A few days had passed since Faust began his search for the village.
Eventually, the forest began to dwindle. Trees became sparse, and the snow no longer had leaves to cling to. The ground, though still grassy and snowy, grew more level—it almost resembled a road. Faust walked up to it and followed the open path, but remained inside the forest. He didn't want to risk encountering another human; they'd likely try to attack the bear. Even if they didn't, it would still draw attention to him—something he wasn't eager to deal with.
It was dusk when he finally saw it. Far ahead, smoke and light spilled out from a cluster of houses. He stepped onto the road, but instructed the bear to continue through the forest. As he walked toward the village, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier with each step. He felt anxious—for one reason only: humans. He had always been socially awkward and poor at expressing himself, even when he lived in a village. And now, after more than a year without any human interaction—aside from dead bodies—he hadn't even seen another person.
He tried not to think about it. It wouldn't change anything. But the feeling wouldn't fully leave him.
Before entering the village, he slipped into the woods and changed into the hunter's pajamas. People would find it odd if a kid wore wolf leather. He also left his javelins and meat cleaver with the bear. Carrying weapons into the village would be risky if he were discovered. He removed his belt and anything that could make him appear suspicious. The only things he kept were his pencil and journal—after tearing out the written pages, just in case someone took it. Now, it showed only blank sheets.
As he got closer, he saw people walking outside their homes. Closed market stalls lined the streets, and the air was filled with the low hum of laughter and chatter. It was a sight he had long forgotten. He told the bear to wait on the outskirts. He wasn't afraid of it being killed—it was strong—and since he could sense its location, he wasn't worried about losing it.
He entered the village.
There were no walls, just like his old home. The sounds of people grew louder, the lights from the windows brighter. No one in the street stopped him. In fact, they didn't even seem to notice his presence. He moved like a ghost—after surviving so long in the wilderness, he knew how to stay unnoticed. He didn't need much interaction anyway. All he wanted was to find the direction back to his village.
He stopped in front of a wooden house and looked through the glass window. Smoke escaped his mouth as he stared expressionlessly inside. A family was dining. A man sat at the table with a smile on his face. Two small children were on wooden chairs—one asleep, the other with their mouth stuffed with food. The mother was bringing more food to the table. They looked happy.
Memories flashed through Faust's mind—his parents, the few friends he had, the village itself. His life could've been like that—normal. Maybe he would've grown up to be a bookstore owner, following in Carl's footsteps. Maybe he would've found something to do in the capital, during his travels with his parents. He didn't know. That future had been stolen before he even had the chance to pursue it.
It was stripped away by the attackers. They destroyed his boring, normal life.
As he watched the family through the window, time passed. After a few minutes, he picked up his steps again.
"The best place to get information would be an inn? This village is bigger than mine. There should be at least one inn."
It didn't take long before he found a two-story structure, its base built from stone, with wooden walls above. Some of the windows glowed with light, though the second floor was darker—no lights visible from outside. A sign above the door read Wolf Fang Inn.
Faust stepped inside.
The inn was almost full. Dozens of tables, even more people. Some were drinking, others eating. A few sang, and laughter filled the air. He ignored them all and walked to the counter, just barely tall enough to see over it.
Behind the counter stood a slim, blonde woman. Her eyes were dark blue, and she wore common villager clothing. She was reading from a logbook.
Faust stood still for a few seconds. When he noticed the woman hadn't even seen him, he knocked on the counter.
She looked up, then down. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you… haha."
"Do you want a table? Or a room? Drinks are free if you order food!"
She glanced at him again. Faust looked like a homeless child—and indeed, he had no money.
"None," he replied plainly.
"Then?.." she asked, waiting.
"…"
"Then what do you want? We're an inn, not a shelter. If you don't want any services, why are you here? Do you even have money, kid?"
"She'll probably kick me out if I say I have no money…" Faust thought.
"Yes, I do. But I want information."
"…About?"
"A village. It shouldn't be far from here. It got raided by bandits almost two years ago. Do you know where it is?"
The woman smirked. "If you can pay, yes, I have some information about that."
Faust squinted at her. "…I'll come back later." Then he left the inn.
He wandered the village for a while, until he found a place that might help: a hunter's shop. Maybe he could sell some pelts.
He left the village, making sure he wasn't being followed. When he reached his bear, he took three wolf pelts, fangs, and claws. Then he returned to the village. Some people gave him strange looks, but didn't interfere. He knew he was drawing attention, but had no other choice.
He entered the hunting store and approached the seller, a middle-aged man with black hair, black eyes, and otherwise unremarkable features.
The man was sitting on a chair, stringing a wooden bow.
"Can I sell these?" Faust asked from a short distance away.
The man looked up, curious. He assumed Faust was the son of a hunter or something similar.
"Yes… Let me see them."
