Chapter 3: The First Roar
The night pressed heavy upon the village, thick with silence and dread. Torches lined the makeshift barricades—hastily nailed planks of wood, sharpened stakes, and overturned carts tied together with rope. Their flames shivered in the wind, casting trembling shadows across the earth.
Behind them, villagers gathered in tight ranks. Men held crude spears and axes, their knuckles pale from the grip. Women clenched sharpened sticks, farming tools, or rocks, their eyes hardened despite the fear in their hearts. Even children, too young to fight, clutched buckets of water for fire and bundles of herbs for the wounded.
Khan stood at the front. The mantle of Village Lord had not been chosen by him—it had been thrust upon him by the Primordial World. And yet, as he stared into the sea of frightened faces behind him, he knew there was no turning back. If he faltered tonight, they would all perish.
Above, the Fate Dragon circled in the heavens. Its golden body glowed faintly against the stars, and its mighty eyes followed Khan, as though silently judging his worth. Its aura pressed upon the land, heavy, suffocating, yet strangely comforting—like the watchful gaze of destiny itself.
"Steady!" Khan raised his voice, and though it carried no magical force, it cut through the whispering crowd. "No one runs. No one breaks. Tonight, we hold. Together."
The people's breathing steadied. The ministers flanked him—Han Long with his massive blade strapped to his back, Zhang Wei with a calm poise despite the quill still tucked in his sleeve, and Mei Lan, whose hands glimmered faintly with spiritual light.
And then, it came.
A roar.
Deep, guttural, shaking the very marrow of their bones.
From the treeline, countless glowing eyes opened in the darkness. Yellow, red, and cold white. Shapes shifted—snarling maws, bristling fur, claws scraping against stone. The earth quaked as hundreds, then thousands of beasts emerged, each one exuding a killing aura that threatened to crush the villagers before the battle began.
The first wave charged.
"Archers!" Khan roared. "Loose!"
A storm of arrows flew into the darkness. Many struck true, but for every beast that fell, more burst forth. Massive fanged wolves, tusked boars the size of horses, lizard-like creatures with glowing scales—all born of the spiritual energy of the Primordial World.
The barricades shuddered with the first impact. Beasts rammed into the defenses, snarling and tearing at wood. Villagers screamed, pushing with spears to keep them at bay. One wolf vaulted over the barricade, its teeth bared, but Khan met it mid-air, thrusting his spear through its skull. Blood splashed hot across his face, but he didn't flinch.
Han Long roared and leapt forward, his giant blade cleaving through a cluster of beasts in one swing. Bones cracked, flesh split, and blood sprayed across the barricades. His laughter boomed like thunder. "Come then, monsters! Taste my blade!"
Zhang Wei, normally quiet and composed, shouted orders, guiding villagers to weak points in the defense. His eyes flicked from gap to gap, ensuring no section of the barricade crumbled.
Mei Lan's voice rose above the chaos, chanting a hymn. A wave of spiritual light expanded from her, forming a shimmering barrier that slowed the beasts' charge. Villagers behind it felt strength return to their limbs, fear draining from their chests.
The dragon roared in the heavens. Its body shimmered gold, and with one sweep of its massive claws, it crushed a dozen beasts into the earth. Its eyes gleamed, reflecting Khan's burning determination.
But still, the tide pressed on.
The barricades creaked, threatening to split. The villagers faltered, their arms trembling under the weight of fear.
Khan slammed his spear into the ground, raising his blood-soaked hand to the sky. His voice thundered:
"This is our home! Behind us are our families, our children, our dreams! If we fall tonight, everything ends. But if we stand—together—we carve our name into the bones of this world!"
The words ignited something deep in the villagers' hearts. Their fear transformed into fire. They screamed as one and charged, striking the beasts with ferocity born of desperation and hope.
Ding!
[Village morale +20.]
[Faith in the Village Lord increases.]
The beasts hesitated. For the first time, the endless tide faltered.
Under the firelight, Khan's figure stood unyielding, blood dripping from his spear, eyes blazing like twin suns. The dragon roared above, its voice shaking the heavens, its power bolstering every soul.
The battle raged on, but the people of Great Qing no longer fought as frightened villagers. They fought as one.
And that unity, more than any blade or barrier, turned the tide of fate.