Karl didn't wait for the system's second warning.

  As soon as the old soldier muttered “Something’s wrong,” Karl was already up and running. He slipped out into the cold night, boots thudding on packed dirt, breath curling into mist. The village was too quiet. A silence that didn't belong.

  He pounded on the door of the small house where Tanir and two of his men were quartered.

  “What the hell—” Tanir opened the door mid-swear, wearing half a shirt and a full scowl.

  “They’re coming,” Karl said, breathless. “Imperial scouts. Mountain Corps. I don’t know how many, but we’re out of time.”

  Tanir blinked, the scowl deepening.

  Then he sighed. “I knew I should’ve dumped you lot in the ravine.”

  He stepped back into the room and bellowed, “Up! All of you, move! We’ve got company.”

  Karl followed him in as Tanir was already snapping orders. His men—grizzled smugglers with the muscle memory of old soldiers—grabbed packs and weapons with practiced efficiency. No one wasted breath asking questions.

  “You’re sure?” Tanir asked, strapping a knife to his belt.

  “I have people who know how to listen,” Karl said, meaning the old soldier—and the Star Key. “I can’t say how many, but they’re close.”

  Tanir grunted. “Then we hit first.”

  ---

  Fifteen minutes later, the old meeting hall at the center of the village had transformed into a trap.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Tanir’s crew moved fast. Two of them had already taken positions on the second floor balcony with their battered flintlock carbines, watching the square below through arrow slits. The others had hauled up tables, benches, and broken shelves to form a crude barricade in front of the main entrance.

  Karl watched as Tanir jammed an axe into the wooden floor to test the grain. “Not much cover,” Tanir muttered. “But it’ll have to do.”

  “What about us?” asked the ex-soldier player, stepping forward.

  Tanir looked him up and down, then the others behind him. “You five stick to the side entrance. When the first wave comes through the front, wait three seconds, then shut the doors behind them and hit them from the back. You’ve got one shot—make it clean.”

  The players nodded, unusually serious.

  Then Tanir opened a crate and began passing out weapons.

  “Here,” he said, tossing a work axe to the adrenaline junkie. “And you—take the sickle. You—cleaver. Use it like you mean it.”

  The tools weren’t pretty. Rusted, chipped, old. But they were metal. And heavy. And better than sticks.

  The players’ eyes lit up.

  “Loot drop!” the pervert whispered, hugging his battered hatchet.

  “Finally,” said the researcher. “I was beginning to think this game didn’t have proper weapon progression.”

  Karl facepalmed. But he didn’t stop them.

  ---

  Outside, the night thickened. The stars were hidden behind clouds. The only sound was the wind shifting through pines.

  Lieutenant Maric crouched behind a pile of old firewood at the village’s edge. His squad was already in position—three flanking the left alley, two taking the rear. The rest waited with him in silence.

  The house lights were low. No movement.

  Perfect.

  He gave a sharp hand signal. Five shadows slipped from cover, heading toward the main entrance of the meeting hall. The door loomed ahead—old, cracked, slightly ajar.

  One rider nudged it with the tip of his boot.

  It creaked inward.

  ---

  Inside, the five players crouched behind barrels and planks near the side entrance. The adrenaline junkie grinned, tapping the side of her axe.

  “Guys,” she whispered, “I think this is it. Our first real fight.”

  The ex-soldier said nothing. But his eyes were locked on the doorway.

  The pervert leaned toward Karl. “Hey, what happens if we die in this game?”

  Karl didn’t answer.

  He was staring at the door.

  It was opening.

  ---

  And the trap was about to spring shut.