They had entered Ashvale as if the village were theirs.
The four horses advanced slowly down the main street, unhurried, with the posture of those who know people will move away.
And people did move away. Residents retreated to the sidewalks, mothers pulled children by the arm, old men averted their gaze.
The weapons were visible. Not drawn, but visible. That was enough.
The leader was in front. Tall, unshaven, with an old cut on his left eyebrow. His eyes swept the village from one side to the other with the same expression as someone looking at a thrift shop.
"What a hole," he said.
"Worse than the last one," agreed one of the others, a fat guy with an axe on his back that was too big for him.
"The last one at least had a decent tavern." Another scratched his chin. "This one doesn't even have that."
"Tavern doesn't matter." The leader clicked his tongue. "Veteran Rank Core matters. We go in, clean it, take the core, and leave before nightfall."
