A jolt had awakened a young girl from her slumber. She leaned inside a gently swaying horse-drawn carriage, and as her eyes fluttered open, she saw a man casually sipping liquor, filling the cramped compartment with a pungent stench of alcohol.
Anastasia knew her task was to accompany and watch over Patra, who was on a mission to investigate the southern region. However, she disliked the monster hunter's bad habits. It had been four days since they left the capital city of Aldinar, and Patra was still shirtless, even though the air bit like winter was ready to devour the world.
They had passed through several villages, but Patra hadn't bothered to find clothes. Instead, he preferred going from bar to bar, seeking out drinks. Anastasia, a priest, could only sit quietly in the carriage, pulling her robe tightly around her to ward off the cold and her growing irritation.
They passed over a slightly uphill dirt road, and the village of Rutenir—their destination—began to appear in the distance across the hill. The coachman riding in front urged the horses onward.
The carriage wheels now creaked over the rising ground, and from afar, the village of Rutenir slowly came into view. The coachman drove faster. Some farmers had returned to their fields, trying to sustain their lives. Ever since the night of the Wraith attack at the royal palace, the dark creatures had vanished as if swallowed by the earth. Yet both Patra and Anastasia knew the Wraith had not truly gone. The witches who sent those creatures were likely turning their gaze toward the heart of the kingdom—to claim Princess Trea.
The carriage finally stopped in the middle of the village. Patra stepped out first, followed by Anastasia, who looked visibly cold.
"Sir Patra… so what are we going to do here?" asked Priest Anastasia.
"You'd better not ask too many questions. Just follow wherever I go."
Without further explanation, Patra walked toward the southern edge of the village. The young priestess had no other choice but to follow his trail, hoping this task would be over soon and she could return home safely.
The thick woods of Arua began to appear faintly in the distance, standing like a black shadow at the edge of the world. But Patra didn't head that way. Instead, he walked into a small bar at the edge of Rutenir.
"Sir Patra… don't tell me you're going to drink again. Aren't we here to work?"
"I can't work on an empty stomach. If you don't want to come inside, then don't."
Anastasia let out a long sigh, irritated by the monster hunter's attitude. But she also hadn't eaten anything today, and her stomach reminded her of that.
The bar door creaked open. But there was no laughter or the usual rowdy noise she remembered from this place. The atmosphere inside was grim. In the corner of the room, Bertha was speaking with Grumir, the old lumberjack.
"I thought you'd gotten comfortable in the capital and wouldn't ever return to this village. Do you even know what's been going on lately?"
Bertha spoke to Patra as he approached and sat at a table, with Anastasia still trying to understand the tension between them.
"After six months chained in a basement, I finally realized… the capital is too comfortable for someone like me."
"They imprisoned you? I thought you were going to complete the king's bounty and bring home enough money to pay your tab at this bar."
"I'll pay it. And for everyone's drinks here too. Besides, thanks to the madness that's been happening lately, that bastard king finally realized my skills are more useful than his army."
Some people gave faint smiles upon hearing Patra would treat them, but those smiles couldn't hide their anxiety. The Wraith attacks had left fear and a host of other problems in the village of Rutenir.
The villagers struggled to get supplies from neighboring towns. Merchants were too afraid to travel to this far end of the country. An early winter had killed most of the crops, leaving only a small amount of food for their families.
Bertha served warm stew and drinks to Patra and the young girl with him. Wisps of steam rose, carrying a subtle aroma of spices.
Grumir, who sat near them, finally spoke.
"Patra… have you come back to Rutenir to hunt the Wraith that emerged from the Arua forest? I haven't set foot there in over a week. That place is dangerous now. Some folks who insisted on hunting in the forest saw wild animals fleeing from its deeper parts. And a few of them… never came back."
The information Grumir shared felt like puzzle pieces proving that all the problems plaguing the Kingdom of Orlandia began in the Arua forest.
"I've made a deal with King Benjamin to help resolve this issue. In return, I get the land on Krakal Hill—not far from Rutenir."
"That hill's too close to the forest for anyone to dare building a village there, but it's fertile enough to be turned into farmland."
Patra listened carefully to every word Grumir said. The old lumberjack knew the area well, having often ventured into the forest in search of good timber for building material.
Bertha, still accompanying Priestess Anastasia, felt concern for the young girl and quickly spoke to Patra.
"Patra... then what will you do next? You're not actually planning to take this innocent girl on a stroll through that cursed forest, are you?"
