Clash! Clash!
.
.
Swish!!
.
.
Bam!!!
.
"....."
.
The battlefield fell silent after the wolves' corpses stopped twitching. Liam stood there, his blade still faintly steaming from the ichor. The crimson glow of his eyes reflected in the puddles scattered across the field. For a while, he simply listened to the wind.
The system's notifications still hovered before his sight, but he dismissed them with a thought. Instead, he turned toward the horizon. Beyond the line of twisted trees, faint lights flickered—a village, no more than a smear of orange in the dark.
His gauntleted hand flexed at his side. "A village… meaning people."
The word felt heavy on his tongue. He hadn't spoken to anyone—anyone truly alive—since waking in this world. The cultists at the cathedral had treated him as something divine, not human. If he walked into this village, how would they see him?
A quiet dread whispered at the edges of his suppressed emotions. Liam hesitated, then pushed the feeling down with a single thought.
> [Emotion Suppression: Active.]
The dread vanished. His heart calmed. His decision became simple.
He walked toward the lights.
---
The path wound through ruined farmland. Half-rotted scarecrows leaned against broken fences, and weeds choked the soil. Once, it might have been rich with crops. Now, it was only a reminder of what had been lost.
Every so often, Liam caught sight of strange markings carved into stones by the road—runes etched crudely, glowing faintly blue. Barriers. Wards. They buzzed faintly against his presence as he passed, as if recognizing that something unnatural had crossed them.
Finally, the village came into view. Wooden walls surrounded a cluster of thatched-roof houses, smoke rising from chimneys. Lanterns glowed at the gate, where two guards leaned wearily on spears. They looked human, but thinner, paler, as though starvation gnawed at their bones.
Liam slowed his pace.
The guards spotted him instantly. Their spears shot up in alarm. "Who goes there?!" one barked, his voice cracking.
Liam stepped into the lantern light. His armor reflected the glow, black steel with faint crimson veins crawling along the edges. His eyes shone like dying stars.
The guards paled. One stumbled backward. "A—Abyssspawn!"
Their fear rolled off them in waves. Liam felt it but did not feel it. His own reaction was drowned beneath suppression. He raised his hand slowly, palm open, showing he meant no harm.
"I'm not here to fight." His voice was calm, even, almost too calm.
"I only need rest. Information. That's all."
The guards exchanged panicked glances. One muttered a prayer under his breath. The other pointed his spear shakily at Liam.
"You… you reek of death. You expect us to just let you inside?"
Liam hesitated. He could force them—his power made that certain. But something deeper stirred, a memory of his past life. He remembered walking into a village as a stranger once, asking for water, for food. He remembered being welcomed.
That memory twisted inside him, a sharp pang—until suppression crushed it flat.
"I have no interest in harming your people," Liam said evenly. "If you fear me, I will stay outside your walls. Just send someone to speak with me."
The guards faltered. His words sounded almost reasonable, but his presence said otherwise. One finally nodded nervously. "S… Stay there." He sprinted back through the gate.
The other guard remained, spear trembling in his hands, eyes wide with barely contained terror.
---
Minutes passed before more villagers emerged. An older man, robes patched and worn, came forward with a lantern. A few others followed behind, clutching pitchforks and crude tools, whispering nervously.
The old man squinted at Liam. His gaze was sharp, but weary. "You're no mere traveler," he said finally. "That armor… those eyes… You've walked with death."
Liam met his gaze, silent.
The elder sighed. "This is Ashwood Village. We've had too many horrors wander out of the dark and into our walls. If you mean us harm, finish it quickly."
"I don't," Liam said.
"Then what do you want?"
"Knowledge," Liam answered. "About this land. About the… Constellations."
At the mention of the word, villagers flinched. Several muttered curses. The elder's expression darkened.
"You speak of them openly?" he asked. "Brave… or foolish."
"I need to know."
The old man's shoulders sagged. For a moment, he studied Liam with tired eyes, as though weighing the risk. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Very well. Come. But you'll stay at the edge of the square. No closer to the homes."
The guards looked horrified, but obeyed when the elder waved them aside.
Liam followed, his footsteps heavy on the dirt path. As he entered, villagers peeked from windows, clutching their children, their eyes wide with fear. Whispers followed him like shadows. Monster. Demon. Curse.
The suppression dulled the sting of their words. Yet somewhere beneath the calm, a faint ache stirred. He smothered it.
---
The villagers gathered in the square, at a cautious distance. The elder stood before him, lantern casting long shadows.
"You asked of the Constellations," the elder began, his voice low. "They are not gods, though they call themselves such. They are… hungry stars. Watching, always. Choosing mortals as their Apostles, filling them with power, then sending them to test the rest of us."
He spat on the ground. "Tests, they call them. We call them butcheries."
The villagers murmured in agreement, their voices bitter.
Liam's hands tightened around his blade. "And those who refuse?"
"They die. Or worse—become Thralls of the stars. Empty shells, bound to serve until nothing human remains."
The words sank deep into Liam's mind. He thought of Emotion Suppression. Of his own soul being chained, eroded. A faint shiver touched his spine—before calm returned, unnatural, imposed.
"And you?" Liam asked. "Do you follow them?"
The elder's face twisted. "We endure. That is all. Some worship them, thinking obedience will spare us. Others… hide. Resist in silence." His eyes narrowed. "But you. You are not ordinary. I see it in you. A curse, or a gift. Which, I cannot tell."
The villagers muttered uneasily.
Liam lowered his head slightly. "I didn't choose this."
The elder gave a humorless laugh. "No one ever does."
---
Their talk went on deep into the night. Liam learned fragments—of regions torn apart by Constellation wars, of Apostles wielding terrifying powers, of villages erased in the name of "trials." He listened quietly, storing each word.
At last, the elder stepped back. "Stay outside the walls tonight. We will not open our homes to you, but… neither will we drive you off. At dawn, perhaps we'll speak again."
Liam inclined his head in thanks. It was all he could ask for.
As the villagers dispersed, their whispers lingered. Some cursed him. Some prayed he would leave. A few, oddly enough, whispered words of awe—like the cultists, they had seen something divine, or terrifying, in him.
When the square emptied, Liam stood alone beneath the strange constellations. He sat at the edge of the road, leaning against a fence post, and closed his eyes.
The system stirred softly in his vision:
> [Notice: Prolonged suppression detected.]
[Warning: Soul Corruption increased. Current level: 3%.]
Liam's eyes opened slowly. The chains around his emotions were still locked tight.
"Three percent…" he whispered. "How long before I lose myself completely?"
The stars above pulsed faintly, watching. Always watching.
And Liam sat in silence, a knight in black armor, his heart caught between emptiness and the faint, buried ache of what it meant to still be human.
.
.
"..."