Chapter 173 – The Medieval Descends
United States, Nebraska.
A rural area outside Lincoln.
The sun shone brightly in the sky.
A gentle breeze swept across the land, causing the green wheat fields stretching over the rolling terrain to ripple like waves.
An elderly farmer walked slowly along the narrow dirt ridges between the fields.
He surveyed the neatly grown crops around him, occasionally stopping with hands on his hips, a satisfied smile forming on his weathered face.
Behind him followed a small white Labrador.
When the farmer walked, it walked. When he stopped, it sat obediently on the dirt, tongue hanging out as it quietly looked around.
Deep within the lush wheat fields, surrounded by a few white birch trees, stood a rectangular farmhouse with a white roof.
A yard, storage shed, and white-painted wooden fence enclosed the living area, separating it from the farmland.
Far off in the distance, at the edge of sight, stood another similar house—
a neighboring farm, though quite far away.
The weather was nice today.
So despite his frail health, the old farmer had taken his dog out for a longer walk than usual.
Only after growing slightly out of breath did he finally decide to head back and take his medicine.
But before he had taken more than a few steps—
a shadow quietly appeared overhead.
Looking up, he saw that the previously clear sky was now rapidly filling with dark clouds gathering from all directions.
The clouds rolled in—slow, yet strangely fast.
Shadows spread across the land.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the fields, making the wheat rustle loudly, while nearby buildings creaked under the pressure.
Seeing this, the old farmer quickly grabbed his hat and hurried toward the house.
But before he could get far—
the clouds completely engulfed him.
Then—
BOOM!
A deafening thunderclap split the sky.
And the rain came pouring down.
"What kind of damn weather is this!?" he muttered, running through the downpour.
By the time he reached the house, he was completely soaked, like a drowned rat.
He rushed inside—
but his little white dog was a step behind and got shut out.
It whimpered pitifully at the door.
Fortunately, the old man quickly remembered and cracked the door open.
The dog immediately darted inside.
Water dripped from both of them as they each shook themselves dry in their own way.
Only after cleaning up did the old farmer finally let out a sigh of relief.
Looking out the window—
he saw that the once-clear sky had turned pitch-black.
Dark clouds churned violently overhead. Lightning flashed within them, roaring across the sky.
Heavy rain lashed against the windows, driven by fierce winds, creating a constant drumming sound—almost like hail.
"The weather station said there wouldn't be any rain around Lincoln…"
the old farmer grumbled.
Watching the scene, he couldn't help but start cursing government incompetence under his breath.
But if he could see the full picture—
he would realize something strange.
This storm—
only existed around a handful of nearby farms.
Beyond that area—
the sky remained perfectly clear.
A vast expanse of blue surrounded the storm.
The torrential rain was sharply confined to a limited region, as if cut off from the rest of the world.
Thunder. Wind. Lightning.
Everything about it—
was unnatural.
Dark clouds blanketed several farms.
Winds howled violently. Rain poured like a flood.
Lightning struck repeatedly, igniting trees before the rain quickly extinguished the flames.
Soon, the local weather bureau, police, and reporters from various TV stations arrived.
But faced with such violent conditions, they couldn't get close.
They could only remain at the edges, watching from a distance.
"…As of now, this sudden weather event has destroyed three farms and collapsed thirteen buildings. Casualties are currently unknown. Further updates will follow…"
On the live broadcast, a female reporter stood amid the storm.
Her hair was whipped wildly by the wind, and the microphone crackled loudly, forcing her to shout just to be heard.
The environment was harsh and chaotic.
"Isn't that… not far from here?"
Behind a bar counter, a blonde young woman stared intently at the screen, her expression tense.
But before she could watch for long—
the broadcast suddenly cut away.
The screen switched to a calm interview program.
A middle-aged man and a heavyset host sat on separate sofas, facing the camera.
"Since its release, A Song of Ice and Fire has been hugely popular among fantasy fans, breaking numerous records. Mr. Martin, may I ask—what inspired you to write this series?"
"Well… you know, I've always been a fan of Marvel comics. As for writing this book…"
…
"…That boring medieval smut novel?"
The blonde young woman clicked her tongue in annoyance and pulled her gaze away from the screen. Sure enough, when she turned her head, her mother, Ellen, had already set down the remote and was raising an eyebrow at her.