"Unfortunately, Priestess Anastasia has been assigned to accompany me, so like it or not, she'll have to come into the Arua Forest. Besides, I'm sure this young girl will be very useful for carrying out my plan."
"What?" Anastasia exclaimed. "So I have to go into that forest too? But that old man just said some hunters from this village have gone missing there!"
Patra chuckled quietly, his voice bitter.
"Hahaha... that's exactly why I told you I can't guarantee your safety."
Anastasia froze. Now she truly had a reason to be worried. Although she knew Patra's quest was extremely dangerous—dealing with witches and Wraiths—she had never imagined she would actually be dragged into it.
Bertha had known Patra long enough to realize that this hunter had something in mind involving the young girl, especially since he almost always worked alone.
"Patra... you wouldn't seriously risk the life of an innocent girl, would you? That's not like you."
"Not exactly. But soon, many lives might be lost. So I have to do whatever I can to prevent that. And all of you should also ask the villagers to arm themselves immediately."
All eyes turned to Patra, the monster hunter whose skills were recognized throughout the southern lands. But they were shocked, unable to understand why Patra was telling the people of Rutenir to prepare for battle. Surkan, a fellow monster hunter, finally stood up and asked:
"Patra, the storm of darkness has passed. So why are you still telling everyone to prepare for war? What battle are we facing next?"
Patra sighed deeply, his gaze as cold as a starless night.
"The storm of darkness hasn't truly ended, my friend. Everyone must prepare to fight an army crawling out of the graves in their rotting flesh. The necromancers have returned, and the Wraiths that appeared in this land before are undeniable proof."
They were all left speechless. Surkan sank back into his seat, feeling as if all hope had vanished. The village of Rutenir, not yet recovered from the last Wraith attack, now faced the horrifying news that the undead would soon return.
The reason Patra had asked the coachman to stop at every village along the way was also to warn them that the undead might attack. He chose to spread the word in taverns, since traders and monster hunters often gathered in such places.
His calm demeanor, despite the wounds still visible from recent battles, showed just how strong and experienced Patra was—making it harder for anyone to ignore what he said.
In that tavern, the villagers began to grow restless. Whispers spread among them.
"What are we supposed to do now? If the undead come in large numbers, we'll all be slaughtered. Those cursed things never tire. They'll attack anything alive."
"Our only defense relies on a few hunters," another said, a pessimistic tone thick in the air. "Maybe we should evacuate the villagers to somewhere safer."
"But how far could we even go?" another voice chimed in, filled with uncertainty. "The capital is too far, and nearby villages aren't any safer. People won't survive the winter if they abandon everything they have in Rutenir. And our supplies are already running low."
Only pessimistic voices filled the tavern. The capital, with its sturdy defenses, was too far. The nearest village lacked the strength to protect itself. Their current supplies were critically low.
But one person remained calm in the room—so Bertha turned to speak to him.
"Patra, what should we do now? You must have a plan to help everyone defend themselves in this village, don't you?"
"If the undead truly come in large numbers, there's no hope for Rutenir to survive. However... there is one way. But you'll all have to work hard to make it happen."
"Tell us... What way do you mean?" Bertha asked, full of hope.
Patra took a long drink before replying to Bertha. "Remember the ruined temple on Krakal Hill. Though it's badly damaged and unfit to live in, its ancient walls are thick and still sturdy. Its high position on the hill makes it the perfect fortress. The land is blessed by the fire god Eramus, which will weaken the undead and other dark creatures. It's impossible for a necromancer to raise the dead we defeat on that sacred ground."
"So, we're all supposed to take shelter in those ruins?" Bertha asked, suspicion in her voice. "Patra, this isn't just your clever way of getting the villagers to help you rebuild what's already been promised to you, is it?"
Bertha felt she had to be suspicious. Though Patra was known to be a good man, the monster hunter always had hidden motives behind every word he spoke.
"Of course. I already planned this when I asked King Benjamin for Krakal Hill. Several merchants will be delivering large quantities of supplies to my land. Refugees from other villages will also come to help rebuild the Temple of Eramus and construct fortifications using logs from the nearby Arua Forest."
There were no more questions after Patra revealed his plan. The monster hunter was truly cunning—twisting desperate times to serve his own goals. And the people, backed into a corner, had no choice but to accept his offer. They needed protection from the undead—and the supplies he promised were too vital to ignore with the cold winter drawing near.