Chapter 263: What lurks

Nathan stood in the doorway of the small house, his eyes moving across the scene. A man lay near the hearth, his chest torn open. A woman was slumped against the wall, her arms still wrapped protectively around a child. The child’s eyes were closed. They hadn’t been given a quick death.

The smell was overwhelming. Blood, yes, but something else too. Something wrong. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

’Master,’ Kuro’s voice was quiet. ’We should not linger.’

"I know."

’This was not done by human hands,’ Shiro added. ’The wounds... they are too jagged. Too... primal.’

’Beast?’ Mirko asked.

’Or something worse,’ Ororo said softly. ’I sense... corruption here.’

Nathan stepped back from the doorway. He wanted to investigate further. He wanted to understand what had done this. But he could hear the coachman shouting from the road.

"We need to leave! NOW!"

The other passengers were getting agitated. The mother was clutching her son. The bard had stopped playing. The two rough-looking men were scanning the tree line, their hands resting on their weapons.

Nathan walked back to the carriage. The coachman, a weathered old man with grey hair and a permanent squint, grabbed his arm.

"Listen to me, lad. I’ve been driving this road for thirty years. I’ve seen things. Bad things. And I’m telling you—whatever did this is still out there. We need to go. NOW."

Nathan hesitated. His [Hunter’s Insight] was telling him the village was empty. No threats. No movement. But it couldn’t tell him what had left these bodies behind.

"Alright," he said. "Let’s go."

He climbed back into the carriage. The coachman snapped the reins, and the horses surged forward.

Nathan looked out the window as they left the village behind. The houses grew smaller. The blood smell faded. But something still felt wrong.

Then he saw them.

Deep in the forest, between the trees, two pairs of purple eyes. Stacked upon each other. Watching.

They vanished before he could be sure.

---

The road continued through the countryside.

Nathan sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the passing trees. The memory of those eyes—four purple points of light in the darkness—was burned into his mind. They weren’t human. They weren’t beast. They were something else.

’Did you see them, Master?’ Mirko asked.

"Yes."

’What were they?’

"I don’t know."

’They were large,’ Kuro observed. ’Four eyes, stacked vertically. That suggests a creature of significant size. Possibly quadrupedal. Possibly predatory.’

’Or possibly something demonic,’ Shiro added. ’This world has demons. The Demon King’s influence may spread farther than we thought.’

Nathan didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.

The carriage continued for another hour. The sun climbed higher. The roads grew rougher. The passengers settled into an uneasy silence.

Then the bandits appeared.

There were five of them. Rough men in mismatched armor, their faces hidden by cloth wraps. They blocked the road with a fallen tree, their weapons drawn—swords, axes, a rusty spear.

"Alright!" the leader shouted. "Everyone out of the carriage! Weapons on the ground! You know the drill!"

The mother screamed. The child started crying. The bard raised his hands. The two rough-looking men exchanged glances.

Nathan stayed seated.

The carriage door opened. The bandit leader, a large man with a scar across his face, poked his head inside.

"Out. Now. All of you."

The two rough-looking men stood up. They were older—one in his fifties, the other maybe forty—and they moved with a confidence that Nathan recognized.

"You know," the older one said, cracking his knuckles, "I retired from adventuring ten years ago. Started a farm. Had a family. But every once in a while, I miss the excitement."

The other one grinned. "Same. It’s like riding a horse."

The bandit leader blinked. "What are you—"

The older man moved.

One moment he was standing. The next, he had the bandit leader in a headlock. The other rough-looking man drew a hidden knife from his belt and threw it, catching a bandit in the shoulder. The remaining three bandits charged, and Nathan rose.

He didn’t use any skills. He didn’t need to.

His training in this body—the reflexes, the coordination—was more than enough. He stepped out of the carriage, caught the first bandit’s swing with his forearm, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat. The bandit crumpled.

The second bandit swung at him. Nathan ducked, swept the man’s legs, and knocked him out with a quick punch to the temple.

The third bandit—the one with the spear—stopped in his tracks.

"Wait—"

The older rough-looking man had already dealt with the remaining bandits. He stood over them, breathing hard.

"See?" he said, grinning at Nathan. "Like riding a horse."

---

The bandits were tied up and left on the side of the road. The carriage resumed its journey.

Inside, the atmosphere had shifted. The mother and child were still shaken, but the fear had been replaced by relief. The bard was composing a song about the two retired adventurers. The older men were laughing, swapping stories of their adventuring days.

Nathan sat apart. He had done his part, but he hadn’t used any of his real skills. He had relied on his base physical abilities—which, even without enhancement, were far beyond the norm. The bandits had been nothing.

But the eyes in the forest... those hadn’t been nothing.

’Master,’ Kuro said. ’You are thinking about the eyes again.’

"Yes."

’They were watching us and did not attack.’

"I know."

’That means they either weren’t interested or are hunting us.’

The carriage continued for another two hours. The sun began its descent. The air grew cooler. The forest thickened on both sides of the road.

Then they heard it.

A growl. Low. Deep. The kind of sound that made the earth tremble.

The carriage stopped.

The horses were frozen. They weren’t just scared—they were paralyzed. Their eyes were wide, their bodies trembling. The coachman couldn’t get them to move.

"What’s happening?" the mother whispered.

Nathan opened the carriage door. He could feel it now—a presence. Something old. Something angry. Something that had been following them.

The color drained from the world.

It wasn’t a metaphor. The greens of the trees faded. The browns of the road turned grey. The blue of the sky dimmed. It was like standing in a photograph that had lost all its color.

And then he saw it.

At first, it was just shadows. But the shadows were moving. The bandits were running away—the ones who had escaped, who had untied themselves, who had tried to flee into the forest.

They didn’t get far.

Nathan watched them run. He watched them notice the shadows. He watched them notice the eyes.

He heard them scream.

The beast emerged from the trees.

It was massive. A stag, but not like any stag Nathan had ever seen. Its skin was dark grey, almost black, and it looked less like a hide and more like stone. Giant horns sprouted from its head, twisting upward, with purple flames flickering at their tips like candles in a tomb. Its eyes—all four of them, stacked in two pairs—burned with that same purple light.

And in its mouth was a head.

One of the bandits. The head was still there, still attached to a piece of spine and shoulder. The beast chewed, slowly, deliberately. Then it spat the head onto the ground and turned its gaze toward the carriage.

The mother screamed.

The child screamed.

The bard’s voice cracked.

"By the gods! It’s a demonic beast!"

The beast took a step forward. The ground trembled. The purple flames on its horns flared brighter.