Sweat dripped down the warrior's forehead. He hadn't expected his fellow Silver Adventurer—the hunter—to die so quickly.
But there was no mockery in his eyes. After seeing that kind of brute strength up close, even he knew he wouldn't have lasted long.
He stared at the mangled corpse, a flicker of resentment crossing his face before it faded into a heavy sigh. His gaze shifted to Steve, full of unease.
The carriage driver was trembling from head to toe. He was just an ordinary man—he'd seen powerful people before, sure—but it was the first time someone had died right in front of him.
And in such a horrific way.
"I… I'm going back!" the driver stammered.
"Don't go yet!" The warrior grabbed his arm, still staring at Steve. Something wasn't adding up.
That villager hadn't lied—the golem really wasn't part of the village. They were close in distance, but there was no connection between them at all.
The realization sparked a new plan in his mind.
Adventurers usually bore the cost of any losses during a commission. Death, however, was different. If an adventurer died, the client was obligated to pay a compensation fee, which would then be collected by the deceased's family—or mailed to them.
He and the hunter hadn't been close. Just drinking buddies at best.
But that didn't mean he couldn't claim the payment.
And there was still the commission reward to think about. The job was to "resolve the crisis in the village." The golem hadn't actually harmed the villagers—so technically, the mission was complete, wasn't it?
Besides…
His eyes flicked to the pile of Wind Wolf corpses. Judging by the villagers' reactions, it was clear those beasts had been slain by the golem.
Maybe he could grab a few materials to sell while he was at it.
If he just avoided the golem and dealt directly with the villagers, he could walk away with three wins—compensation, payment, and loot.
Thinking that, the warrior leaned toward the driver. "I'll pay you triple your fare if you wait here. I'll be back soon."
The driver hesitated but eventually nodded. He was just a driver—whatever grudge these adventurers had with that thing, it didn't concern him.
The warrior watched Steve for a while longer—then froze. The golem had vanished.
A moment later, he noticed the hole in the ground.
A grin crept across his face. He hurried over to where Jack stood and barked, "Time to settle the payment!"
Jack blinked, confused.
"We've calmed that golem down," the warrior said, voice sharp. "Baltan even lost his life for it. You're going to pay up, right?"
Jack flushed red, stumbling over his words. Before he could respond, the chief stepped in, frowning.
"We're sorry," Edmund said. "But that lord never intended to harm us—or you."
"Oh, so we're the idiots now? You saying we died for nothing?"
The warrior grabbed the chief by the collar, eyes burning with fury.
"If you try to weasel out of this, I'll report it to the guild myself. Your village's reputation will be wiped clean, and you'll still have to pay compensation for Baltan's death!"
Edmund met his glare in silence for a moment, then snorted softly.
"We'll pay the compensation," he said coldly. "But you'll only get half the commission reward—and it'll be handled through the guild."
"What?" the warrior growled, face darkening.
"Or," the chief said, pointing toward the nearby hole, "you can wait for that lord to come out and argue it with him."
The warrior hesitated. Finally, he backed off. While the villagers scraped together the money, he helped himself to several wolf fangs from the pile.
Then he loaded both the coins and the hunter's corpse onto the carriage and left in a hurry.
After all that, the village's mood turned somber. Edmund shook his head.
"Forget about that poor fool," he said.
Jack frowned.
"He let greed blind him," the chief continued quietly. "Men like that don't last long."
"But…" Jack clenched his fists, still angry—especially after the others pointed out that the hunter's death was entirely his own doing for attacking Steve.
"I'll write a letter," the chief said. "You'll deliver it to the guild along with the remaining payment. I trust they'll make the right judgment."
A cold glint flashed through his eyes before he smiled again.
"Besides, that was just a bit of pocket change. If that lord is willing to share these with us, we'll earn it back soon enough."
He gestured at the Wind Wolf corpses scattered around. Once the villagers realized what he meant, their faces brightened.
"Do you really think he'll give them to us?" someone asked timidly.
"That lord isn't a monster," the chief said. "We can talk to him."
The villagers exchanged glances. The fear in their eyes was fading, replaced with curiosity—and even hope.
They didn't like that arrogant adventurer, but he wasn't wrong about one thing: whoever that "lord" was, he wasn't mindless. If he wasn't a monster, then maybe—just maybe—they could live in peace with him.
Tom, in particular, felt his worries ease. Once he confirmed Steve wasn't made from human flesh or bone, his heart finally settled.
"In any case," he said, "let's clean up these corpses. Think of it as helping that lord out. It'd be bad if they spoiled."
Under the chief's orders, the villagers worked the entire afternoon and half the night.
They dried the pelts, salted the meat, turned the organs into bait or buried them far away, and piled up the fangs together for later use.
When it was finally over, they drifted into sleep under the moonlight.
Though, perhaps from all the day's excitement—or something else entirely—they all swore they could still hear faint thunk-thunk-thunk sounds echoing through the night.
None of them slept well.
When morning came and they stepped outside, the sight before them left every single one of them speechless.
The forest—where was the forest?
That huge stretch of trees behind the village was gone.
The dense woods had been cleared completely, leaving a vast open space. Fallen leaves and branches littered the ground, but there wasn't a single tree stump in sight.
And it wasn't just the forest. The old moat had changed too—wider now, with the rickety wooden bridge replaced by a smooth, flat road.
Looking closer, they realized the road was made of massive square logs, each a full meter thick.
The same kind of logs now formed the village's outer wall—solid, square, and strong enough that no one doubted its durability for a second.
Even the farmland behind the village had transformed. The patchy potato sprouts were gone, replaced by neat rows of tiny green shoots, all aligned in perfect grids.
It was so tidy that even the most untrained eye could feel the symmetry and precision of it all.
"My goodness…" Even the chief's jaw dropped. "Is this… a miracle?"
"No! Look—it's that lord!" someone shouted.
There, at the edge of the village, Steve was stacking blocks along the new wall—methodically placing each one as he moved, his square arms working in steady rhythm.
Each log he placed had once been a narrow, round trunk barely thirty centimeters wide. But when he set it down, it became the perfect cube he knew so well.
It saved him a lot of trouble, honestly. He'd thought the villagers' old wall was far too thin to be any good.
This was just the beginning of his construction plan. He intended to make this village a long-term base. Later, he'd add watchtowers and other defensive structures.
As for the big clearing he'd made—he was planning to build an Iron Farm there.
After all, he'd dug through hundreds of layers of stone the night before and hadn't found a single Iron Ingot.
He had stumbled upon some gems, though. They looked valuable, so he kept them.
Placing the last log, Steve stood atop the new wall and surveyed his work from above.
A satisfied grin spread across his face.
It might not have the Player's sense of aesthetics—but it was still a damn fine sight to see.