The rising morning sun spilled golden-red light over the quiet coast and the scattered houses of the fishing village. The bloodshed and gun smoke of the previous night seemed to have been swept away by the sea breeze.
Yet the atmosphere at the village entrance was far from its usual tranquility. The villagers-men holding harpoons and machetes, women gripping clubs and farming tools-had once again nervously formed a ring around the village outskirts, facing the dirt road that led to the outside world, their gazes intent.
But unlike the fear they had felt when facing the mountain bandits, although their hearts still raced with tension, there was no longer a trace of cowardice or panic in their eyes. In their place was a strange gleam, mingling wariness with faint excitement.
It was a confidence that welled up from their very bones after witnessing a miracle, finding a powerful backer, and knowing they were no longer at anyone's mercy.
At the other end of the dirt road, about a hundred meters away, stood another dark mass of people. They clearly outnumbered the villagers, numbering some seventy or eighty.
Most wore a motley assortment of coarse clothing and carried all manner of weapons-machetes, iron rods, and even a few old flintlocks. These were the notorious Viper Gang, which controlled the underworld of three nearby towns.
Yet these gangsters, who should have been swaggering about, now only dared stand at a distance and face off against the villagers, their eyes filled with apprehension, unease, and even a hint of terror.
No one dared take a careless step forward, as though the invisible line ahead divided life from death.
Until that figure appeared.
The crowd parted like a blue sea, naturally and respectfully clearing a path to either side. Boer slowly emerged from the