Derek sat cross-legged on the straw mattress, the matte-black M4A1 Carbine resting across his lap.
While Old Thomas kneeled on the cold stone floor, violently shaking and weeping into his hands, Derek was entirely ignoring him. Instead, Derek was busy accessing the Threat Intelligence tab within his mental System interface.
The System's interface was incredibly efficient. It functioned exactly like a highly detailed tactical forum from a modern video game, but it was populated with environmental scans of this medieval fantasy world.
Derek scrolled through the digital entries, easily bypassing the warnings about the low structural integrity of the village's wooden palisades.
He finally found a highly specific entry titled: Target Analysis: Shadow Wolf.
The System explicitly stated that Shadow Wolves were predatory beasts mutated by dark mana. Their primary advantage was their magical fur, which effortlessly absorbed elemental spells like fireballs and ice lances
The local knights and mages found them nearly impossible to kill without exhausting massive amounts of internal energy.
However, the System noted a massive, glaring weakness: the wolves possessed absolutely zero natural armor plating against high-velocity kinetic penetrators. Simply put, they were highly susceptible to bullets.
Derek grinned maliciously. This information confirmed his absolute superiority.
"System, open the primary store," Derek commanded mentally.
"I have one hundred Tactical Points remaining. I need utility."
The mental image of the imposing, sunglass-wearing Drill Sergeant instantly materialized in his mind, standing sharply at attention.
[Sir! Accessing the Munitions Marketplace! You currently possess 100 TP. State your requisition parameters!]
Derek mentally browsed the extensive catalog. He could see the famous AK-47 assault rifle listed for 500 TP, and the compact MP5 submachine gun priced at 450 TP.
He even saw a massive M240 machine gun greyed out with a price tag of 2,500 TP. He couldn't afford any of those yet.
"I am operating in a low-light environment tonight," Derek stated to the System.
"I need illumination, and I need crowd control. Give me a high-lumen tactical weapon light that mounts directly to my M4A1 rail. And give me two M84 stun grenades."
[Transaction confirmed!] the Drill Sergeant barked loudly.
[SureFire Rail-Mounted Flashlight (40 TP) purchased! Two M84 Flashbang Grenades (60 TP) purchased! Total expenditure: 100 TP. Remaining balance: Zero. Items have been deposited into your Spatial Armory!]
Derek reached out his hand, and with a brief distortion of the air, two heavy, olive-drab steel cylinders dropped perfectly into his palm. He hooked the grenades onto the crude leather belt around his waist.
Then, he materialized the flashlight and snapped it onto the front handguard of his rifle with a satisfying metallic click.
He looked down at Old Thomas. The elderly caretaker was still curled into a tight ball of pure mortal dread. Thomas's body was quivering so violently that his worn leather shoes were actively tapping against the stone floor.
The old man was completely convinced that he was going to be brutally torn apart by magical wolves before the sun rose again.
Normally, a benevolent noble lord would gently place a hand on the old man's shoulder and offer soothing words of comfort. Derek, however, did not care about comforting anyone. He only cared about setting up a perfect defensive perimeter.
"Thomas, stop your pathetic sniveling and stand up," Derek ordered harshly, his voice completely devoid of any empathy.
He tossed a piece of black charcoal onto the floor next to the old man.
"Pick that up. I want you to draw a map of the village gates on the floor. Right now."
Thomas slowly lifted his tear-stained face. His eyes were wide with a deeply ingrained terror, both of the impending monster attack and of the strange, emotionless demon that had possessed his young master.
"M-my Lord... drawing a map will not save us," Thomas whimpered, his voice cracking painfully.
"The beasts... they do not care about maps. They only care about tearing our throats out."
"I did not ask for your tactical opinion, old man," Derek snapped impatiently, pointing the barrel of his M4A1 directly at the floor.
"Draw the gate. Show me where the choke points are. If you do not draw the lines clearly, I will leave you outside the walls when the wolves arrive. Do you understand?"
Driven by absolute, paralyzing fear, Thomas scrambled forward on his knees. His trembling hands grasped the charcoal, and he began to shakily sketch the outline of the frontier village on the stone tiles.
The lines were jagged and messy, reflecting the chaotic dread consuming his mind.
