The cemetery was nestled comfortably in a far corner of the walled town. Within the center, a church stood powerfully, its bell tower surpassing the height of the impressive walls. Carved within its brick exterior, Alan saw a cross symbol, with lines seemingly indicating a holy aura surrounding it,
“After 800 years the holy empire’s still thriving, huh?” He mumbled, perched atop a gable roof, the veil of night cloaking him in a blanket of darkness. His eyes lowered to the grassy surroundings. Tombstones littered the area, packed together tightly, not sparing extra space. The scent of damp earth and aged stone mingled with the subtle decay of forgotten floral tributes, permeating the cool air.
A small wooden shack sat amidst the tombstones, just a few meters from the metal fence encircling the cemetery and the church. The moonlight cast an eery glow over the place, giving it a sinister look, even though its true purpose lied in immortalizing and remembering the dead.
Even at a distance, Alan’s enhanced vision caught onto a shadowy figure wandering the sea of tombstones. This figure's steps were purposeful, as his head swayed and turned, examining each stone with a sharp focus.
“There he is,” Alan blurted out, his form vanishing as he leaped from the rooftop, landing silently on the cushioned grass of the cemetery. He slithered through the stones, Alan’s eyes occasionally examining the words carved into them,
“Most of these guys were adventurers,” he said, “It must have taken a lot of deaths to secure this town.” He swiftly returned his focus to the shadowy figure, realizing he was distracting himself with inutile thoughts. Soon, he arrived in front of the figure, his features becoming more apparent as the veil of night was swept away. With a nod, Alan examined the man. He looked withered and old, his facial wrinkles hiding a sharp scar etched over his cheek, and bags hung beneath his dark eyes. He wore a baggy woolen shirt and raggedy pants.
“Does the lion share its mane?” the man’s unkempt white beard swung, brushing his chest as his head turned slightly.
“Only with the pride beneath the moon’s gaze,” Alan looked up at the bright full moon looming eerily over the man's head before his gaze shot back to the weak eyes staring at him.
“Follow me,” the man said with a harumph, hand motioning to follow. His feet crunched as he walked along a winding gravel path. As he walked, his eyes continued to examine each stone with scrutiny.
I guess even while working with criminals he still takes his job seriously. Alan thought, holding back laughter.
Soon, the man turned, walking off the path, stopping after 3 tombstones. He swiftly crouched down, digging his hand into freshly poured mulch,
“Right this way,” he mumbled, his leathery old face scrunching as he grabbed hold of a handle, pulling up. The mulch slid off a wooden door as it opened with a creak. Dim light poured out, illuminating a rotten wooden staircase, leading down only a few dozen steps. Alan nodded, unsure of the true nature of this man. He worked with the criminals, but his demeanor betrayed this, treating a man he believed to be in the organization without respect or camaraderie one would expect.
He might be forced into working with them. Alan shrugged, I’ll figure that out later.
With a nod, Alan stepped down, the wooden plank shrieking and bending as if it were about to break. He took another step, a similar creek and bending of the planks until he reached the bottom. He turned back, watching as the old man brought the door down, the sound of mulch sliding across wood resounding throughout the dirt cavern, illuminated by crackling torches. Alan could feel the rough ceiling brush against his hair. He glanced to either side, noting how he doubted two people could comfortably walk side by side.
Further down, this passageway looked to open into a larger space, and Alan could hear incomprehensible mumbles from at least a dozen men. His hand instinctively shot to his hilt but stopped just before it. Should I massacre all of them? What if the leader escapes? And people like the old man outside might be among them. Alan sighed, his arm dropping back to his side, I’ll at least talk to them first.
Alan strode down the corridor, the mumbles becoming clearer. The conversations mostly consisted of talk about women, beer, or patrols. Useless information Alan disregarded immediately. Soon, his footsteps stopped, and he stared out at the square room, with at least twenty men, swords sheathed either on their backs or hips. The room was large but mostly empty. Only a few wooden tables and chairs were scattered about, and a stack of boxes was piled in the back right. One doorway, this time with a door, one made of high-quality metal and wood, sat in the middle of the left wall.
“You’ve a face I don’t recognize,” A gruff voice shouted to Alan’s left, causing all heads to turn. The conversation ceased, and a few men shot out of their seats, light grins pulling at the corners of their lips.
“I’m a recruit. I got told to meet with boss. Where he at?” Alan said, attempting to mimic the uneducated speech of the criminals, although he understood most would not believe his lies. His eyes swiftly darted to each arm, most having the scarred skin in the shape of a lion. I think everyone here deserves to die. That makes my life a little easier.
“Oh really?” A voice to his left blurted out, drawing his broadsword. The familiar metallic scream resounded once more to his left. A few of the criminals in front of Alan also entered a combative stance, hand reaching for hilt. Alan let out a sigh,
“Why does there have to be so many,” he shook his head, “This is annoying.” His eyes darted across the room, mind formulating the necessary strategy to win quickly and efficiently.
“You made a mistake,” The man to his left laughed as he swung his sword. In response, Alan swiftly sidestepped, lunging forward as he gripped his sheathed sword, unleashing it in a smooth slash. The man’s head fell to the ground with a wet splash, his body following. Taking advantage of the disorientation, Alan darted to the man on his right. With a feint, Alan watched as the man swung upon empty air, the tip of a sword lodging itself in his throat.
“I need to win this battle without using mana imbue. Their leader might be strong, so I need to save all my power for him.” Alan grunted, dashing toward a group of three criminals who just drew their swords, “I can't be dying this early.” In an instant, Alan sliced the throats of two men, parrying a slash from the third, counterattacking with a powerful stab to the chest.
