On the outskirts of Dreville, a group of adventurers advanced toward a nearby village, carrying out the mission assigned by Baron Aritz. Among them, Keitaro paused briefly, pointing with a crooked smile at a boy accompanied by a wolf and a girl walking beside a tiger.

  The mocking glint in his eyes clashed with the gravity of their journey.

  Iris let out a soft, teasing laugh.

  "Oh? As if you were any different… always surrounded by knights, always out of reach."

  Keitaro cleared his throat, feigning humility as his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword.

  "I was merely a humble adventurer, fighting for your well-being, my dear wife."

  Iris arched a brow, her expression laced with irony and nostalgia.

  "And now you conveniently forget you were the Macallister heir… and that you kidnapped me."

  Keitaro coughed, attempting to soften the accusation, but the look Iris gave him did not lessen in the slightest.

  "And yet last night… you seemed quite happy by my side."

  "I was only pretending," she replied with a wink, "so you wouldn't feel bad."

  Their banter continued—light, intimate, and edged with shared history—until the village came into view.

  The silence struck them before the sight did.

  Deserted streets. Windows hanging open like silent mouths. Not a single soul in sight. Everything suggested the evacuation had been recent.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Cain, leader of the Obsidian-ranked party, stepped forward. His voice remained calm, yet its weight tightened every muscle around him.

  "The baron's information was correct. The villages are being emptied. Find out what's happening."

  The group spread out with practiced precision. The nine Obsidian-ranked adventurers positioned themselves strategically. Twice their number in Diamond rank formed a perimeter, while more than twenty Gold-ranked adventurers began clearing nearby houses.

  "The baron couldn't send soldiers," Cain muttered as he moved ahead. "That's why we're here."

  "Five groups in total?" Lusian asked, surveying the scene.

  "Let's hope it's enough," Cain replied, his gaze scanning the empty streets.

  Suddenly, a decaying undead lunged from a side alley, throwing itself at Iris. Her staff flared as water mana flowed with surgical precision. A swarm of liquid blades erupted outward, shredding the creature into fragments.

  Relief lasted only a heartbeat.

  A horde emerged from the shadows.

  And in the distance, a figure wrapped in crimson mana revealed itself—a Lich.

  Cain's face drained of color.

  "A Lich! If we don't stop it, it'll raise the entire horde!"

  Battle erupted—brutal and chaotic. Steel clashed against rotting flesh, spells tore through the air, bodies fell. The undead advanced relentlessly. One adventurer attempted to counter the Lich's incantation, only to be impaled by spears of condensed mana. Desperation thickened every breath.

  Keitaro assessed the chaos and found Iris through the carnage.

  "Iris! Stay with me. You know what to do."

  She did not hesitate. Her grip on her staff was steady, and her eyes burned with the certainty of someone who had survived far worse.

  "I know. We follow the plan."

  From a distant hill, figures in black robes observed the carnage. When a contingent of knights approached the outskirts, the Liches withdrew at a silent command. With the enemy dispersing, the adventurers swiftly cleared the remaining undead from the village.

  Lusian walked through the aftermath. He could not count the survivors—too many bodies lay scattered across the ground.

  "Gather those who can still fight," he ordered, moving among the wounded.

  Iris remained silent. Her hands trembled faintly as she closed the eyes of one of the fallen. The calm she wore was only a fragile mask.

  They had barely finished regrouping when the sound of hooves shattered the stillness.

  A carriage rolled slowly into the empty village.

  Someone else had arrived.