"Okay," Harley surrendered immediately, hands going up, "We're stopping. We're stopped. Look at us, completely stopped."
Namir had raised his hands too but slower, he was not scared. He said something back in the same language, not Harley's native tongue, which meant the game was giving him vocabulary somehow, which was either incredibly convenient or deeply alarming.
Whatever he said, it didn't help.
The lead man with the spear retorted with something sharper and two of the other men moved forward to flank them. The game did translate that one, a small subtitle appearing below his field of vision.
"You are not from here. You will come with us."
Harley looked at Namir.
Namir looked at Harley.
Neither of them came with them willingly.
It was eight village guards who did not want a conversation and two players who very much did not want to be taken anywhere unknown. Harley's hands moved before his brain caught up; the game apparently agreed, because his first strike registered immediately, a warning bar flashing at the top of his vision as the combat system activated.
⚔ COMBAT INITIATED
Harley Watson vs. Village Guard ×8
He hit the closest man with a palm strike to the wrist, the spear knocked aside but not out of the man's grip. The guard recovered faster than expected and drove the spear shaft into Harley's ribs, not the point, the handle, which was both merciful and still really unpleasant. His HP bar dipped from 80 to 72.
On the other side, Namir had already dropped two guards, not by knocking them unconscious but by disarming them and creating enough chaos that the others had to redirect their attention. He moved with speed, using the weight of each incoming strike to redirect rather than absorb. His Speed Burst skill left a brief motion trail behind him, something the original game would have had as a light visual effect, now it left actual displaced air.
Harley was holding his own. Barely. He wasn't trained the way Namir was but he was scrappy in the way that people who grew up navigating difficult spaces tend to be. He was quick, adaptable, and determined not to fall down. He blocked, he swerved, he took hits and kept moving. His HP was fluctuating but not collapsing.
Then three of the guards coordinated an attack.
One swept his legs, another caught him from the left, the third grabbed his arms from behind. The combat system registered it before he could: 'Restrained'. The word appeared in red. The fight was over for him. He watched Namir reach the same conclusion half a second later; five guards converging at angles that left no clean exit. Namir let himself be taken.
Harley stopped fighting, his HP had settled at 61/100 and his ribs were offering their opinions loudly.
The guards did not kill them. That was something.
They tied their hands with rough cord, not tight enough to cut circulation but tight enough to communicate the situation clearly, and moved them through the forest at a march that discouraged conversation. Harley spent the walk cataloguing, eight guards, spears, short blades at their belts, moving north-northeast, the tree line beginning to thin. Whatever was ahead, they were being brought to it.
The village appeared through the trees like a held breath finally exhaled.
It was modest, not small exactly. Wooden buildings, thatched roofs, torch posts already lit despite the daytime filtering through the canopy. People stopped what they were doing to watch as the guards marched two strangers through the main path. Children peered from doorways. A woman with a water jug froze mid-step. They all had questions running through their minds.
They were brought to a structure at the village's center, larger than the others, more solid. Inside, it smelled of old wood and something herbal that Harley couldn't name. Three people sat at the far end; two men and one woman, the arrangement of their seating communicating exactly who had the most authority.
The man in the center was old enough that age had settled into him like a feature; white-haired, still-eyed with a very old man posture. To his right, a younger man, maybe forty, wearing more armor than the others, a sword visible at his hip. His expression was hard and judgemental.
The guards reported the situation and Namir listened. Harley watched Namir's expression for information.
It was the armored man who spoke first and the game translated him cleanly.
"Intruders in the restricted forest during the season of attacks. Caught while resisting our guards. The sentence is clear."
He looked at both like he was crossing items off a list.
"Execute them before nightfall."
Harley opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. There was genuinely nothing he could say that felt adequate.
The old man at the center, the one whose authority sat the heaviest in the room, had not moved. Had not changed expression. Had not looked at the armored man with anything that could be described as agreement.
He looked at Namir. Then at Harley. His eyes were the particular shade of dark that comes from watching things for decades.
He raised one hand and the translation came through.
"No."
The armored man stiffened while the guards exchanged looks. The old man said nothing else. He simply looked at the two of them with a lot of patience.
Harley looked at Namir once again.
Namir exhaled the breath he was holding and gave the smallest nod.
They were alive, for now.
Whatever came next, it was the old man's call.
And he was still deciding.
STATUS UPDATE HP: 61/100 | MP: 40/40 New Quest Available:Speak with the Village ElderObjective:Survive the introduction.