Capítulo 1873: Unusual Escort Mission

Villain Ch 1873. Unusual Escort Mission

Allen exhaled, low, sharp, almost a sigh. He wasn’t in the mood for fairytales. His gauntlet flexed once, fingertips gleaming wet from a paladin’s blood that hadn’t fully dried.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the absurd farmer. “Uh, nothing. Just…” His smirk edged sharp. “We accept your quest.”

The system pinged immediately, red and cold across everyone’s vision.

[Companion Quest Accepted.]

[Escort Greg the Garlic Farmer across the Whispering Forest.]

[Failure Condition: NPC Death.]

Greg’s grin widened, bright as if someone had nailed the smile onto his face. “Oh, splendid! Splendid indeed! Follow me, fine heroes! Garlic bless ye!”

And so, somehow, they did.

The eight of them—monsters all—followed a man with dirt under his nails and garlic hanging from his basket like talismans. They moved like predators behind prey, silent, cloaked, smirking. And yet, the air itself shifted.

The wheat whispered louder than it should. Chickens froze mid-peck, heads cocking unnaturally still. The creak of the windmill turned into a grind, like teeth.

Allen noticed. He always noticed. His eyes traced the lines of the fields, how too-perfect they were, how the programming bent in little ways—looping sun motes, identical bends of wheat. It was a staged pastoral scene, and Greg was the actor too bright for his role.

He chuckled under his breath. “Exactly what I thought.”

Shea caught it, stepping closer, her scales shimmering faintly in the false light. “What?”

Allen smirked. “Peace is always bait.”

Zoe licked her teeth. “Then let’s chew it.”

But they followed.

Greg hummed a country tune, stomping through the dirt path with his basket bouncing, garlic swinging. Every step, dust puffed but never clung to his boots. Every word he spoke felt scripted.

“Ah, see them wildflowers? Ain’t they pretty? My missus used to braid ’em into crowns! Lovely lass she was, gods rest her soul.”

Bella raised an eyebrow, fox tails flicking. “Conveniently dead wife? How original.”

Greg blinked, laugh forced. “Eh? Ha! Well, that’s the way of things, innit? Garlic and grief!”

Alice giggled, broom hovering lazily beside her. “Garlic and grief. That’s a poem.”

Larissa snorted, fangs flashing. “That’s bait.”

Allen didn’t speak. He just walked, the cloak dragging over dirt that didn’t stain. His mind ticked. He didn’t believe in accidents, not in this world, not when the system itself was watching. The quest wasn’t about a lost daughter. It was about what came after.

The air shifted again.

The sun dimmed. Not abruptly—subtly. Like a candle wick drowning in its own wax. Shadows stretched longer. The path seemed to extend, bend, coil where it hadn’t before.

Greg didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. He just walked, humming louder. “La la la! Garlic grows, garlic glows, garlic keeps the beasties away!”

Jane muttered, “I’d rather keep him away.”

Vivian laughed, low, throaty. “Oh no. I like him. He’s ridiculous. He’s like a toy wound too tight. Makes me want to see how he breaks.”

Allen finally spoke, calm as a knife against a throat. “We’ll find out soon.”

They entered the forest.

The wheat gave way to black trunks, gnarled and reaching. The flowers vanished, the path narrowed. Birds didn’t sing. Wind didn’t breathe. The only sound was Greg’s boots and the distant groan of wood that didn’t move.

Fog began to curl at their ankles. Thin at first. Then thicker. White ribbons weaving between roots, rising, clinging to their legs. The smell shifted from earth and garlic to something damp, metallic. Rust. Blood. Wet stone.

Greg still hummed.

Shea finally snapped. “He’s wrong.” Her voice was sharp, scales flaring. “Look at his shadow.”

They all did.

Greg had none.

Allen’s smirk widened. “Of course.”

The fog thickened. Trees warped. Bark seemed to peel into screaming faces, knots twisting like sockets. The path stretched, stretched, stretched—until it broke.

Greg stopped. He turned, still grinning. But his eyes—flat. Puppet-glass. His voice still carried that absurd cheer.

“Well now! Lovely walk, eh? Lovely, lovely! Time for me to pop off, though! Garlic waits for no man!”

Then—he was gone.

No fade. No smoke. Just gone. The basket clattered to the dirt. Garlic bulbs rolled out, bouncing once, twice—before turning black in the fog.

The system chimed again.

[Escort Failed.]

[Companion Quest Updated.]

[Find the Daughter in the Cursed Town.]

The fog swallowed the world whole.

Allen didn’t flinch. His girls shifted, muttering, laughing, hissing, but he just stood, eyes narrowed, smirk sharp. “Finally.”

Vivian fluttered her wings, stepping closer, voice a purr. “Mmm. You look excited.”

He glanced at her. “A staged quest is one thing. A cursed one? That’s better. More honest.”

Zoe cracked her claws. “Where the hell are we?”

The fog parted.

The forest bled into cobblestone. Houses, crooked and sagging, leaned like broken teeth. Lanterns swayed though no wind moved. Windows stared hollow, dark. Signs hung above doors—Inn, Apothecary, Blacksmith—but the paint peeled, the wood rotted.

And there, down the main street, a church bell tolled. Slow. Hollow. No hand struck it.

The air stank of mildew, rot, and old blood. The fog pressed against their skin like wet fingers, sticky and cold. Each breath tasted like rust.

Bella wrinkled her nose. “Gross. This place smells like a drowned corpse.”

Larissa licked her lips. “Delicious.”

Allen stepped forward. His boots clicked on stone. Every sound echoed too long. “Welcome to the real quest.”

Alice bounced beside him, broom gliding low. “What now, boss?”

Allen tilted his head. His smirk carved sharp. “Now?”

He drew his blade, blood still drying along its edge. “We play.”

The bell tolled again.

Something moved in the fog.

A child’s laugh. High, broken, echoing too close.

Shea tensed, claws flexing. “That wasn’t a laugh.”

Jane corrected, voice a whisper. “That was bait.”

Allen grinned, teeth flashing in the fog. “Perfect.”

The fog thickened. The streets warped, stretching like veins. Shadows moved without bodies. Doors creaked though no wind stirred. And far ahead, in the cracked window of the church, something watched them—tall, thin, unmoving.

Allen’s heart didn’t beat faster. It slowed. Steadier. Calm. Because this was where he belonged. Not in peaceful wheat fields or staged pastoral lies. But here—where the world bled, where the system whispered, where the quest smiled with teeth.

He raised his blade and laughed.

“Let’s hunt.”

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