"Next is the food supply. At present, the village has stockpiled enough wheat, barley, grains, and potatoes for the coming winter."
"The amount of dried meat is still insufficient, but the hunters have been working actively. It should be enough within two weeks."
"There is no issue with fuel—firewood and magic stones have long been fully stocked."
"Recently, there have been reports about several types of Magical beasts—"
Seated at the head position, listening to the reports, was a man who had just turned fifty-four.
His hair was streaked with gray, neatly combed back to reveal a broad forehead lined with the marks of time.
His sharp, angular face reflected strength. His eyes were calm yet piercing, as if accustomed to observing and weighing everything.
Despite his age, his tall frame and the muscles hidden beneath his clothing gave off an imposing aura that made others wary.
He was Zyron—the leader of this village.
"Alright, we'll end today's report here. Everyone did well.
Dan, there's been a report of an issue with the formation at the village square. Have someone check it when you return."
"Yes, Village Chief."
After everyone had left, Zyron returned to his private room and shut the door tightly.
Walking over to a bookshelf, he infused spiritual energy into a book near the left corner.
Immediately, the entire shelf began to move, sliding aside to reveal a hidden passage leading underground.
Descending the narrow staircase, a surprisingly large chamber came into view.
Countless eerie candles bathed the underground chamber in a ghostly glow.
At the center of the room was a large table, upon which lay numerous spatial rings.
In reality, each ring contained vast quantities of materials and items—some even magical artifacts.
Yes—this chamber functioned as Zyron's storage vault.
But what drew his attention now was not the rings, but the candles lighting the room.
Looking closely, one would notice the candles were not truly burning.
Despite "burning" for a long time, they did not melt or shorten.
Even the flame-like glow emitted no heat at all.
Another notable detail—each candle bore a name.
Zyron quickly found the candles labeled Silas, Kane, Arven, and Tris.
The three candles bearing the names Silas, Kane, and Arven had already gone out.
Only the candle bearing the name Tris still burned brightly.
He silently stared at the lone flame—no one knew what he was thinking.
After a while, Zyron picked up the candle and walked to the table.
From one of the spatial rings, he took out a circular object with a needle pointing in a direction—a special compass.
Holding the compass in one hand and the candle in the other, Zyron quietly chanted and activated a spell.
A small portion of the candle merged into the needle of the compass.
Once finished, he returned the candle to its place and left the chamber.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Did you summon me, sir?" — Veylor, the village chief's assistant, came to meet Zyron.
"Yes. I have an important task for you.
First—Silas and Kane are both dead."
"That's impossible! They both failed?"
"Not entirely. Arven is dead as well. But for some reason, the boy is still alive."
"Did Arven drag both of them down with him? Or…?"
"That's why I need you to first go to that old building and investigate.
After that, deal with the remaining matter."
Zyron tossed the compass to Veylor.
"This will help you locate the boy. Find him, kill him, and bring his body back to me."
"Yes, sir." — Veylor obeyed without question.
"Are you going to keep eavesdropping out there?" Zyron suddenly spoke toward the door.
"How did you notice me?" — Zarek stepped out, surprised.
Even though he had used his Wind magic to erase both sound and scent, he was still detected.
"The area where you used magic created abnormal air currents. Anyone sensitive to environmental changes could notice it." Zyron explained.
"I see. Veylor, could you detect it?"
"I could, young master."
"Looks like I need to improve that magic. But Father… you're targeting that boy? Why?"
"…."
After a moment of silence, Zyron began:
"More than eight years ago, Arven's wife suddenly fell gravely ill while pregnant.
At only about twenty-five weeks, even a forced birth would not save the child. At that time, the deaths of both mother and child were almost inevitable.
It was winter, so obtaining medicine or summoning a church Mage capable of high-level healing magic would have taken far too long.
Arven tried everything he could to save them.
From all the medicines and magics available in the village … to praying to all the major gods for help. All failed."
"Haha. Of course. The gods aren't convenient figures you can summon at will for miracles.
Every day, countless devotees across the land are offering their prayers. They don't have time to answer every request." - Zarek laughed.
"Exactly. Even saints, priests, and bishops rarely communicate with the divine.
It was only natural that his prayers went unanswered.
Arven was grasping at straws, clinging to anything that offered hope." — Veylor nodded.
"But in the end, the child was still born. So what did he do?" Zarek asked.
"He prayed to an evil god."
"An evil god!?" - Zarek shouted in shock.
Alongside the benevolent deities who continue to grant blessings to humankind, there still exist powerful entities wielding malevolent forces.
They were often associated with disasters, plagues, and death.
Thus, their followers were always a minority—fanatics.
This was why evil gods could never become widely accepted like the major deities.
And yet—such a being had answered?
If anyone else had told him this, Zarek would have dismissed it as madness.
Zyron continued:
"Arven prayed—and he received a response.
That being said, it could only save one—either the mother or the child.
Arven and his wife chose the child.
And that child, saved by an evil god… grew up as abnormal as everyone has seen."
Zarek was stunned.
He knew that brat was unusual, but he truly hadn't expected it to be connected to something as dangerous and forbidden as an evil god.
"But that's not the only reason you want him dead, is it?" Zarek asked. He knew his father well.
Zyron wouldn't go this far for that reason alone.
If that were the case, he would have acted long ago—not now.
Especially since he wanted the boy's body.
Zyron simply looked at his son and said:
"As long as that boy exists… You will never become the next village chief."
Hearing this, Zarek clenched his fists tightly.
That battle had become a stain on his life.
He—who had always been victorious—had tasted bitter defeat.
Now, no one spoke of him as the next village chief anymore.
Everyone believed he could not compare to that boy.
Even his own father.