There were five of them.
At the front walked a broad-shouldered man with a worn cloak draped over his back. He glanced ahead, squinting slightly.
"…We're close," he said.
One of the younger men behind him stretched his arms. "Good. I need a drink. Been days since we saw a decent town."
Another chuckled. "You say that every time."
Their pace slowed as the outline of Stoneford Town came into view.
But something felt… off.
The leader frowned.
"…Wait."
The others stopped.
Up ahead, the town gate stood wide open.
No guards.
No movement.
And the wooden walls, what was left of them, were broken, splintered, some parts completely torn down.
The group exchanged looks.
"That's not right," one of them muttered.
"Bandits?" another suggested.
The leader didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the surroundings, sharp and cautious.
"…Stay alert. We go in, slow."
No one argued.
They stepped forward, crossing through the open gate.
The moment they entered, the smell hit them.
