A chilling wind swept through the quiet countryside village, carrying with it a sense of foreboding.

The village appeared serene, almost idyllic—rows of simple wooden houses nestled amidst golden fields, smoke lazily curling from chimneys.

But beneath this calm facade, something sinister lurked.

Derek stood at the edge of the village, his greatsword resting on his broad shoulder.

His towering frame and sharp eyes made him an imposing figure.

As one of the strongest A-rank hunters and a disciple of Havard, his presence alone inspired confidence in his team.

“It’s supposed to be here, right?” Derek asked, his voice steady but carrying a hint of doubt.

“Yes, Captain,” replied one of his subordinates, a younger hunter clutching a bow.

His tone was respectful but uneasy.

“According to the intel, this is where one of the Demonic Guild’s hideouts is located.”

Derek’s gaze swept over the village.

“Cain’s report mentioned a mansion serving as their base, didn’t it?”

The subordinate nodded.

“But he also suggested that the entire village might be colluding with the Demonic Guild.”

Derek let out a low whistle, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smile.

“So, in other words, Cain’s brilliant strategy is to ‘sweep the whole village’ just to flush out a few Demonic Guild members?”

The younger hunter hesitated, his grip tightening on his bow.

“Y-Yes. That’s the implication.”

Derek’s smile faded, replaced by a frown.

“That man’s methods are as cold as ever. Sacrifice the whole to save the majority... it’s effective, sure, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

Another hunter, a woman with twin daggers strapped to her hips, chimed in.

“We can’t just assume everyone here is guilty. What if there are innocent people mixed in?”

Derek’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“We’re not butchers. If we’re going to do this, we do it right. No unnecessary bloodshed.”

His team murmured their agreement.

As they moved deeper into the village, the atmosphere shifted.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun did little to dispel the tension in the air.

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The village was eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the crunch of boots against gravel and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees.

Derek’s sharp eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail—the locked doors, the faint movement behind curtains, the way the air itself seemed heavier.

“Captain,” one of his team members whispered, gripping their weapon tightly.

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

Derek nodded but didn’t respond immediately. His instincts screamed danger, but he pressed forward, his steps steady and deliberate.

The faint sound of a struggle caught his attention, and he turned to see a woman collapse onto the dirt path ahead.

Derek approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword.

The woman was dressed in plain clothes, her face pale and streaked with dirt.

She looked up at him with wide, teary eyes as he extended his hand.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, his voice calm but firm.

The woman nodded weakly, reaching for his hand.

But as her fingers brushed his, he felt a sudden shift in her movements.

A flash of steel caught his eye as she lunged forward, a small dagger clutched in her trembling grip.

Derek didn’t flinch.

The blade struck his chest—and stopped, unable to pierce his skin.

The difference between an A rank and B rank was simple and clear.

Aura, a form mana that can be projected over body or weapons.

And Derek’s aura was a defensive type.

The woman’s face twisted in shock as she stared at the weapon.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, his tone icy.

The woman stumbled back, her eyes darting between him and the dagger.

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

Derek’s gaze hardened. “I’ll ask again. What are you doing?”

Finally, the woman broke down, tears streaming down her face as she dropped the dagger.

“Please… don’t kill me,” she sobbed.

“I… I didn’t have a choice. They have my brother. They said they’d kill him if I didn’t do this.”

Derek studied her, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t sense the mana of a hunter around her, and her trembling hands and tear-filled eyes seemed genuine.

But he’d been deceived before.

“Your brother?” Derek asked, his voice still cold.

She nodded frantically, clasping her hands together.

“Please… please believe me. I didn’t want to do this. They made me!”

Derek’s sharp eyes softened for a brief moment as images flashed through his mind of his younger sister.

He sighed deeply, his grip on his sword loosening.

“Haa… Cain was right. We really do need to rid ourselves of these ideals.”

The woman froze, her expression shifting from fear to confusion.

His team members exchanged uneasy glances, shocked by their captain’s words.

“You mean…” the woman stammered.

Derek waved her off. “Go. Leave this place.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Get out of here,” Derek said, his voice firm.

“If I come across your brother, I’ll do what I can. Now, go.”

The woman didn’t hesitate.

She bowed quickly, tears still streaming down her face.

“Thank you… thank you so much!” she cried before running down the path and disappearing into the shadows.

Derek stood there for a moment, his team silent around him.

One of the younger members finally spoke up.

“Captain… why did you let her go?”

Derek glanced at the hunter, his expression unreadable. “Because not everyone here is our enemy.”

Before anyone could respond, movement caught their attention.

A group of villagers stepped out from between the crooked, weathered houses, their faces ghostly pale and eyes wide with unspoken terror.

They clutched makeshift weapons—pitchforks with splintered handles, rust-encrusted blades, and wooden clubs stained with age.

Their knuckles were white, their hands trembling so violently that some nearly dropped their crude tools.

Fear radiated off them like heat from a fire, thick and suffocating in the still evening air.

“They’re not fighters,” one of Derek’s team members murmured, their voice low and brittle, as though afraid to shatter the fragile silence.

“No,” Derek agreed, his tone grim, his jaw set.

His sharp gaze swept over the villagers.

He saw their trembling fingers, the quick, shallow rise and fall of their chests, the way their gazes skittered away from his as if meeting his eyes might spell their doom.

These weren’t warriors.

They were just people—broken and desperate, standing between his team and whatever lay deeper in the village.

“They’re just trying to survive,” he said softly, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth.

The tension in the air tightened like a noose.

The faint rustle of the wind through dry leaves was the only sound, and even that felt muted, as though the world itself held its breath.

Derek’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles ached.

His mind churned, a tempest of conflicting emotions and responsibilities.

He felt the weight of his team’s expectant stares, their trust in him, their unspoken plea for guidance.

“What do we do, Captain?” The dagger-wielding hunter’s voice broke the stillness, edged with unease.

Her usually steady hands twitched at her sides, betraying her own doubt.

Derek didn’t answer right away.

His heart wrestled with his mind, a relentless, vicious war.

They had come to root out the Demonic Guild’s influence, to eliminate a threat that had cast a dark shadow over this region.

But now, staring into the hollow, terrified eyes of these villagers, the lines between enemy and victim blurred.

“Should we just… sweep them away?” he whispered to himself, the words scarcely audible, but they burned like acid on his tongue.

His throat tightened.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady his breathing.

Can they do this?

The question clawed at him.

Could his team raise their weapons against people who weren’t warriors, weren’t truly their enemy?

Could he ask them to?

The ideals he had lived by—protecting the innocent, safeguarding those who couldn’t defend themselves—felt like a cruel mockery now, hanging over him like a heavy mantle.

These were the same people they were supposed to save.

The image of blood on the dirt, of their screams ringing out, flashed in his mind.

He felt bile rise in his throat.

His grip tightened further, his fingers trembling now.

Can we do this?

The answer lingered, unspoken, but the weight of it pressed down on his soul.