Light fell across the oak table in uneven patches. It was a gray, biting morning in Dornheim. The office smelled of freshly shaved wood and cheap herbal tea.
Iron sat in his chair.
A man sat opposite him. The very same one from the forest. His name was Marek. His hands, bandaged by Albert, trembled faintly, tapping a steady rhythm against his knees. Beside him stood three mugs—simple, roughly carved from wood. Steam rose toward the low ceiling.
Iron slowly, taking care not to make any sudden movements, slid one mug toward Marek. He kept the second for himself.
"Drink," Iron's voice sounded muffled. "Something hot helps you think."
Marek seized the mug with both hands. He drank greedily, scalding himself but never letting the wood slip from his fingers. In the corner, right by the door, Walter stood frozen. He kept his hand resting on his sword. Noah was nowhere to be seen in the office—he had "dissolved" somewhere outside, securing the perimeter.
"Sol-Kesh," Marek finally breathed out, lowering the mug. "The village was called Sol-Kesh. Three days' journey south through the marshes. Though... what difference does it make now. It's gone."
"Tell me everything from the beginning," Iron took a sip. "What kind of creatures? Reinhart's men?"
Marek shook his head.
"If only... We're used to marauders. But this was a fog. It came at night. And out of it came beasts that looked like mangy hounds, only the size of horses. And those... horned ones. One strike, and a house is reduced to splinters. One swing, and a man is cut in half."
The man fell silent, staring down at the bottom of his mug.
"We fled. Seven families. Only three of us are left."
Iron listened without interrupting. Horned beasts—minotaurs or something similar. An ordinary village didn't stand a chance. But the question lay elsewhere.
"Noah said you didn't come alone. Someone helped you get out of that slaughterhouse."
Marek snapped his head up. His gaze cleared for a split second.
"He walked straight out of the fire while our mill was burning down. Alone. No armor, no sword—at least, none that I saw. Just a strange dark cloak."
"A name," Iron tossed out shortly.
"He called himself 'Z'."
“Z?” Interesting, Iron thought. "And how did he save you? What did he demand in return?"
"He... he just moved, and the beasts died. He didn't demand a single thing, just said, 'Go north. That's the closest settlement.'"
Iron squinted. "Z."
"And he just let you go?" Walter called out from the door.
"Yes, and he also gave us a small black thing. He told us that as long as it hummed, we were safe. For three days we walked, and not a single beast came near us. They howled in the dark, gnashing their teeth, but... they couldn't get close."
Iron felt something click inside.
"Where is this thing now?" Iron asked, leaning forward. "Show me."
Marek slumped his shoulders guiltily.
"It... it crumbled to pieces. On the fourth day, the moment we entered the forest around your settlement. And that's when that bull attacked us."
Iron leaned back in his chair.
Lifespan. The device's operational lifespan ran out exactly at the border of his domain. A coincidence? Unlikely. "Person Z" knew where he was guiding them. And most likely, he knew exactly how long that thing would function. Or perhaps I'm overthinking it.
"Alright, Walter," Iron called out, keeping his eyes on the empty mug. "Check their packs. I want every speck of dust left from that device. And get a second pot of tea ready."
Marek reached into a greasy leather pouch at his belt. He poured a handful of gray dust into his palm.
"Here. This is all that's left," he whispered. "When it went quiet, it grew hot. Then—snap—and only this remained."
Iron leaned forward.
Dark gray granules. Matte finish. Here and there, microscopic blue sparks glinted—remnants of silicon or something more complex. The scent? Sharp, chemical.
"Walter," Iron called out. "Give me a knife."
The captain handed over a broad hunting blade. With the tip of the blade, Iron stirred the pile of dust in the refugee's palm. Amidst the gray debris, he spotted a tiny, melted fragment of metal. A perfect cross-section.
"You say it 'hummed'?" Iron asked, looking Marek dead in the eye.
"Yes... A high, thin sound. Your ears would block up if you stood near it for too long."
