YGGDRASIL GM

The group eventually reached the edge of a dense forest, the towering trees casting long shadows over the road. Kaeltharion paused, glancing to the right where the forest stretched out, knowing the goblin and ogre settlement lay hidden within. But to his surprise, Garrick, Rolf, and Jarek kept walking straight along the road, heading toward a small village visible in the distance.

Kaeltharion frowned and called out, "Where are you going? The settlement is this way." He gestured toward the forest.

Garrick turned, a sly grin spreading across his face. "No wonder you're new," he said, chuckling. "You don't know the tricks of the trade yet. We're heading to the village first. You see, if you act like a wandering adventurer and not someone hired for the quest, you can squeeze some extra rewards out of the villagers. They'll pay you to 'protect' them, even though we're already getting paid to clear out the settlement."

Kaeltharion raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but laced with skepticism. "Isn't the village chief the one who made the request? Won't he know we're coming?"

Rolf waved a hand dismissively. "It'll take time for the chief to know a group of adventurers accepted it. By the time he figures it out, we'll be long gone with the extra coin."

Jarek added with a smirk, "It's all about working smarter, not harder. You'll learn."

Kaeltharion's jaw tightened, his disgust for the three men growing with every word. His urge to kill them skyrocketed, but he kept his expression neutral, his sharp yellow eyes betraying nothing. "I see," he said simply, falling into step behind them as they continued toward the village.

The village was small and quaint, with thatched-roof cottages and a central square where a few villagers were going about their daily tasks. As the group entered, they were greeted by curious glances and hesitant smiles. Soon, a group of villagers approached, led by an elderly man with stocky-built character wearing a red cap, a blue tunic over a beige shirt, dark pants, and brown boots. His stern expression and simple attire suggest he might be a commoner or merchant.

"Welcome, travelers," the man said, his voice warm but weary. "I am Elder Thaddeus, the chief of this humble village. What brings you to our home?"

Garrick stepped forward, his tone dripping with false sincerity. He placed a hand over his heart and gave a shallow bow, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight. "Greetings, Elder Thaddeus. I am Garrick, a platinum-ranked adventurer. These are my companions, Rolf and Jarek, also platinum-ranked." He gestured to the two brown-haired men flanking him, who nodded with smug grins. "And this," he added, glancing back at Kaeltharion, "is Kael, a… copper-ranked adventurer. We're just passing through, good sir. But we couldn't help but notice the troubled looks on your faces. Is everything alright?"

Elder Thaddeus sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his worries. "Ah, it's kind of you to ask. Our village has been plagued by goblins and ogres from the nearby forest. They've been stealing our food and terrorizing our people. We've sent a request to the Adventurers Guild, but we haven't heard back yet. It's been… difficult."

Garrick's face twisted into an expression of mock concern, his voice oozing false sympathy. "That's terrible news, Elder. No village should have to suffer like this. We're adventurers, you see, and we'd be more than willing to help you—for a small fee, of course."

'No way they fall for that.' Kaeltharion refuses to believe people can be this lacking in intelligence.

The chief's eyes lit up with hope, though there was a flicker of hesitation at the mention of payment. "You would? Oh, bless you! We don't have much, but we'll give you whatever we can spare. Our people are desperate."

Kaeltharion stood slightly behind the group, his sharp yellow eyes observing the exchange with a mix of disgust and pity. He said nothing, his expression unreadable, but his hand twitched slightly, as if itching to reach for the hilt of his sword. These men were exploiting the villagers' desperation, and it sickened him.

'Relax, me. Not now', he thought to himself.

After some haggling, Garrick and his companions walked away with a small pouch of coins and promises of more once the goblins and ogres were dealt with. The villagers thanked them profusely, their gratitude genuine and heartbreaking. Kaeltharion watched as a young mother clutching a child bowed deeply, her eyes filled with tears of relief. It was a stark contrast to the smug satisfaction on Garrick's face.

As the group left the village and finally turned toward the forest, Kaeltharion had seen enough. These men were not just greedy—they were cruel, selfish, and utterly devoid of honor. They didn't deserve to call themselves adventurers, let alone walk free.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. Garrick turned to Kaeltharion, his grin wide and predatory. "Alright, Kael. Time to earn your keep. Stick close to us, and maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

Kaeltharion smiled faintly, his yellow eyes glinting in the dim light. "Oh, I'm sure I will," he said, his voice low and calm.

The three men laughed, oblivious to the danger they were in. The settlement of goblins and ogres was just ahead. However, Kaeltharion's focus remained on the three men leading the way.

As they reached the heart of the forest, the settlement came into view—a crude collection of huts and makeshift barricades. Goblins and ogres roamed the area, their grotesque forms eerily similar to the ones Kaeltharion had encountered in YGGDRASIL. The moment the adventurers were spotted, the creatures attacked with savage ferocity.

