Steve crouched immediately, balancing himself on the edge of a dirt block. His health bar flashed red—two hearts gone.
He hadn't expected these things to shoot projectiles. That changed everything. Their threat level had just jumped several tiers.
Without hesitation, he dropped back down inside the walls. Without a shield, he had no intention of trading blows head-on. The fall shaved off another heart, but he still had plenty of black bread. Each piece only restored four hunger points—less than normal bread—but it would do.
Ripping a chunk with his square jaw, he climbed upward again, stacking dirt beneath him to get a better view. From the top, he watched the wolves pacing outside, thinking through his next move.
The villagers, however, were far less calm.
When they'd seen him surround the chief in a protective shell of dirt, they'd been overjoyed. The gamble had paid off—the monster was on their side.
Then, when he'd conjured dirt blocks out of thin air, their awe deepened. The power to control the earth itself! Surely this was supernatural.
And everyone in the villages and towns knew the old saying: [Only the extraordinary can fight the extraordinary.]
But now, watching Steve stand motionless atop his column, their hope began to fade.
"Is it… too strong for him?"
"No, no, I saw clearly—it's the wind blades! That's what he can't block!"
"Then we have to help him!"
"Wait, what's he doing now?"
Their confusion grew as Steve dismantled his dirt tower and turned—not toward the wolves, but toward their houses.
"He's taking apart our homes!" someone gasped.
Another, sharper-eyed villager elbowed him. "No… look! He's planning something!"
"Then what are we standing here for? Shouldn't we—"
A hard smack cut him off. "Are you stupid? If we don't help him, we'll all be wolf food!"
That ended the argument. The men grabbed whatever farm tools they could find—hoes, rakes, even shovels—and scrambled onto the walls.
From the top, they peered over cautiously, fending off the wolves that tried to climb up. The beasts had already crossed the defensive moat. Some clawed desperately at the wooden walls, splintering the planks. Others scratched uselessly at the packed dirt blocks Steve had placed, but not even a single speck broke free.
Their intelligence was higher than normal beasts—but this, they couldn't comprehend.
The alpha wolf prowled along the wall, licking its fangs. So close. Just one leap, and it could reach the trembling humans. The air was thick with their scent—blood, sweat, fear. Its mouth watered.
It sniffed at the dirt blocks, puzzled to find no trace of the strange square creature's scent. As though it simply didn't exist.
No matter. That wouldn't stop it.
With a powerful crouch, the alpha leapt—sailing easily over the four-meter-high barricade.
Dozens of eyes followed its arc. Every heart seized in terror. Hands clutched weapons tighter.
The wolf landed with a thud, raised its head, and howled—a long, thunderous note that shook the air. The rest of the pack echoed it from beyond the wall. It was both command and intimidation.
The effect was immediate. Several villagers' knees gave out. A few still stood their ground, trembling but defiant.
An easy hunt, the alpha thought, baring its teeth. It lunged forward, ready to rip the nearest throat—
—and suddenly froze.
Its body twisted sideways, limbs locking up. No matter how it strained, it couldn't move an inch. Panic flashed through its eyes.
It looked down. Beneath it sat a square brown box, two shovel-like appendages on either side.
A trap.
It snarled and struggled, but its legs refused to obey, as if they no longer belonged to it. Fury contorted its face, jaws snapping impotently.
The villager it had been charging stared in shock, then turned his wide eyes toward Steve, who was already approaching.
He didn't understand what had happened—but he understood one thing. The creature had saved him. That block… that contraption—it was magic.
"Are you all right?!" someone called, rushing to help the man up.
The movement made the alpha roar again, but they ignored it, backing away quickly.
The wolf's humiliation burned hotter. It glared at Steve with blood-red eyes, every muscle trembling in hatred.
Steve, unfazed, was already stacking more blocks, building a square prison around the trapped beast. He'd noticed earlier that some wolves could break blocks, so he'd gone to gather wood just in case. His supplies were running low.
From that wood, he crafted several boats—and the one that had leapt inside the village became his first test subject.
He didn't kill it right away. It was much larger than the others, a clear boss variant. Definitely worth keeping.
When that was done, he glanced at the walls. The wooden spikes were starting to crack. They wouldn't hold much longer.
So he began fortifying the inside. Building higher along the inner wall, he extended his floating dirt bridge parallel to the outer fortifications and placed a neat line of boats along its edge.
The sound of collapsing gravity blocks followed, and soon the wolves below were howling in confusion and pain. Some managed to leap on top of their fallen comrades and clamber over the wall.
But Steve was ready.
He dropped boats inside the perimeter too, crafting more as he went. Before long, the ground was covered in them—wooden vessels scattered across the earth like some absurd trap field.
He reinforced the blocks around his crafting table, preventing ranged attacks from below, then peeked over the wall carefully.
And what he saw made him nod in satisfaction.
Every Wolf sat perfectly still—each one frozen, confined inside a boat, their heads tilted upward, eyes burning with frustration.
The wind that had gathered around the village began to fade. Clouds broke apart, and warm sunlight spilled once again across the battered village.
The people watched, speechless.
Monstrous wolves, fierce and bloodthirsty only moments ago, now sat imprisoned in mysterious wooden contraptions. Some shared boats, snapping irritably at each other's faces, drawing blood that dripped into the dirt.
Their howls filled the air—a strange, rhythmic chorus that almost sounded like a twisted melody.
"What… do we do now?" someone asked weakly.
"What do you mean, what do we do?" another muttered, watching Steve methodically slaughter the trapped wolves one by one.
The realization hit them all at once. They had doubted him.
But clearly, this being—this monster—was far more terrifying than Elena had ever described.
And yet, just as she'd said, he didn't harm them.
A few looked back toward the dismantled houses. Only the main wooden supports were missing; the planks and furniture were untouched.
Even stranger, the floating dirt and the hovering bridge still hung there in the air—defying every natural law they knew.
So this… this was the power of the extraordinary.
"Where's the chief?" someone murmured.
The question broke their silence. They turned toward the pit, toward the bloody scene where Steve's sword rose and fell.
"Let's… wait a bit," one villager said hesitantly. "Didn't we see him protected earlier?"
"Y-yeah… he should be fine," another added, though his voice wavered.
Their eyes flicked nervously back to Steve.
The square man didn't look up. He just kept working, calm and mechanical, as if slaying a dozen Wolves was nothing more than another daily task.