrown past Ali outside the hall into the air, flailing helplessly. A large claw had snatched him in midair, lifting him so high that his cries grew fainter and fainter until they vanished completely into the sky above.

None of them could see what had taken him—but they could feel the fear settle into their bones.

Ali lowered his bloodstained hand, casually flicking away the crimson droplets from his fingers as though they were dust.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, turning slightly to glance at the women with detached calm.

"You're free to go."

The silence lingered for a moment longer before the women slowly rose to their feet. They looked around at one another with hesitant expressions, unsure if this was truly happening. One of the older women stepped forward, her voice shaky but sincere.

"Could we… could we ask who you are, sir?" she asked, her gaze locked onto Ali's face. There was awe in her voice. The others couldn't stop staring either—none of them had ever seen a man like this.

"The name's Ali. New Lord of the Stork lands to the south. I was asked by those who escaped from here to help you," he answered without looking back, his tone firm and matter-of-fact. He turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Outside, the captured men were gathered in the centre of the village, still bound. They looked toward the approaching figure with wide, terrified eyes. All they had heard were screams and bloodcurdling roars—so when they saw Ali wiping his hands clean of blood, they assumed the worst.

But then…

The village hall doors swung open, and the women stepped out, safe and unscathed. Cheers erupted. Relief washed over the crowd like a wave. The women rushed forward to untie their husbands, children ran from their hiding places, and the entire square was filled with the sound of joyful reunions and tearful embraces.

Ali, meanwhile, walked past them silently. His eyes fell upon the massive sword the captain had dropped earlier, still lying in a pool of gore. He crouched and picked it up, examining the weapon's build and weight.

'The metal here is stronger than Earth's,' Ali noted to himself, feeling the sword's balance. 'It's tougher, denser—yet it maintains an ideal equilibrium. If Miles plans to manufacture his robots from materials in this world, the performance boost will be significant. This is just a crude blade, and yet… it already outclasses our standard alloys.'

Ali let the sword fall from his hand with a heavy thud, uninterested in keeping it.

Behind him, the villagers were reuniting. More than a hundred people, many with tear-streaked faces and bloodied clothes, huddled together in the centre of the ravaged village. Children who had been locked away were released and embraced by loved ones. There was no order to it—just raw human relief.

Drew and the others from the hilltop finally arrived, jogging down toward the village with their partners in their arms once they heard the cheers and saw the flickering lights. As they stepped into the square, they were instantly swarmed by relatives who thought them dead—survivors who had seen House Cinder's banners leave and assumed the worst.

[Send them back, Miles.]

He messaged Miles to inform the refugees they could now return safely to their homes.

Ali received an alert on his interface.

[Reward: 0.1 Body]

Ali read the reward notification and exhaled with mild disappointment.

'Body doesn't help me much, but I suppose it was to be expected. These insects weren't worth more. Pathetic ants.' He glanced down at the rows of headless corpses that littered the square like discarded dolls.

"My Lord," Drew said as he approached carefully. His tone was one of deep respect. "Thank you… for saving our village. We don't know how we could ever repay you for your kindness."

Ali nodded absently.

"Sure… Who's the Nolan guy?" he asked, his tone blunt and irreverent.

Drew's eyes widened. For someone to speak of a noble lord—especially a knighted one—so casually… It was shocking.

"My Lord," Drew began, regaining his composure, "Lord Nolan is a Baron. A high-ranking knight, from a long-respected noble bloodline of knights. Our village belongs to him, as does the region of Tolka, where his castle lies. It's a much larger village than ours, where we trade most of our goods. It's roughly half a day's ride west by horseback."

Ali gave a slight nod, digesting the information.

"And the lord who attacked your village?" he asked next.

Drew's expression darkened. His fists clenched tightly, and anger flared in his eyes at the very mention of them.

"That would be House Cinder. A baronial house east of us. They've always been bitter rivals with Lord Nolan's family. Their seat is Castle Cinder, which sits near their town—Obidos," Drew explained through clenched teeth.

Ali tilted his head slightly, processing the geopolitical lines forming in his mind. House Nolan in the west. House Cinder in the east. Himself, newly established, in the south.

