Paul didn’t understand, especially as Dasha turned on his heel. “W-what is a Rakshasa?”

“It means perseverer. Think of them as monsters.”

“Monsters…?”

The other players were also asking around and seemed to come to the same conclusion. Everyone had gathered at the centre of the village, and the mangled wooden pieces at the south must have formerly been a gate.

With a cursory glance, Dasha memorized their names, faces, levels, and classes. In his opinion, the only player noteworthy was Hugo Sánchez, the Mexican man with the slick haircut and an unknown level. His ear piercing glowed unnaturally white and he carried no weapons on him, not even a gauntlet. His rugged hands suggested he was adept at hand-to-hand combat, however.

“Soooo….this is nice,” said Sylvia Fitzgerald. Makeup smudged and auburn hair streaked with gray, the woman exuded a distinct smell and an unkempt appearance. She carried with her a long, thick, and half empty bottle of beer, which she would tempt herself to drink. “Anybody want to talk? Maybe coordinate? Or just screw these people and run?”

“Oh Lord.” Jackson Callahan face-palmed. His short-cropped brown hair was hidden beneath a well-worn baseball cap and a trusty longsword serving as his companion. “Can’t ya shut up, lady!? You asked these clearly broke ass people for booz! Are ya stupid or sumpn?”

That was the thickest, most asinine Southern American accent he had ever heard. The man might as well have said howdy and worn a cowboy hat.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "So what? It’s just booze.”

"Sylvia, right? I dunno if you’ve been taught this, but there's a time and place for a drink,” Jack shot back.

Her eyes narrowing, Sylvia retorted, "Well, darlin', I'll be the judge of what's good for me, thank you very much. I didn't ask for your opinion."

“Does not mean I can’t give it!”

“Doesn’t mean I have to listen to it!”

Levels 13 and 14. If it came down to a fight based purely on numbers, Sylvia would lose badly. But luckily for the drunk woman, Hugo Sánchez would not allow it. He placed hand on Jack’s chest, stopping him before he could come closer to her.

“Relax, man. We’re all friends here,” Hugo said.

“We definitely are not,” Jack said.

“Uneasy friends then? Look, we can argue later, for now, we were given an objective. Let us wait and then we can talk it out. Kapeesh?”

His unknown level combined with his sharp eyes and firm logic pushed Jack to back off. Not that it mattered to Dasha.

So the players waited. They waited and waited, and five of them eventually sat down as they waited. Half an hour passed. Jack threw Sylvia dirty looks, while Sylvia ignored him and pulled out bottle after bottle. Paul quietly asked him just how many she had. So far, Dasha had counted four, though he didn’t tell his servant that.

And because it was so hot, it was preferable to sit outside than to go indoors. The players were becoming a hot, sweaty mess. Dasha was the sole exception, because he could manipulate his Qi and regulate his body temperature. It wasn’t a technique taught in books. Rather, it was a skill he developed through his own ingenuity.

Soon, two players decided to feed some of the impoverished locals, and the remaining players joined in.

Paul spectated, sitting on the dirty ground, and asked, “Should we help?”

“Go ahead.” Dasha crossed his arms and eyed him with thick judgement, as if to say, “Does a murderer deserve to help people?”

Kora Ngata, a short woman with tattoos on her lips and chin, was the proponent and especially helpful. Moving even. She smiled and laughed and attempted to converse with the people. Her efforts didn’t lead to a fairytale thank you, but it did instill a level of trust between the foreign players and the beady eyes of the Doon Valley people. Emma Bennett and Samuel Rodriguez, two players at level 12 wearing the basic Templar uniform, tagged alongside her.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

‘Trying to fuel their own sense of righteousness because they themselves couldn’t do it.’ Dasha turned and focused his attention back on the gate. This entire time, he had Qi Sense activated. Ten metres, just slightly clipping the gate.

A haunting, otherworldly howl pierced the silence. The villagers reacted, panic in their eyes, and dispersed. Ignoring the raging heat, they went indoors.

“It’s happening, ya’ll!” Jack exclaimed, unsheathing his sword. “C’mon! Let’s do it!”

Weapons came at the ready, and Dasha made sure to eye Hugo in particular: wearing a semi-fancy red tunic with black buttons and stitched with gold at the collar, a pitch black shade of leather pants, and rouge leather boots. No belt, no dagger, and no sword or staff.

As the minutes passed, seven grotesque shapes emerged from the shadows. Rakshasas: dark and sinister, skin red and ashen, heads shaped like goblins. The monstrosities stepped into his Qi Sense and immediately he was bombarded with a loathsome energy.

