"...What do you want?"
Talulah didn't agree right away.
Even though she was furious, she hadn't lost her rationality.
There was no such thing as unconditional kindness in this world.
Since Steven had already asked what she was willing to give in return, it meant he clearly wanted something.
And she wasn't the type to rashly offer everything without understanding the cost.
"It's actually not a big deal for you. All I need is… hmm, just a little dragon saliva?"
Steven didn't bother hiding his request and stated it directly.
After all, he was helping her solve such a massive problem—asking for a bit of her spit couldn't be that unreasonable, right?
Still, since the word "spit" could sound… questionable, he chose a more elegant term instead.
"Dragon saliva?"
Talulah was momentarily confused by the term.
But as soon as she realized what it meant, a deep blush spread across her pale, delicate face.
"You scoundrel! What do you need that for?!"
Her tone was more flustered than genuinely angry.
She was incredibly puzzled about why Steven would need something like this.
Could this be some new way of asking for a kiss?
But they had just met!
Sure, he left a decent impression on her, but nowhere near enough for her to even consider doing something like that!
"Hah? Don't overthink it! Just answer—are you giving it or not?"
Steven was the one who felt weirded out now.
He was just asking for some spit—how did that suddenly make him a scoundrel?!
And here he was, trying to be polite by using a fancier term!
Talulah wanted to refuse outright, but when she saw the Infected Patrol Squads hauling away the village's last remaining food, she hesitated.
If giving up something so trivial could ensure the villagers survived the harsh winter, then…
Wasn't that a sacrifice worth making?
"If you can really do what you say… then I suppose I can agree."
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself.
Although she couldn't see him, her instincts told her that Steven was right beside her, waiting for her answer.
"Then it's settled. Just sit back and watch."
Steven's voice faded into the distance.
Talulah could only watch in the direction he left, wondering—how exactly was he planning to change this situation?
That question didn't last long.
Because just a few minutes later, she realized that Steven's so-called "solution"…
Was absolutely insane.
A strange noise suddenly echoed across the once-peaceful snowy plains.
It sounded like a swarm of creatures rushing forward, their movements unnaturally rapid.
But more terrifying than the sound itself was the eerie sensation that came with it.
It felt as if some monstrous entity was lurking within the snowstorm, something so horrifying that it made every person—whether they were the looting Patrol Guards or the fearful villagers—freeze in place.
Everyone's eyes turned toward the source of the noise.
And then, the storm itself began to subside, revealing the truth hidden beneath.
Towering figures—each over two meters tall—stood within the snow.
They looked like snowmen, but their forms were far from normal.
Atop each of their bodies sat a sinisterly grinning pumpkin, its eerie carved face making it impossible for anyone to suppress the chill creeping up their spine.
Even more terrifying was the fact that these creatures—despite being entirely made of pure snow—moved like living beings. Their eerie pumpkin heads grinned wickedly, sending a chill down the spine of all who beheld them.
But compared to these strange snowmen, the true source of dread was the figure looming behind them.
Mounted upon a towering skeletal warhorse, the rider's own head was a sinister pumpkin, just like his minions. His entire body was engulfed in roaring flames, and the eerie purple-black armor he wore shimmered with an unnatural light, as if drinking in the darkness itself.
The sword in his hand gleamed with a ghostly chill, an edge that seemed poised to consume the very souls of those who dared gaze upon it.
This knight, leading his legion of spectral snowmen, had appeared as if out of thin air, now standing at the front of the village—not as an invader, nor as a protector, but as something unstoppable, something that regarded all in its path as mere obstacles.
The Infected Patrol Squads had no idea what they were facing.
But one thing was clear—they were now standing in opposition to this army straight out of a nightmare.
Then, with a single effortless motion, the knight raised his sword and swung it downward.
The snowfall in front of him, mid-descent, was cleaved in two, splitting apart as though acknowledging his command.
In that instant, the illusion of the storm was shattered.
The knight and his army of twisted snowmen were now fully revealed.
"T-The Headless Horseman!!"
No one knew who said it first.
But the moment the name was spoken, the tense silence shattered.
Panic spread like wildfire.
The villagers and even the patrol guards—most of whom had no idea what a Headless Horseman truly was—recognized one thing:
This knight was not human.
And he was not here by accident.
The patrol squad's captain stood frozen.
His legs trembled uncontrollably.
Just moments ago, he had been arrogantly overseeing the looting of the village, acting as a high-ranking officer of Ursus.
But in front of this monstrosity?
He was nothing more than a terrified man.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to snap out of it.
He wanted to order his men to hold formation, to not succumb to fear—
But before he could speak, the fiery knight moved.
In the blink of an eye, the knight and his steed—previously far behind the snowmen—had closed the distance.
Now, he was right beside the captain.
The warhorse exhaled—but instead of breath, it released a freezing mist that prickled the captain's skin like needles of ice.
Before the captain could react, the knight raised his sword—
Not in a rush.
Not with a violent strike.
Simply, calmly.
And that alone was enough.
Thud!
It wasn't the sound of a sword cutting flesh.
It was the sound of knees hitting the frozen ground.
The captain collapsed.
Not from injury.
But from sheer, overwhelming terror.
A foul-smelling yellow liquid seeped from beneath his uniform, pooling on the icy ground.
He didn't even seem to notice.
