Obtaining 10x rewards! Reincarnated into a novel as a side-character!

Chapter 289 Village Leader's Invitation!

Chapter 289 Agnes nodded; her usual cheer was muted.

She was also nervous from the drums she had heard the previous night.

"Those drums last night… they felt real, Teacher," she expressed.

"It wasn't," he replied, though doubt was evident in his voice.

"Let's move.

" He had some deductions about this, but he could be wrong too.

They soon left the inn, wandering while keeping a low profile and interacting as little as possible with anyone.

The village was awake, yet something was deeply unnatural about it.

Villagers milled about every time they passed, their greetings—"Good morning, travelers"—always in unison, as if they had modulated their voices to follow the same rhythm.

Each greeting landed sharp and hollow, like a nail tapping glass.

The smiles on their faces were wide and uncanny; their walking styles and steps almost robotic, too synchronized, like puppets on invisible strings.

And yet… those glassy eyes still tracked him wherever he walked.

No curiosity.

No warmth.

Just cold, empty stares.

They soon reached the edge of the village, where a thick white mist loomed ahead, causing him to frown.

When they had entered the village, there had been nothing like that; how had it appeared now?

Something was wrong.

The mist clung to the ground like smoke, writhing in slow spirals.

He slowly stepped into the mist with Agnes, intending to leave the village quietly.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Their footsteps seemed muffled in the fog, swallowed before the sound could travel.

They walked into the mist for some time; the white fog seemed endless with no definite end.

After a decent amount of time, they finally saw something.

Surroundings!

As they quickened their pace toward the place, the mist began to dissolve, and the view became clearer.

But as soon as they stepped out, the duo froze in their tracks.

In front of them was the exact same surroundings they had left behind—the same village, the same roads, the same designations.

Even the same crooked signpost stood there, leaning slightly to the left like a tired sentinel.

They had returned to where they had started.

Haah… As expected, he thought in dismay.

He had this premonition when he saw the mist, but now his suspicions were confirmed.

They were fully trapped in this place.

"Teacher, this…" Agnes was stunned.

Oliver shook his head and explained briefly about the situation; they needed to find another way out of this village.

They started to head back.

However, the villagers' behavior seemed even more bizarre this time around.

Their smiles were wider, their gazes glassier.

The air smelled stronger now—thick and sharp, like rotting fruit mixed with copper.

They acted like puppets and reeked of a pungent scent.

As they were passing by, a strange man suddenly blocked their path.

He was an old demon with a hunched back, a long white beard, and narrowed eyes, supporting himself with a wooden staff.

"Hello, travelers, I am the leader of this village," he smiled kindly at the duo.

"It's rare for visitors to come by our remote village; I would like for you both to come and have a feast at my home," he suggested.

Oliver intended to refuse, but the old man cut him off before he could speak.

"I insist, travelers; you are our honorable guests.

Please don't refuse this old man's kind offer," the old man urged, a bit forcefully this time.

His smile lingered too long, curling at the edges like a mask that didn't quite fit.

Seeing this aggressiveness, Oliver sighed.

He nodded.

"Sure.

" Given the situation, he might as well follow along; this way, he had more chances of uncovering what was happening.

The Village Center At the village center, a grand wooden house stood, casting an eerie shadow over the gathered demons.

The village leader stood before the feast table; he was an old, scarred demon with twisted horns and weary brown eyes that reflected sharply against the nearby bonfire.

The flames danced strangely, flickering in and out like they couldn't decide whether to burn or die.

He looked at him for some time before glancing down at the table, where plates were arranged neatly.

On the plates was some sort of wiggling meat; it throbbed occasionally and had a purple color.

It didn't just move—it breathed, faintly inflating and deflating as though it were still alive.

He frowned.

Is he openly trying to poison us?

He had never eaten something so disgusting before.

Plus, this thing… it didn't seem edible.

Agnes, beside him, picked up the fork without much thought.

She was used to starving or even eating leftover garbage, so such a sight didn't deter her in the slightest.

Oliver felt a little dazed as he saw her pierce the wiggling meat mercilessly and cut it into pieces.

She slowly brought one piece close to her mouth and was about to eat when her hand froze.

She looked down to see Oliver holding her hand mid-air, stopping her from eating the meat.

She frowned and looked at him confusedly; she was hungry and was about to eat but was suddenly stopped.

Oliver closed his eyes and shook his head, confusing her even more.

"Look again," he murmured, voice low.

Sighing, he pointed at the fork holding the piece, and she looked down at the meat.

What was it?

Wasn't it normal?

She narrowed her eyes, focusing, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

Because, in front of her eyes, the wiggling meat changed and turned into something else completely.

Its purple hue faded into a sickly gray, and dark veins stretched across its surface.

The faint scent of iron and rot wafted up.

She realized it was rotten meat!

The fork dropped from her hand instantly.

Clang!

"What are you feeding us!?

" she looked angrily at the old demon.

The old demon tilted his head at an unnatural angle and asked, "What's wrong, traveler?

Is the meat not to your liking?

" His neck bones crackled as he righted his head—a slow, grinding sound that made Agnes shudder.

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