[Chapter 327. Warning of the Horde]

Searanox sat on a somewhat comfortable bench. The wooden surface, worn smooth by countless occupants, retained a faint scent of cedar and oil. Across from him, Marvin settled with surprising delicacy for a man of his size, though the bench groaned under his weight. The giant's shadow fell across the table, creating a cool pocket against the late morning heat.

Moments later, two women approached carrying wooden platters laden with roasted meat and ceramic mugs steaming with spiced ale. Their modern clothing appeared pristine and clean, utterly out of place in the rugged outpost. The fabric bore no tears or stains; their collars stood crisp, and their sleeves were neatly hemmed. They looked freshly made rather than scavenged or patched together from salvaged materials.

"You want one?" Marvin asked, gesturing toward the women. His low rumble vibrated the wooden table.

One of the women paused beside him, her posture respectful yet confident as she set down a platter of glistening meat before her leader.

Searanox looked away from the woman and spoke in a cold tone. "No. I was wondering how their clothes could be this clean and intact." His gaze swept over the women, noting the absence of wear patterns or mending characterizing most clothing in this new world. Even in his own city, with its resources and organization, there weren't many that had such pristine clothes. Most were geared with what they had on them during the integration, while others had managed to buy themselves a few pieces of system gear.

"Yes, there is nothing quite like a well-dressed woman. We have a tailor. She gained a system job after fixing up the clothes of my boys." Marvin's deep voice carried a hint of pride as he took a piece of meat from the platter, his massive fingers dwarfing the roasted portion.

The woman who served them offered Searanox a small, professional smile before retreating with her companion, their footsteps barely audible on the packed earth of the courtyard.

"She can make clothes? That's helpful." Searanox's tone remained analytical rather than impressed. His mind calculated the value of such a skill. Clothing production meant more than just aesthetics—it represented morale, insulation against the elements, and potentially specialized protective gear if her system job progressed.

"By your lack of interest, it sounds like you already know about system jobs," Marvin said, lifting a heavy ceramic mug off the table. The handle looked comically small in his grip. The ale sloshed, its amber surface catching the orange light of the sky. The giant took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed, before setting the mug down with a soft thud that made the platters tremble.

"Got my own, and some in the city... Tell me about your guild. Have you conquered the surrounding nodes?" Searanox changed subjects with practiced ease. His gaze swept over the courtyard, watching the training area where several figures practiced movements synchronized in a pattern speaking of disciplined instruction rather than chaotic survival.

"Too dangerous. The beasts inside are level twenty. We plan on clearing the first after we manage to reach that level ourselves." Marvin leaned forward, the bench groaning under his shifting weight. His massive hands rested on the table, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm betraying his casual demeanor. The giant's eyes darted toward the distant horizon where the sun climbed higher, as if he could see the nodes beyond the immediate landscape.

"How is the progress?" Searanox asked, his voice sharp and precise as he watched the giant's reaction.

He noted the hesitation before Marvin responded, the way the man's gaze shifted momentarily toward the training area where his guild members continued their practice. The morning light cast long shadows across the courtyard, making the outpost's walls seem taller and more imposing than they were.

"Slow," Marvin repeated, his rumble vibrating through the table. He picked at a piece of meat, tearing off small strips. "It's like hitting a wall after the initial clear. The first run through any dungeon floods you with experience points—it's a feast. But return trips? Starvation rations. And the level five ones..." He shook his head, sending his beard swaying. "They're barely worth the time anymore. My people get almost nothing for clearing them now."

"You are aware that new dungeons have formed?" Searanox leaned forward, resting his elbows on the worn surface. His pale skin seemed almost luminous against the dark wood of the bench, making him appear otherworldly in the growing morning light.

"Yes, the system said something like that after the second infusion, but we haven't found one yet." Marvin gestured toward the open plains beyond their fortified walls. "Scouted for days in every direction. Either we missed them, or they're hiding in places we can't reach yet." He popped a piece of roasted meat into his mouth, chewing in thought. "The system notification was brief—something about 'rebalancing environmental challenges' or such nonsense."

"Don't bother. From what I have seen, you would stand no chance in them anyway." Searanox delivered the blunt assessment without malice, but the unsettling finality made the hairs on Marvin's arms stand up. His gaze drifted to where several guild members trained under the watchful eye of an instructor.

