They stepped through the gateless entrance and into the village, where the air itself felt subdued, as though sound had been carefully drained from the world and left behind only its hollow imprint. Though life clearly persisted within those clustered homes, an oppressive stillness clung to every surface, pressing against the senses with an almost unnatural weight.
Jurgen's gaze moved with measured precision, cataloguing details rather than merely observing them. Windows remained shut, curtains drawn with deliberate haste, and doors stayed tightly secured, as if the very act of exposure invited consequence.
Are they all indoors because of the criminals? The thought settled with quiet calculation, his attention shifting between narrow alleys and shadowed corners where visibility weakened and intent might conceal itself.
A low mutter broke the silence, edged with discomfort. "This place gives me the creeps… grrr."
Nyugen responded almost on instinct, his voice slipping into uneasy levity. "I know, right?" Only then did awareness seem to catch up with him, and his posture shifted slightly as he glanced toward the familiar presence among them.
A brief hesitation followed, his hand lifting awkwardly before falling back against his thigh, uncertain where composure should land. "Yeah… we-we didn't quite catch your name, strange teammate," he added, the attempt at familiarity strained but well-intentioned.
"Arrow."
The response came calm and deliberate, carrying neither invitation nor distance, simply certainty.
Nyugen tilted his head, the tension easing just enough for humor to slip through. "As in… an actual arrow? Or like… Arrowlius? Arrowden?"
A faint curve touched Arrow's lips, restrained yet unmistakably amused. "You've got jokes, I see." His glance flicked sideways toward Nyugen for a fleeting moment before forward focus reclaimed him, eyes narrowing as they swept the surrounding terrain with practiced vigilance.
Jurgen, already ahead, reached a door without ceremony. A measured pause followed, then a firm knock cut through the stillness, once, then again. The sound lingered longer than it should have in the heavy air.
The door responded with a slow groan, hinges protesting as it opened inward, releasing a sliver of warm candlelight into the muted exterior.
"We're from the Mercedes Defense Corps," Jurgen stated, authority embedded in every syllable.
"I know who you are."
The reply carried immediate recognition, sharp eyes briefly shifting past Jurgen to assess the others standing behind him before returning with deliberate focus.
"Come in."
Inside, the room was modestly lit, candle flames casting soft, wavering shadows across wooden walls and worn furnishings. Heat from the fire lent the space an uneasy comfort, as though warmth alone could compensate for what lingered beyond the village boundaries.
With careful composure, the man gestured toward seating and offered tea, each motion restrained and precise, like ritual rather than hospitality.
"So," he began, voice steady but subdued, "I take it you've been briefed before coming here?"
"Yes, sir. We have," Jurgen replied, clipped and automatic, as though efficiency itself discouraged elaboration.
"Good." A faint exhale followed, almost relief. "That makes things easier."
A pause lingered before the weight beneath his words surfaced again.
"It's too bad we're all locked inside like animals. Everyone is too afraid to go outside at night."
His gaze drifted briefly, as though the room could not contain what memory carried. "Criminals have plagued our village for some time now. They call themselves the Blue Thorns. They strike at night… stealing our food, slaughtering our men, those who resist… and our women, they-they…"
The sentence fractured, leaving silence to complete what speech could not. Jurgen's expression did not change, yet his attention sharpened, absorbing not only what was said but what was withheld.
"I don't know if you children can handle this-this burden… but please." The man's composure finally cracked, voice thickening as he bowed his head. "Please… protect our village. Save us from these horrors."
A tear broke free, tracing a quiet path down his cheek before disappearing into the fabric beneath.
Jurgen rose without haste, adjusting his coat with deliberate precision, the motion grounding him more than the moment itself.
"Let's go." His voice carried calm authority, leaving no space for doubt. "Leave the rest to us."
Outside, the sun slipped fully beneath the horizon, surrendering the sky to dusk. A pale fog began to coil through the village streets, threading between houses and curling low along the cobblestones as though searching for something forgotten.
Jurgen lingered briefly, scanning the dim thoroughfares with meticulous focus before moving toward the outskirts of town.
Behind him, the others followed in silence, their footsteps softened by stone and swallowed gradually by the encroaching mist.
"Ugh… why are we heading to the outskirts?" Nyugen's voice cut through the fog with reluctant curiosity, layered with a faint edge of frustration that struggled to stay contained.
Jurgen did not slow his pace. His attention remained fixed ahead, as though the village had already ceased to matter. "If you were a thief," he answered evenly, "and you intended to pilfer from someone's home… where would you naturally pass through?"
A brief silence followed, broken only by Nyugen's uncertain exhale. "I don't know… I'm not a thief." The admission carried a flicker of awkward honesty, as though the answer should have been obvious yet somehow refused to present itself.
"The back, you fool."
Arrow's voice struck through the mist with quiet severity, each word precise enough to feel sharpened. Nyugen's shoulders dipped slightly in reluctant acceptance, a low hum escaping him as the logic settled in despite his protest.
"Hmph… fair enough," he muttered, resignation threaded with a grudging acknowledgment.
A moment later, his tone shifted, lighter by design yet still echoing in the damp stillness. "Psst… hey, angry face."
Jurgen's reply arrived without hesitation, clipped and cutting. "It's Jurgen. Vermin."
Nyugen straightened his posture with exaggerated discipline, stretching his mouth into an awkward, almost comedic compliance as if attempting to physically reset his expression into something more respectable.
The group moved on, the fog thickening the closer they drew to the village's edge, where structures thinned and the land began to surrender itself to forest.
When they arrived, Jurgen lifted a hand in silent command. The instruction was unambiguous—split positions. Nyugen and Arrow peeled away in opposite directions, vanishing behind weathered houses that stood like tired sentinels at the boundary of settlement and wilderness.
Jurgen continued alone.
Shoulders tightened beneath his coat, eyes narrowing as they tried to penetrate the white haze that swallowed distance and distorted depth. The silence here was different from the village center, less domestic, more predatory. Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through.
An oppressive stillness settled across the outskirts, broken only by the faint stir of leaves somewhere beyond sight. Each sound felt enlarged, distorted, as though the forest had learned to amplify fear.
"Jurgen-san… what do I do?"
Bubbles' voice drifted through the fog, fragile and uncertain, barely holding shape against the weight of the surroundings.
Jurgen paused, turning slightly, expression tightening with restrained disbelief. "Follow one of them," he instructed, tone steady, clipped, and unyielding, as though confusion itself was a luxury not permitted here.
The response had barely settled when motion tore through the stillness.
An arrow screamed out of the forest.