The structure of the village was quite simple. A large mansion towered over all the other buildings in the middle of the village.
After all his reconnaissance, Atticus had determined the locations of everyone.
The two grandmasters, who were his biggest concern, resided in the mansion, so he hadn't even dared to approach that area.
On the south side of the village were the scouts' living quarters. Atticus had personally checked the area and found it empty, as all the scouts were dispatched at night to patrol.
On the east side of the village was where the main fighting force of the order was stationed. In the north were the recruits, those not yet capable enough to join any group. This area was simply a cluster of small buildings.
Finally, there was the west side, Atticus's current target, where the hunters were situated.
Atticus moved silently through the shadows, his figure practically invisible as he approached the enormous circular building that housed the hunters.
The structure was massive, its stone walls thick and tall, but fortunately, the windows, which glowed with bright light, were see-through. He could see every single thing occurring inside.
The sounds of boisterous laughter and shouting echoed out of the building, but Atticus remained focused, his mind working.
He crouched low beneath one of the windows, carefully peering inside. The interior was as he expected: a large, open hall with tables arranged haphazardly in a circle around a roaring fire in the center. It was another scene Atticus found truly odd. What was the purpose of the fire exactly?
The hunters were scattered around the tables, drinking heavily and boasting of their latest kills, their weapons laid casually beside them. Despite the late hour, they seemed to have no intention of going to sleep.
The air was filled with the smell of alcohol and smoke, and the atmosphere was one of recklessness. It was obvious that the five years of inactivity had deeply affected them.
'That's about two hundred people,' Atticus noted.
He noticed a small side door at the side of the building. 'That's probably the kitchen,' he thought, seeing that it was slightly open, with a soft, flickering light coming from within.
Without hesitation, he approached and slipped through the door.
He immediately found himself in a kitchen that was dimly lit, the smell of roasted meat filling the air.
The only occupants were, surprisingly, two women—a teenage girl and an older woman. The teenage girl closely resembled the older woman, leading Atticus to believe they were mother and daughter or somehow related.
They were both working silently, the mother serving out the drinks and food while the girl appeared to be the waitress. However, Atticus immediately noticed their tired and lifeless expressions.
Atticus stayed hidden, watching as the girl carried a tray of drinks out to the main hall, her hands trembling slightly.
The older woman suddenly paused, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes followed her daughter as she walked, and Atticus immediately saw a flash of worry within them.
Atticus could claim he had no idea why he was simply standing there and watching despite being pressed for time, but that would be a lie.
He knew deep down what was going on and what was about to happen. What he didn't understand, though, was why he cared—why it was affecting him this way?
In the hall, the hunters' voices grew louder as they continued to drink. The teenage girl approached one of the tables, setting down the tray with a nervous smile. She was dressed as modestly as a woman could dress; it was quite obvious she was trying to cover herself up.
One of the hunters, a large, rough-looking man with scars all over his muscular arms, suddenly reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist, pulling her closer.
"Come here, girl," he slurred, his grip tightening. "Let's see a smile, eh? No need to be so scared. We're all friends here."
The girl's lips trembled, and her eyes flashed with anger, but she held it all in, saying nothing.
The hunter leered at her, pulling her onto his lap. That was the last straw.
"Let go of me!" Her hand flew and landed on the man's cheek with a resounding smack.
The hall went silent, every single eye focused on the scene. The silence lasted for a few seconds before the sound of muffled laughter began. This didn't last long, as the entire hall erupted in boisterous laughter.
"Hahaha, Jeff! You got hit on the face by a girl!"
One of the men sitting at the same table as the man joked, causing the others to laugh even louder.
The girl had long since stood up from the man's lap, backing up slowly with an angry expression on her face.
The man seemed to be in a daze before suddenly snapping out of it. He had just been slapped? He was shocked beyond words, but this soon turned to anger as the sound of his colleagues laughing at him registered.
"You bitch!"
The man shot up and approached the girl with large strides, his hand raised, causing her to flinch and instinctively crouch down, dropping her head.
Just as he was about to strike her, a figure stepped between them, and the sound of a resounding smack echoed through the hall.
The teenage girl raised her head, her eyes widening.
"M-Mom?" she called out.
The woman had stepped forward and had taken the slap in place of her daughter. With a pained expression, she bowed and spoke respectfully,
"Please pardon her foolishness; she's just a child."
However, the man sneered. "You've got some nerve, old hag. Know your place!" He backhanded her across the face with brutal force, sending her sprawling to the ground.
The girl gasped, rushing to her mother's side. "M-Mom!" she cried, her voice trembling.
The older woman winced, holding her cheek, but she quickly pulled her daughter behind her, stood up, and bowed deeply.
"Please forgive us, Master."
The laughter in the hall soon quieted down before another man spoke up.
"Bah, Jeff, she's just a girl. If you're finding it hard to keep your crotch in check, go find someone your own size!"
Jeff clicked his tongue, glaring at the bowing mother in front of him. "Get me a refill!" he demanded before sitting back down.
The woman and her daughter quickly scurried away and entered the kitchen.
"M-Mom!" The girl tried to clean the blood from her mother's face, but the woman smacked her hand away and stared into her eyes.
"Listen to me. What you did today was foolish on so many levels. We make ourselves invisible here. Don't argue, don't fight back, always maintain a low profile. Those men killed your father and enslaved us; they won't hesitate to do the unthinkable to you. Promise me it won't happen again."
Tears flowed freely down the girl's cheeks as she sniffled before nodding her head. "O-Okay, Mom. I-I promise."
Atticus watched as the mother hugged her daughter, his expression unreadable.
He couldn't explain why, but there was no mistaking it—Atticus was seething.
His piercing blue eyes turned crimson as they landed on the men laughing loudly in the hall, his aura changing.
A massacre was about to unfold.