As Thomas drew, Derek commanded the System again. System. Run a full physical diagnostic on this host body. I need to know my stamina limits before the engagement begins.
The Drill Sergeant stepped forward in Derek's mind, holding a digital clipboard.
[Diagnostic complete, Commander! The results are highly unsatisfactory!]
The System explicitly listed Arthur's physical attributes, and they were universally terrible.
Body Structure: 4/100 - This host is severely malnourished and possesses minimal muscle mass. Recoil management will be difficult.
Agility: 5/100 - Sprinting speed is severely compromised. Evasion capabilities are nearly non-existent.
Mana Capacity: 0/100 - You possess absolutely no magical talent.
[However!] the Drill Sergeant shouted.
[Due to your past dimensional experience, your Firearms Proficiency stat is currently locked at 100/100! Your tactical comprehension and trigger discipline are flawless!]
Derek scoffed out loud. He just needed his finger to be strong enough to pull the trigger.
"The map is finished, Lord Operative," Thomas whispered fearfully, backing away from the charcoal drawings.
Derek looked down. The village was built in a simple circle, surrounded by a tall wall made of sharpened wooden logs.
There was only one primary entrance: a narrow, heavy wooden double-door at the front of the settlement.
The area immediately inside the gate was a long, narrow dirt road enclosed by tightly packed stone houses on both sides.
Derek's gamer instincts immediately recognized the terrain. It was a classic "fatal funnel."
If the wolves broke through the front gate, they would be forced to charge straight down that narrow dirt road. They would be tightly packed together, running directly into his line of fire.
Suddenly, a bright blue notification box flashed across Derek's mental vision.
System Quest Triggered: [Defend the Frontier]
Objective: Survive the Shadow Wolf incursion and eliminate the pack alpha.
Reward: 200 Tactical Points per standard wolf killed. 1,000 Tactical Points for the Alpha.
Failure Penalty: Death and permanent structural digestion by hostile fauna.
Derek felt a massive rush of adrenaline. This was exactly what he wanted. If he killed enough wolves tonight, he could easily afford a heavy sniper rifle by tomorrow morning.
"Listen closely, Thomas," Derek said. "We are going to the front gate. You are going to stand exactly ten paces behind me. When I tell you to cover your ears, you will cover your ears. If you run away, the wolves will eat you. If you stay behind me, you get to live. Let's move!"
Derek did not wait for the old man to agree. He confidently marched out of the stone bedroom, his finger resting just outside the trigger guard of the M4A1.
Thomas let out a stifled sob, but the sheer authority radiating from Derek forced the terrified caretaker to follow closely behind him.
They walked through the dusty streets of the village just as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.
Dozens of peasants were huddled together in the town square, weeping openly and clutching their children. The local militia, consisting of ten terrified farmers holding rusted pitchforks and dull wood-cutting axes, stood near the main wooden gates.
Their knees were shaking, and the metallic clattering of their crude weapons betrayed their absolute mortal dread. They all fully expected to die.
When Derek approached the gate, holding his strange, black metallic weapon, the militiamen just stared at him in hopeless confusion. They recognized the sickly young Master Arthur, but they did not recognize the intense look in his eyes.
"Clear the center lane!" Derek shouted aggressively, completely abandoning any noble etiquette.
"All of you, press your backs against the houses! Get out of my line of sight!"
A burly farmer with a pitchfork stepped forward, his face pale with fear. "M-Master Arthur? What are you doing? You have the sickness! You should be hiding in the manor! The Shadow Wolves will tear you apart!"
"I don't have time to explain ballistics to a man who smells like pig manure," Derek insulted him loudly.
"Move out of the way, or I will use you as sandbags."
Before the angry, terrified farmer could argue, a sound echoed from the dark forest outside the walls.
It was a deep, guttural howl that seemed to vibrate the very air itself. The sound was heavily laced with dark mana, designed to instill pure panic into the hearts of prey.
The villagers in the square instantly began screaming, completely losing their minds to fear. The militiamen dropped their pitchforks and fell to their knees in despair.
The Shadow Wolves had arrived.
Derek raised his M4A1 Carbine, pressing the polymer stock firmly into his frail shoulder.
He clicked the fire selector switch from 'Safe' directly to 'Semi-Auto'. He was entirely focused on the glowing red dot in his holographic sight.