Black had no fear of the grave robbers absconding with his advance payment. True, men like that had no honor to speak of—but they would never pass up such a lucrative deal. Besides, he had already taken precautions to ensure their compliance.
That was why he could now stroll down the country lane at his leisure, enjoying the pastoral scenery. After finalizing the deal with the Grier brothers, he had wasted no time lingering in the city. He had spent one night at an inn within the walls, then departed at dawn, making his way to a cozy village tavern on the outskirts. It was clear the brothers were taking the job seriously; shortly after Black's departure, they had rented a warehouse on the edge of town—obviously to store the "merchandise" he had ordered.
How he knew this, of course, was his business.
Black took a deep breath of the crisp country air, his gaze drifting to the farmland in the distance. It was early spring—the chill of winter still clung to the breeze, but it was already tinged with the faint, invigorating scent of new life. Emerald green shoots swayed gently in the wind, rustling softly like whispered secrets. The road ahead was dotted with farmers tending their fields, weary merchants trundling along with their carts, and sword-wielding adventurers clad in dented armor, their boots caked with mud.
The Kingdom of Wester was far different now than it had been in Black's memory. Once a weak, war-torn realm struggling to fend off its neighbors, it had clearly grown strong enough to safeguard its borders.
Black's eyes narrowed slightly.
He had seen countless villages like this one in his time—peaceful, idyllic, seemingly untouched by the chaos of the world beyond. They looked like blank slates, pure and unspoiled. But that illusion could shatter in an instant. In the blink of an eye, blood and corpses would stain the fields, the vibrant green of the crops would be choked by crimson, and the only scents lingering in the air would be the coppery tang of blood and the stench of death. He had witnessed such carnage countless times during the wars of old—and he had even been the one to unleash it upon more than one occasion.
How long could this peace last?
It would take only a moment to shatter it. If Black drew his sword right now, the village's tranquility would be gone in three seconds flat.
And how long would it take for peace to return?
Years. Decades. Perhaps even longer.
A faint, cynical smile tugged at the corner of Black's lips as his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. That was when he felt the eyes upon him.
There was no malice in those gazes—only a mix of anxiety, hope, and unease.
When Black turned to look, he spotted a group of men dressed as village militiamen standing at a crossroads not far away. They were huddled in conversation with a handful of adventurers, their eyes darting in his direction every few moments. The moment they caught Black's gaze, the leader of the militiamen froze, then shot a helpless look at the adventurer beside him. The latter merely shrugged, his eyes fixed on Black before he turned back to the militiaman, speaking rapidly with a note of urgency in his voice. Finally, the militiaman seemed to be persuaded. He let out a long, resigned sigh and strode purposefully toward Black.
Black made no move to leave. He simply stood there, waiting calmly for the man to approach. When the militiaman reached him, he snapped to attention and saluted him with all the clumsy formality of a raw recruit.
"Greetings, honored sir! I apologize for the intrusion—"
"What do you want?" Black cut him off, his tone direct and to the point. He was well aware that his noble attire made him stand out like a sore thumb in this rustic setting, but he was somewhat surprised to be accosted by a mere militiaman. After all, nobles enjoyed privileges beyond the reach of common law—even a lowly knight like himself was far above the station of a village guard.
The law had never been meant for the privileged few.
"Well, you see—" Encouraged by Black's surprisingly mild tone, the militiaman wasted no more time on pleasantries, hurrying to explain his errand.
They were the village militia, he said—volunteers who had banded together to protect their homes from bandits and wild beasts, just like in every other village across the realm. But lately, their quiet little hamlet had been anything but peaceful. Every night, a beast would sneak out of the forest and wreak havoc on their fields, trampling and devouring their crops. This was not an unusual occurrence—such raids happened every year, after all. The animals that lived near human settlements often grew cunning enough to slip past defenses under the cover of darkness, gorging themselves on the farmers' hard-earned harvest as if it were laid out for them on a silver platter.
But this year was different. In the past, the beasts had only come when the crops were ripe and ready for harvest. This time, however, they had struck while the fields were still being sown—a devastating blow to the farmers whose livelihoods depended on those crops. The militiamen had thrown themselves into the hunt with ruthless determination, but this beast was unlike any they had ever faced. Drawing on years of experience, they had tracked it down without much trouble—but in the ensuing fight, the creature had displayed a terrifying strength far beyond their expectations. It had not only escaped their ambush with ease but had also left several of their men gravely injured.
After several more failed attempts, the militiamen had been forced to admit defeat. They realized they were no match for such a monster, so they had posted a bounty, hoping to attract adventurers brave enough to hunt it down.
The villagers had offered a generous reward, so a group of adventurers had quickly answered the call. Together, the militiamen and adventurers had laid another ambush, and soon enough, they had cornered the beast. They had been confident of victory—with so many fighters on their side, capturing a single animal should have been child's play. But the unexpected had happened. Despite their ferocious assault, the beast had held its own with ease, breaking through their encirclement and nearly killing several more of their number before vanishing back into the forest. Once again, their hunt had ended in failure.
But this time, they had learned something crucial. Among the adventurers was a seasoned swordsman who had recognized the true nature of their quarry: it was no ordinary beast, but a *variant*—a creature mutated by the corrupting touch of mana. By his estimation, the variant's power level was roughly equivalent to that of a mid-rank soldier—far beyond the capabilities of a ragtag band of militiamen and novice adventurers. It was for this reason that the adventurers had advised the militia to send a request for aid to the city watch. After all, a monster of that caliber was well outside their league.
But here was the problem: while they had already submitted an official request to the watch, they knew from bitter experience that such petitions usually took at least half a month to receive a response. The city watch's primary duty was to protect the cities, not to chase monsters through the countryside—otherwise, what was the point of having village militias?
That was why they had turned to Black. To the simple folk of the village, all nobles were powerful figures who held sway over the authorities. They were certain he had the clout to speed up the watch's response.
Little did they know that Black had no such authority at all.
A beast, huh?
Black raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the group of adventurers standing not far behind the militiaman. They were young, their faces full of the reckless enthusiasm of those new to the life of adventure. The sight of them stirred a faint memory in Black's mind—of a time long ago when he, too, had ridden with a band of mercenaries, exploring uncharted lands and facing unknown dangers. Now that he thought about it, those days had not been half bad.
Black reached into his cloak, pulling out a pocket watch and flipping it open, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the time.
His appointment with the Grier brothers was in two days' time, at dusk. He had plenty of time to kill…
"Well then," Black said, closing the watch with a soft *snap* and slipping it back into his pocket, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I suppose I can grant your request—but I have one condition. I want to see this beast for myself before I make any decisions."
"Your descriptions paint it as quite the formidable creature," he continued, his tone as calm and unflappable as if he truly did hold the power to command the city watch. "But I must see it with my own eyes to determine whether the watch's intervention is truly necessary."