Village

With the two shells loaded, I only have eight left...

Gilan counted his ammunition, took the six shotgun shells from the paper box and stuffed them into his burlap trouser pocket. He then tossed the box aside, raised his shotgun, and looked toward the village gate.

"Use them sparingly."

He murmured and cautiously stepped through the gate.

An empty plaza came into view. It was not large, but it was roughly the size of two basketball courts, oval in shape.

This seemed to be the village's public gathering area. A crude roadway had been laid with dirt mixed with stone bricks.

Yet no one knew what horrific tragedy had occurred here. The brick-paved plaza was covered in dried, blackened bloodstains, along with vaguely recognizable severed limbs that clearly belonged to humans.

Flies swarmed through the plaza, buzzing everywhere and making the place feel filthy and chaotic.

Gilan frowned.

The air was thick with a pungent stench and the smell of blood, making him instinctively cover his nose and mouth with his arm.

At that moment, a swaying figure appeared in Gilan's line of sight in the distance.

It seemed to be a man, gaunt and emaciated. His short burlap shirt, meant for farm work, was filthy and waxy yellow, and he wore a tattered farmer's straw hat.

The instant Gilan saw a living person, his guard rose.

Still, he stepped forward, intending to ask for useful information.

But in the very next second, a pale, bloated, naked man who looked like a corpse rushed to the Farmer's side in a few strides. Raising the axe in his hand, he hacked down and brutally chopped off the Farmer's head!

Blood sprayed as the Farmer's headless body collapsed limply.

Yet the pale man showed no sign of stopping. His axe rose and fell as he continued wildly hacking at the Farmer's body, a frozen, crazed grin plastered across his face.

The sight was like a mad butcher desperately chopping meat.

Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!

Flecks of blood and flesh splashed across the man's pale skin, making him look even bloodier and more grotesque.

It's that guy from the dream!

Gilan recognized the Axe-Wielder at once and quickly crouched down.

The dream's warning had made him feel that the man was exceptionally powerful, so much so that he could not be sure the shotgun in his hands could kill him.

Besides, his remaining eight shells were extremely precious. Unless absolutely necessary, Gilan did not want to fight him.

Go around him from the other side.

Gilan looked around and swiftly made his decision.

The Axe-Wielder seemed to be standing on the main road leading deeper into the village, blocking the middle of it. Gilan spotted another narrow path to the left, held his breath, and slowly started forward.

Only after Gilan had completely left the plaza and could no longer see the man did he finally let out a long breath.

For some reason, the man had always given him an intense sense of danger.

The narrow path was not paved with bricks, and the ground was terribly muddy. On both sides stood old stone-and-wood houses that appeared to be the villagers' homes.

But Gilan did not see another soul. The silence around him was terrifying.

The hazy fog began to thicken, obstructing his vision.

Faintly, he saw a row of wooden fences by the roadside ahead. They seemed to have been built against the houses as pens for livestock.

Gilan walked over and discovered that the fence had long been damaged, with a gap in it. The broken boards along its edges were jagged, and countless wood fragments littered the ground... as though the livestock had smashed through and escaped from here.

"Hmm?"

Gilan scanned the livestock pen and quickly noticed something.

In the fenced enclosure covered in reddish-brown earth, the corpse of a fat pig lay alone in a corner. The pig was abnormally huge, far larger than any domestic pig Gilan remembered, and its body was covered in wounds and brands.

After a brief moment of thought, Gilan slipped through the break in the fence.

Only as he drew closer did he see that the marks on the pig's corpse were actually circular patterns. A vertical oval sat in the middle of each one, divided by a horizontal line, while the gaps between the patterns were filled with strange, unfamiliar writing and symbols.

Why brand a pig with so many strange marks? Gilan frowned and covered his nose. This village really is bizarre.

Looking at the pig's corpse before him, he thought for a moment, then crouched and reached out to touch it.

Yet that wondrous Iridescence did not appear. It seemed to have no interest in this thing.

Can it only corrupt Monsters? Or do I have to kill them myself?

Gilan silently guessed, then stood up with some disappointment.

However, just as he was about to turn and leave, the corner of his eye caught sight of something on the other side of the pig's corpse. There seemed to be a bundle there, which he had not noticed earlier because his view had been blocked.

What is this?

He walked around the pig's corpse and picked up the leather bundle from the ground.

Beneath the bundle lay an irregular triangular iron plate about half a man's height, with a pull ring standing upright near the upper middle.

Gilan gripped the ring tightly and laboriously flipped it over, discovering that it was a crude shield.

The shield's surface was riddled with bullet holes and claw marks, as though it had endured countless battles.

"A homemade thick iron shield. It can effectively defend against small-caliber firearms and monster attacks, but it has a major flaw: it weighs thirty-two pounds and is extremely inconvenient to carry."

"This was one of Exorcist Orlando Pitt's defensive tools. For some reason, it was abandoned here."

Colored words appeared in Gilan's vision, analyzing the shield's information.

More of that so-called Exorcist's stuff?

Gilan could not help lowering his head to look at the Double-Barreled Shotgun in his hand. This gun had originally belonged to Orlando as well.

After setting the shield aside for the moment, he leaned against the wooden fence and untied the leather bundle.

There were not many items inside: only two brown iron pots the size of fists, a roll of gauze, and a note.

Gilan picked up one of the iron pots, and his brows quickly rose.

"Orlando Exorcism Pot. A defensive grenade loaded with gunpowder, silver-plated iron shards, and iron nails. It can effectively kill human and monster targets. Countless evils have died beneath this homemade creation."

Good! A powerful weapon!

Gilan smiled.

He then picked up the roll of gauze to inspect it, and the Iridescence appeared in his vision once more:

"Magic Potion Gauze. Gauze coated in a specially formulated medicinal ointment. It is a medicine developed by Exorcist Orlando through a lifetime of alchemical knowledge, capable of efficiently healing external wounds. With it, he tenaciously survived one life-or-death crisis after another."

That's good stuff too. Gilan was delighted, but he quickly thought of something, and his expression turned grave. I just don't know whether I can return to reality. If I can bring these things back...

His gaze turned icy. If he got the chance, he would make those people at the police station pay.

Exhaling, Gilan finally looked at the note.

A passage was scrawled across it in hasty handwriting, as if it had been written in an emergency:

"Damn it! Something is wrong with this place! It's full of followers of... [scratch marks], and even I'm starting to be affected. My memories are fading! Don't forget the reward for this job, Orlando. It's what you've always dreamed of! It's in village clerk Espi's house. He put it in the basement. Go get it, then leave!"