The tension inside the administrative hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.
"Send word to the town!" Walter roared, his chair clattering to the floor behind him as he stood. "Now! We need the town's militia!"
A young messenger—barely sixteen—scrambled to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet as he dashed out to the stables to fetch a mount. Walter turned toward his guards.
"Evacuate the perimeter households! Focus on the northern and western edges—the beast will come from the forest!"
His voice thundered like a war drum, but his mind spiraled in dread.
Gods above... could this be the same creature? The one Tilly summoned two weeks ago?
That summoning—meant to be harmless—had gone awry. His son had lost control almost immediately. They were lucky the creature had vanished without incident… or so they'd thought. If that monster had returned, then not even the entire town militia could guarantee survival. A Tier 2 creature was no joke—it was the kind of beast that turned skirmishes into massacres.
Walter wiped a cold sweat from his brow. No. This one is... different.
But that didn't mean it was any less dangerous.
"Sound the village horn!" he ordered. "Mobilize every able-bodied guard and arm them from the vault! Bring out the enchanted spears and the flame-arrows. I don't care if we drain the reserves—nothing stays behind!"
—
Within moments, the village horn wailed like a dying beast, its eerie tone cutting through the air. A surge of chaos swept across the outer houses as militia dashed through streets, shouting instructions.
"Evacuate! Now! Head to the town side! Take only what you need!"
At first, confusion and resistance reigned.
"What's happening?!"
"Why are we leaving!?"
"Is this another drill!?"
But then they saw it.
Looming from the edge of the forest, just beyond the cornfields, was the silhouette of something massive. A giant humanoid shape—its form blurred and flickering like mist trapped in armor. The earth trembled with each of its steps, and though it did not charge, its presence was enough to freeze blood.
One woman dropped her cooking pot. Another man dragged his toddler by the arm, yelling for his wife. Carts tipped. Doors slammed. Chickens scattered.
Panic was the only order now.
—
Walter Grefen, fully armored in ceremonial steel, led the militia to the northern edge—twenty men, each clutching enchanted weapons, their expressions carved from a mixture of duty and fear. Behind them, more guards helped usher stragglers into safety zones marked with glowing blue stones.
Walter's eyes locked on the approaching creature.
It was tall—at least three stories. Humanoid in structure but covered in flickering sigils and smoke, its face featureless but for two burning eyes of white flame.
But Walter felt something off.
This wasn't the beast Tilly had conjured weeks ago. That one had wings. And it shrieked like a banshee. This creature… it walked with slow, deliberate menace. No rage. No chaos. Just pure, unrelenting intimidation.
"This isn't the same one," Walter muttered aloud.
A lieutenant beside him asked, "Sir?"
Walter didn't answer. His mind was already whirling. If it's not Tilly's beast... then whose is it?
And perhaps more urgently—why now?
---
The thundering hooves of warhorses pounded the dusty road as Sir Raleigh led his small detachment of town soldiers toward Thormans Village. Dust rose like mist behind them, trailing their urgency like a second shadow.
His silver cloak fluttered behind his black stallion as he tightened his grip on the reins. A calm, focused expression sat beneath the low brim of his enchanted helm, though a cold flicker of unease sparked in his thoughts.
Two magical creature incidents in one rural village? Coincidence, or something else?
The first had been a reckless stunt—some greenhorn teen summoning a creature beyond his control. Stupid. Predictable. But this? Another creature? And this quickly?
Either someone's toying with powers they don't understand... or something darker is moving beneath the surface.
Behind him, his unit of twelve soldiers—all geared in Tier 1 enchantments provided by the town's emergency vault—rode in tight formation. Shields shimmered faintly with runic wards, and the tips of their spears glowed with elemental energy. Raleigh himself was the true hammer of their force—a Tier 0 mage, trained in summoning. If things went south, he would be the firebreak between this village and annihilation.
Their arrival was met with chaos.
A crowd of villagers had gathered just beyond the outskirts—screaming, crying, pleading. The terror in their voices was unmistakable. They surged toward him as if salvation rode on his saddle.
"Help us! Please!"
"My son's still in the house—!"
"Sir, it's a monster! Like the mountain came alive!"
Raleigh didn't break stride. His face was unreadable, his tone like steel cooled in frost. "Clear the path. Stay low and move to the southern watchpoint."
He caught the eye of a young militia guard—a boy barely in his twenties, trembling behind a bronze breastplate, clutching a standard-issue crossbow.
"You. Where's the village head—Walter Grefen?"
The guard swallowed. "Fighting it, sir! Up by the northern fields—with the other militia!"
Raleigh didn't wait for more.
"You'll lead us there. Now."
The guard blinked in shock. "M–me?"
"Move!" Raleigh barked.
They galloped into the inner part of the village, following the rising sounds of battle. The air thickened with heat and dust. The ground itself trembled.
And then Raleigh saw it.
A colossal rock golem, at least four times the height of a man, was rampaging through the open field just beyond the last row of houses. Its limbs were like sculpted stone, inscribed with glowing glyphs. Each movement it made was heavy, deliberate, and devastating.
It swung one arm sideways—crushing a wooden barricade and sending two militia flying like rag dolls. With its other hand, it brought a thunderous fist down upon the earth, sending cracks splintering through the soil like spiderwebs.
Raleigh narrowed his eyes.
A summoned rock golem. Tier 0, possibly unstable. Not native. Someone summoned this intentionally.
The fact alone chilled him.
As a combat mage, he had studied golems in the archives of Eridane. They weren't just destructive—they were resilient, immune to most basic magics, and their bodies were made to endure siege-level attacks. Summoning one required not just power, but knowledge.
One of the town soldiers leaned toward him. "Orders, Sir Raleigh?"
Raleigh dismounted with a swift, fluid motion, his fingers already moving to unbuckle the scroll case strapped to his hip. His voice was grim but controlled.
"Spread out. Archers, take elevation on the left ridge. Melee fighters, harass the golem's right side—but do not engage directly. I9—it's to be delayed."
He unrolled a scroll, channeling mana through it. Lightning sparked between his fingers.
"I'll handle the suppression. We need to buy time… and figure out how this creature was brought here."
Because if this was the doing of a villager—someone hiding in plain sight—then that person was no fool.
They were dangerous.
And they were playing with powers that danced just beneath the threshold of war.