They had to act faster than the shadow, no matter how perilous, guarding the peaceful slumber of this town was the only thought on their minds at this moment.
Old Jack's steps were incredibly heavy, yet incredibly resolute, as he hurried towards the town center, still dotted with lights and curling smoke, representing the object of their pledge to protect to the death.
The heavy footsteps pounded on the stone road leading to the town hall, each step treading on the tightly stretched string of the heart.
In the small square at the town center, Defense Captain Hans, who had just come off shift, was wiping a somewhat old wooden-handled short sword, while several other defense team members in studded leather armor were munching on bread and chatting idly.
These people, all around thirty to forty years old, their faces weathered and coarse from the field winds, their eyes bearing the simplicity of farmers and the vigilance of guardians.