"I'm aware we are weaker than you, but we are not helpless." Marvin's voice carried a note of pride. He straightened his massive frame and placed both hands flat on the table, making the wood groan under the pressure. "We may not have your resources or your... unusual advantages," he gestured toward Searanox's Dhampir features, "but we survive. We adapt. We've held this outpost for weeks against whatever the world throws at us."

Searanox took a bite of meat, the juice flowing down the corners of his mouth. The rich, smoky flavor surpassed what he expected from a rugged outpost. "You just said level twenty was too high for you... The ones I found near here were level twenty-five and thirty, and quite a challenge to clear." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching the giant's reaction.

"You cleared a level thirty dungeon?" Marvin asked, setting his mug down. The ceramic hit the wooden table with an audible thud, making the platters tremble. His eyes widened, revealing a mix of disbelief and dawning respect. "With your team?"

"Yes, my team is currently inside one... which brings me to the reason I'm here. Have you seen tall..." Searanox paused, giving Marvin a look. "To you, maybe average-height people with wings?" His question hung in the air, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard as if expecting to spot such beings among Marvin's people.

"Can't say I did." Marvin turned away and looked toward a woman cleaning in the background. Her movements were efficient and methodical. "Natalie, fetch Tolly for me." He turned back to Searanox. "If he didn't see them, then no one here did."

"How so?" Searanox asked. His interest piqued, he leaned back against the bench, his sunglasses catching the morning light.

Marvin gestured toward a wooden tower rising above the main building. "Tolly's our scout. Highest Perception among us, and the only one with a skill that extends his sight range. If beings with wings passed anywhere within several kilometers of this outpost, he would have spotted them." The giant drummed his fingers against the table. "He spends most of his time in that tower, watching. It's how we avoid being surprised by the larger beasts roaming these plains."

"I see. If you spot tall, flying people with red skin... kill them on sight." Searanox kept his voice even, tapping a rhythmic pattern against the table. His sunglasses reflected the sky, hiding his eyes as he watched Marvin's reaction.

Marvin stopped mid-motion, suspending a piece of roasted meat halfway to his mouth. His massive fingers froze, grease dripping onto the table. "On sight? Why?" Confusion laced his deep voice as he processed the command. Around them, the courtyard noise faded into the background.

"You are familiar with games, so you can grasp the meaning of what I'm about to say." Searanox leaned forward, his pale skin luminous against the dark wood. "The Horde is on the move." He let the words hang in the air, allowing their weight to settle.

Marvin lowered the meat back to his platter, his appetite gone. His eyes widened as understanding dawned. "Orcs and shit?" His whisper sat at odds with the tension filling the air.

"Worse. Pompous demons." Searanox's lips curved into a humorless smile. "And they consider this world their birthright."

"I appreciate the heads up." Marvin rested his hands flat on the table, the wood groaning. "How strong are they?" His eyes scanned Searanox's face, searching for exaggeration or understatement.

"Strong enough to clear the surrounding dungeons." Searanox picked at a loose splinter on the table's edge, recalling past encounters. "They're not as strong outside of the dungeons, but they can still give you a good fight." He met Marvin's gaze with renewed intensity. "And they have far more knowledge than we do—about the system, about the changes in this world, about everything."

As if summoned by the gravity of their conversation, a tall, lanky man stepped into the courtyard. His movements were economical and precise despite his ungainly appearance. Sharp, observant eyes swept the area before settling on Marvin. "You wanted to see me?" His voice carried a nervous energy that contrasted with his calm demeanor.

Marvin gestured toward Searanox. "Searanox here asked if we've seen any flying people lately." The giant's voice returned to its usual rumble, though the tension remained in his shoulders.

Tolly shook his head, his gaze flicking between the two men. "He's the only one I've seen who can fly." He gestured toward Searanox with his chin, his eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce the sunglasses.

"Tell the others." Marvin's voice carried an edge of urgency absent moments before. "If a flying person as tall as me with wings and red skin is spotted, raise the alarm." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And hunt them down."

Marvin looked back to Searanox. "If you tell me it's something we should be worried about... I trust you on this."

The admission of trust hung in the air—a fragile bridge built across the chasm of their brief acquaintance.