As they move deeper into the village, the destruction shifts—less random, more violent. Not just fire. Not just panic. The ground is scored with claw marks. Stone walls are dented inward, blood smeared in streaks. A broken spear lies half-buried in the mud. The remains of some creature—twisted, too many limbs—are crushed under a collapsed roof.
Alix narrows his eyes.
This wasn't just a raid. It was a battle. A real one.
His gaze traces the shattered remains of stone, the deep gashes in metal, the faint traces of lingering mana scorched into the ground like scars.
"Tier 3," he murmurs, crouching near a split beam, then frowning as his fingers brush a groove carved straight through it. "No… Tier 4."
Ruva doesn't respond. She's gone quiet again, taking it all in with wide, numb eyes. Her hands tremble, and her steps are hesitant, like her body knows what her heart refuses to believe.
They round a bend, and the largest building comes into view.
Or what's left of it.
