Lord Of The Lost

William stood quietly for a while, listening to the conversation that filled the church. The voices of the priest, the village chief, and a few other villagers echoed through the room, but none of them mentioned anything about where the hunter had gone. Instead, they were focused on the growing problem of thieves in the area.

He felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped to overhear something useful but found nothing relevant to his interests. Deciding not to linger, William slipped out of the church, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.

He had his own destination in mind; he was heading to the border town.

Some time ago, the Forum Master had extended an invitation for William to visit the town and discuss important matters. At that time, however, William had been preoccupied with a visit to the Magic House, which left him uncertain about when he could make the journey. Now, the opportunity had come, and he was ready to see what the border town had to offer.

The border town, in many ways, was like the main hub for players in this world. While it wasn't large by any means, its importance couldn't be understated. It was a crucial starting point, full of information, quests, and opportunities for adventurers. Many players began their journeys here, and rumors and news flowed through the town like a river.

For William, it was essential to pay a visit and gather whatever knowledge he could.

The only downside? The town was quite a distance from his current location in Mountain Village, two hundred miles, to be exact. A grueling trek that could take an ordinary person a full day to complete just for a round trip. Even the most athletic players, champions of endurance, would burn eight hours of in-game time just traveling.

Clearly, this wasn't the most efficient use of time. Ideally, one would travel by vehicle or mount. Most villages had horses that were well-fed and cared for, but these prized animals weren't available for players to use; at least not without paying a high price. Some players would try to hitch rides with caravans that made regular trips between villages and towns.

However, it was rare to find a caravan going exactly where you needed to go, so riders often found themselves dropped off partway, forced to continue on foot.

Still, it was a tactic that saved time and energy; something experienced players quickly learned to take advantage of. Yet, recently, with banditry on the rise, fewer caravans dared to venture out. Merchants feared the danger of raids, and trade routes were slowly drying up.

For William, though, there was no caravan today. His journey would be on foot.

The landscape he crossed was vast and varied. It wasn't just empty wilderness; there were rolling hills, winding rivers, deep valleys, expansive plains, thick forests, and shadowed canyons. Though much of the plains appeared barren, there was a stark beauty to them. Untouched by modern hands, the land had a raw, untamed quality.

The network of roads was surprisingly intricate. Crisscrossing paths connected villages, each intersection branching out in different directions, creating a web of routes. These roads had been carved out by the locals, people who lived simple lives but worked tirelessly to make travel possible.

While this was second nature to them, for someone used to the ease of modern map navigation, it was easy to get lost. Fortunately, William had a good sense of direction, and he found his way without much trouble.

Along the journey, William stopped by a river. He filled a bottle with blood, a resource he knew would come in handy later, and then dove into the water. The cold river washed away the dirt and grime he had collected on the road. When he climbed out, he felt refreshed, his skin tingling from the chill.

He changed into a set of fresh cloth clothes, now looking clean and presentable, even if the journey ahead was long.

William had considered buying leather armor, but he dismissed the idea. At this stage in his adventure, such basic equipment offered little protection. Against monsters of his own level, leather armor was more symbolic than functional. And when facing weaker creatures, he barely needed to defend himself at all.

Now clean, determined, and ready for the road ahead, William continued his journey toward the border town, knowing it was just the beginning of a much larger adventure.

In less than an hour, William had already completed one-third of his journey. The road stretched out before him, weaving through the rolling landscape, and the fresh breeze that blew from the open wilderness was cool and invigorating. He breathed it in deeply, feeling a sense of calm as he moved forward.

As he passed by an intersection, his sharp eyes caught sight of something unusual in the distance. A caravan had come to a sudden stop in the middle of the road. From afar, he could see the commotion, it was under attack by a band of thieves.

Without wasting a second, William's instincts kicked in. He didn't need to think twice. Tightening his grip on the silver spear he carried, he sprinted toward the scene with all the speed he could muster.

As he approached, the scale of the situation became clear. The group of thieves was large; about twenty or thirty in total. They were a ragged bunch, dressed in tattered clothes, their faces twisted in ferocity. Their eyes gleamed with the kind of viciousness only found in those who lived on the brink of survival, men who had long since abandoned any sense of mercy.

The caravan itself was similarly sized, but it was obvious that the traders and guards were outmatched. Most of them were civilians, untrained in combat, and only able to defend themselves with desperation. The air was thick with tension, the clanging of weapons and shouts of panic creating a chaotic and unnerving atmosphere.

The battle wasn't flashy or filled with skillful maneuvers; it was a gritty, raw struggle for survival. The caravan guards tried their best to hold the thieves at bay, but the imbalance was clear. Seeing someone rushing toward them, five of the thieves broke off from the main group and came charging toward William, determined to stop him before he could interfere.

As William drew closer, one of the thieves hesitated, his confidence faltering for a moment. "Is he a knight?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice as he spotted William's silver spear gleaming in the sun.

Another thief sneered and shouted, "He has no mount, no armor! Even if he is a knight, he's alone! We've nothing to fear!" The others rallied behind this, their fear quickly turning into reckless bravado.

"That's right!" one of them yelled. "Kill him! The first one to grab his spear gets it!"

Hearing this, the thieves were overcome with greed. Their eyes burned with desire as they rushed toward William, each man desperate to claim the prized weapon for himself. They pushed and shoved each other in their eagerness, afraid of missing their chance.

