After walking for another hour, there was no longer any path beneath his feet.
Mark Reed vaguely saw a house without lights at the top of the mountain.
The moon hung low in the sky above the house, and Mark had a premonition that this was his destination.
His heavy footsteps involuntarily quickened, nearly breaking into a sprint.
Soon, a dilapidated clay house appeared before him.
The roof had collapsed halfway, exposing the worn beams, while the walls were mottled and peeling.
"Valentine..." Mark's heart inexplicably tightened with tension as he pushed open the rickety wooden door.
He caught a strange scent and immediately held his breath. His sharp instinct warned him of someone behind him; he tilted his body, and the falling stick brushed past, narrowly missing his face.
Mark executed a nimble spinning kick, sending the stick-wielding attacker flying.
