Chapter 2: Gwinnis Wintaling

At 19, Gwinnis Wintaling, the disowned second son of Baron Gwent Wintaling, found his life taking an unexpected turn. After a heated fallout with his father at 14, he was stripped of his rightful inheritance and forced to flee his home.

Years later, having survived as a mercenary in a distant city, Gwinnis received an urgent missive from his father, beckoning him to return and claim his birthright. But fate had other plans; the letter languished for a month at an inn, leaving Gwinnis to race against time, anxious that he might be too late to reclaim his title.

That fateful evening, Gwinnis, weary from travel, stopped for rest at a forest inn located at a crossroads. There, he subtly probed about the current baron, only to find no clear answers. Unbeknownst to him, his inquiries caught the attention of those with ulterior motives.

After a seemingly innocuous drink, he was struck by sudden paralysis, a helpless witness to the innkeeper's cruel betrayal as his throat was slit.

These fragmented memories were the last Gwinnis recalled before a soul from the distant Blue Star entered his body, reviving it from the brink of death.

Torch in hand, he followed a young man, visibly shaken to his core. Observing the youth's frantic escape, stumbling over roots and crashing into trees, Gwinnis's lips curled into a cold smile. "Run, run faster, I'm right behind you," he taunted, feeling an unfamiliar ruthlessness engulf him, a change wrought either by his nature, the body he inhabited, or a thirst for vengeance.

Treading the uneven forest path, the rhythmic clang of his sword against the trees resonated like ominous spells, pushing the panic-stricken youth to the brink as he dashed towards the inn.

As the inn came into view, the youth's desperate cries pierced the night. "Save me! The demon is here!" he yelled, racing towards the safety of the old wooden structure.

People from the inn, alerted by the commotion, emerged with torches in hand. Gwinnis paused. His solitary assault on the enemy stronghold wasn't a reckless act of bloodlust but a necessity - his belongings, horse, vital letters, and the Wintaling family crest were all inside.

He had to retrieve them at all costs.

With a strategic mind, Gwinnis concealed his torch behind some bushes, casting a subtle glow. Stealthily, he merged with the shadows, his agility enabling him to silently approach the inn.

The youth's chaotic retreat and battered appearance quickly drew the attention of the inn's inhabitants. The innkeeper sent his son and grandsons, armed and vigilant, towards the faint glow in the distance.

As the innkeeper, a stern man in his fifties, berated his grandson at the entrance, Gwinnis stealthily scaled the inn's wooden wall and entered the dark courtyard unnoticed. The inn, isolated in the forest and seldom visited, remained unlit and shrouded in darkness.

Gwinnis moved with silent swiftness through the yard, spotting his horse, borrowed from the mercenary captain. Approaching the wooden house, he cast a glance behind him.

The old innkeeper continued his tirade at the entrance, oblivious to Gwinnis's presence. The worried glances of women, watching their family members approach the dim light, failed to detect the silent intruder.

In a flash, Gwinnis slipped into the wooden house, marking the beginning of a night that would forever alter his destiny.

The cabin was modest and cramped, a mere twenty to thirty square meters, filled with miscellaneous items. Gwinnis noticed his previous seat was empty - his possessions had been removed.

He searched the cabin frantically, guided by fragmented memories, desperate to find his belongings and escape. But his efforts led nowhere.

Frustration mounting, Gwinnis's gaze fell upon a young girl, around sixteen or seventeen, emerging from the kitchen. She was a vision of innocence and beauty, holding a red cloth and a bucket.

It dawned on Gwinnis that this was where he had been left for dead. Was she cleaning up after his 'death'? He thought, amused at her diligence.

Their eyes locked.

Her scream shattered the silence.

In that instant, Gwinnis's sword silenced her forever. Her scream turned into a helpless gasp as her blood painted the floor red. The girl's life ebbed away swiftly.

But the system didn't reward him with the anticipated experience points, puzzling Gwinnis briefly. The girl's scream, though brief, had alerted the innkeeper.

As expected, the innkeeper, deceived and enraged, stormed in, only to meet his end at Gwinnis's hidden blade.

As the innkeeper's life faded amid terror and disbelief, Gwinnis's system chimed.

"Combat kill: 500 points."

Gwinnis realized that only combat kills yielded points, not unilateral attacks.

He noticed the system's progress bar was only halfway filled - 500 out of 1000. It was as he had expected.

Then, an old woman, unlike the younger ones who screamed, charged at him with a dagger, consumed by grief and rage. Her attack, however spirited, was futile against Gwinnis's prowess. Another 500 points were his.

With new points in hand, Gwinnis eyed the approaching men, a hundred meters away, with a cold smirk. He swiftly invested the points into his strength, boosting it to eight.

Closing the system interface, Gwinnis braced for the imminent clash with the three vengeful men, their war cries growing louder.