There were more coming in. ‘Nine, ten, eleven…’ Just how many were there? The Rakshasas were adorned with bone jewellery, their eyes aflame with malevolence, and their fangs bared.

While weapons were at the ready, it became clear that they were badly outnumbered and outsized. The fear of facing a creature twice their size seeped in. Although Dasha could understand the fear of superior strength, he didn’t share it because his eyes could see their weak spots. The larger the body, the larger the weak spots.

But that was because he functioned on cold logic. In other words, he was messed up. An anomaly, and he knew it.

'Should I watch what he can do?' But like Dasha, Hugo wasn't nervous. The normal response to a situation of this magnitude would be to run, regardless of the past weeks of combat. However, Hugo stood there, relaxed as if on a trip to the sea.

‘Plus, these monsters are level 12. Hardly worth the effort. There’s Valhalla’s Colosseum if I need XP from mobs.’

A battle cry from Jack and he started charging with his sword. Emma and Samuel, members of the Templars, also went in, their swords covered in flames. The Rakshasas howled again, claws extending, and the battle began when a ball of fire struck and engulfed an enemy. Casted by Sylvia the drunk, it was surprisingly effective and forced the Rakshasas to hesitate.

“Fire Ball! Fire Ball! Fire Ball!” Sylvia was cackling as she spammed fire ball and fire ball. Her aime, however…

“Watch where you’re shootin’!” Jack ducked and rolled and an explosion concussed the monster he had been fighting. “I swear to god—aim BETTER, woman!”

“Haha, no thank you!”

“I swear to—” Jack was cut off as a claw struck his face. Two thick claw marks bled across his cheek and he growled and fought back, enraged.

The Templars swooped in on the left side, away from Jack and the fireballs, swinging their magic sword with little skill but immense power. A combo of coordinated strikes led to the first Rakshasa being killed. Jack, in his haste, was surrounded by three of them and struck wildly, missing his targets more often than not.

“I’m going in,” said Paul. He wanted those precious levels, didn’t he? Whatever. Dasha did not stop when he ran with his knives. Granted the Super Speed Lv. 1 by his Class, which levelled up twice by his skill tree, Paul was nothing short of a blue blur. Static Swipe cut the hand of the attacking Rakshasa, saving Jack, and diced up a second Rakshasa shortly after.

‘He better be keeping watch of his MP.’ Paul wasn’t weak but he could be clumsy and arrogant. The expression on his face was stretched into blood-thirsty excitement. He loved it. He loved killing. He loved slaying monsters. He loved being a hero and a villain.

'Still not fighting,' Dasha noted, eyeing them discreetly. Kora and Hugo were acting like the second line of defence, guarding the huts behind them. The battle was already so crowded and correctly judged that throwing themselves there would lead to disaster.

Dasha returned to the battle and his vision twisted. The group must have killed ten, at least, yet it appeared like nothing had changed.

Sylvia wasn’t slowing down. “Fire Ball! Fire Ball! Fire Ball! Fire Ball!”

Her attacks weren’t powerful but they were an effective distraction.

“PLEASE, aim at the goddamn monsters!”

“You’re welcome!”

Sylvia seemed to love to bicker with Jack. She appeared confident about her powers, it seemed, and held no concern over his mana reserves. Either her magical abilities were ridiculously high or she was an idiot.

But more importantly, the Rakshasas weren't dying out. They were multiplying, somehow, and their relentless nature caught one player, Samuel, astray. Grabbed by the white cloak, he was tossed into the ground and slammed by a fist. Emma tried to help him but she was held up by the summoning of two additional Rakshasas, even larger than before.

Samuel cried out for help. The red Rakshasa grinned and slammed his fist into his torso.

But then, the Rakshasa stopped and started attacking Emma again.

‘I see. Illusions. There’s only one real Rakshasa while the rest are illusions.’ No wonder they were disappearing into thin air. That red Rakshasa was the cause of the illusionary spell and using it to blend in and strike. A cunning strategy that exhausted the players, that ordinarily would have given him a path to victory.

‘What to do, what to do…’

Alas, Dasha was here and he would not let it end in any other way than total victory for himself. If Paul died, then it would be a waste of the XP he split with him. Grabbing Samuel and Emma and forcing them into a servant contract would also be an option. He could dip his toes into the affairs of the Templars and steal their knowledge and experience for himself.

But then there was Hugo. His eyes spoke for themselves. He was strong and Dasha didn't want to risk action with that kind strength. So he eyed him. He watched carefully as Hugo stepped forward and entered the battle. His eyes were determined and he clenched his fists with an eerie glow.

‘Show me what you can do, Hugo Sánchez.’