The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

Snow blanketed the Silver Pine Forest, rough-hewn pine trees moaning lowly in the howling wind. Thick layers of snow bent their branches downward, occasionally collapsing to the ground in bursts of fine white mist.

Amidst the frozen trunks, turned to icy sculptures, a ragged group of refugee villagers huddled disjointedly in the blizzard's embrace.

A thin layer of snow covered their figures, and the frayed fur coats they wore were wholly inadequate against such bitter cold. Their skin had turned a ghastly blue, their eyes weighed down by fatigue and despair. Some stomped their feet, trying to keep warm; others rubbed their numbed arms, struggling to regain sensation. Still others had frozen stiff—unable to even move their arms.

They were villagers from Holy Oak Village, hailing from the easternmost edge of Twilight Province—on the Ryan Kingdom's border near Brass Pass.

To arrive here, they had endured hunger, crossed forests and mountains, and expended nearly all of their remaining strength.

Such a motley crowd wouldn't gain much fighting prowess even with firearms, not to mention the frozen triggers that might not even spark.

If not for their overwhelming numbers—two or three hundred in total—this group would never have alarmed the patrolling players enough to sound the warning bells.

But as those bell chimes rang out, a swarm of skeleton soldiers, radiating Netherworld's magic light, appeared behind the palisade walls. The despair was etched even deeper onto the faces of the villagers.

They faced an enemy they could not hope to defeat.

They had come to the wrong place.

"Damn it… Undead! There's an Undead Mage here!" Brook, slinging his bow and arrow over his trembling shoulder, stared wide-eyed with raw terror written across his face.

Brook had once been an adventurer, and before his retirement, he was active around the Thunder County area, even venturing as deep as the fifth level beneath its Maze. His familiarity with this region went so far as to make it feel akin to a second home.

For this reason, he had volunteered to act as the guide, leading the group through the eastern part of the Silver Pine Forest to this location.

Yet never in his wildest imagination had he foreseen, nor even heard whispers of, an Undead Mage residing here!

And that wasn't all—

He vividly recalled that the Demon King ruling this area had been taken down by Duke Campbell, and every single adventurer he had consulted along the way had affirmed the same!

So why now, upon returning to a once-familiar place, had the demons of the Maze spilled out into the surface above?

"What's going on here!?"

A shivering hunter trudged through snow up to his calves, stomping furiously as he reached Brook's side. His voice was loud and his tone a mix of anger and urgency: "You said you'd lead us to a safe haven! How the hell are there Undead here?!"

"I—I don't know," Brook stammered, swallowing nervously. "We should probably just turn back..."

"We have nowhere to go back to."

An elderly man, his steps faltering, leaned on a cane as he approached the two men. Snow clung to his eyebrows, his chapped lips cracked by the cold. Though his aura seemed resilient in its own way, anyone could see he was on his last legs—on the brink of collapsing, just like the other elderly villagers who had fallen along the journey.

"Have you forgotten what that knight said?" His weak voice carried a grim weight. "If we appear near Silver Pine Town again, he'll sever our heads and deliver them to the Lord as bandits' trophies, all for a reward."

"Saint Sis above… How could they… how could they treat us this way?!" The hunter's lips quivered as his voice trembled with both indignation and despair.

The old man remained silent, offering no reply.

He was the village chief of Holy Image Tree Village—Pierre—a former soldier in the Ryan Kingdom's army. Having dealt with local Lords during his military service and participated in operations against bandits, he understood all too well how such actions were normal in these circumstances.

The line between refugees and bandits was vanishingly thin. When a starving group of people, armed and desperate, resorted to anything to survive, no one could bear the cost of being wrong in trusting them.

Countless Lords had fallen victim to refugees turned bandits.

The Lords, in turn, had a reason to strike first. Dead men told no tales, and the truth of who struck first was seldom clear.

The air of despair thickened among the crowd. Some began praying for divine miracles, while others cursed the local Lords.

Even though none of them even knew the Lords' names.

"Those Sons of Hell!"

"An Undead Mage right at their doorstep—doesn't the Lord here care at all?!"

"Someone has to do something about this…"

As the grumbling voices rose from behind, Pierre stared silently at the palisade before him, his thoughts consumed by inner turmoil.

There was no retreat for them now.

Though he knew deep in his heart, as Brook—a former adventurer—had mentioned, there wasn't even the faintest chance of victory. Their only solace was to lay down their lives for their faith, praying that the Angel Envoys of Saint Sis would guide them to the Heaven of legend.

Just as he was about to make his decision, the distant palisade gate suddenly creaked open. Two children, around ten years old, appeared beneath the wooden barricade.

Seeing the children emerging from the gates, the villagers of Holy Oak Village froze in place, stunned. Soon enough, someone recognized the two familiar faces.

"Andy! Maggie?!"

An astonished middle-aged man gripping a firearm widened his eyes, his frostbitten face suddenly aglow with renewed hope.