The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and smoke. The village of Hinterwood stirred awake slowly, its people moving with a cautious weariness that only those living in constant fear could understand.
Reinhardt sat at a corner table in The Hollow Boar, absently tapping his fingers against the wooden surface.
He was hungry.
It had been centuries since he had last needed food, and though his body had not yet fully adjusted, his hunger was real.
The innkeeper had allowed him to stay the night, but Reinhardt had nothing to offer in return. No coin. No land. Nothing of value.
Even knights had to eat.
His fingers traced the hilt of one of his swords. In his time, a knight's worth was measured by his deeds. If he could not pay in gold, then he would pay in steel.
A job.
He needed work—and in a village like this, where fear lingered in every shadow, he knew exactly what kind of work was in demand.
He rose to his feet and approached the bar. The innkeeper, polishing a tankard, looked up with a raised brow.
"You're up early," the man muttered.
"I need food," Reinhardt said plainly. "And money."
The innkeeper let out a dry chuckle. "Aye, don't we all?"
Reinhardt ignored the remark. "Who hires fighters in this village?"
The innkeeper studied him for a long moment before sighing. He set down the tankard and gestured toward the door.
"If you're looking for work, go see Captain Varren. He's in charge of the village guard."
Reinhardt gave a short nod. Without another word, he turned and stepped outside.
The sun had barely risen, yet the streets were already bustling with nervous energy. Villagers moved quickly, avoiding eye contact as they carried out their morning routines. A lingering fear clung to the air.
The reason became clear as Reinhardt approached the village watchtower.
A row of fresh graves lined the ground beside it.
Not from war. Not from illness.
From the monsters.
Reinhardt's eyes darkened.
A man stood nearby, speaking with a group of armed guards. His broad shoulders and heavy armor set him apart from the others. His expression was grim, but hardened by experience.
This had to be Captain Varren.
Reinhardt approached.
The guards stiffened, their hands instinctively drifting toward their weapons. But Varren simply turned, his sharp gaze meeting Reinhardt's without hesitation.
"You're the stranger from last night," Varren said.
Reinhardt nodded. "I need work."
Varren narrowed his eyes. "…And what exactly can you do?"
Reinhardt rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Kill monsters."
The guards exchanged glances. One of them scoffed.
"Plenty of men claim they can fight," the soldier muttered. "Then they die screaming like the rest."
Reinhardt said nothing.
Varren studied him for a long moment. Then, he gestured toward the graves.
"Six men died yesterday," he said. "Merchants passing through the woods. The caravan never made it." His jaw tightened. "Another attack, right outside the village walls."
The guards shifted uncomfortably.
Varren exhaled through his nose. "If you want work, prove yourself. Join the next patrol."
Reinhardt nodded. "When?"
Varren turned toward the watchtower. "Now."
---
The Hunt Begins
The forest felt different in the daylight.
The golden light filtering through the trees gave the illusion of warmth, yet the unnatural silence remained.
Reinhardt moved in formation with four village guards, each armed with spears and crossbows. Their movements were practiced, but Reinhardt could see it—the way they gripped their weapons too tightly. The tension in their shoulders.
They were afraid.
And they had every reason to be.
"Stay alert," Varren ordered. "These things don't leave tracks, but they always come back to where they've killed before."
Reinhardt frowned. "No tracks?"
Varren shook his head. "They move like shadows. No footprints, no signs of passage. They just… appear."
Reinhardt remained silent.
No beast in the natural world moved without leaving a trace.
They were getting closer to the site of the last attack. Broken wagon wheels and scattered supplies littered the path. Dark stains marked the dirt—blood, long dried.
The guards tensed.
Then—
A low growl.
Reinhardt's hand moved to his swords.
Varren cursed. "Spread out! Eyes up!"
The growl deepened, reverberating through the trees.
Then, it came.
A monstrous form lunged from the shadows, its grotesque maw snapping toward the nearest guard.
Reinhardt moved before the man could scream.
In a single, fluid motion, his sword flashed—
Steel met flesh.
The monster shrieked as its limb was severed, black ichor spraying across the forest floor.
Reinhardt didn't stop. He pivoted, adjusting his stance, his second blade already slicing toward the creature's throat.
The monster staggered, but it was not dead.
A second one emerged. Then a third.
The guards shouted in panic. Crossbows fired, but the bolts barely slowed the creatures.
Varren roared, swinging his blade at one of the monsters. His strike was solid, carving deep into its side—but it did not fall.
"They don't die easily!" he shouted.
Reinhardt had already noticed.
He adjusted his grip on his swords. Fast. Precise. Efficient.
A monster lunged. Reinhardt stepped inside its attack range, twisting his body just enough to let its claws pass harmlessly by—before driving both swords through its chest.
This time, he did not hesitate.
With raw strength, he tore the blades outward, ripping the creature in half.
The remaining monsters hesitated.
They were learning.
But so was Reinhardt.
Another came at him. He ducked, shifting his stance, his blade finding the gap between its ribs.
One by one, they fell.
By the time the last creature hit the ground, the forest was silent once more.
Reinhardt exhaled slowly. He could feel the eyes of the guards on him—stunned, disbelieving.
Varren stepped forward, wiping blood from his blade. He eyed Reinhardt carefully.
"…You've fought before," he said. It was not a question.
Reinhardt sheathed his swords. "Yes."
Varren studied him for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod.
"You wanted work?" the captain muttered. "You've got it."
Reinhardt said nothing.
As he gazed down at the lifeless monsters, his grip tightened around his sword.
These creatures were not natural.
And something told him they were only the beginning.
---
To Be Continued...