chapter 14.2

The gray sky loomed low above them, casting a somber atmosphere that weighed down their journey. A cold wind whispered through the trees, carrying the damp scent of earth still wet from the previous night's rain. Their horses' hooves created a steady rhythm against the narrow, rocky path, accompanying the rising tension in the air.

Arwen, who had been following closely behind Alcard, finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at her thoughts. "Alcard," she called, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Why are we taking another detour? Wouldn't it be faster to use the previous route?"

Without slowing his pace, Alcard responded in his usual calm, measured tone. "That path leads through bandit territory." His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, ever watchful. "If I were alone, it wouldn't be a problem. But right now, I'm responsible for your safety. This route is longer, but safer."

Arwen fell silent for a moment, observing his unreadable expression. Then, with a small smile, she remarked, "You always act cold and indifferent, but you're actually quite considerate, aren't you?"

Alcard gave no response. He simply continued forward, letting his actions speak louder than words. Hours passed in silence until they reached the point where their supplies began running low. Relying on a small map tucked into his pocket, Alcard searched for the nearest village where they could restock.

After an extended journey, they finally arrived at a small, worn-out village. The wooden houses stood in a state of neglect, their doors ajar as if abandoned long ago. There were no signs of life—no crowing roosters, no bleating goats, not even the rustling of curtains in the wind. It was eerily quiet.

Arwen glanced around with a puzzled expression. "This is strange," she murmured, lowering her voice instinctively. "There should be activity—voices, livestock, something. But this place... it's too quiet."

Alcard scanned their surroundings with a sharp, assessing gaze. His eyes swept over every building, every shadow, as if expecting something to emerge at any moment. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted first before extending a hand to help Arwen down from her white mare.

"This isn't normal," he muttered, his voice laced with caution.

They proceeded carefully, stepping onto the village's main path, their footsteps echoing unnaturally in the stillness. The deeper they walked, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. The village had not been ransacked—there were no signs of struggle, no broken furniture or burnt structures. It was as if everyone had simply vanished, leaving everything untouched.

Then, without warning, a hooded figure in white stepped out from behind one of the houses. Silent and motionless, they stood directly in their path, their face obscured by the deep folds of their hood. It was as if they had been there all along, waiting.

Alcard reacted immediately, stepping in front of Arwen and drawing his sword in a controlled motion. He didn't lift it aggressively, but the intent was clear—he was prepared to fight if necessary.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady and edged with authority.

The figure remained silent, making no move to attack nor retreat.

Behind him, Arwen clutched his sleeve tightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who is that? A bandit? Or something else?"

"I don't know," Alcard replied without taking his eyes off the stranger. "But they're not ordinary."

The figure slowly raised a hand, revealing that they were unarmed. Yet their silent, unmoving demeanor only thickened the tension.

"If you mean no harm, state your name," Alcard pressed, his voice firmer, unwilling to be drawn into a game of silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the figure spoke. Their voice was soft yet carried an undeniable authority, cold and deliberate.

"I am the guardian."

Alcard's brow furrowed. The title only raised more questions. "Guardian?" he echoed, eyes narrowing. "Guardian of what? We're only here for supplies. Nothing more."

The figure remained still for a moment before tilting their head slightly, as if studying them. Then, after another pause, they finally answered. "If that is your intention, I can help. But you must leave before nightfall."

Alcard and Arwen exchanged glances. Both of them could sense something was off. The village was too quiet, the presence of this "guardian" too unsettling. Whatever had happened here, it was clear that staying after dark was not an option.

Still, Alcard chose not to provoke the situation. He knew when to pick his battles, and right now, avoiding conflict seemed the best course of action.

"Fine," he agreed at last. "We'll take what we need and be gone before nightfall."

The hooded figure gave a slow nod before turning and walking forward, leading them further into the village. No direct command had been given, but the message was clear—they were to follow.

Alcard remained vigilant, one hand still resting on the hilt of his sword as he trailed behind the guardian. Arwen followed closely, her steps careful and light. She didn't say a word, but he knew her mind was racing with questions—questions he himself wanted answers to.

Who was this guardian? Why did they insist they leave before nightfall? And more importantly, what had really happened in this village?

As they passed rows of abandoned houses, the setting sun cast long shadows across the empty streets. The dark silhouettes stretched unnaturally, almost as if something unseen lurked within them.

A deep unease settled in Alcard's chest.

Something was waiting in this village.

And he wasn't sure if leaving before nightfall would be enough to escape it.

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