"We're here!" Ginger announced, her voice a welcome respite from the grueling journey. The group collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, and gazed out at the breathtaking sight before them.
A hail of blades stretched out as far as the eye could see. The blades seemed to materialize out of thin air, each one appearing mere milliseconds after the last, with no discernible gap between them. The relentless procession of steel created a hypnotic rhythm, like a deadly dance performed by an army of phantom warriors.
The group's fatigue momentarily forgotten, they sat in awestruck silence, their eyes glued to the spectacle unfolding before them. The blades' sharp edges glinted in the light, casting a sinister glow over the landscape. It was as if they had stumbled into a realm where time itself had been warped, and the very fabric of reality was being rewritten by this endless tide of steel.
"We're supposed to go through that?" One man got up questioning ginger.
Ginger still standing looked back at the man and said:
"Do you want to stay here forever? Maybe do you want to kill each other here? The longer you stay in this domain the less Human you become, infact I've been here for days and I don't think my mental state is alright, so don't question me" he said and kept quiet.
"How dare you threaten us!" another man shouted, his voice echoing through the tense atmosphere.
"You're not even human anymore, Ginger!" a woman spat, her eyes filled with fear and anger.
"He's lost it," someone whispered:
"He's been here too long."
The crowd began to murmur, their voices growing louder and more hostile:
"We can't trust him," someone said
"He's not thinking clearly."
Ginger remained silent, his eyes fixated on the swords ahead, his expression unyielding. The air was thick with tension, the crowd's animosity towards him palpable.
"We should vote on what to do next," a man suggested:
"We can't let one person decide our fate."
The crowd began to divide, some people siding with Ginger, others against him. The arguments escalated, the atmosphere growing more volatile by the minute.
"We can't stay here forever," someone pointed out:
"But we can't just walk through those swords either."
"Maybe we should try to find another way around," a woman suggested.
Ginger still didn't speak, his silence only fueling the crowd's anger and fear. The swords ahead seemed to gleam in the dim light, a constant reminder of the challenge they faced.
"He's not even listening to us," someone said, their voice laced with anger:
"He's too far gone."
The tension in the air was palpable, the crowd's emotions simmering just below the surface. It was clear that something had to give, but what that was, no one knew.
As the arguments continued, the crowd began to move away from Ginger, their eyes fixated on him with a mix of fear and hostility. He stood alone, his silence a stark contrast to the chaos around him.
Suddenly, a man stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ginger:
"We don't need him," he said, his voice cold and detached.
"We can make it through this on our own."
The crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes fixed on Ginger with a newfound sense of determination. It was clear that they had made up their minds, and Ginger was no longer part of the equation.
As the crowd began to move towards the swords, Ginger still didn't speak, his eyes fixated on the blades ahead. It was as if he had accepted his fate, and was ready to face whatever lay ahead.
The scene was a powder keg, waiting for a spark to ignite the chaos. The crowd's tension was palpable, their emotions simmering just below the surface. It was clear that something had to give, but what that was, no one knew.
"Make your move and die," Emily said, appearing in front of everyone, her sword glimmering in the light:
"I won't let any of you leave!" she exclaimed, gripping her sword tightly.
"Can't you see how hard the chiefs have planned to reach her? We left Mark and Zico to fight that monstrosity whose roar scared all of you, and we don't even know if they're still alive!" Her anger was palpable, but Asami approached her to offer comfort.
The people, moved by her words, began to settle down, reconsidering their previous doubts.
Ginger looked at Emily, then smiled, and he and the village chiefs sat together to plan their next move.
"Hey, you! Wake up!" Sasha exclaimed, slapping Mark's face with a loud *SMACK!* as he lay on the ground. At first, the slaps were gentle, but when Mark didn't stir, she increased the intensity. *SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!* Each slap grew louder and harder, until finally, with a loud *CRACK!*, Mark woke up abruptly, his eyes flying open in shock.
"What the hell!" Mark shouted, his voice hoarse from the sudden awakening, as he scanned his surroundings with a mix of confusion and panic. He found himself in a dimly lit room, the walls made of rough-hewn stone, and the air thick with the scent of damp earth and mold. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the walls, making him feel like he was trapped in a medieval dungeon. Unless she had moved him, he was pretty sure he was still in the Level Four village. His senses still reeling, he turned to face the woman who had slapped him awake, his eyes narrowing as he demanded:
"Who are you?"
The woman's face drew closer, her piercing green eyes locking onto his like a predator zeroing in on its prey. "You don't remember me? That hurts my feelings" she said, her voice laced with a hint sarcasm and a dash of menace:
"That really breaks my heart."
Mark's mind raced as he struggled to recall, and then it hit him like a ton of bricks - she was the woman who had tried to take his mask he didn't see her this close but he recognized her, the lady who had seemed to manage to pin him with her gaze. His instincts screamed at him to retreat, but her stare held him in place like a rabbit trapped in a snake's gaze.
'Damn, not this again,' Mark thought, his mind racing with fear:
'A Level Two knight, and then her - why the hell is life this hard?'
"Uhh I" He tried to sound braver than he felt, forcing a laugh as he said, "Haha, I don't die. More like I can't die." The words came out awkwardly, betraying his attempt to hide his fear.
Sasha's smile was like a cold breeze on a winter night, sending shivers down his spine:
"Don't be afraid, Mark. It's not yet time for me to kill you." Mark's mind raced with the implication, she must be one of the assassins sent to eliminate him. His heart raced like a runaway horse, and he struggled to keep his wits about him.