The village of Rimuru had settled into an uneasy calm after the events of the festival. The warnings from Galdros hung in the air like an invisible storm, but daily life trudged on. Padrino knew better than to believe the threat had passed, though. He could feel the tension building, the undercurrent of something far more dangerous waiting to strike.
His nights had become sleepless, filled with strategy meetings, council sessions, and late-night inspections of the village's defenses. He trusted his council, especially Hinata and Marko, but the weight of responsibility for Rimuru's future rested heavily on his shoulders.
That night, the moon hung low in the sky, casting pale light over the village. Padrino stood at the edge of the wall surrounding Rimuru, staring out into the forest that stretched toward the horizon. He knew Galdros would return, and this time it wouldn't be with mere words.
Behind him, Marko approached, his footsteps soft on the stone pathway. "You're up late again," he said, his voice carrying the exhaustion of weeks spent preparing for war.
Padrino didn't turn. "I can't afford to sleep right now. Galdros is moving, Marko. They're watching us, waiting for the right moment."
Marko stood beside him, arms crossed. "Our scouts haven't seen any large movements, but that doesn't mean they're not out there. You're right—this quiet feels wrong."
Padrino nodded. "It's the same strategy I'd use if I were in their place. Wait, build tension, weaken the enemy with fear. And when they're divided, you strike hard."
Marko frowned. "The council's been trying to keep morale up, but after what happened at the festival, people are nervous. They know something's coming. The villagers are on edge, and the Outcasts… well, they're not entirely convinced Rimuru is safe."
Padrino sighed. "I can't blame them. We've been asking them to trust us, but we haven't given them much reason to. Galdros infiltrated the festival. Lars is stirring up trouble. And Brant's death is still a fresh wound for a lot of people."
Marko was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "I've been keeping a close eye on Lars, like you asked. He's been meeting with a small group of disgruntled villagers, mostly those who lost family in the early battles against Galdros. They're angry, and they don't think we're doing enough to protect them."
Padrino's jaw tightened. "Do you think Lars is planning something?"
"I don't know," Marko admitted. "But he's dangerous. He blames you for Brant's death, and he's feeding that anger to the others. If he's working with Galdros, he might be waiting for the right moment to act."
Padrino felt a surge of frustration. There were threats all around him—both outside the walls and within. "We can't let that happen. If Lars turns more people against us, we'll be fighting a war on two fronts."
"Agreed," Marko said. "I'll step up surveillance. If Lars makes a move, we'll be ready."
Padrino nodded, but the sense of foreboding didn't lift. He turned his gaze back to the forest. "We need to be ready for more than just Lars, Marko. Galdros is coming. I can feel it."
Marko glanced at him. "Do you have a plan?"
Padrino's lips pressed into a thin line. "We'll need to rally the villagers. Remind them what we're fighting for. If Rimuru is going to survive, we need everyone—villagers, Outcasts, council members—to stand together. And we need to prepare for the worst."
"I'll get the council together first thing in the morning," Marko said. "We can discuss defensive strategies and—"
Before Marko could finish, a horn blast sounded from the northern watchtower. The sound was sharp, urgent—a signal they all dreaded.
Padrino's heart lurched. "An attack?"
Marko's face hardened. "Looks like we don't have until morning."
The two men sprang into action, rushing toward the gates as the alarm echoed through the village. Padrino's mind raced, already piecing together the possible scenarios. Was it Galdros? Had they moved under the cover of darkness? Or was this something else—an internal threat, a rebellion spurred by Lars' influence?
As they reached the gates, Padrino saw Hinata and several of the council members gathering, their faces tense and alert. Garrik, the head of Rimuru's guard, stood by the gate, his sword drawn as he directed his men to their posts.
"What's happening?" Padrino demanded, his eyes scanning the guards preparing for battle.
"Scouts spotted movement in the forest," Garrik replied, his voice grim. "Large numbers, moving fast. We're assuming it's Galdros."
Padrino cursed under his breath. "How far?"
"Less than a mile, maybe less," Garrik answered. "They'll be here soon."
Marko's expression darkened. "They were waiting for this. The festival was a distraction. They wanted us off guard."
Padrino nodded, his mind racing. "Get everyone into defensive positions. Hinata, gather the villagers in the town square. We can't let them panic."
Hinata moved quickly, her light magic already glowing faintly as she prepared to rally the people. "I'll make sure they're ready."
Padrino turned to Marko. "We need to buy time. Galdros isn't going to storm the walls immediately—they'll want to intimidate us, maybe try to negotiate. But we know that's just a tactic. We need to be ready for the real attack."
Marko nodded, already issuing commands to the guards. "I'll position archers on the walls and set up choke points near the gates. If Galdros tries to push through, we'll make them pay for every step."
As the village mobilized, Padrino felt a cold determination settle over him. This was it—the moment they had been preparing for. The first real test of Rimuru's strength.
He climbed the wall, scanning the horizon. In the distance, he could see flickers of torchlight moving through the trees—an army, coming straight for them.
A chill ran down his spine. Galdros wasn't playing games anymore. They were coming for Rimuru, and this time, there would be no warning—only war.
As the torches drew closer, Padrino tightened his grip on his sword. The village was ready, but he knew that tonight would be the first of many battles.
Rimuru's fight for survival had begun.