Judas reached the house of the Village Head. The smell hitting him from the porch was foul—a thick, suffocating mix of cheap ale, stale sweat, and the sharp copper tang of fresh blood.

He pushed the door open.

The interior was dimly lit by a dying lantern, its flickering light casting long, dancing shadows over a scene of absolute depravity.

Harven lay on the floor. The old Village Head was naked and lifeless, his body twisted on the floorboards, his face frozen in a silent scream.

His backside was mutilated, a mess of torn flesh and blood that confirmed the twisted nature of the men who had taken over his home.

Opposite the corpse sat a man. A jagged scar ran along his chin. He was stark naked, lounging in Harven's best wooden chair with a tankard of ale in his hand.

He appeared heavily intoxicated, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he stared at the ceiling.

Judas activated his senses. He could feel the Strength attribute radiating from the man. It was there, but it was faint—far less than his own power, and even weaker than the bandit leader his spirit monsters had killed earlier that day.

Judas stepped fully into the room.

A pained grunt echoed from the side room. It was wet and weak, followed immediately by the sound of a body going limp. The silence that followed was heavy.

"Seems like that bitch died..." The man in the chair mumbled. His voice was thick with sleep and alcohol. "Take another."

He laughed. It was a gurgling, wet sound.

"Why should I care about that fucker?" The man ranted to the empty air. "Just because he comprehended a rare sword skill and became an Apprentice, didn't mean I have to follow all his stupid orders. What, military men parading this backwater village? Ptui. Not even a shadow of soldiers, even after my men raped and pillaged. Haha... gulp."

Judas stood over him, his shadow falling across the man's face.

"So your boss ordered you to not pillage this village?" Judas asked.

The man replied involuntarily, his brain too addled to filter the threat. "Yeah. He even told me if I did that, he would skin me. Hah... wait. Who are..."

The man finally tried to focus on the intruder.

Judas didn't let him finish the sentence. He swung his iron sword.

Sword Slash.

The blade cut through the air with a hum. It passed through the man's neck with zero resistance. The scarred head tumbled off his shoulders and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop next to Harven's corpse.

Sword Slash 1 -> 2

Judas didn't pause. He stepped over the headless body and kicked open the door to the side room.

The scenery inside horrified him.

Naked bodies of women hung from the roof beams, suspended by ropes. Their heads hung low. Their skin was burned and flayed beyond recognition.

The most horrifying fact was that they were all alive. They twitched slightly. Their chests rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths. There were even minors among them.

Judas retched. Bile rose in his throat, and he almost threw up.

He had lived through a zombie apocalypse in his previous life. He had seen death. But this kind of scene was something he hadn't seen.

Yes, there were murderers in his old world. But the main attention of the population was on the apocalypse and saving themselves, so such organized massacres were rare.

There were also rumors that if dead bodies weren't buried, they would mutate because of the apocalypse aura, giving birth to horrifying abominations.

That was also one of the reasons Judas asked Nibble and Nubble to bury the dead bandits.

He clenched his fists as he forced himself to look around.

A heavy round object rushed toward his face. Judas ducked instinctively, and the object smashed against the wall behind him.

"Huh? Are you the new guy boss recruited?"

A naked bandit stepped out of the shadows. In his hand, he dragged a naked figure by the hair.

Judas looked at the pale, terrified face of a child.

"Beast." Judas spat.

"Wha..."

Judas moved instantly. He severed the bandit's head before the man could blink.

He caught the child in his embrace before she hit the floor. He quickly removed his upper cloth and covered her in it, shielding her eyes from the room.

Then he moved.

He went everywhere he heard a sound.

Heads flew into the air as more than ten bandits lost their lives in seconds.

Judas shivered, standing alone in the room where these human monsters had tortured their victims. The silence returned, broken only by the dripping of blood.

Judas started moving again. His iron sword was sharp, but he had to be careful not to nick the skin of the hanging women. He worked in silence, cutting the thick ropes one by one.

It took him nearly an hour to lower them all.

He laid them on the floor with as much gentleness as he could muster. He checked pulses. He tried to stop the bleeding with scraps of cloth found in the room.

But his efforts were mostly in vain.

Their injuries were too severe. The trauma was too deep. One by one, their shallow breathing hitched and then stopped forever.

By the time he stood up, only three women remained alive. The survivors huddled together in the furthest corner of the room.

They were naked, covered in burns, and shaking violently. When Judas turned his gaze toward them, they flinched as if he had struck them.

They did not see a savior. They only saw another man with a sword standing in a room full of blood.

He used Reconstruction to stop their bleeding first, then slowly healed them of their injuries.

"Thank you," one of the women said through tears. "But my daughter..." She pointed at a lifeless body in the distance. Judas clenched his fists.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

He turned away, unable to bear their gazes any longer. He was sure scenes like this were not rare in this world. He had seen the look of acceptance in the villagers' eyes the day he arrived.

They were sheep waiting for the slaughter.

This was exactly why he had avoided making connections with them.

The people here had no will to fight. If the able-bodied men of the village had possessed even a sliver of fighting spirit, these women would not have been tortured in their own homes.

They would not have been hung like meat while their husbands and fathers hid in fear.

For such people, there was nothing Judas could do. You cannot save those who refuse to pick up a stone to defend themselves.

He walked back into the main hall, stepping over the headless corpse of the scarred bandit.

He thought about the rant the man had given before he died. The Apprentice Bandit Leader had warned his men not to make a scene. He feared the military.

That meant the boss wouldn't come charging down the mountain for revenge immediately. He feared drawing the attention of the kingdom's army to his hideout.

Judas nodded to himself.

Tomorrow, the village would be in commotion. The massacre in the Village Head's house would be discovered. Soldiers would surely come to investigate.

In a month or two, there would likely be a permanent military protection detail stationed here.

That gave him time. He had a window of one or two months to train. He had to reach a level where he didn't have to fear an Apprentice Swordsman.

Judas walked to the water barrel in the corner of the room. He felt filthy. The metallic smell of blood clung to his skin and hair.

He opened the System Market in his mind.

He purchased a bottle of shampoo. It cost him a few affection points, but it was worth it. He scrubbed his body furiously, washing away the gore and the scent of death until the water on the floor ran pink.

He felt cleaner, but he couldn't wear the blood-soaked rags he had taken from the bandits earlier.

He browsed the market again. He bought a fresh pair of pants and a simple shirt.

As the points deducted from his balance, he frowned. The price of finished clothes was surprisingly high. A simple dress cost fifty points. However, the cost of raw materials like cotton, silk, and wool was dirt cheap.

He paused as a thought struck him.

He had a sewing machine back home. He also had a maid who needed to earn her keep.

It would be far more cost-effective to buy the materials and stitch the dresses himself. Zephriya could help.

It would allow him to design clothes that actually fit his wives, rather than relying on the generic sizes in the system.

He closed his eyes.

He deliberately pushed the image of the mutilated bodies out of his mind. He refused to let the horror linger.

Instead, he replaced the nightmare with images of his beautiful wives. He pictured Nina spinning in a frilly skirt.

He imagined Luna blushing in an elegant gown. He visualized Ezra in something bold that showed off her strength.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Judas opened his eyes, feeling centered again. He stepped out of the house of massacre and walked into the night, leaving the darkness behind him.

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