Thud.
Ten wooden doors, all tied together with a legendary whip-like item, slammed onto the ground outside the broken fence line.
Right after them came ten windows, carefully lowered by epic cowboy belts that looked far too stylish for the job.
Then two figures jumped down from the fence.
The bright sun hit them like a hammer.
After the thick, oppressive fog of Dusthaven, the sudden harsh daylight was blinding. Both Vael and Gruk instinctively squinted and raised their hands to shield their eyes. It felt as if they had just crawled out of a deep, dark cave into the middle of a scorching desert noon.
Vael landed first. His clothes were half-burnt from the hellfire earlier, sleeves charred black and torn. A grotesque demonic pistol rested at his waist, its twisted barrel still faintly smoking.
Gruk landed heavily beside him. One of his boots was completely torn, the front sole flapping open like a hungry mouth with every step. The other boot was clearly stolen from one of the demons they had fought earlier, it was too small, mismatched, and had shiny demonic spikes sticking out at odd angles.
Gruk shifted the salvaged doors and windows balanced across his massive shoulders, his brows furrowed in discomfort.
"Boss…" he grumbled, "something feels off. I'm weaker. A lot weaker."
Vael didn't answer right away. He felt it too, the quiet absence of something that had been subtly supporting him the entire time they were inside the haunted zone. It was as if an invisible current had been quietly feeding his strength, and now it was gone.
They set the heavy doors and window frames down by the roadside to rest. The ten silver coins they had earned from the inn suddenly felt trivial. Exhaustion pressed down on them both, made worse by the relentless burning sun overhead.
As Vael adjusted one of the wooden frames, a rough edge scraped across his forearm, leaving a thin, red cut.
He glanced at it once.
Then again.
It didn't heal.
Not even slowly.
His eyes narrowed slightly as the realization settled in. Inside the fence, the wound would have already begun to close. Here, in the normal world beyond the haunted zone… nothing happened.
Vael exhaled softly, his gaze drifting back toward the distant fog that shrouded Dusthaven.
"So that place…" he murmured, almost to himself, "…wasn't suppressing me."
A faint pause.
"…It was sustaining me."
Gruk, who had been wiping sweat from his brow, froze mid-motion.
"Boss… you sayin' we were stronger because of that cursed town?"
Vael didn't reply. He simply stared at the thin line of blood on his arm, watching as it stayed stubbornly open.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Vael felt the true weight of mortality pressing against him.
Just then, a lean cowboy leaning against a post near the main road spotted them. His eyes widened like saucers as he saw the two exhausted figures trudging forward, carrying a ridiculous pile of doors and windows.
"The two tenderfoots has returned!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, voice cracking with disbelief. "They actually came back from the murder house! Alive!!"
He spun on his heels and sprinted straight into the Last Chance Inn like his pants were on fire.
Inside, the bartender was mid-pour when the cowboy burst in, nearly knocking over a table.
"Bartender! Bartender!! The two crazy bastards who took the suicide quest just came back! They're carrying doors and windows like it's normal Sunday shopping!!"
The bartender froze, whiskey spilling over the glass. "You're shittin' me."
Silas "Whiskey" Kane, who had been quietly drinking in the corner, slowly lowered his bottle. The priest who had warned them earlier nearly dropped his cross. Several other cowboys choked on their drinks or stared in stunned silence.
The bartender slammed the bottle down. "Are you sure? The haunted boarding house? The one where folks usually come back missing fingers… or not at all?"
The lean cowboy nodded frantically, still catching his breath. "I saw 'em with my own two eyes! One's carrying half the damn building on his back like it's nothing, the other looks like he wants to murder the sun itself!"
Chaos erupted. Everyone inside the inn cowboys, gamblers, even the priest, rushed outside in a messy stampede, doors banging open as they poured into the street.
Gruk and Vael were only a few dozen feet away now, drenched in sweat and clearly exhausted. Gruk, still hauling most of the heavy load, shouted hoarsely:
"Well don't just stand there, you lowlifes! Come help...!"
His words cut off as he tripped and face planted dramatically into the dirt with all the doors crashing down around him.
Vael managed a few more steps before his legs gave out. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
The crowd of cowboys and the priest rushed forward in a panic, some laughing in disbelief, others genuinely concerned as they helped the two outsiders up and relieved them of the heavy materials.
