The moment Glenn pushed the door open, he caught sight of a tall, slightly hunched figure standing on the neighboring lawn, calling out while clutching something in his hands.
The old man turned at the sound, his voice catching in his throat when he recognized the intruder. For a moment, he seemed poised to speak—but thought better of it. Instead, his lips curled into a malevolent sneer.
The Glenn of yesterday would have been paralyzed by terror—he would have bolted back inside and barred the door. But the man standing there now felt no such trepidation. Glenn returned the smile, his expression calm, unfazed, and utterly cold.
The old man’s face stiffened, clearly bewildered as to why the timid wretch he once knew now stood his ground with such impudence. With a cold snort, he turned and vanished into his house, slamming the door with a resounding thud.
He has not found the dog’s corpse, then.Glenn’s gaze drifted to the patch of grass where the mastiff had perished the night before. As expected, nothing remained. His expression darkened.
He strode forward and crouched down. Up close, he could discern faint, dark stains—smudged, or perhaps licked clean. So, something had scavenged here in the night… but what? That was a mystery for another time. Glenn straightened, cast one last evaluating glance at the neighbor’s house, and retreated inside.
From the storage room, he salvaged a length of hardwood, its original purpose lost to time. He gave it a few test swings. It felt solid in his grip. “This will serve.”
Though confident in his newfound prowess, Glenn knew better than to underestimate a man with a firearm. The bearded brigand’s revolver still lay somewhere in the woods; once this little “requisition” was concluded, he would retrieve it—then, he would only need ammunition.
The town was as silent as a grave, the horizon veiled in perpetual mist—typical for this region. Sunny days existed, though rarely; without memories to prove otherwise, one might mistake Bayek for a ghost town swallowed by fog year-round.
Stepping out, Glenn scanned his surroundings with predatory focus, running through combat scenarios in his mind. With a light leap, he vaulted the fence and landed silently on the old man’s lawn. Concealing the cudgel behind his back, he approached the door and rapped his knuckles against the wood.
Thud. Thud.
He waited. Silence. Strange. Should the old brute not have stormed out in a rage by now? Glenn frowned and knocked again, harder.
“Old man! I require a word. Open up! I bear no ill will—I promise!” he called out, adding silently,I only plan to rob you.
Still nothing. The house was deathly still. Glenn’s knocking grew more insistent, until his open palms thudded heavily against the wood. Futile.
He muttered, “Do not tell me you vanished into thin air.” Then, raising his voice: “Are you not curious where your precious beast went?”
A clatter sounded from within. Glenn’s eyes sharpened—finally, a reaction. He braced himself, muscles coiling.
But the door remained shut. His patience frayed. “Fine,” he hissed, stepping back. “You chose this.”
With a savage kick, the timber splintered. Glenn darted sideways the instant the lock gave way.
Bang!
A gunshot tore through the air, deafening in the quiet morning. The old man stood in the foyer, a double-barreled shotgun raised, shock flickering across his face when his target was not where he anticipated. He fumbled to break the barrel and reload—too slow.
Glenn surged forward, swinging his cudgel in a vicious downward arc. The old man barely managed to raise the gun stock to block, the impact sending a jarring shock through his arms. Before he could recover, Glenn’s fist slammed into his solar plexus, forcing the air from his lungs in a wheezing gasp.
He flailed the gun wildly, but Glenn—trained, composed, and enhanced—sidestepped with ease. Within moments, the weapon was wrenched from the old man’s grasp, and a precise kick sent him sprawling.
“Stay still, old man,” Glenn warned, leveling the shotgun at its owner. “I would hate to make a mess.”
The man, towering nearly two meters tall with thick, corded arms, looked far less intimidating crumpled on the floorboards.
“You have lost your mind, boy,” the old man rasped, clutching his chest. “Our neighbors will not take kindly to this noise.”
So he had sensed something amiss, which explained his sudden caution earlier. Glenn did not bother to validate the threat. “Where is your food? Tell me, and perhaps I shall let you live.”
The abrupt shift in topic left the man dumbstruck. “What… what did you say?”
“I said I am robbing you,” Glenn replied flatly. “Can you not tell? I am starving, so cease wasting my time—or I will make you talk.”
After a long, tense pause, the old man sighed, defeated, and pointed toward a side room. “Kitchen… over there.”
Without hesitation, Glenn slung the shotgun over his shoulder and strode inside. Soon came the sounds of rummaging—followed by the noise of voracious eating.
The old man sat on the floor, dazed.What has happened to this boy?he wondered.He is a different person… and that strength—could he be possessed?
Meanwhile, Glenn ate his fill. The kitchen was well-stocked—far superior to his own larder—and for the first time in days, the gnawing void in his stomach was filled.
From the earlier scuffle, he confirmed his body had grown far stronger—beyond that of any ordinary man. Stronger even than he had been before crossing into this world. Had he not pulled his punches, the old man would be lying unconscious, or worse.
Every wound from the previous night had already knitted shut. Something within him was changing—his blood, his muscles… his very nature.
Clenching his fists, he savored the raw power coursing through his veins.
Returning to the foyer, he looked down at the old man and said with a calm smile, “Thank you for the hospitality. Do not take it too hard—you used to bully me, remember? Consider it karmic retribution. As for this shotgun… I will be keeping it.”
Under the old man’s furious, impotent gaze, Glenn turned and disappeared into the mist.