Faust walked over and handed him the goods. The man examined them and said, "They're decent. Your father damaged them a bit, but they're still useful. I can pay two silver coins for the pelts and fifty copper for the claws and fangs."
Before Faust could respond, Red's voice echoed in his mind: "Pelts, three silver."
Faust immediately understood. "The pelts are three silver."
The man looked at him and replied, "Two silver and thirty copper."
"Three silver."
"Two silver and fifty?"
"Two silver and eighty? Look, I have to resell these and still make a profit. If I pay too much, I lose money. If you don't want that price, just leave."
Faust considered for a moment and decided to accept. He handed over the goods and received three silver and thirty copper. In this world, coins were divided into copper, silver, gold, and platinum. Each coin tier was worth one hundred of the previous. One silver equaled one hundred copper.
He left the store and returned to the inn, walking back to the counter.
"I need that information," he said.
"Money?" the woman replied.
Faust pulled a silver coin from his pocket and placed it on the counter.
She looked at it. "That's all you have?"
He added another coin.
"Alright," she said, grabbing the money. "I don't know why you'd want to go there, but you do you, kid. Just follow the road next to the church. You should get there in less than three days."
Faust nodded and returned to the forest. He mounted the bear and circled the village through the woods until he saw the road the woman had mentioned. It ran beside a two-story church, marked by an eight-pointed star carved into stone. The church belonged to the world's greatest religious organization—the Light Order. Even Faust had heard of them. It was almost impossible not to.
He changed clothes back to the wolf's cape, then followed the road from the forest. Two days and one night later, he arrived.
He had returned to his old village—almost two years later. His face remained expressionless, but his mind was deeply troubled.
The village was ravaged. Even after all this time, it seemed no one had tried to rebuild it.
The snow covered most of the old paths, but it couldn't hide the burned houses and destroyed structures. Faust's mind was in turmoil. He jumped off the bear—he wanted to walk.
He wandered through the village. With every step, visions of his life flickered before him—like mirages. Reading books outside. Strolling through the streets with his parents. The few times he played with the children. Short conversations with Carl. Flipping through pages in the bookstore. Watching the hunters return with goblins, wolves, and other beasts. The yearly festival filled with food and light. Everything felt so close—yet impossibly far. He stopped when he reached his house.
It was destroyed. Most of the walls were burned, and the roof had collapsed. Chairs and desks, weather-worn and broken, were scattered throughout the place. His old room was ruined as well—his bed tossed aside, and the few books he had were lying on the ground, nearly destroyed by the elements. Even his desk had burned. But underneath it, strangely enough, something familiar remained.
The book—the strange book.
It caught Faust's eye. He picked it up and flipped through it. The pages were all empty. No more strange drawings. He didn't focus on it at that moment—he simply stored it away with his other belongings. He didn't even know what to feel anymore. His eyes were wet, but he hadn't noticed. His mind raced with thoughts: Maybe someone escaped? Could I find tracks? Is anyone still alive here? Why didn't anyone come to rebuild? Where are the corpses? There's no graveyard—maybe they were buried somewhere else? If travelers came by, they'd probably do it... it would be the right thing to do.
Then he went to the bookstore. It, too, was in ruins. A few books lay scattered, and he picked up what he could, storing them in his bags. He kept walking, memories flooding his senses. He was overwhelmed—sad, angry, stressed, nostalgic, and even happy—all at once.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a strange structure. Not strange in its form, but in its condition.
The structure itself was a simple storage building, once used to keep supplies. But unlike the rest, it was intact. Not burned. Not broken. Entirely whole.
It was large—big enough to hold hundreds, maybe thousands, of boxes. The doors were massive and double-framed, the metal handles now rusted.
"Careful," Red's voice echoed in Faust's mind.
Faust hands trembled. An eerie sensation crept up his spine. The closer he got to the handles, the more intense the feeling became—something wrong, something horrifying.
He touched the handles and pushed the doors open.
Darkness filled the interior, but he could still see. He fell back into the snow, eyes fixed inside. His pupils dilated, eyelids wide open. His hand clutched at his chest—his heart was pounding, threatening to burst.
There were bodies inside. Dozens of them.
Some were still wrapped in flesh. Others were already bare bones. A few had strands of connective tissue clinging to their remains. The walls and floor were stained with dark blotches.
He sat on the ground, unmoving, staring at the corpses.
The thin and fragile thread of hope he held was completely severed. He didn't need to confirm. He knew—these were the bodies of his family, his few friends, his neighbors.
His dark-red eyes lost their light. As the hatred in his heart surged, engulfing him like a shadow, tears spilled from his eyes. He clenched his teeth, breathing heavily.
He stood and closed the door.
Then, he gathered a few planks and began to carve them into makeshift wooden shovels.
And he started to dig.