The air near the pit trap was thick with the scent of fresh pine, damp earth, and the metallic tang of blood. From his perch in the tangled shadows of a massive willow, Montu watched the scene unfold. Thanks to the 250 gold he'd just "donated" to the system, the frantic babbling of the humans now resolved into clear, panicked sentences.
"Why is there a trap in the middle of a forest?" the young girl asked, her voice trembling. She clutched the fabric of her green gown, her knuckles white. "We even lost a life... just like that."
One of the men, a guard with a scar running across his jaw, knelt by the edge of the pit. He poked at the blood-slicked dirt with the pommel of his sword. "This area is crawling with goblins and kobolds, but they aren't smart enough to lay a trap this well-hidden. They usually just scream and charge."
"Then who?" another man asked, his hand hovering over his hilt, eyes darting toward the treeline-almost looking directly at where Montu crouched. "This had to be a human. Or... a monster intelligent enough to pull this off."
Montu's rotting lips twitched. 'Intelligent enough?' I'm the only one here with a brain that isn't currently leaking out onto a wooden spike.
"Whoever made this," the lead guard whispered, "will surely come back to check for prey. We should move. Now. We can't afford to put the young lady's life in danger. The Chief will have our heads if a single hair on her head is harmed."
Montu observed them with a veteran's eye. All four men wore the charcoal-grey tunics of the City Guard. They were low-level-probably Level 10 or 12-but compared to a Level 2 Zombie, they were walking tanks. The girl, however, was the real prize.
Short black hair, yellowish skin, and a gown that was far too expensive for a hike in a monster-infested woods.
Anna, Montu realized, a memory from his previous life surfacing like a drowned corpse. The daughter of the Orilon Village Chief, one of the beginner village. In the game's first year, she was the primary quest-giver for the 'Spices for the Feast' mission. If I recall, players used to farm that quest for easy reputation.
When Montu started the game in his previous life,he was spawned at Orilon and knew the place pretty well.
"I was wondering since I came here, that where I was but it seems like I was near Orilon. But what are these people doing here in the middle of forest."
"Everything is going wrong," Anna whimpered, her eyes welling with tears. "First, the merchants ran out of spices for the harvest festival, then we got lost trying to find the mountain pass, and now... Marcus is gone."
Montu felt no pity for 'Marcus,' the man currently decorating his pit. Instead, his mind-sharpened, like that of a God's tactical brilliance-began to spin a web.
"System," he whispered. "Do you have spices in the shop?"
[CERTAINLY. WE HAVE EVERYTHING FROM BASIC TABLE SALT TO 'HELLFIRE PEPPERCORNS' THAT CAN MELT A DRAGON'S TONGUE. WOULD THE 'GENIUS' LIKE TO START A CULINARY CAREER?]
"Stop the rambling and just tell me if you know the way to Orilon."
[MAPPING DATA TO ORILON... COST: 10 GOLD.]
"You'd charge your own mother for a glass of water, wouldn't you?" He shouted, "Can't even give a map without the money."
[○_○]
"Fine. Buy it."
As the map flickered into his mind, Montu looked down at himself. He looked like a nightmare. His shirt was a collection of threads held together by dried blood, and his shorts didn't even cover his bruised, blue knees. If he walked out now, they wouldn't talk to him; they'd scream and try to decapitate him.
He opened the shop again, scrolling through the 'Apparel' section. He found a [Traveling Merchant's Cowl]-a heavy, hooded coat made of dark, weathered canvas. It was thick enough to hide his gaunt frame and long enough to cover his rotting limbs.
He donned the coat, pulling the hood low. Only the lower half of his face was visible-pale, grey, but undeniably humanoid. He stepped out of the shadows, making sure to break a twig so they would hear his approach.
CRACK.
"Who goes there!" the lead guard roared, four swords clearing their scabbards in a synchronized flash of steel.
Montu raised his grey, gloved hands slowly. "Don't be alarmed," he rasped. His voice sounded like two stones grinding together, but the 'Native Language' skill smoothed the edges. "I am just a traveler. A merchant, on my way to the gates of Orilon."
The guards froze. They didn't see a weak zombie. They saw a figure in a high-quality cloak who spoke with the chilling calm of a predator. In Destiny Eternal, any monster that could speak human tongue was, by definition, a High-Tier threat, not something they could possibly handle even with 10 lives.
"A... a talking Undead?" one guard whispered, his sword hand shaking. "Is he a Lich? An Elder Ghoul? An Eldritch?"
Anna stepped forward, her fear replaced by a strange curiosity. "Are you really a merchant? I don't see any goods. No wagon, no pack... nothing."
Montu tilted his head. "Why would a master of the craft carry such burdens when I can reach into the void itself?"
With a flourish, he triggered his inventory. In a ripple of blue light, the heavy iron shovel appeared in his hand. Then, with another flick of his wrist, it vanished back into the system.
The guards went deathly pale.
"Spatial Storage..." the lead guard choked out. "Even the Arch-Mages of the Capital struggle with spatial magic. This being... he could reduce Orilon to cinders if he wished."
The misunderstanding was perfect. To them, Montu wasn't a Level 2 weakling; he was a disguised powerhouse.
Anna's eyes widened. This was her chance. "Lord Merchant," she said, her voice dropping into a formal, polite tone. "I am Anna, daughter of the Village Chief. We are lost and... diminished. If you are heading to Orilon, would you allow us to travel in your shadow? We would be honored to travel with you."
Ding!
[SIDE QUEST TRIGGERED: THE SHEPHERD OF SOULS]
Objective: Escort Anna and her guards back to Orilon safely.
Reward: 2 Mana Points
Failure Penalty: None
Montu's eyes gleamed under the hood. Mana. The one stat he needed to unlock the powers of magic. "The road is long and the woods are hungry," Montu said slowly. "But I suppose I could use the company. Follow, and do not stray."
The five-hour trek to Orilon was the quietest march Montu had ever experienced. He walked at the front, his low Speed stat feeling sluggish, but to the guards, his slow, deliberate pace looked like the "calm of a master."
Behind him, the guards whispered in hushed, terrified tones.
"Did you see his skin? It's blue. He must be an Ice-Type Undead."
"Keep your voice down! He might hear you and turn us into skeletons!"
Montu ignored them, focusing on the map. He felt a strange sensation as they neared the village. Memories of his previous life-buying his first wooden sword, talking to the blacksmith-clashed with his current reality. He wasn't a hero anymore. He was the monster in the dark.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the wooden palisades of Orilon appeared through the mist. The watchtowers were manned by archers who immediately notched arrows when they saw the hooded figure approaching.
"Halt! Who approaches the gate?" a guard yelled.
The lead guard behind Montu began waving his arms frantically, signaling the towers with a series of complex hand gestures. 'Do not shoot! High-level entity! Open the gates'
The gates creaked open with agonizing slowness.