Steve finished off every last Wolf—except for the alpha.
He'd decided to keep that one. After all, the Player always loved collecting strange creatures. He remembered how the Player once spent an entire day trying to trap a charged Creeper—getting blown up half a dozen times in the process. Maybe, if he started a collection of rare monsters, the Player would grow curious… maybe even log back in to see it.
Yes, that sounded right. That was something they would do.
He tallied his loot: twenty-five Wolves slain, yielding thirty pelts in total—apparently a guaranteed drop. Fifty pieces of leather, fifty-two counting what he already had.
The meat was excellent. A full stack of Wolf legs, each restoring six hunger points even uncooked. Once roasted, they'd be prime food.
He'd also collected fourteen fangs of unknown purpose.
Most importantly, his level shot up to seventeen. These wolves gave rich experience—far more than the usual mobs.
To keep the villagers from climbing into the boats, he gathered all of them up and stored them neatly in a chest. Then he crafted a full set of leather armor, finally retiring his worn-out leather pants. Judging by how aggressive this world seemed, it clearly rewarded combat. Until he found iron, some armor was better than none.
The villagers had been watching him the entire time.
When the last wolf fell and the strange square man began to calmly tidy up his battlefield, they hesitated before finally edging closer. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood. Even those who had hunted before found their stomachs turning at the sight—the ground soaked crimson, the corpses piled at the gate.
And unfortunately, the carnage blocked their way out. They had to step through the muck, pushing the door open just wide enough to peek outside.
Then they froze, staring at the mound of packed dirt Steve had built.
"Chief? Chief, can you hear us?"
"I'm fine!" came the muffled voice from within. "What's going on out there?!"
"The wolves—they're gone! But we can't dig you out!"
Old Tom tried scraping away at the dirt. His fingers sank into it easily, but when he tried to pull, nothing came loose. Not even a grain.
"Go get the… the lord!" someone said nervously.
They found Steve soon after—in the room where Elena was resting.
And right before their eyes, at a simple wave of his square hand, the girl shot upright as if struck by lightning. Her eyes blinked open, dazed and unfocused.
Before anyone could speak, a towering stack of snowy white pelts materialized in her arms, toppling her backward and nearly burying her.
"L-Lord?" Old Tom stammered, unsure why the title "lord" felt so natural now. The chief had said it earlier, and somehow, it fit.
Steve didn't respond.
"Lord," Tom tried again, swallowing. "We are deeply grateful for your protection of our village. Might we… might we ask you to release our chief?"
He spoke carefully, his voice trembling. They all trusted now that the creature wouldn't harm them—but it was still hard not to wonder what its bones looked like beneath those perfect cubes of skin. The thought of a skeleton folded into such shapes made his stomach twist.
Before he could say more, a thin violet mist rose from the pile of pelts. He gasped—but then Elena, once again, was lifted to her feet as if by invisible strings, blinking in confusion.
Steve checked her nameplate.
[Elena – Hunter – Novice] had become [Elena – Hunter – Apprentice].
Her trade options had also changed.
Previously, she had offered [Wolf Pelt ×1 → Emerald ×1] and [Emerald ×6 → Bow ×1]. Now both had been upgraded.
The first was replaced with [Large Pelt ×1 → Emerald ×1]—and Wolf Pelts qualified. Two new trades appeared as well: [Emerald ×8 → Hunter's Dagger ×1] and [Emerald ×32 → Hunter's Relic ×1].
The last one caught his attention. Even discounted, it cost thirty-two emeralds. It had to be valuable.
But he didn't trade. He had only thirty-one emeralds, one short. And even if he'd had enough, he wouldn't have used them yet. Iron and tools were higher priorities. Fancy relics could wait.
Interestingly, he hadn't received the "Hero of the Village" buff, which meant this incident didn't count as a proper raid.
He checked the other villagers' trades—nothing worth noting, and none of them were discounted. There was no blacksmith hut here, no smith at all. He decided to save his emeralds for later.
After leaving the village square, he unsealed the dirt cage.
The chief stumbled out, blinking in confusion. His name tag read: [Thalen – Village Chief – Master].
Only one trade appeared in his list: [Emerald ×64 → Trial Token ×1]. A high-level quest item, perhaps? Steve made a note of it.
The chief took one look at the square creature before him and instinctively stepped back. Steve's appearance had changed—still blocky, but now covered in dark brown textures.
Armor, perhaps.
The old man didn't know, but the sight was far less terrifying than before.
He bowed deeply, forcing down the tremor in his voice. "Th-thank you, Lord, for saving our village!"
Steve didn't answer.
After waiting a while, the chief caught a villager waving at him from behind and decided to take his leave. He bowed once more, murmured a farewell, and hurried off.
"Chief! You're safe?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He rubbed his sore jaw instinctively. "The village?"
"Still standing," came the report. "The walls need repairs, but not much. Just… well…"
The man hesitated, lowering his voice as he glanced toward Steve. "That lord took apart a few of our houses. They're still standing, but no one dares sleep in them. And, um… all the bread in every house is gone."
The chief peered through the narrow gap in the gate, frowning slightly.
"It's fine. We'll rebuild. As long as we're alive, everything else can be replaced."
Old Tom came running up, panting hard. "Chief! You should see this!"
Following him back inside, the chief froze.
Elena sat beside a towering pile of neatly stacked pelts. The village seamstress, old Madam Rose, was stroking them with awe.
"These are exquisite!" Rose exclaimed. "Look at that sheen—oh my stars!"
"Valuable?" the chief asked, running his rough hand across the fur. It was smooth, almost warm, humming faintly with mana.
But he remembered—none of the corpses outside had been skinned. How was that possible?
"Of course they're valuable!" Rose laughed. "The nobles would pay fortunes for this kind of quality!"
Her delight was infectious. Even pale and weak, Elena found herself smiling.
"This was from the lord, wasn't it?"
Elena nodded. "I think so. It just… appeared in my hands, same as before."
"I see." The chief's expression softened into a knowing smile. "Then it's a gift, child. Take it home, keep it safe. Later, I'll find someone to sell it for you."
"This…" Elena hesitated, clutching the pelts to her chest.
But the chief didn't linger for her answer. He called to Rose, then hurried off again—his mind already racing, balancing gratitude, fear, and the realization that the creature now living among them was no mere monster.
It was a power.
A power their tiny village could neither comprehend nor ignore.