Kyle moved swiftly through the uneven terrain, following the faint pulse of Queen's mana signature.
The hawk was perched high above, blending into the morning sky as it silently watched over the bandit group from a distance.
Thanks to Queen's sharp senses, Kyle already knew the situation: about two dozen armed men, brutish and confident, were marching toward the village, aiming to seize the newly gathered food supplies.
Back at the village, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
The village chief, wringing his hands, had immediately asked Kyle if they should prepare a sacrifice to appease the attackers — a tradition born from generations of helplessness.
The very idea had made Kyle's eyes narrow with disgust. He refused to let these people continue living in fear.
"Wait. I'll deal with this myself."
Kyle had told them firmly.
The leader of the immigrant villagers, a broad-shouldered man named Haron, had stepped forward, offering to gather a force to back Kyle up.
