Guardian: Derek Walker 10

The first to move was Luna.

"Haste."

Suddenly, an artificial wind enveloped Luna's body. She'd cast a buff on herself.

Haste was a basic buff ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that boosted agility. In close-quarters combat where bodies collided, agility mattered more than raw strength.

Luna's agility was already over 360, and with her self-buff, she cranked her speed even higher. Now, no orc could land a hit on her.

"Shadow Step."

Luna's body blurred into motion. At the same instant, cries of "Wha—!?" erupted from the young militia between them. They'd lost sight of her in a blink. Even I might've missed her if I hadn't anticipated the move.

Luna hadn't vanished. She'd charged straight at the orc horde with blinding speed. To foes lacking her level of agility, it looked like teleportation. An attack you saw coming but couldn't block.

"Kreeeek!?"

The lead orc, facing her head-on, let out a scream—or something like it. Unfortunately for him, it was his last words.

Shrieeek!

A sound like an orc's guttural cry echoed out. But it came from the orc's own throat—severed clean by Luna's scimitar.

Orc skin was green, but their blood ran as red as any human's. Crimson sprayed in graceful arcs through the air. Even battle-hardened orcs couldn't ignore the sight.

Luna, dual scimitars in hand, danced like a spirit of the earth. With every flourish, another orc head rolled.

"Blade Dance."

Her flashy sword dance shredded the air. Down from up, up from down, left to right, right to left. Chaotic, unpredictable strokes—but each one precisely targeted the necks of orcs around her.

Her left-hand scimitar sliced throats as if connected by invisible threads, tracing flawless paths. Orcs realizing they'd die without counterattacking swung their clubs in desperation. But for Luna, attack and defense flowed as one, seamless and natural. How the hell does she do that?

"Kreeeek! Crazy bitch! Running means death anyway! Everyone, swarm her!"

An orc half again as massive as the rest pointed at Luna and bellowed. Spot-on call. Once in her range, turning tail only hastened the end.

The orcs encircled her. But Luna showed no panic. She's probably thinking, 'Perfect, that'll save time.'

"Mirage Force."

Luna clashed her twin scimitars together with a shout. The weapons she wielded were the mythical-grade "Pharaoh's Dual Scimitars." Mirage Force was one of their weapon skills.

Suddenly, a pair of Luna duplicates appeared at her flanks, each gripping dual scimitars. A cloning skill like my own Multibody.

Unlike mine, though, it couldn't sustain clones long-term. They had 70% of her stats, and took double damage. Still, more than enough against orc rabble.

"Kreeek! The bitch multiplied!"

"We should be thrilled... but we're fucked. Kreeek!"

Three Lunas unleashed their blade dance. Orcs struggling against one now faced three. The fight wrapped up in seconds. Luna single-handedly repelled the village raiders.

"All hail Lady Luna!"

Vanquishing the orc horde alone elevated Luna to goddess status in Allen Village. Beautiful, powerful, devoted to the village—she more than earned the title.

The young militia, who'd gripped their weapons white-knuckled at the sight of over a hundred orcs, felt a hollow mix of relief and awe at how effortlessly it ended. Still, they chanted her name nonstop.

Victory bumped up my Fame. I hadn't lifted a finger—Luna stole the show—but as her master, I got the spillover. The no-skills-or-items penalty kept me sidelined anyway.

The battle ended, but cleanup wasn't over. Villagers hustled to dispose of the corpses. Left alone, they could've sparked plague or drawn more monsters.

Hauling over a hundred orc bodies was backbreaking. Dig a pit outside town, drag 'em in, bury it. Pure grunt work.

From kids to elders, everyone pitched in. Rita and Bianca were there too, the sisters loading carts without minding the filth. Naturally, Luna and I sat it out.

"Ah! The spirit summoner! Thank goodness—this'll lighten the load."

Kelly, contracted to the earth spirit king Kreed, pitched in digging pits. She conjured in seconds what ten men needed half a day for. Child's play with a spirit king's power.

As I watched the villagers slave away, an old geezer sidled up. The village chief, Gibbs.

"Greetings?"

"No pleasantries."

"Y-yes!?"

I already knew his sleazy angle. I'd tailed him with a Surveillance Eye. He planned to drive a wedge between me and Drowbin.

Thing is, that sleaze hits right in my wheelhouse.

If I were Drowbin, I'd have lopped the bastard's head off. But Drowbin had his reasons for holding off judgment. Still, backstabbing schemers like this were cliché in any story.

"What's the sudden visit? If you're here to atone, shouldn't it be Drowbin, not me?"

"N-no, something else. Even blinded by greed, hosting honored guests is the chief's duty, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right? Just checking if you're comfortable."

"Fine."

"Hmm. Anything you need? Anything at all. Say, a woman...?"

He flicked his tongue like a snake, eyes gleaming with greed. I knew his game, but played along. No skin off my back.

"Not that I need anything, but a girl to attend me would be nice. Don't I rate that kind of hospitality?"

"Of course! That Drowbin pup—green kid who can't even manage basic etiquette!"

"That girl who greeted me was stunning. Rita, was it? Hate to say it, but she's wasted on a backwater like this."

"Haha! Keen eye, as expected. Rita's our village pride. So... you want her?"

He whispered it with transparent glee, glancing slyly between Drowbin and me. Pure villain vibe.

I glanced at Drowbin, diligently hauling bodies with the villagers, oblivious. Poor bastard.

"Deny it? I'd be lying. Rare beauty like that. Not quite Luna-level, mind you."

"Haha, so Rita's to your taste. As chief, I can make it happen."

"Cut the circling. Get to the point. You're pissing me off."

"Eek! Forgot you're a merchant, Walker. Fine, straight talk. My position's shaky, right? All Drowbin's fault."

Gibbs eyed Drowbin with venom.

"I want to deal with you, Walker. I'll deliver Rita. Just help me deal with Drowbin."

Half-truth. He wanted Drowbin gone, sure—but no real alliance. I was just another thorn to him.

"Tempting offer."

But I went along anyway. He beamed and bowed.

"Deal sealed, then."

*-*-*

Corpse cleanup wrapped up roughly. Villagers threw a modest victory feast—no booze, since another raid could hit anytime, but laden with hearty grub. First time they'd repelled orcs unscathed in village history.

Drowbin breathed easier with the day survived. Soonest support from the barony in a day; latest, three or four. Things would sort themselves then.

'Time to expose the chief's embezzlement to everyone.'

He itched to spill it now, but timing mattered—especially for a hunter. No need to dampen high spirits with bad news.

"Drowbin."

Lost in plans, the chief's voice snapped him back. Drowbin stared at the old man holding a brimming beer mug.

"Chief. Or Gibbs. What's up? Booze is off-limits."

"Hah! Cold. I'm still chief, y'know."

"Enjoy your last scraps of leisure. This isn't mercy to you—it's for the village's future."

"Heh, is it now?"

He chugged the beer. Drowbin grimaced and looked away. No more talk with this man. But Gibbs hooked him.

"That Derek Walker. Watch yourself."

Derek Walker.

The name never sat easy with Drowbin. Every glance at the man felt like staring down a predator.

"...What're you getting at?"

"Came to me earlier. Said something funny. Wants Rita."

Drowbin clenched his fists. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Classic divide-and-conquer. Desperate flailing from a man on the edge.

He believed that, but quelling the doubt wasn't easy. Hearts were fragile things.

"Don't spout nonsense. You're still ex-chief. Don't slander a village benefactor."

"Heh! Doubt me? Ask him yourself."

Flushed with booze, Gibbs thumbed toward Walker, munching sausages. Drowbin saw the trap.

Asking Walker that would backfire hard. Offend him, and the village—not just Drowbin—suffered. No relaxing till reinforcements.

"That all? I'm going. And don't act like you know me next time."

"Wise to heed elders. Rita's like a granddaughter to me. Wouldn't want her sullied by some outsider, fiancée or no."

"Enough scheming."

"Hunter like you knows: to not get eaten, think deep."

Gibbs sauntered off unsteadily. Drowbin glared at his back. The words lingered.

'Damn old fart...'

Rage boiled. Expose him now? The urge ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crept up.

'Breathe. Even if I blow the whistle, investigation waits till raids end. Can't tank morale on my grudge. Breathe.'

Drowbin tamped it down. Rita approached, noticing.

"Drowbin. Everything okay?"

"Ah. Rita."

His lovely fiancée soothed him. She was his lifeline.

"You look pale."

"Uh, well..."

Say it or not?

After a beat, Drowbin recounted it. Rita kept secrets.

Her face darkened. Drowbin regretted spilling.

"That happened...? Think the chief's telling truth?"

"No way. Obvious wedge-driving."

"Maybe. Good if so, but if not..."

She trailed off. If Walker truly lusted after her, what then?

Rita had suitors aplenty. A man eyeing her body wasn't odd. And city merchants' greed was infamous.

"Won't happen. If it does, I'll protect you. Don't worry."

Drowbin reassured her. Rita smiled softly and nodded.

"Yeah. I trust you, Drowbin."