'Interesting setup…' Ali thought, eyes narrowing as the wind shifted around him.

"Well, the rest of your people are coming back right now. Bury your dead and burn the bodies of the bandits," Ali said, his tone firm but composed as he turned away from the gathered villagers. "You'll have to wait for your lord to arrive and take care of the situation."

As he walked toward the horizon, the first golden rays of dawn crept over the treetops, casting a long, stretched shadow behind him. The villagers stood silently, watching the dark figure stride into the morning light. Against the glow of the rising sun, his silhouette looked almost mythic—etched into their memories like the final image of a dream they would never forget.

"Mother…" a soft voice broke through the silence. It came from the young girl who had been dragged into the hall by the bandits—her eyes still wide from all she had endured. "Can someone like me… marry a lord?"

The villagers turned to her, some surprised by the question, others gently smiling. Her mother didn't hesitate—she wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders and squeezed her close.

"Of course you can, honey," she whispered with warmth in her voice, brushing the girl's hair back as she kissed her forehead.

COUGH. HEH.

A few villagers chuckled—trying, and failing, to stifle their laughter. "Why are you lying to her?" one man teased with a grin, nudging another beside him. "Don't go giving the kid false hope now."

"My daughter is the prettiest girl in the whole village," her mother bit back with a half-playful glare. "She's got a better chance than any of you fools. That much I know."

More laughter erupted. It was just light-hearted. A healing kind of laughter, the kind that comes after a storm, timid and shy at first, but growing stronger with each breath of peace.

Drew watched the exchange quietly. A soft smile tugged at his lips. He turned to his wife, who was leaning against him, still weak from the night's ordeal. Without saying a word, he bent down and lifted her into his arms, carrying her gently so she wouldn't have to stand on her injured feet. Above them, the sunlight bathed the village in gold, signalling the end of their long nightmare.

Thirty minutes later…

Ali soared through the sky atop Eldora, the wind dragon, her wide silvery-green wings carving through the air like sails of divine cloth. They were high above the southern forest now, gliding effortlessly over the lands that marked the boundary of his territory.

From his elevated vantage point, Ali could look down and see the world below. Ahead, he watched as Abeloth, the great Fire Dragon, descended on a large horned deer sprinting through the trees. The red-scaled beast struck with terrifying precision—his massive legs pinning the deer down in a heartbeat.

WOOOOOOOSH

A blast of molten fire erupted from Abeloth's jaws, engulfing the deer's head. The creature's body went limp as it slumped beneath the pressure of dragon fire. Ali watched calmly as Abeloth tore into the charred carcass with rows of glistening fangs, devouring the animal with brutal efficiency.

"You're not hungry?" Ali asked aloud, glancing down at Eldora beneath him.

The elegant dragon craned her neck in mid-air, her long head tilting to meet his gaze with her glowing emerald eyes. "No, Master. I ate back home. It will be several days before I require sustenance again."

Ali gave a small nod. "Good," he muttered, turning his attention back to Abeloth.

Not far from the slain deer lay a much smaller one—a fawn. The youngling hadn't even tried to run, frozen in place by the overwhelming fear of watching its mother die. Abeloth had already sliced its throat cleanly before going for the larger kill.

The fire dragon now bent down and picked the fawn up in his claws with surprising gentleness. He flapped his enormous wings and rose to the skies again, flying swiftly toward Eldora, who had begun to slow in the air to wait for him.

Ali saw the perfect moment. As the dragons crossed paths, he leapt.

With a single calculated motion, Ali jumped from Eldora's back and landed briefly on Abeloth's spine. He reached down, touched the slain fawn, and sent it into his inventory in a flash of light before propelling himself off the fire dragon's body.

Now in free-fall.

Wind howled past him as he plummeted from the clouds—arms relaxed, body twisting naturally in the air. He flipped once, then again, head over heels as the earth rushed toward him.

Below, the twin peaks of the mountains stood tall and vigilant. Between them, the narrow valley served as a natural border to his domain.

From this altitude, Ali could see much: the trails of returning refugees trickling back into their village like a stream of ants. His own people, the villagers of the Stork lands, were beginning to gather near the centre of their homes—no doubt waiting for him.

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