Panic swept through the village.
The people, already rattled by the earlier chaos surrounding the strange blue monster, had completely forgotten Elena's warning about the Wolves.
These weren't solitary beasts. Wherever there was one, more would follow. For the girl to have been chased by only a single wolf was a miracle in itself. Now, they had followed her scent straight to the village—and for the villagers, that meant disaster.
"Damn it, the hole's too big! We need more wood!"
Men scrambled along the broken palisade, staring helplessly at the massive square gap that stretched several meters wide. Sweat drenched their brows as panic made their hands useless.
"Over there!" someone shouted suddenly, pointing. "The monster's stuff—it left those blocks behind! We can use them to block the hole!"
He was pointing at Steve's crafting area—the furnace, workbench, and neat cube-like blocks lying nearby. They looked heavy enough to serve as barricades.
"Move!" a man barked, and several villagers rushed to push them. But no matter how hard they strained, the blocks didn't budge an inch. Even the smaller workbench refused to shift.
"We're wasting time!"
"They're coming!"
"Get torches lit!"
"The wind's too strong—they'll blow out!"
Voices rose in chaos. Flames sparked briefly, then guttered out under the roaring wind that swept through the trees. The Wolves were gathering their magic, and their conjured gales turned every flame to smoke.
The broken wall remained open, a gaping wound in their defenses—wide enough for an entire pack to pour through.
"Chief! What do we do?"
The villagers crowded around the old man on the rooftop, desperate for orders.
Their village hadn't been attacked in decades. The most trouble they'd ever had were slimes or the occasional wild boar. Years of peace had made them forget how to defend themselves, and the appearance of that inhuman creature earlier had already thrown them into disarray.
The village chief scanned the treeline.
Dozens of faint green eyes shimmered within the darkness—eyes glowing with mana. The wolves were channeling their wind magic, building up a storm.
Smart beasts. They'd probably learned the danger of fire before, so now they summoned wind first—to snuff out any chance of resistance.
If those winds kept growing stronger, they'd soon form wind blades. And for a village with no magic users or trained fighters, that would be a death sentence.
The old man turned toward the wall. The breach Steve had punched through gleamed raw and open, useless now as a defense. Only half a year ago they'd reinforced it—but now, with just a few strikes, the monster had ruined everything.
"Should we run?" someone shouted. "If we stay, we'll be trapped inside!"
"And Elena? She's still unconscious!"
"We can't outrun them on foot!"
"What about the river? Maybe they won't go into the water?"
Ideas flew as fast as they were dismissed. The chief's mind raced, his eyes darting between the dark forest and the yawning pit Steve had dug earlier.
Then, gritting his teeth, he made his choice. "We'll ask that monster for help!"
The words silenced everyone. Faces went pale.
They knew he was right. If what Elena said was true—if that creature had killed a Wolf alone—then it was their only chance.
But how did one talk to something like that?
The chief didn't hesitate. He climbed down from the roof with surprising agility for his age, landing hard but steady. His joints groaned, but he didn't slow. He had made his decision—even if it cost him his life.
He ran straight toward the mining pit, determined to draw the monster out.
But before he could even lean over the edge, a square blue head popped out of the hole.
The chief's jaw smacked shut with a painful crack as he flinched backward, losing balance and tumbling to the ground. His old bones protested audibly.
Steve, meanwhile, felt as if something had clipped his collision box. A minor bump. He looked up—and saw a villager sprawled on the ground, grimacing, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
He didn't think much of it. With a jump, he climbed out of the hole and opened his inventory, intending to reorganize.
He'd been mining for a while underground and had realized something strange. The world's vertical depth limit seemed much higher than usual. Normally, he'd hit stone after four or five layers of dirt—but this time, even after digging through several stacks, he hadn't reached stone at all.
Maybe this modpack wasn't meant for mining, he wondered. Maybe it had been designed to discourage it.
His torches were running low, and without light, the darkness was total. He'd had to stop digging reluctantly.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have stopped until he hit bedrock.
...
The chief groaned and slowly pushed himself up. The moment his eyes landed on Steve, his pulse spiked again—but he swallowed the fear. They had no other choice.
"Sir…" he stammered, then winced. What was he supposed to call it? "S-sir!"
Steve didn't respond.
"Sir!" the old man repeated, forcing himself closer. He reached out and poked at Steve's tunic—only to realize it wasn't clothing at all. It was part of his skin. He jerked back, heart hammering.
Steve turned his square head. The chief was sliding sideways—being moved by his own trembling hands.
"The village is under attack!" the man blurted out, desperation breaking through fear. "Please, mighty one—help us! Save us!"
He poured everything out, stumbling over his words, whether or not the monster could even understand him.
Steve followed the man's pointing hand. In the distance, he saw glowing eyes peering from the trees. The same kind of wolves from before.
So this is an event? A monster siege?
And then he saw it—the alpha.
Larger than the others, with fur rippling like storm clouds, it stepped proudly from the forest, its eyes locked on the trembling humans. At its movement, the rest of the pack surged forward, a tide of gray and wind.
Their target: the hole in the wall.
Steve reacted instantly. With a few quick swings, several dirt blocks appeared in the breach, filling the gap completely.
Then he built upward, encasing the terrified old man in a neat cube of dirt—three layers thick on all sides, just to be safe.
He extended his dirt tower toward the wall, creating a sloped bridge that connected to the top of the fortifications. Standing on his makeshift platform, he prepared to strike from above.
These wolves moved differently than normal mobs. He couldn't rely on old tactics. If they dug through the dirt or jumped too high, he'd be swarmed in seconds.
His only armor was a half-broken pair of leather pants. No shield. If they surrounded him, he was done for.
The first wolf leaped.
Steve swung his sword midair, the stone blade connecting with a heavy crack. The beast yelped, tumbling down with blood spraying from its head.
The others hesitated, surprised by the sudden retaliation. They slowed, circling the fallen wolf cautiously.
The injured one growled, shaking its head. Then it crouched—and jumped again.
Steve placed another block beneath his feet, raising his height by one level. The wolf's claws scraped the air uselessly. He countered with another strike, slashing deep.
The wolf crashed down once more.
But this time, it didn't charge again. Its jaws opened instead, glowing faintly between its teeth as wind magic gathered.
A white flash burst forth.
The wind blade shot up, slicing the air with a whistle.
Steve hadn't expected it. The invisible edge tore across his chest, his entire body flashing red. He stumbled back a step, pixelated particles scattering from his frame.
"Ugh!" he grunted, instinctively checking his health bar.