CHAPTER 31: BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT

Three days had passed since I first arrived in the village under my sickly facade. Though many remained wary of me, I had managed to integrate myself well enough into their daily life. Yet, I still hadn’t devised a concrete plan to enter the city, and time was ticking, a constant reminder that inaction was not an option.

[Adjustment period: 26 Days 11:42:23...]

Now, under the cover of darkness, I would make my move. These people would serve a purpose in my future, though in another form, one of strength. Despite my moral ambiguity, I wasn’t so far gone as to slaughter those who had shown me kindness and given me shelter. The rest, however, were expendable.

Lying on my makeshift bed of straw, padded together on the floor, I slowly rose, careful to keep my breathing steady. My steps were light against the creaking wooden floorboards, moving with the precision of a predator. The moonlight seeped through the blinds, casting an ethereal blue hue across the room, adding to the night's eerie stillness. As I approached the door, I gripped the rusted sword from the rack, feeling its unbalanced, weathered weight in my hand. The edges were dulled and corroded with rust, but it would suffice.

As I pushed the door open, it let out a low creak. I paused, glancing back to ensure no one had stirred. Relief washed over me, they remained sound asleep. Perhaps I had grown too comfortable here, a fleeting attachment I couldn’t afford.

Stepping outside, I gazed upon the golden fields, now draped in a dark, bluish tint under the glow of the moon. It would be a pity for such a place to go up in flames, but in the end, that might be the only way to cover up what was about to unfold.

I had spent my time here observing, analyzing. The village was composed of seven families, spread across multiple homes, a total of sixty-two people, including children and the elderly. Some of the men were strong from years of labor, but none possessed combat experience. Their levels were pitifully low, their potential wasted.

If I wanted this to go smoothly, I needed to act without causing a disturbance, swift, efficient, silent. The first target was the largest house, home to eight people. The only obstacle was their dog, sleeping on the porch. Moving with practiced stealth, I ascended the steps and slit its throat in one smooth motion, catching its body before it could fall and alert the household.

The house fell silent as my blade worked its way through them with brutal precision. Room after room, lives ended in the span of heartbeats, and not a single soul stirred in time to fight back. In the last room, two young boys, brothers, perhaps ten years old, slept soundly, unaware their family had already moved on to the afterlife, if such a thing even existed.

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I had made it a point not to learn their names; humanizing them would only complicate things. As I approached the bed, the floor betrayed me with a loud creak, tragic, for the boys. One of them stirred, his tired voice breaking the silence.

"Dad?" he mumbled, his eyes half-open, confusion dawning. The sound of his voice, so innocent and trusting, struck a strange chord within me, a fleeting reminder of something lost long ago.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward, raising my blade.

"What are y—"

His words were cut short as his head tumbled to the ground. In one precise motion, I drove the sword through the heart of the second boy. The moment his body fell lifeless, I felt nothing. No joy, no sadness. Just... emptiness. Death had become a mundane reality. In a twisted way, I had freed them from the inevitable torment of this world.

House after house, the routine repeated. The bodies piled up, the air thick with the scent of blood and fear. But when I reached the second-to-last house, something was off. The hunter’s bed was empty.

My heart quickened. He was the only one here with any semblance of fighting ability, and he was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, I heard the door creak open. Footsteps; cautious, deliberate. Through the thin walls, I could hear his breathing, steady but tense. Then, the sound of something being pulled back. A bow?

Before I could react, the door to my room was kicked open. An arrow whistled through the air, its tip gleaming in the moonlight. I twisted my body just in time, the arrow grazing past my right shoulder, leaving a shallow wound. Pain Tolerance kicked in, dulling the sensation to a mere sting.

I lunged, bringing my rusted blade down toward his neck. He countered swiftly, his dagger colliding with my weapon. The impact sent a crack through the brittle metal. This couldn’t happen, not now. We exchanged a flurry of blows; his strikes were precise, practiced. I had underestimated him. A selfless fool, fighting for his family, but at this moment, he stood in my way.

With one final clash, my blade shattered into rusted shards. But it was enough of a distraction. Seizing the moment, I gripped his dagger hand, crushing his fingers under my strength. He cried out, his face contorted in agony and grief.

He fought for his family, a selfless cause. I fought for myself. In an ideal world, he might have won. But the world was far from ideal. Plunging the broken edge of my sword into his stomach, I twisted it, again and again.

Tears streamed down his weathered face as he crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. I stood over him, catching my breath. His blood pooled beneath him, a bitter reminder of the cost of survival. For a brief moment, I felt a sliver of pity for the man, a brief, fleeting connection to a life I’d long abandoned. But in the end, I was stronger.

And that was all that mattered.