When the Serial Killer Next Door Gained Harem System

A short distance later, the road curved right. The farmland gave way to wilder ground: rolling hills patched with tall grass, dotted with clusters of birch and oak. In the distance, jagged mountain silhouettes rose against the bruised purple sky, their peaks still catching faint sunset gold. Greenery thickened everywhere—bushes heavy with late berries, wildflowers nodding in the breeze.

To my right, the forest proper began: dense, ancient trees packed close, trunks dark and mossy, canopy swallowing what little light remained. Shadows pooled thick between them.

The yellow circle on the map had grown brighter, more insistent. I was inside it now. Just a little farther, and I’d reach the pond.

I stopped at the forest’s edge, squared my shoulders, and readied myself—heart picking up despite the calm I tried to force.

Then I stepped into the trees.

"Nothing will jump out and eat me..." I muttered under my breath. "Yeah... nothing."

I kept moving deeper into the forest.

The trees closed in tighter the farther I went. Tall pines and broad oaks stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their trunks dark and moss-slick, branches weaving a thick canopy overhead that swallowed the last scraps of daylight. Ferns brushed my shins; fallen needles muffled my steps into soft crunches. The air grew cooler, damper, heavy with the scent of wet earth, resin, and something faintly metallic—like old pennies or blood. Every few paces, a twig snapped underfoot or a leaf rustled overhead, making my pulse jump.

Behind me, the distant glow of Kinola’s wall torches shrank to pinpricks, then faded entirely. Ahead, only darkness and the occasional sliver of moonlight filtering through gaps in the leaves.

A wide patch of slick mud blocked the path—black and glistening, probably left by recent rain. I backed up a step, then jumped. My boots landed on the far side with a wet squelch, sinking an inch before finding solid ground.

"Wish I had my knife..." I muttered, shaking mud off my soles. "Damn..."

I pulled up the map UI. The wide yellow circle had shrunk considerably—now a tighter ring centered on my position. Good. I was closing in.

I kept walking.

My mind wandered despite the tension. That maid back in the city—the one Kara and her mother had... killed? She’d just risen from the dead like it was nothing. One second a corpse, the next breathing, walking, talking. Monsters. Fucking monsters. What kind of world let that happen? Resurrection? Necromancy? Whatever it was, it made my skin crawl.

The sun had dipped completely now. Full dark.

I moved slower, testing each step. The forest felt alive in a way that had nothing to do with wind or animals—watching, waiting.

I opened the map again.

The big yellow circle was gone. In its place, a small, bright yellow dot pulsed steadily right over the body of water icon. I was close. Minutes away.

I exhaled through my nose and pressed forward.

Then I heard it.

A shuffle—boots on leaves—coming from my right. Low voices followed, too muffled to make out words at first. Then a sharp cry cut through the night.

"NO!"

I froze.

Another voice answered—deeper, colder. "...did that." The rest was lost in the trees. "...then... you. It’s your kind."

Movement rustled somewhere to my left. Then behind me.

Not loud. Not close enough to see. But there.

The sounds weren’t staying in one place. They were shifting, spreading through the trees, and I was standing right in the middle of it.

A few metres ahead, partially hidden behind a patch of bushes, a thick tree trunk rose out of the dark. The undergrowth around it was dense enough to break up a silhouette.

Better than open ground. I had to move toward the voices or I’d be found out.

I crouched low and moved toward it, keeping my steps measured. I stayed behind whatever cover I could find, slipping between shadows and trunks instead of walking straight across.

My boot sank into soft mud again. I eased it free and kept going.

A few more careful steps brought me to the edge of an open clearing. I ducked behind the thick oak and peeked around the trunk.

Moonlight spilled into a roughly circular patch of churned mud and trampled grass. In the center stood a single massive tree stump—its top flat and wide like a crude table, bark peeled away in places. The ground around it was a mess of footprints and shallow puddles reflecting silver light.

A man knelt in the mud, hands bound tightly behind his back with coarse rope. His head was bowed, shoulders shaking. Four figures stood over him—tall, slender, pale-skinned. Their ears rose to delicate, sharp points. Elves.

Moonlight caught on their features: high cheekbones, silver-blonde hair tied back in warrior braids, eyes glinting like polished steel. They wore dark leather armor patched with leaf-green cloth, short blades at their hips, and one carried a curved bow slung across his back. No city guard colors. No city anything. These were outsiders.

The kneeling man’s voice cracked again. "Please... I didn’t—"

One of the elves stepped forward, voice calm and cutting.

I strained to hear, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Your kind killed my wife." The elf nearest the kneeling man spat the words like venom. "My daughter. My fucking daughter! She was but a kid!"

He backhanded the man hard across the face. The human toppled sideways, shoulder slamming into the mud with a wet thud and a pained grunt. Two other elves grabbed his bound arms roughly, hauling him back to his knees.

Damn. The woman and girl I’d seen dragged toward the execution platform earlier... could they have been his family? Shit. That was beyond messed up.

More elves emerged from the trees—the ones whose voices I’d first heard. They fanned out behind the grieving father, forming a silent, menacing line. Even from behind, their posture screamed fury: shoulders rigid, hands flexing near dagger hilts. The kneeling man’s eyes widened in terror at whatever he saw in their faces.

"Humans..." the father growled, voice cracking with grief and hate. "I’ll kill them all. I’LL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!"

"Please!" the bound man sobbed. "I don’t even agree with how the Queen treats your people! I swear it!"

"Shut up!"

"Please—"

The father didn’t listen. In one fluid motion he drew a slim dagger from his sheath and drove it straight into the man’s throat.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Blood sprayed in a dark arc. The human collapsed backward, gurgling wetly as crimson bubbled from the wound and soaked the mud beneath him. The sound—choking, desperate—echoed off the trees.

The elves stood motionless, watching. They waited until the twitching stopped, until the man’s eyes glazed over and his chest stilled. Only then did the father spit on the corpse’s face, wipe his blade clean on the dead man’s tunic, and sheath it again.

Job well done, I suppose. Messy, but still a job well done. No mercy. An unjustified kill in my eyes. But... again. A job well done. Damn.

"What now?" one of the younger elves asked.

"We put his head on a spike," the father replied flatly. "Then we take it to the main gate. Hang it on their walls for the morning watch to find."

"Understood." The younger one nodded. "I’ll start now."

"Be careful," the father added. "We still need to head east—scavenge food for the village. If you see any humans... run. No more risks tonight."

"Yes, sir."

The father raised a clenched fist. "Come on, men! We move east. Let’s go!"

The group melted back into the trees, silent as ghosts, leaving only the one elf behind—the one tasked with the grisly work.

He knelt beside the corpse, drew a short saw-toothed blade, and began cutting.

The crunch of bone and wet tearing filled the clearing. I swallowed bile and started backing away—slow, careful.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Crunch. Snap.

A dry twig shattered under my heel.