But William was no fool. He slowed his pace, his body coiling like a spring, muscles tensing as he prepared for the inevitable clash. He had no intention of recklessly charging into the fray. Instead, he was waiting, gathering his strength, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The lead thief, a brutish man wielding a steel axe, let out a roar as he charged. His eyes were bloodshot with rage, his weapon raised high above his head, ready to bring it crashing down on William.

"Kill!" he screamed, his voice echoing across the open plain.

The gap between them closed rapidly. Ten meters. Five. They were practically on top of each other.

"Kill!" William growled in return, his voice low and dangerous.

In a heartbeat, the spear in his hand shot forward like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't just an ordinary strike, this was his most powerful technique, a [Piercing Attack]. Every ounce of his strength, focus, and energy was channeled into that single moment, the tip of his spear gleaming as it hurtled toward its target with the force of a thunderclap.

The lead thief, now fully aware of the deadly power coming his way, tried to defend himself. His eyes widened in horror as he instinctively raised his steel axe, hoping to block the oncoming attack.

But it was too late.

'Crack!'

The spear hit its mark with a sound that shook the air. The collision was deafening, the force of it sending a shockwave across the battlefield. The sound of metal meeting metal reverberated through the wilderness, loud enough to make one's ears ring. The steel axe shattered under the sheer power of William's strike, breaking into pieces with a sharp 'snap'.

Before the thief could even register what had happened, the spear had already pierced through his body. It cut through flesh and bone with terrifying precision, and a moment later, a bloody hole appeared in his chest. The thief's body went limp as he collapsed to the ground, the light in his eyes fading as quickly as it had flared up.

One down.

William didn't slow. His muscles rippled with energy, and his eyes were already locked on the next opponent. The remaining thieves, once eager to claim his spear, now hesitated, their bravado fading as they witnessed the fate of their comrade.

The battle was far from over, but William had made his statement: he was not someone to be trifled with.

The sharp energy from William's spear had completely ravaged the thief's body. His internal organs were shredded, and blood poured out in a sickening gush. The man was utterly helpless, unable to move, his body limp as it hung on the spear like meat on a skewer.

There was no resistance as the spear pierced through him, driving forward until his body finally slid down the length of the weapon, only stopping when it reached William's blood-soaked hands.

'Phew!'

Suddenly, another thief who had the misfortune of standing behind was also impaled, skewered through without even realizing what had happened. William came to a halt, his charging momentum dissipating. With a flick of his wrist, he casually tossed both bodies off his spear, sending them crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.

His hands were drenched in blood, sticky and warm. He paid it no mind.

With cold, calculating eyes, William turned to face the remaining thieves. One of them, a wiry man clutching a dagger, locked eyes with him. His gaze fell to the spear, over two meters long, its blade half a meter in length, now dripping with fresh blood. The once gleaming silver tip had been stained a deep crimson.

The sight froze the thief in place.

It was as if a bucket of icy water had been dumped over him, the shock sending shivers down his spine. His skin crawled, his pores tightening in terror. For a moment, he couldn't move, paralyzed by the realization of the danger he was in.

William didn't give him the luxury of hesitation.

With a swift, fluid motion, he swung his spear, the blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. The thief didn't even have time to cry out. His head and part of his shoulder were cleaved clean off, the sharp blade slicing diagonally through flesh and bone. A fountain of blood erupted from his chest, splattering across the ground.

The remaining thieves, seeing this, were overtaken by a wave of fear.

"The wind is blowing!" one of them shouted in a panic, his voice shaky.

They had no intention of fighting anymore. There was no courage left among them. They turned on their heels, abandoning the fight altogether, and ran for their lives.

William wasn't about to let them go so easily. He gave chase, his spear flashing as he skewered another fleeing thief. Only the slowest, a man shaking with fear, managed to slip away, darting into the wilderness.

"It's a knight! A real knight!" the thief leader cried out, his eyes wide with terror. He quickly barked orders to his men to retreat. The looting came to an abrupt halt as the thieves scrambled to escape with their lives.

The caravan, once resigned to their fate, now sprang into action. Their hatred for the thieves had festered during the battle, and with William leading the charge, they found a renewed sense of courage. They attacked the retreating thieves, tangling them up, refusing to let them flee without a fight.

William was a whirlwind of destruction, cutting through the battlefield like a tiger charging down a mountain. He swiftly dispatched six or seven more thieves, his spear a blur as it took life after life. But despite his efforts, most of the thieves managed to slip away, fleeing in all directions.

They were agile, scattering like frightened animals, each man running his own path, their speed remarkable.

William gave chase, following them for two miles. He managed to take down one more, but the thieves were cunning. When they realized he was after them, they split up, forcing him to choose targets. At first, there were eight, then four, then two. Finally, there was only one left, and that man's speed failed him. He was the slowest, and William's spear found him before he could escape.

Still, the rest were gone. Exhausted from using his skills, William was breathing heavily, his energy spent. His legs ached, and his chest heaved with each breath. As much as he wanted to chase after the remaining thieves, his body simply couldn't keep up. All he could do was watch as the last of them disappeared into the wilderness, vanishing like shadows in the distance.

Sighing, William turned back toward the caravan, his spear still dripping with blood. By the time he arrived, the caravan members were already cleaning up the aftermath of the battle.