Garrick, Rolf, and Jarek sprang into action, their movements practiced and efficient. They slashed through the fast-moving goblins with precise timing, dodging their crude weapons and striking with lethal accuracy. The ogres, towering and brutish, were more challenging, but the trio targeted their vital points—hacking at their legs to bring them down before delivering fatal blows to their necks and eyes.

Kaeltharion, meanwhile, put on a convincing act. He "struggled" against a few goblins, his movements clumsy and exaggerated. He faked injuries, using the system to create realistic-looking blood splatters on his armor and skin. Each goblin he "defeated" seemed to be a hard-fought victory, and by the time the majority of the creatures were dead, Kaeltharion was leaning against a tree, breathing heavily and covered in "blood."

The surviving goblins and ogres fled into the forest, leaving the adventurers victorious but exhausted. Garrick, Rolf, and Jarek were panting heavily, their armor dented and their weapons slick with monster blood. They glanced at Kaeltharion, who was still leaning against the tree, looking utterly spent.

Garrick smirked, his earlier greed resurfacing. "Well, that was a workout," he said, wiping his blade on a nearby patch of grass. "But it looks like our little copper friend here didn't pull his weight."

Rolf and Jarek chuckled, their eyes narrowing as they exchanged knowing glances. They had seen Kaeltharion's "struggles" during the fight and now saw an opportunity. The three men slowly approached him, their intentions clear.

Garrick stepped forward, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. "You know, Kael," he said, his tone dripping with false camaraderie, "that armor and those swords of yours… they're worth a fortune. And let's be honest—you're not exactly cut out for this line of work. Maybe it's time we… lighten your load."

Kaeltharion looked up, his yellow eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? And what do you propose?"

Garrick's grin turned predatory as he raised his sword, pressing the blade against Kaeltharion's neck. "Any last words?" he sneered.

Kaeltharion tilted his head slightly, his smile never wavering. "Why?" he asked, his voice calm and curious.

Garrick laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Why? To become rich, you fool! Do you really think we'd let a rookie like you walk around with gear like that? You're out of your depth."

Before Garrick could deliver the killing blow, Kaeltharion moved. It was so fast that the three men barely registered what happened. One moment, Garrick's sword was at Kaeltharion's neck; the next, his right hand was flying through the air, severed cleanly at the wrist.

Garrick stared at the stump where his hand used to be, his face pale with shock. Then the pain hit, and he let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutching his arm as he stumbled backward. "MY HAND! MY HAND!"

Rolf and Jarek froze for a moment, their brains struggling to process what had just happened. Then, with a roar, they charged at Kaeltharion, their weapons raised. They thought it was a desperate, last-ditch effort from a cornered man. How wrong they were.

Kaeltharion moved like a blur, his sword flashing in the dim light. In an instant, Rolf and Jarek's feet were severed at the ankles, sending them crashing to the ground in agony. Garrick, still screaming, tried to crawl away, but Kaeltharion stepped on his back, pinning him to the ground.

Kaeltharion stood tall, his yellow eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. He smirked "You guys asked why I have two swords? Well, one is for monsters… and the other is for human monsters." His voice was calm and measured as he took a step forward. "So," he continued, his tone unwavering, "how should I kill you?"

The three men began screaming, their bravado shattered. "Please! Please, spare us!" Garrick begged, his voice trembling. "We'll give you everything we have! Gold, gear, whatever you want!"

Rolf and Jarek joined in, their voices desperate. "We're sorry! We didn't mean it! Please, have mercy!"

Kaeltharion tilted his head, his smile widening into something truly unsettling. "Mercy? After what you tried to do? After what you've done to others?" He shook his head slowly. "No. I don't think so."

With a flick of his finger, Kaeltharion activated his system. Three of the ogres they had killed earlier began to stir, their lifeless bodies reanimating as grotesque zombies. The ogres rose to their feet, their eyes glowing with an eerie green light.

Kaeltharion gestured toward the three men. "Eat them," he commanded. "But take your time. And remove their gear first."

The zombie ogres lumbered forward, their massive hands reaching for Garrick, Rolf, and Jarek. The men screamed and thrashed, but in their weakened state, they were no match for the undead beasts. With unnatural strength, the ogres tore away their armor and weapons, casting the discarded gear aside with dull thuds. Then, without hesitation, they began their gruesome feast, jagged teeth sinking into flesh as the air filled with the sickening sounds of tearing meat and muffled cries of agony.

Kaeltharion watched with a chilling smile, his psycho look fully on display. The men's screams echoed through the forest as the ogres ate them alive, piece by piece. Garrick's cries were the loudest, his voice breaking as he begged for mercy that would never come.

Kaeltharion leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, as he observed the scene with detached amusement. "You wanted to become rich," he said softly, his voice carrying over the screams. "But greed has a price. And now, you're paying it."