Iron leaned back.
Lumon. Composition analysis.
[Analysis Complete]
Traces of B-4 type polymers detected.
Residual lithium salt content.
High concentration of silicon oxide.
Preliminary Conclusion: Portable ultrasonic active protection emitter. Power source: Integrated cell. Operational lifespan depleted.
Well, whoever he is, he's a genius. Handing them a device with a three-day timer... Iron mused internally.
"And he didn't say where he was going?" Walter spoke up. He stood by the window, watching the workers out in the square. "So he just gave you the thing and left??"
"He didn't leave us stranded," Marek snapped his head up. "He said he had a tail. Something terrifying. We heard it... out there, past the hills. The ground was shaking. He pulled some kind of long stick from behind his back... pressed something, and it hummed just like our stone did. Only louder."
"He said, 'Run, don't look back. If I'm not back in an hour, it means I'm busy.' That was all."
"So, Z," Iron muttered. "Walter, take him out. Have Albert feed them again. Find them a proper place to sleep. Somewhere far from the tool shed."
Once Marek left, staining the floor with his muddy boots, Walter approached the table.
"What do you think?" The captain looked grim. "An acquaintance of yours?"
"No."
Iron looked out the window. If Z was utilizing technology, he either somehow knew of it within this world, or... he was another transmigrator, just like me.
The door closed behind Marek. At that exact moment, Noah appeared silently.
"A high demon," he snorted. "To villagers, anything bigger than a horse that growls instantly becomes a 'high demon.' It was probably just a troll or a ghoul."
Iron spun the wheel of his chair, turning back to the table.
"Who knows, maybe you're right."
Walter frowned, stepping closer to the table. His hand instinctively rested on the pommel of his sword.
"Do you believe in this beast, Iron?"
"Yes," Iron replied dryly. "At the very least, I didn't detect any lies from him."
Iron tapped his knuckles against the tabletop.
"Let's assume he's dead," Walter's voice grew harder. "The charge ran out in his... weapon. The beast devoured him. What then?"
"Then it will pick up the trail," Iron noted calmly. "Those refugees are radiating fear for miles around. If the beast was hunting them specifically, or just tracking this territory, it will follow their scent. Straight to our gates."
Noah thoughtfully rubbed his chin, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Perfect. Maybe it'll break up my boredom."
"As far as I'm concerned, they are an ideal resource, not bait," Iron cut him off. "But the situation is garbage."
He stared at the gray dust left on the table from the "thing." The gears in his head spun rapidly.
Who was Z? He saved people. That was a fact. He had spent a valuable, irreplaceable resource on them—a portable protection generator. That was a second fact. He pointed them toward Dornheim. Meaning he knew it was safe here. That was a third fact.
Logically, Z was playing on humanity's side. He wasn't an enemy. After all, enemies don't risk their lives for useless "garbage." What a headache. I suppose there's only one thing left to do.
"Walter," Iron raised a focused gaze. "Double the patrols heading south. Clear the field of fire in front of the forest. Hack down the brush for three hundred yards out from the walls. If something crawls out of the thicket, I want to see it before it reaches the gates."
The captain gave a short nod.
"I'm on it. Should I put Darwin to work?"
"Have him lay mines. The ones made from pipe scraps, nails, and powder. Plant them along all the southern trails."
Walter left. Noah melted into the shadows of the corridor, leaving behind only the faint scent of dampness. Silence descended on the office, broken only by the ticking of the heavy clock on the wall—another one of Iron's inventions.
"Z..." he breathed out, looking toward the window. "I hope you're alive."
Outside the window, Walter's voice echoed. The captain was barking out orders. Workers hauled heavy timbers toward the southern gates. Carts groaned, laden with crushed stone and scrap iron.
Lumon. Engage passive scanning for the southern sector. Maximum radius.
[Acknowledged. "Scan" mode activated. Power consumption optimized.]
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter