Dusk came quicker than expected. It was time for Aster to leave his shack. He carried his journal in one hand and fastened his dagger with the other.
He looked at the old book; this was all he had to his name. He walked out of the broken infrastructure and turned to take one last look at it.
The uneven stone walls with growing moss, the broken wooden ceiling that leaked both sunlight and rainfall regardless, and the small fire pit.
It didn't suffice too much, yet he felt unwilling to depart from it.
This was the first place he had felt warmth, the first place he could have called home.
It was broken… but it was his.
'Damn doofus, when did we become sentimental?'
He heard from his inner voice.
He sighed.
'Everything had an end, infinity was a lie, and perfection itself was a flaw.'
These were the basic principles he lived by; all that mattered was survival.
He retracted his gaze, focused on the walk ahead, and began his journey. He had to make it to the back gate before the last of the wagons would leave.
For others, dusk meant the end of another day. But for the sleep-deprived sentinels of adventurers that manned the walls and gate, dusk was a painful reminder that their torture wasn't over.
This had long become psychological warfare. They were tired, lacked the numbers for interchangeable watches, and the horde was still nowhere to be found. If this kept on going, most would lose their will to fight even before the battle began.
The Sword Saint stood in front of the vanguard; her party members had carried out her orders meticulously.
Prometheus was manning the town's walls. Behind him were several adventurers that could execute decisive aerial and ranged attacks.
Vivian was stationed slightly before the vanguard, an elegant rapier in her hand.
She gripped the curved blade tight. Surrounding her were heavily armoured adventurers with large shields and long spears. They were going to be the first to clash with the abominations.
Their task was simple—slow down the horde and create a path for the vanguard to cut through. Still, with how easy their task sounded… lives would be lost.
Behind the line of defense was the vanguard. The Sword Saint, Socrates, and One Eye stood at the head of the ranks, armoured in a way that was both versatile in attack and defense.
Socrates held a thin, long sword, his flowing dark hair dancing in the wind, and blue-green eyes that seemed indifferent to the disastrous future that waited ahead.
Compared to Socrates, One Eye didn't seem as indifferent. He stood gallantly; neither his courage nor his bravery could be in question.
But he himself couldn't deny that he was tense.
And then… the Sword Saint.
Her pale blonde hair had been styled into a bun so it didn't restrict her movements. A white scabbard for a long sword rested on her belt. Torches that spanned throughout the whole wall illuminated the surroundings.
But beyond their soft orange glow… was an unsettling darkness.
Her golden gaze peered into it, her expression unchanging.
Then she turned to face Socrates. His indifference remained the same, but she noticed the tightened grip on his blade and the difference in his posture.
He was ready.
She looked to One Eye—the same went for him.
One Eye turned to the ranks, his gritty voice coming out in a roar.
"This is it, boys and girls—the moment we've been waiting for. Behind that veil of nerve-racking darkness is nature's army of executioners. Let them pass and they'll kill your friends and family… I see you let them pass, and I'll kill your friends and family."
A laugh echoed through the ranks, easing the tension.
"Many of us will fall today. Many of us may never see our families again. But many more should survive—and with them, the memories of those that had fallen."
The adventurers roared in unison, the ranks becoming a cacophony of ringing metal and raging tension.
But beyond the light, deep within the darkness… came another.
A roar etched with malicious killing intent and feral madness.
Their guests had arrived.
Moments earlier, Aster had arrived at the back gate, and just as he had expected, the place was largely crowded. With few adventurers regulating the evacuation process, the line looked like it would take forever before it got to his turn.
Aster looked around. There were two types of people he had observed so far.
Those who fought for their survival like him, refusing to let the world have the last laugh and watch them break.
And then there were those who had given up entirely on survival. Their bodies were a walking husk for an already dead soul.
Aster hated the hollow look of their sunken eyes, the lack of spark in their existence. Their unargued acceptance of fate's twisted reality pissed him off.
'If you're born poor, then that was your fate. Being born poor was inevitable… but remaining poor wasn't.'
That was the power of choice and will.
He refocused on the line and noticed it had already gotten to his turn. He looked up to see the adventurer.
A dirty blonde-haired youth stared right back, his burning gaze filled with arrogance and madness.
Aster cursed internally. Of all the places to come across Thorne…
It just had to be here and now.
'Fate was definitely out for his head.'