"He's a mage?! What the hell — no one told me he was a mage!"
The man Veigar had blasted against the wall was panicking now, holding his chest where the mana had struck.
His companion hissed, "He's not a mage, you idiot. If he were, we'd be dead already. Probably some wannabe, self-taught, but be careful. We'll go in together."
He turned to the third, larger man. "Knock him out."
Veigar, hearing every word through the thin wooden door, felt a chill ripple down his spine.
"I'm cooked."
He raised his hand again, trying to summon the same energy — but nothing came. Not even a flicker. His mind was racing.
Panic was rising faster than his mana.
"Shit, shit, shit—"
The three men aligned outside the door. The wood creaked under their weight. They were going to rush him.
Veigar forced himself to breathe.
Calm. Calm. That's what worked last time… breathe. I'm the protagonist, right? I hope, anyway…
He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply.
His hands trembled — but he lifted them anyway.
"They're more scared than you. Just breathe…"
The door burst open.
All three surged forward. The largest in the middle held ropes.
Then — a pulse.
A wave of mana erupted from Veigar's hands, catching the man in the center square in the chest. The energy slammed into him, leaving a scorch mark the size of a handprint and launching him backward. He wasn't unconscious — but very, very winded.
The other two froze.
Then the one on the right screamed and charged, grabbing both of Veigar's wrists and forcing his arms down.
"SHIT—" Veigar cursed and, without thinking, rammed his shoulder into the man's chest. The man stumbled, releasing one arm.
Veigar didn't hesitate. He balled his fist and punched him square in the eye.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't magical.
But it worked.
"Damn—OW."
His own knuckles burned.
He slapped the man's hand away and yanked himself free, spinning back to face the two others. The third man — the big one — was just now staggering to his feet.
Veigar raised his hands again.
"I'll kill anyone who moves!" he shouted, heart racing, voice cracking slightly.
The room fell silent.
"System? Any ideas?"
[…]
"…Seriously?"
No reply. Of course.
Veigar and the two men stared at each other in a silent standoff.
His hands trembled slightly — but he kept them raised.
The mana… it was coming, slowly. Like water filling his fingers.
A minute later...
One of the men glanced at the other.
The third one, the big guy, muttered, "He's bluffing."
And drew a dagger.
"You son of a—"
Before the man could act, Veigar exhaled — and let it all go.
Another wave of raw, unrefined mana exploded from his palms like a shockwave. All three men were blasted off their feet. The man on the left slammed into the wall and hit his head with a sickening thud.
The dagger flew from the big man's hand, skidding across the floor and into the hallway.
Veigar didn't wait.
He sprinted forward — but as he reached for the dagger, something clamped around his ankle.
The big man.
With a shout, Veigar dove, snatched the dagger, and turned to face him.
The man was clutching his leg with both hands. Veigar raised the blade.
"Let go!"
The man didn't.
Veigar slammed the blade downward.
The man raised his hands in defense — too late.
The knife pierced through his palms, lodging halfway into the floorboards.
"Aaaargh!"
Veigar staggered back, staring.
The man writhed, hands bleeding, eyes wide with shock.
Veigar placed his foot on the man's head and yanked the dagger out.
Blood spurted. It hit his arm. His face.
"Shit… shitshitshit—"
He backed away, eyes wide, heart pounding.
"I don't want to kill anyone. I really don't—But this world clearly doesn't care what I want.Is this what survival feels like?"
Another man stirred. Veigar spun, dagger still in hand, and lunged.
He placed the blade against the throat of the one who seemed to be the leader — the one who'd stayed standing the longest.
"Don't move. Sit down."
The man hesitated.
"Take your friend with you. Now!"
Eventually, both surviving men slumped into the corner.
Veigar closed the door.
"Alright. Just… shut up and answer a few questions and I'll leave."
"I'M NOT TELLING YOU WHO WE WORK FOR! YOU'LL HAVE TO KILL ME!"
"…Dude. I don't care."
The man blinked.
"I just want to know: where am I?"
"…Hillford?!"
"Where is that?"
"It's a village. In the province of Greystone."
"Who rules it? Who's the king?"
"…We don't know."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?!"
A ding echoed in his head.
[Quest: Uninvited Guests]
[Defeat the invaders (0/3)]
[Reward: ???]
Veigar lowered the knife.
"You dumb idiots surrender?"
"…Yeah. You win."
[Quest: Uninvited Guests]
[Defeat the invaders (3/3)]
[Reward: ???]
[Congratulations!]
[Do you want to claim your reward now?]
[Y/N]
"Not now. I need to leave this place first."
He opened the door quietly and stepped into the early morning air.
The sky was just beginning to turn pale.
Then he saw her.
The old woman.
Standing there, staring — pale, horrified.
Veigar was covered in blood, holding a stolen dagger.
She opened her mouth—
And pulled a dagger from her sleeve.
"Are you kidding me?!"
She screamed and lunged.
Thanks to her height, or lack of it, Veigar instinctively slapped her in the face.
And then she hit the ground.
"DAMN OLD GRANNY, YOU'RE COURTING DEATH!"
He blinked, chest rising and falling rapidly.
"…You know what? I get it now. All those cultivators slapping people for no reason? I finally understand."
He slapped her again.
Not hard. Just… enough.
"Hmph. Stupid granny."
He turned toward the trees.
Paused.
Turned back, walked over—
And slapped her one more time.
"Okay. Now I can go... and may the gods forgive me… but she totally deserved that last one."
He ran into the trees. Into uncertainty.
"I can't stay here. These guys will want revenge, or worse — reinforcements. But hey... at least I discovered the joy of face-slapping."