The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice - Chapter 80

Chapter 80: The Village Beneath the Fog

The dirt road stretched endlessly under the cold moonlight.

There were no city lights here, no grand buildings or bustling streets—just the whisper of the wind.

Six months.

It had been six months since they had set out on their journey across the kingdom.

In that time, they had seen opulent cities and their cutthroat politics, dark alleys where life was worth less than a coin, and villages where time seemed frozen.

Ed adjusted his mask as they walked, his gloved fingers tracing the smooth surface.

Beneath it, his disguised elven features felt foreign but necessary.

‘Cities were different.’ He thought to himself. ‘Humans lived there as equals. But the villages… The deeper we go, the worse it gets.’

Zareth, walking slightly ahead, seemed as unreadable as ever.

Even after all this time, his expressions remained carefully restrained—watchful.

Vynesaa, on the other hand, exhaled in mild irritation.

“We should’ve stopped at the last village,” she murmured, breaking the silence. “At least there, the people didn’t look at us like ghosts.”

Ed followed her gaze.

A few villagers had stepped out of their homes, staring at them in the dim torches light.

Their expressions weren’t fearful or hostile—just… curious.

“It was too far back,” Ed replied. “Besides, we need shelter for the night.”

Zareth finally spoke. “Let’s not waste time, then. The village head’s house should be easy to find.”

Ed smirked slightly. “A house bigger than the rest?”

Vynesaa rolled her eyes. “Or the one that isn’t falling apart.”

They followed the main path.

The village was simple—wooden houses, small farmlands, and a single well at the center.

The moment they stepped into the village square, an older man, likely in his late fifties, approached.

He wore a thick cloak and held a torch.

“You’re travelers,” he said.

“That obvious?” Ed asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Strangers don’t just wander into Ebonhollow.” Man said.

“We’re just passing through,” Zareth said.

“Looking for a place to rest for the night.”

The man studied them for a long moment, then nodded.

“You’ll want the village head’s house. Go straight down this path, past the well. Big house at the end.”

“Much appreciated,” Ed said.

The man hesitated, then added, “Be careful. Some of the villagers… they don’t trust outsiders much.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Vynesaa replied, offering a polite nod.

They moved on, following the path as instructed.

Ed exhaled slowly. It was always the same. The same weary looks.

The same unspoken words.

The same caution.

And yet, something felt different about this village.

He just couldn’t tell what it was.

The village head’s house was larger than the others.

Knock-Knock

Zareth knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

A woman stood there, her deep brown eyes looking at them.

She looked to be in her early forties, with long, dark hair neatly tied back.

She wore a simple, well-maintained dress and had a calm presence.

“Travelers?” she asked.

Zareth nodded. “We were told we could ask the village head for a place to rest.”

A pause. Then she stepped aside. “Come in.”

The house was surprisingly well-kept—a sturdy wooden table at the center, chairs neatly arranged.

The woman motioned toward the chairs. “Sit. My husband will be back shortly.”

They settled in.

Vynesaa leaned forward slightly. “You don’t seem surprised to see outsiders.”

The woman gave a small smile. “I’ve been the village head’s wife for over twenty years. I’ve seen all kinds of people walk through that door.”

Her gaze flickered toward Ed for a moment—just a second too long to be meaningless.

Before Ed could question it, the door opened again.

The village head stepped in.

He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with a weathered face that had clearly seen hardship.

His dark eyes swept over them quickly, measuring, calculating.

“You’re lucky,” he said, “A few hours later, and you’d have been wandering the woods all night.”

Zareth gave a respectful nod. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

The village head studied them again.

Then, as if deciding something, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

“We don’t get many travelers here,” he said. “What brings you so far from the cities?”

Ed exchanged a brief look with Vynesaa before answering, keeping the lie natural.

“We’re doing a survey,” he said smoothly. “Studying different regions of the kingdom.”

The village head raised an eyebrow. “Survey?”

Ed gestured vaguely. “Yes, it’s just to see development in this region.”

The man seemed to consider this, then leaned back in his chair. “I see.”

His wife poured tea from a small clay pot, setting cups in front of them.

“Drink. It’s cold out.” She said.

Ed lifted his cup but didn’t drink immediately.

Instead, he watched the village head’s wife carefully.

Something about her felt off.

Not in an obvious way—she wasn’t nervous, wasn’t hiding anything blatantly.

But there was a stillness to her movements, a way she spoke without giving away too much.

Like someone who had seen something she couldn’t speak of.

Outside, the wind howled.

And somewhere, beyond the walls of the house, something was watching them.

…

They all had gone to bad to sleep.

Then-

Ed’s eyes snapped open.

At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him.

The room was dark.

The air was still.

And then—

A shadow at the window.

His body tensed.

It stood just beyond the glass, its outline faint but unmistakable.

Tall. Motionless.

Watching.

A cold chill crept over his skin.

He sat up, eyes locked on the figure.

Then—

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh”

It screamed.

A jagged, ear-splitting wail—inhuman, unnatural.

The sound ripped through the silence of the village.

The door to his room flew open.

“Ed—” Zareth’s voice, sharp and alert.

Vynesaa appeared right behind him, already armed.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun—

Silence.

The figure was gone.

But the sound still rang in Ed’s ears.

They exchanged a glance. No words needed.

A second later, they were out the door.

The village was dead silent.

No doors creaked open. No lights flickered on.

Not a single person stirred.

It was like no one had heard it.

Or… like no one dared to react.