Through the dark corners of the forest, the blinding light of a torch broke through. It seemed that a group of people was moving here with some hidden purpose.
The old man, adjusting his helmet, asked grimly:
— So your name is Arlo, right?
— Yeah, you can call me whatever you like, — replied the young man they had picked up along the way.
He was running toward the cave alongside his comrades.
The old man was still watching him.
— You say you came from the village in the east of the island? But how did you get here?
— It... it was very difficult, — mumbled one of the emaciated settlers. His voice trembled, and his words barely formed coherent sentences. — If not for luck...
He was clearly wounded, but it was not the kind of injury one could get from skeletons or a simple fall. He was also terrified, and his speech was hard to make out. Then again, that was how all destitute villagers spoke—people who rarely had the chance to converse with the educated. Only a few, like Gloomer, could express their thoughts more or less coherently.
For the locals, accustomed to a miserable existence, even a simple conversation with the guards was a rare spectacle.
Gloomer could neither read nor write, but his interest in people and their stories allowed him to hold a conversation better than most. His social skills couldn’t be called outstanding, but they weren’t bad either.
The old man frowned a couple of times but eventually waved his hand—he seemed to have found nothing suspicious in their behavior. In such a situation, even he would have been confused.
And then, from behind them, a terrible, unnatural scream rang out.
The sound was so powerful and eerie that a cold fear gripped everyone. Instinctively, people turned around.
Somewhere on the other side of the island, darkness split open, and before anyone could comprehend what was happening, they were once again attacked by four-legged skeletons. There were three of them.
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The old man instantly took a combat stance, raising his two-handed sword in front of him, blocking all three attacks at once with a single swing. The powerful strike sent the undead flying backward, but they quickly recovered and lunged again.
He did not hesitate. His stance was more suited for defense, but in a situation where he had to protect the wounded and weakened, dragging out the fight was dangerous.
The first swing—and two skeletons were slashed apart, cut diagonally. The third tried to take advantage of the moment and leaped at his back, but the old man swiftly sidestepped, letting the monster rush past. In the next instant, his sword cleaved the enemy in two.
The piles of bones collapsed to the ground, crumbling into dust.
Gloomer watched in amazement.
— Damn, old man, if you’re this strong, why the hell do you have so many wounds?
The old man remained silent.
— We’re lucky these were only awakened-rank monsters. If their rank had been higher…
— …we’d be in trouble, — Gloomer finished for him. — We need to move faster.
They pressed forward, gathering survivors as they went. By the time the old man had finished off another group of undead, their group had grown to twenty people.
— Esteemed guard, will they let us in? — someone asked timidly.
— What, you doubt me? The cave is always in need of working hands. They let in anyone, except cripples.
These words reassured the people a little.
Gloomer felt Vale whisper in his ear:
— Damn, you sure know how to surprise… Where do you know him from?
— Forget it. Long story.
— Ugh, you’re at it again…
Gloomer focused on his surroundings. In moments like these, getting distracted by conversations was just asking for trouble.
Thunder rumbled in the dark clouds, rain lashed down, and the cold seeped into their bones. Fear and pain gave way to the instinct to survive.
Suddenly, beside him, there was a teenager, about fifteen or sixteen years old. His clothes were disheveled, his face hidden behind raindrops.
— Hey, my name’s Marlo. You guys from that village on the hillside?
He had joined the group only a few minutes ago. How did he know?
— Gloomer, — he introduced himself, narrowing his eyes cautiously. — How did you guess?
— It’s not hard. That place is mostly kids.
— Aren’t there kids in every village?
— Maybe, — Marlo shrugged. — But in others, there are too few of them. They rarely make it past eight years old.
Gloomer froze.
Had he survived only because his village was lucky with its location?
But Marlo didn’t give him time to think. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the rain:
— Gloo… or whatever your name is. Don’t you think the tree branches… are closer?
Gloomer blinked and looked around.
His heart started pounding faster.
The trees really were closer.
They should have been ten paces away. Now—only six.
How?
He had been here hundreds of times. An earthquake? An optical illusion? Magic?
Alright, maybe just nerves…
But when he looked up again, the trees had closed the distance to six steps.
Damn.
Gloomer swallowed hard.
Another step.
Another.
Another.
— Old man, stop!
Everyone froze. The tension in the air became almost tangible.
— Gloomer, now’s not the time for your whining.
— No, you don’t get it. The branches… those damn branches… THEY’RE MOVING!
Everyone turned at once.
And at that moment, the forest squeezed in even tighter.
Now the trees were only four steps away.
— That’s impossible… — someone whispered.
— Are we lost? No, there weren’t trees like this ahead, I’m sure of it…
— Weren’t we supposed to have arrived already?
The old man looked at the forest and frowned.
— In my forty years of life, I’ve seen all kinds of shit… but this…
Gloomer shuddered.
— WHAT?! You’re forty? Isn’t that a bit too old?
— Idiot, I’m still young!
And at that moment, the trees moved.
All at once.
Silently.
Like
a predator creeping up on its prey.
The group flinched.
Panic.
The old man didn’t hesitate.
His sword flashed in the torchlight.
The battle began.