From the porch of the inn, Silas Kane stood quietly, watching the entire scene unfold. A small, rare smile, one that was strangely trustworthy and almost proud, curved his lips as he observed Vael and Gruk.
After a few exhausting minutes, Vael and Gruk sat outside the Last Chance Inn, greedily drinking from buckets of water the cowboys had hurriedly gathered for them. The recycled whiskey bottle they had been given earlier now sat on the table, refilled with clean water.
The bartender stepped out, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Well, you two are the craziest bastards I've ever seen," he drawled, tossing two small pouches onto the table. "Here's yer ten silver… and a bonus five silver each. Don't go spendin' it all on coffins now."
One funny-looking cowboy with a comically oversized hat eagerly untied the doors and windows. The moment he saw the items used to bind them, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He held up the legendary whip-like item, staring at it like it was a holy relic.
"W-what in tarnation…?! This here's a Void Serpent Whip! Legendary grade! It can summon a Firehorse one of the rarest spirit mounts in the whole damn frontier!"
He then picked up the epic cowboy belt, jaw dropping even further.
"And this! This is a Starwoven Binding Belt! It can fly for short distances and even create a temporary shield! These two tenderfoots… they used legendary artifacts… to tie doors and windows like common rope?!"
The entire crowd of cowboys erupted into chaotic laughter. Some were slapping their knees, others were wheezing so hard they had to lean on each other.
One cowboy howled, "They walked all the way back carryin' junk… when they could've flown on a flamin' horse?! I've seen stupid in my life… but this is legendary stupid!"
Another doubled over, tears streaming down his face. "Lord have mercy… these boys are dumber than a sack of hammers!"
Even the priest was trying (and failing) to hide his smile.
Silas Kane, who had been quietly watching from the porch, finally let out a loud, rasping laugh.
"You two fools…" he wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Y'all had treasures that could make kings jealous, and ya used 'em like cheap string to haul doors and windows? I've lived many stupid lives… but this might be the dumbest damn thing I've ever seen."
Suddenly, Gruk threw his head back and let out a booming, unhinged laugh that shook the porch railing.
Vael, who rarely showed any emotion, stared at Gruk for a second… then the corner of his mouth twitched. A low, genuine chuckle escaped him. Then another. Soon he was laughing too, quiet at first, then louder, deep and cold, like a demon finally seeing the absurdity of his own situation.
The cowboys, who had been laughing at them, suddenly went silent for a beat, staring at the two terrifying outsiders laughing like madmen.
Then the entire inn exploded.
The laughter spread. Even the priest was chuckling, shaking his head. The whole street outside the inn turned into a chaotic scene of cowboys slapping each other's backs and pointing at the two outsiders who had somehow turned their own humiliation into the funniest thing to happen in Dusthaven in years.
One of cowboy wiped tears from his eyes, and pointed at Gruk. "You look even dumber when you laugh, big fella!"
It had been 1 day and 12 hours since Vael and Gruk arrived in Dusthaven.
Back in the Ironclad Kingdom, 14 days had already passed.
In those two short weeks, the kingdom had changed dramatically.
The once-united Heroes Guild had fractured beyond repair. Only Darius and Beatrice remained loyal to High Prophetess Miraleth, standing firmly by her side as her enforcers. They continued to uphold the crown's authority, hunting down dissenters and maintaining a fragile illusion of order.
Kufa and Elara had chosen a different path.
They had joined Raymond.
After his escape from prison, Raymond had retreated to Shadowmoon, an ancient, hidden valley once sacred to the elves. There, bolstered by disillusioned elves, orcs, and taurens who now saw him as their chosen hero the one blessed by the legendary blade Aetherion they had begun building something new.
A rebellion.
What started as a desperate group of fugitives had grown into a fledgling kingdom of its own. Makeshift walls rose around the valley. Training grounds rang with the clash of weapons. New banners fluttered in the wind, symbolizing hope for those tired of the old kingdom's taxes, lies, and broken promises.
And caught in the dangerous middle of it all was Aamon.
Aamon moved like a shadow between both sides neither fully committed to Miraleth nor openly declaring allegiance to Raymond. No one truly knew where his loyalty lay. Some said he was playing both factions. Others whispered he was simply waiting to see which side would burn first.
To be continued.