“Come on guys, I thought this was a mistake,” Alan yelled out, watching four more rush towards him, swords drawn. However, Alan noticed something unusual. He watched the minute details of foot placement, balance, facial features, and focus, of the men only a few feet away. His eyes widened in surprise, and partial relief,
“Some of these guys are drunk,” A smile touched his lips, as he kicked one of the wooden tables, its edge slamming into the stomach of two men who let out a pained groan, their backs slamming into the ground with a thud. The other two dodged, jumping to either side of the circular table.
Alan immediately targeted the one to his left, dodging a downward slash, slicing the man's head clean off, “No wonder this is so easy,” Alan gripped the handle of the dead man's sword, spinning around, gathering enough momentum before releasing it. The blade hissed through the air, landing cleanly in the forehead of the encroaching foe.
Before the man's body dropped, Alan rolled over the table, mercilessly stabbing the two dazed and struggling men he knocked to the ground.
The remaining two criminals fell to their knees, beads of sweat streaming down their faces, legs visibly shaking. A look Alan had become all too familiar with throughout his regressions could be seen deep within their expressions. A look one would give staring death itself in the eyes, a fear compared to no other. A significant display of power crippled any hope these criminals had of seeing another sunrise. Alan sheathed his sword, strolling quietly toward two corpses, picking up their bloodied swords.
A realization struck the two, recalling a move Alan had used only a few seconds prior. Their bodies suddenly moved on their own. Sprinting toward the cavern leading to the surface, one thought within their minds…survival. However, this fleeting hope quickly vanished.
Alan spun around, releasing the swords with pinpoint accuracy, landing cleanly in the heads of the remaining criminals.
“These guys were really weak. Their boss should be a walk in the park then. Especially if I’m gonna use mana imbue.” A sudden wave of relief washed over Alan. Throughout his nine previous regressions, he always regressed to the same spot in time. This allowed him to plan out every part of his next life, and he always knew of any potential threats. But now, he was blind. He was forced 800 years into the future, with only one true life,
“After this, I need to put a lot of time into learning about the world.” Alan’s head turned to the reinforced wooden door embedded powerfully in one of the dirt walls, “Hopefully there arent any more rooms like this.” Alan strode to the door, examining it, noticing the finesse in which it must have been made, and the clean and expensive-looking materials. He quickly glanced around at the now chaotic room behind him, noticing the significant difference in the quality of everything. He even recalled the wooden door at the entrance, one that looked as if it could fall apart at any moment.
Alan shook his head, drilling his focus onto the battle before him. His mind was trying to convince him of the boss's ease, but his instincts told him to prepare nevertheless. He let his open palms land on cold metal near the center of the door, channeling power into his legs, and pushing. A rusty creak resounded throughout the cavern, echoing off the walls as the door opened up. In front of Alan, was a rectangular dirt room, crackling torches perched on either side, lightening the area with surprising efficacy. At the end of this room, an almost identical door,
“Their boss should be past that door,” Alan sighed, relieved he didn’t have to kill more criminals. His eyes darted around, ensuring no traps, “Well, no wonder why the boss didn’t intervene. He probably couldn't hear a thing.” Alan kept his hand on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw it in an instant. But no need came for that, as he safely arrived at the second door, repeating his previous action. The door, similarly, opened with a rusty scream, the center separating, revealing an interesting sight. In front of Alan was a large square dirt room, almost twice the size of the first. In front of Alan, touching the back wall, was a shabby wooden throne, sitting on a raised platform only an inch above the ground. On the throne, a muscular man, with scars covering his skin. He was bald, and clad in a red woolen vest, un-buttoned, revealing defined abs beneath. He also wore brown pants and rolled up at the ankles. He seemed to be in conversation with another man, short and chubby, wearing a pristine black suit. Around the room, were dozens of boxes stacked tall, and a weapons rock, with a few old swords.
The chubby man had shaky legs and sweat on his forehead, his receding hairline revealed as he turned to meet Alan’s eyes.
“Who are you?” The man on the throne barked.
“Are you the boss of those lousy imbeciles?” Alan mocked, pointing behind, gesturing that he meant the men in the previous room.
“Yeah. And who are you?” The man repeated, his powerful grip cracking the armrests of the wooden throne.
“Well. I’m here to kill you. I already took care of the guys back there. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t struggle. If you just give me all your silver, who knows, maybe I'll let you live.” Alan chuckled. Although this simple taunting seemed to be unbridled confidence on the outside, the aim was to anger this man to the degree that he fought purely based on rage, throwing away any technique and fighting skill he might have cultivated throughout his life. Such a method was useless against more powerful and disciplined opponents, but against a criminal in the outskirts of a kingdom, this would surely make the fight much easier. At least, that's what Alan thought.
“You!” The man’s grip shattered the armrests of the throne as he stood up, releasing an overwhelming aura, immediately pulling the chubby man to his knees, and threatened to do the same to Alan, had he not reinforced his body with mana.
“Shit,” Alan’s heart began to race, nearly bursting out of his heaving chest. This was not the aura of a weak man in the foundation stages, he had a bronze core. Why does this guy have a bronze-grade mana core? His subordinates were so weak. I don’t know if I can beat him right now. I have to run! Alan could feel warmth permeate through his muscles as man flowed through them. Without hesitation, he turned and dashed to the door. As long as he’s a bronze grade 6, I should be able to escape. It’s too risky to fight someone above that.
“Where do you think you’re going,” Alan felt a hand on his shoulder, “Do you think you can run after what you said?” Alan’s movement ceased, as the man’s grip became unbearable.