Instead, he threw himself forward, pressing his forehead to the ground, groveling in pure, mindless fear.
Begging.
His head banged against the frozen earth again and again, as if praying to a demon for mercy.
The closer he was, the more he felt it—
The inevitable, inescapable dread.
A primal terror, the instinctive fear of a mortal standing before death itself.
His pride, his rank, his duty to Ursus—none of it mattered anymore.
Only one thing mattered:
Surviving.
He had never believed in ghosts or spirits before.
But now?
He had never believed in anything more.
How the hell had this happened?!
He had only come here to steal some supplies, to take advantage of his position.
That was all.
So why—
Why the hell had he run into this goddamn nightmare?!
To the captain's utter disbelief, his desperate, dignity-abandoning pleas for mercy seemed to have had some effect.
The knight before him hesitated.
As if even he hadn't expected such spinelessness.
Even the skeletal warhorse beneath him took a few steps back, seemingly repulsed by the filthy liquid pooling beneath the captain's trembling body.
"Killing you would insult my sword."
A voice like scraping nails on a blackboard echoed from within the knight's armor.
Hoarse. Hollow. Like the whisper of the dead.
The sound alone felt like it could pierce through the captain's skull.
But he didn't dare stop.
He kept bowing, forehead smashing against the frozen ground, repeating his pathetic pleas over and over again.
Then, the knight turned his gaze to the others.
He spoke no further words.
He didn't have to.
A simple, sweeping glance through the eerie glow of his jack-o'-lantern head was enough.
The entire patrol squad collapsed.
The villagers followed suit.
Kneeling.
Not by choice.
But by instinct.
By pure, suffocating fear.
Even Talulah, standing among them, grabbed a stunned Alina and forced her to crouch down.
"Weaklings."
The single word, laced with scorn, hung in the air like an executioner's verdict.
Then, without another glance, the knight turned his mount.
The skeleton warhorse strode back into the ranks of the eerie snowmen.
There were no parting words.
No threats.
Only a single gesture.
He lifted his sword and pointed toward the snowy expanse ahead.
In perfect unison, the snowmen army turned and marched forward, continuing their journey into the unknown.
It had all happened so suddenly.
And just as suddenly, it was over.
Like a mirage, the knight and his army had appeared, left behind nothing but fear, and then vanished beyond the horizon.
The only proof that they had ever been there was the deep, gaping sword mark in the snow, carved several meters deep into the frozen earth.
Even after the knight had disappeared from view, the village remained silent as a graveyard.
No one dared to move.
No one even dared to breathe too loudly.
The air was thick with an oppressive, lingering fear.
Only when the feeling finally lifted—
Only when they were certain that the nightmare had truly left—
Did people slowly, cautiously, lift their heads.
One person collapsed.
Then another.
Finally, as if snapping out of a trance, the survivors confirmed what their minds refused to believe—
The nightmare was gone.
The Infected Patrol Squads began picking themselves up.
But none of them had the stomach to continue their raiding and looting.
They had come expecting easy prey.
Instead, they had found something out of legend, out of nightmare.
And they wanted nothing more than to leave.
"The higher-ups were right…"
Someone muttered, voice trembling.
"There really ARE monsters in this region…"
The captain, still shaking, finally stopped banging his head against the frozen ground.
Blood dripped from his forehead.
But strangely, the pain made him feel more alert.
His mind reeled, connecting the dots, and his body broke into a cold sweat as he remembered the orders from above.
"We're leaving."
He barked, his voice hoarse.
"We need to report this—NOW."
There was no hesitation.
His men scrambled to their feet, supporting the still-dazed captain.
None of them even considered continuing the raid.
None of them wanted to spend another second in this goddamn village.
They fled, staggering through the snow, desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and whatever that thing was.
"Wait! You can't leave!"
A quivering voice called out.
It's the village chief.
His hand shot out, grabbing the captain's sleeve.
"If you leave, who will protect us?!"
His voice was filled with fear.
Yes, he had hated these soldiers.
Yes, he had wished they would all rot in hell.
But right now?
He was terrified.
If these trained, armed men were fleeing like frightened rats—
Then what chance did the villagers have?
They were old, sick, starving.
They weren't warriors.
If that thing returned…
Would they be helpless lambs to the slaughter?
"That's not my problem."
The captain yanked his arm free, eyes filled with nothing but fear and urgency.
"We were sent to hunt the infected."
He spat.
"Whatever the hell that thing was—it's got NOTHING to do with us."
He turned away.
"You're on your own."
He didn't even bother counting his men.
Didn't care if some had gone missing.
He just wanted to escape.
To get away from this godforsaken place.
He didn't look back.
Didn't spare a single thought for the terrified villagers.
The only thing on his mind was that the higher-ups needed to know about the knight.
As for the villagers' survival?
Who the hell cared?
As the patrol squad fled, the village was left in cold, suffocating silence.
The people, paralyzed by terror, could do nothing but stare at the retreating soldiers.
Only two people remained calm.
Only two people weren't drowning in mind-numbing panic.
Talulah and Alina.
"That knight just now… could it be…?"
Alina's voice wavered, filled with uncertainty.
She turned to Talulah, looking for confirmation.
And Talulah, her expression grim, silent, simply nodded.
She didn't want to believe it.
But that glowing, grinning pumpkin head…
It was too familiar to be a coincidence.
<+>
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