The ogres continued their feast, the forest filled with the sounds of tearing flesh and agonized wails. Kaeltharion's smile never faded, his yellow eyes gleaming with satisfaction. This was justice, delivered in the most fitting way possible.

After the gruesome spectacle, Kaeltharion collected the gear of the three men, tossing it into a large bag along with the severed ears of the goblins and ogres. He slung the bags over his shoulder and began making his way back to the village, his mind already shifting to the next task at hand. However, as he drew closer, his heightened senses—honed by his witcher-like build—picked up the scent of blood and the faint sounds of screams.

His yellow eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, he dropped the bags and sped toward the village at an inhuman speed. The scene that greeted him was one of chaos and carnage. Knights clad in full plate armor, their silver-and-blue accented armor gleaming in the sunlight, were attacking the villagers. Their shields bore the emblem of a golden winged lion, and their swords dripped with blood as they cut down men, women, and children without mercy.

Kaeltharion didn't hesitate. He launched himself into the fray like a storm unleashed, his steel sword flashing with deadly precision as he moved with blinding speed. The first knight barely had time to raise his shield before Kaeltharion's blade cleaved through his neck, sending his head tumbling to the ground in a spray of blood. The second knight swung his sword in a desperate arc, but Kaeltharion ducked under the blow and retaliated with a swift upward slash that split the man from hip to shoulder, his armor offering no protection against the razor-sharp steel.

The third knight tried to retreat, but Kaeltharion was already upon him. With a flick of his wrist, he severed the man's sword arm at the elbow, the limb falling to the ground with a metallic clang. Before the knight could scream, Kaeltharion drove his blade through the man's visor, the tip emerging from the back of his helmet in a shower of crimson. He yanked the sword free, the knight's body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

The remaining knights, now realizing the sheer lethality of their opponent, scrambled to form a defensive line. But Kaeltharion wasn't done. He raised his free hand, and flames erupted from his palm, engulfing two knights in a roaring inferno. Their screams were cut short as the fire consumed them, their armor glowing red-hot before they crumpled to the ground, charred and lifeless.

The soldiers who survived the initial onslaught stared in horror, their faces pale beneath their helmets. One knight dropped his sword, the weapon clattering to the ground as he stumbled backward. "M-monster!" he stammered, his voice trembling. Another knight turned and ran, only to be cut down by Kaeltharion's blade before he could take more than a few steps. The remaining knights raised their shields, their hands shaking as they tried to hold their ground.

The villagers, who had been caught in the chaos, quickly sought refuge. Some dashed into their homes, slamming doors shut and peering out through windows with wide, terrified eyes. Others, who had been trying to flee the village, froze in their tracks, their fear giving way to awe as they watched Kaeltharion single-handedly decimate the knights. A young boy, hiding behind a cart, peeked out with a mixture of fear and wonder, his mouth hanging open as he witnessed the carnage. An elderly woman, clutching a child to her chest, watched from the safety of her doorway, her eyes filled with both gratitude and disbelief.

Kaeltharion stood amidst the carnage, his sword dripping with blood, his yellow eyes glowing like twin suns in the dim light. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, his expression calm but deadly. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, the scent of blood and burnt flesh hanging heavy in the air.

He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the shattered remains of a knight's shield. The remaining soldiers backed away, their defensive line crumbling as fear overtook them. One knight dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his grasp as he raised his hands in surrender. "P-please! Spare us!" he begged, his voice breaking.

Kaeltharion's gaze swept over the terrified soldiers, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Take one more step toward these people, and I'll slaughter every last one of you. Now, tell me—why are you attacking this village?"

The leader of the knights, his great helm obscuring his face but not the fear in his voice, stepped forward. His shield, emblazoned with the golden winged lion emblem, trembled in his grip. "W-we were ordered to clear the village," he stammered. "It's a political matter. We were told the villagers were harboring rebels."

Kaeltharion's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Rebels? These people?" He gestured to the villagers, who were now peeking out from their homes, their faces a mix of fear and hope. "They're farmers, not fighters. You came here to slaughter innocents for your own gain."

The knight leader hesitated, his voice faltering. "W-we were just following orders…"

Kaeltharion's grip tightened on his sword, his smile cold and merciless. "Then your orders have condemned you."

Before he could act, a sudden commotion erupted from the edge of the village. Soldiers came running, their faces pale with terror, screaming as they fled from something in the forest. Kaeltharion turned, his sharp senses picking up the unmistakable aura of death. A massive, dark figure emerged from the trees—a Death Knight, its glowing red eyes and towering frame sending a chill through the air.

The remaining knights, already on the brink of panic, broke ranks and fled, their armor clanking as they scrambled to escape. Kaeltharion watched them go, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention to the new threat. The Death Knight began cutting down the fleeing soldiers with brutal efficiency, its massive sword cleaving through armor and flesh alike.

Kaeltharion's lips curled into a faint smile. "This just got interesting,".