Guardian: Derek Walker 11
The next day, Woodward, who had been sent out as a messenger, returned to the village. He couldn't hide his astonishment at the sight of the relatively intact settlement.
The village's condition was far better than after typical orc invasions. Aside from a few broken facilities around the palisade, there wasn't much major damage, and the number of injured was surprisingly low. For Woodward, who had expected more than half the village's young men to be slaughtered, this was nothing short of a miracle.
"Ah! You're the one I met back then!?"
There was a stranger in the village. But not someone completely unknown—he was the man Woodward had encountered on the way to deliver the message. With such an unusually fat, bloated body, he was hard to forget.
Drobin asked the returning Woodward about the response to their request for aid. With the village's fate hanging in the balance, anxiety etched across his face.
"Woodward. What was the reply?"
"W-well... The lord's army is tied up in operations elsewhere, so reinforcements won't arrive for at least a week."
"Damn it! Does that mean our lives are worthless!?"
Drobin couldn't help but rage at Woodward's words. Waiting a week was practically a death sentence. Without Walker, Allen Village would have been smashed to pieces by orc clubs and wiped out.
"No matter how much I pleaded, that was all they said... Looks like poor villages like ours don't even register with them."
"If Walker hadn't been here... It's terrifying to think about."
Drobin muttered with a sigh that was half worry, half relief.
"I'm glad I could help the village."
Walker offered a curt sentiment. His face showed only boredom. Drobin forced a smile toward him and spoke up.
"By the way, have you been uncomfortable staying in the village at all?"
"It'd be nice to have someone to wait on me. Rita, was it? She seems sharp and capable."
"I-is that so?"
At Walker's mention of Rita, Drobin's expression visibly darkened with unease.
"I'll ask Rita. I apologize profusely for the lack of proper hospitality due to our shortage of hands."
What is the most basic virtue that distinguishes a great hunter? To the uninitiated, they'd probably say accuracy with arrows, quick reflexes, or sturdy muscles to battle beasts head-on. They'd be shocked to learn just how cowardly hunters really are.
Beasts and monsters possess physical abilities far superior to humans. Ordinary folk without mana manipulation couldn't hope to match them, even in their wildest dreams.
Weapons help bridge that innate gap, but they come with huge risks. Many hunters end up as prey themselves because they grew reckless relying on their tools.
That's why seasoned hunters who make a living from the hunt succeed more through patience than strength or speed. They set traps, dig pits, wait silently for their quarry, and never let their guard down until the beast or monster is fully subdued.
In his youth, Gibbs was a flying hunter with that ironclad patience and caution. In a way, even his embezzlement stemmed from that same endurance.
He siphoned off money bit by bit, oh so slowly. Like a hunter laying traps and biding his time for results, his crimes were meticulously careful.
Though a natural disaster had ruined his long-laid plans, he hadn't given up.
"Sir Walker. Tonight would be perfect."
The village buzzed with victory over the orcs, the mood unwaning even under the moonlight. Normally, most residents would be asleep at home by now, but tonight many wandered the streets.
The young ones had retired to conserve strength for tomorrow, but the older villagers chatted animatedly about the miraculous win, savoring the moment.
"What's your plan?"
Walker asked Gibbs. How to rape Rita.
Gibbs flashed a sleazy grin. It suited him perfectly. Moonlight from the lofty night sky illuminated his venomous smile.
"Head to the village communal warehouse. It's out on the edge, so even if a murder happens, no one will notice before dawn. Especially on a chaotic night like this."
"Rape her in the communal warehouse?"
"Yes. No better spot for a midnight deed. It might not be the cleanest... but you can endure that much, right?"
"Well, no choice then."
Walker nodded. Gibbs bowed his head with a triumphant smirk. He tried to hide it, but to Walker, it was glaringly obvious.
"Once it's a done deal, even with a fiancé, she won't have a choice. Rita won't want to be pointed at as 'that raped girl,' so she'll submit to you. Women belong to the stronger strong men anyway, don't they?"
"Oh ho. You do say something right for once."
"Do you know where the warehouse is?"
"I checked it out while touring the village. Don't worry."
Walker replied curtly and turned toward the warehouse. His steps held no hesitation.
Gibbs stood rooted like a statue until Walker vanished completely into the twilight gloom. Then he pumped his fist in glee.
"No way he's not dying tonight!"
In his mind, the plan was unfolding flawlessly. Walker was such an easy mark—his lust too blatant. Gibbs failed to realize his own desires were equally obvious.
Gibbs quickly sought out Rita. Finding her cleaning up the festival with her sister was easy.
As Gibbs approached, Rita greeted him with a bright smile. Forced, of course. Having heard of his corruption from Drobin, she couldn't treat him casually.
Moreover, a faint whiff of alcohol clung to Gibbs. Despite the festive mood, no one had touched drink—the situation was too dire.
Rita furrowed her brow and spoke.
"Hello, Village Chief. Have you been drinking?"
Gibbs beamed contentedly at her greeting.
"Yeah, it's a good night, so I had a bit. Cleaning up with your sister? Commendable."
"It's nothing. The men fought hard; we have to handle this much."
"Walker’s maid did most of the fighting, but anyway—I need you to check something quick."
"Check something?"
Rita tilted her head at Gibbs' words.
"Yeah. You used shovels for work earlier, right? I glanced and the count seemed off. Sorry for the late hour, but could you verify the shovels? Should be exactly twenty-four."
Bianca, glued to Rita's side, scowled and replied.
"That can wait till morning."
"Tsk tsk. Don't talk back to an elder. Handle these things promptly, or counts mismatch later and you won't know where it went missing."
"It's fine, Bianca. Village Chief is right. I'll pop over to the warehouse. Help with cleanup here."
With her sister siding with Gibbs, Bianca puffed her cheeks in a pout and turned away.
"Hmph. Fine. I'll tidy up here."
"Won't take long. Bear with it."
Rita nodded with a reluctant smile at Gibbs' encouragement. Checking inventory at the warehouse was annoying but no big deal. She knew of his embezzlement but never suspected he'd plot harm against her.
"Sure. I'll head over. You should rest too, Village Chief."
"Heh heh. Thanks, Rita. You're the village treasure."
Gibbs meant it. She was the key card to turn his dire situation around.
As Rita headed to the warehouse, Gibbs secretly tailed her.
Rita made her way to the communal warehouse by the light of a small lantern. Soon, the small building on the village outskirts came into view.
I arrived at the village communal warehouse.
The area was all wheat fields, at least 500 meters from the nearest house. Far enough that any commotion inside wouldn't be noticed.
Why build a warehouse in such isolation? Apparently, houses used to stand here too. But after a major orc raid about ten years ago destroyed them, they relocated without rebuilding. The warehouse was too cumbersome to move, so it stayed behind alone.
Opening the door revealed a neatly organized interior. Roughly 20 pyeong in size.
Farm tools, shovels, lumber—all tidily arranged. For well maintenance or repairing the village hall, it seemed.
Whether by Gibbs' thoughtfulness or not, thick straw was laid out in the back. Too crude for a bed, but better than bare ground. Probably meant for sex here.
"He'll probably aim for the back of my head when I 'rape' her."
I checked the warehouse window. A small one near the straw pile—the only window.
As I surveyed, quiet footsteps approached. I peeked out and confirmed: Rita, right on cue.
Creak!
The warehouse door opened.
"Huh? Sir Walker? What are you doing here this late?"
"It's Rita. Hate to say it, but good evening."
"Y-yes!? Oh, good evening... The festival buzz has me wide awake despite bedtime."
Rita swung her arms emphatically. I scanned around her.
A shadowy figure trailed her. No doubt Gibbs. I smirked inwardly.
Gibbs' plan was straightforward. While I rape Rita, he fetches Drobin. We fight, and he kills us both. Probably with arrows.
Then stage it as a lovers' quarrel gone fatal. To outsiders, the story would flow naturally.
Derek Walker tries to rape Rita; her fiancé Drobin attacks. Their brawl kills innocent Rita too, ending in mutual death.
A few wounds on the bodies, and the tale sells easily. Child's play in a backwater like this.
His crimes vanish; victim and perpetrator both dead—perfect murder.
Drobin lives on as the righteous youth slain avenging his fiancée's rape. I'd die the sleazy outsider who touched a betrothed woman.
Simple, but tightly woven. Might steal it for later use.