She could only place her hands on her hips in resignation.
She had never been interested in those fantasy stories where people were constantly dying.
But her mother absolutely loved them.
Every time that chubby old author appeared on a talk show, she never missed it. And whenever he delayed updates, she would complain nonstop—then turn around and vent to her daughter about it.
Clearly, she was deeply obsessed.
"But it's really boring…"
Leaning over the bar counter, the young woman rested her chin in her hand, lazily scanning the small bar.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a long-haired young man nearby and suddenly grew interested.
She leaned over.
"Arthur, do you think that weird weather on TV just now could be related to ghosts? Or… some kind of monster?"
"Ghosts? Monsters? Maybe demons. Either way, it's definitely not anything good."
Arthur replied casually, his eyes glued to his laptop screen. Wearing headphones, he looked completely focused, as if listening intently to something.
"What are you playing?"
"A new online game from Blizzard… highly recommend it, Jo. If you're interested, I can help you level up sometime. Yeah—sometime."
He spoke absentmindedly, barely paying attention, muttering vague things under his breath.
Then suddenly—
he shouted.
"Hey! Wait—hold on! What are you doing?!"
"Oh my God! Run, run!"
"Fried chicken!? Damn fried chicken!"
"Bastard! Die!!"
Arthur's loud outbursts made him look completely unhinged.
But he was usually like this anyway, so the young woman didn't think much of it.
Nor did she care what he was doing.
After watching for a moment, she quickly lost interest and turned away.
That's when she noticed—
her mother wasn't watching the interview anymore.
Instead, she was standing in a corner of the bar, quietly talking on the phone.
Her expression looked unusually serious.
That immediately caught Jo's attention.
Pretending to wipe the counter, she slowly edged closer, pricking up her ears to eavesdrop.
Unfortunately, the distance was too great, and her mother's voice was too soft.
She could only make out a few scattered words—
"Winchester…"
"the brothers…"
"Bobby…"
So when her mother hung up, she couldn't help but walk over.
"Mom, who was that?"
The middle-aged woman didn't answer directly.
"We might be getting new guests soon."
"Hunters?"
"Of course."
She replied, then seeing her daughter's eager expression, she couldn't help but ruffle her golden hair.
"Come on, Jo. Everyone here is a hunter. Nothing special about that."
"But new faces are rare," Jo argued.
Ignoring her mother, who had already turned back to polishing glasses, she continued:
"Most people who come here were Dad's friends… or people he introduced. But Dad's already… maybe we—"
"Maybe we should stop this topic right here."
Her mother shot her a glance.
"I still have accounts to settle. If you're so free, go clean table three. Old Neil just left. Thanks."
It sounded less like a request—
and more like an order.
Jo puffed her cheeks in frustration but didn't argue.
She obediently grabbed a rag from under the counter and prepared to work.
But before she could step out—
a sudden crackling sound came from above.
Looking up, she saw that the TV mounted on the ceiling rack had lost its signal.
The screen flickered with black-and-white static.
Not far away, her mother's expression immediately darkened.
Jo couldn't help but curl her lips in amusement—
but the smile didn't last long.
The old radio nearby, which had been playing soft music, suddenly began to stutter.
The overhead lights flickered, emitting harsh electrical buzzing sounds.
Even the refrigerator beside the bar—its interior light flickered a few times before going out completely.
One abnormal sign after another appeared.
Inside the bar—
whether they were gaming, drinking, chatting, or playing pool—
everyone froze.
Then, almost simultaneously—
they began reaching into their pockets or bags.
One by one, they pulled out strange devices resembling detectors.
Antennas were extended.
Switches flipped.
And in the next instant—
shrill alarms erupted everywhere.
The piercing noise echoed throughout the bar, chaotic and relentless.
Everyone frowned, following the direction indicated by their devices—
until all eyes turned toward the entrance.
The sound of guns being loaded rang out in succession.
Faced with the sudden anomaly, everyone was on high alert.
Even the bar owner pulled out a well-maintained shotgun from beneath the counter.
Click.
She chambered a round, aiming the dark barrel straight at the door.
Under the tense stares of everyone present—
the bar door slowly opened.
And then—
a foot stepped inside.
A foot clad in an old-fashioned black deerskin boot.