The light surrounding us slowly faded, and suddenly the acid rain and the sound of falling stones were gone.
In their place came the gentle song of birds and the sweet scent of freshly bloomed flowers.
I stepped onto grass so green and soft it felt like silk, while a warm breeze swayed trees heavy with golden fruit. The sky… a flawless blue, without a single cloud. And ahead of us, a crystal-clear stream drifted lazily, catching the sunlight as if it were made of liquid glass.
Alissa, still weak, lay on the grass. I lifted her into my arms.
"What… is this place? This isn't the false paradise zone!"
I didn't know. And that was what worried me most.
Lifting my gaze, I saw thin spirals of white smoke in the distance. Not from a fire—chimneys.
There was a small village out there, wooden houses with thatched roofs surrounded by golden fields. Children ran in the distance, laughing.
For a moment, it all seemed… safe. Peaceful. Almost like a dream.
But I've learned that dreams like this always hide teeth.
I tightened my grip on Foster's sword.
Do I go there?
Instinct screams yes—the village seems to offer everything we need right now: shelter, food, rest. But it's exactly that perfection that bothers me. The world doesn't hand out gifts, especially not minutes after throwing acid rain and boulders at our heads.
I've seen too much to believe in sudden paradises. Places like this are pieces on a much larger board, and every step taken is a move someone—or something—has already predicted.
My mind runs through the possibilities:
If it's an illusion, entering means surrendering control.
If it's real, then it's either protected by something… or ruled by someone.
And in either case, we'll be outsiders—and outsiders always draw attention.
I look down at Alissa in my arms.
If only she were awake…!
Her breathing is uneven, her face pale, her eyes half-closed. We can't afford to refuse help, and that infuriates me. On the board, the worst move is the one you're forced to make.
My grip on Foster's sword tightens even more. I can't walk in like a weary traveler.
I have to enter like someone who reads a trap before stepping into it. If this "paradise" has teeth, I'll be the first to see them gleam.
I rise, adjust Alissa in my arms, and take the first step… not as a victim, but as a player who knows every move could be the last.
Then it hits me — my appearance is far from trustworthy. I'm wearing that old cloak that serves as shirt, coat, and robe depending on the day, torn in several places, stained with sweat, dust, and dried blood. To top it off, my exposed tattoos coil along my skin like living marks — a constant reminder that I can't get rid of them… or of what they represent.
"Damn it…" I mutter. "Now what?"
My eyes lock on the village gate. Two guards — maybe three —stand by it. Polished armor, spotless uniforms… but their mana signature tells me all I need to know: they're no threat. Not even close.
I make a decision.
I won't kill them — at least, that's not the plan — but I can "borrow" a uniform. Clean clothes and a disguise are worth more than gold when crossing unknown territory. And if I can extract some information in the process, even better.
I take a deep breath, shift Alissa's weight to my left arm, and move toward the shadow of nearby trees, watching every move the guards make. Calculate. Approach. Neutralize — fast and silent.
After all, in a game like this, the ones who announce themselves… die first.
I slip along the tree line, keeping Alissa sheltered behind a wide trunk while I watch. The guards talk quietly, chuckling, completely at ease. The village gate is plain — solid wood, but with no protection runes. Strange. A place this peaceful shouldn't exist.
I leave Alissa propped against the tree, somewhere I can see her and return quickly.
I advance.
One step. Another. The sound of my feet sinks into damp grass without a whisper. When I'm only a few meters away, I throw a small distraction — a crow illusion darts across the sky, cawing loudly. Instinctively, the guards glance upward.
It's enough.
In two movements, I'm behind them. Foster's cold blade presses against the first guard's neck as my hand covers the second's mouth. A pull, a precise blow with the sword's hilt — both are unconscious before they even know what happened.
Quickly, I strip one of their uniforms. The fabric is surprisingly soft and clean… too clean for an ordinary soldier.
Then I notice something.
Stitched inside the collar, almost invisible, is a symbol embroidered with silver thread. An eye. A single eye… surrounded by fine lines that resemble claws.
I have no idea what it means, but I feel… something. A shiver runs down my spine.
As I put on the uniform, the uneasy feeling grows. It's as if the symbol itself… is watching me.
I glance at Alissa. She's still motionless, exhausted. I can't waste time.
Gripping my sword tightly, I step through the gate. If this village is what it seems… then something here is very, very wrong.