Strigoi had ordered all able bodies men in the village to form groups of 5 and go out hunting for crows.
One of the such new hunting parties had just returned from their first expedition.
They didn't manage to bring back any crows, but they brought back a few crow eggs.
A total of five ash black-dotted eggs were brought back and placed at the back of the town, on top of the large tree.
Ishar's three surviving crows made a nest on the tree so the eggs were now placed there.
A crow's incubation period was around 16-18 days, but since he didn't really know for how long these eggs have already been incubated.
Ishar simply ordered the three crows to continue incubating the eggs until they hatch, which should be quite soon.
Ever since the argument with his father, Strigoi had moved to the village chiefs hut located at the center of the village.
With the village chief and his daughter already dead, Samuel also dead Strigoi had effectively become the new villager head although it was only in authority.
He hadnt been elected or chosen by anyone to take up the post so no ceremony was held. He just took over.
Everything was still basically the same as before and everyone had their own lives to live.
Except that now the Shadow of Pilgrim engulfed the village. No one knew for sure if some of the things they were already used to would anger Lord Pilgrim.
For example, in the past, if a livestock they raised got sick and died of unknown causes, the villagers would eat it all of it.
But now that the village was under Pilgrim's command, they couldn't casually do it without consent.
Watching Strigoi drive the people who came to inquire about such things away, Ishar hovered towards the large tree at the back of the village and observed the crow eggs.
"I wonder if these new crows would be able to adapt to the curse." Ishar had such a thought, the curse seemed to be growing by itself.
Ishar didn't know where it came from or how he came to possess it. So he couldn't even stop this, let alone control it.
The original curse that Ishar brought from his world started out as a simple sickness which contributed to his death.
It seemed that his continued usage of it in this world. Had caused it to try and adapt. The curse was alive. It had now completely taking over his current form.
Describing Ishar as a walking curse would not be an exaggeration. The curse had also formed a symbiotic relationship with his crows. Making them evolve as well.
He has tried it on other living beings included a few humans but they all died.
Also it was growing extremely uncomfortable in this spirt form. Ishar had tried possessing people.
But the moment he entered the bodies it was like he was drowning, without any air. Something told him if he stared longer he would die, so he quickly left the bodies.
Ishar had named the white mist that came out of a dead creature Life Essence.
This was how Ishar spent his days, in the short while he had been deep in research. Isabella had vanished from the village.
He had Strigoi send out men to look for her but to no avail. It was clear that she had left and wasn't coming back anytime soon.
Ishar had more things to worry about so he soon forgot about it. But the peace didn't last long.
Four men on horseback burst into the village, screaming at the top of their lungs as they rode straight down the main path.
Their fists slammed against their bare chests in a savage rhythm, the sound echoing between the huts like war drums.
The men wore no armor. Their upper bodies were exposed,their skin darkened by the sun and on it were carved crude tattoos.
Their bodies were muscular, well-toned, built through labor and wrestling rather than formal training.
Their hair was left to grow wild, thick and uncut, falling messily down their back.
Each man carried a long wooden spear tipped with dull metal, stained from past use.
The moment the villagers saw them, panic erupted. The women dropped their baskets. Men abandoned their tools.
Children were yanked indoors as doors slammed shut one after another. In mere seconds, the village transformed from a living settlement into a hollow shell.
Silence followed.
Only the sound of hooves remained. Of the four riders, three were clearly veterans older, heavier, their movements were confident and unrestrained.
The fourth was different.
He was leaner, his body lacking the tattoos that covered the others. His rough black hair fell only to his shoulders, untamed but shorter.
His shouting was loud, but forced, and the way he rode betrayed his inexperience.
Yet the others subtly circled him as they advanced. Protecting him.
Ishar noticed this immediately.
"So," he thought, drifting unseen above the village, "that must be their prince."
After he devoured Samuel's memories he learnt something that no one else in the village knew.
The village chiefs daughter was betrothed to the young master of the Olan tribe. That was why she didn't pay any attention to the youths in the village.
She was trying to prevent them from dying. If the Olan tribe heard that anyone has touched their future leaders wife. They would burn down the Weyian tribe.
The four men reined in their horses before the village chief's residence. The guards stationed there froze.
Pitchforks were raised in shaking hands, knuckles white with fear. Sweat rolled down their temples as they stared up at the riders, knowing full well how fragile their weapons were.
On seeing this the largest of the three veterans sneered.
"So this is how the Weyian dogs greet guests now?" he said loudly. "Hiding in their holes like rats?"
He leaned forward in his saddle and spat onto the ground.
Behind him, the three older warriors laughed harshly, beating their chests with closed fists. The sound was savage, primal, meant to intimidate.
The large man came down from his saddle and walked forward a bit. He rolled his shoulders once, then cleared his throat.
When he spoke, his voice boomed through the village, tearing through the silence with practiced authority.
"Village chief!" he shouted. "Come out and greet my young master, the prince of our Olan tribe!"
The words lingered. No one moved. Inside the huts, villagers held their breath.
Strigoi, still within the chief's residence, felt his heart pound violently in his chest.
His jaw tightened as he straightened his posture, forcing his fear down.
Some distance away from him, Ishar hovered silently.
The lean young man lifted his gaze, scanning the village nervously.
His eyes lingered for a brief moment on the great tree at the back of the settlement. As he turned away from the tree.
His eyes unknowingly met with Ishar's eyes instantly a ripple moved between the two of them.
The reaction from both was different, the young man was confused.
The moment he had looked at a particular spot on that tree every bone and fibre in his body was telling him to run away. As if he had met a natural enemy.
The feeling was the opposite for Ishar, he felt a sudden urge to possess the young mans body.
Ishar found it hard to describe the feeling. It was like he was on steroids. His body was suddenly pumping with adrenaline.
At the same time, he felt like he had been stranded in a desert for so long and at the brink of death someone offered him an ocean.
It took everything in him to stop his body from flying into the young mans body immediately.
"This... This is exhilarating!"