The sun was high when the party left Tierwyn, the heat settling heavy across the road that led southward. Dust rose in faint plumes beneath their boots, carried away by a dry wind that tugged at cloaks and hair. The city shrank behind them, the walls fading into the horizon, replaced by the open stretch of farmland that soon gave way to rolling hills. Even from this distance, a haze of smoke lingered on the southern skyline, dark smudges against the blue expanse of sky.
The atmosphere among the group was taut but focused. Kenshin walked with restless energy, idly twirling a dagger that sparked faintly at the tip as if static clung to it. Seme marched steady at the front, her eyes narrowed on the road ahead, every sense primed for danger. Mira padded lightly at the edge of the path, her tail flicking as she scanned the fields and hedgerows with cautious eyes. Drathan, as always, carried himself with his usual languid stride, though his gaze occasionally drifted toward the south with a weight none of them could mistake.
"Feels like the air itself knows somethin' went down," Kenshin muttered, kicking a loose stone into the brush. "Smoke hangin' this far out? That's not just one house burnin'."
"An entire village," Mira said quietly. "And if the messenger was right, it was fast. Too fast."
Drathan's lips curved in the faintest smirk. "Means we'll have work waitin'."
By the time they crested the last ridge, the village lay before them—or what remained of it. Blackened beams jutted from collapsed homes like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. The air was thick with the bitter tang of ash and charred earth, smoke still curling in lazy threads from smoldering ruins. No livestock roamed, no voices echoed. Only silence, broken by the faint hiss of burned timbers crumbling into the dirt.
The group slowed, their footsteps crunching on debris as they entered the ruined streets. A child's wooden toy lay scorched in the road, one wheel cracked, its paint blistered from the fire. The sight stilled even Kenshin's tongue for a moment.
Seme bent low, brushing ash from a mark in the dirt. Deep claw grooves raked across the road, leading toward the far edge of the village. "Marshwolves," she said, voice firm. "And not just one or two."
"Mixed tracks," Mira added, crouching beside her. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she drew in a slow breath. "Ogre musk. Heavy. And something else… sharper. Metallic."
Drathan's gaze lingered on the claw marks before shifting to the horizon. His tone was cool, but there was a sharpness under it. "They movin' as one. That don't happen unless someone's callin' the shots."
Kenshin's jaw tightened, sparks flickering briefly across his knuckles. "So we're dealin' with more than just random packs. Figures."
The squad fanned out, searching the ruins for survivors or clues. Mira's keen senses picked out scraps of movement—broken arrows half-buried in soot, a dropped satchel torn nearly to ribbons. Seme uncovered the body of a villager beneath collapsed thatch, her jaw tightening but her hands steady as she covered the man with what remained of a scorched blanket.
"Too clean," she muttered. "No supplies left, no coin, no tools. They didn't just kill—they looted."
"Means someone's organizin'," Drathan said, leaning against a half-burnt post, watching the smoke curl upward. His tone was calm, but his eyes held an edge. "Orcs, ogres, wolves. That don't happen natural."
Velra's squad arrived not long after, their boots crunching on ash as they stepped into the village square. Velra herself carried the weight of command in her stride, her eyes scanning the devastation. The swordsman with her gave only a low grunt at the sight, while other members shifted uneasily.
"Damn," one muttered. "Not a soul left."
"Maybe not here," Velra said, voice steady. "But there could be survivors deeper in the woods. Spread out, but stay sharp."
She glanced briefly at Drathan's group, a flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes. "Same tracks?"
Seme rose, brushing ash from her gloves. "Marshwolves, orcs, and ogres. Working together."
Velra's mouth pressed thin, but she gave a curt nod. "Then we keep moving. South trail leads into the marshland. That's where we'll find answers—or more bodies."
As the sun dipped lower, shadows stretched long across the ruined village, and the smoke glowed faintly in the fading light. The squads regrouped near the southern road, eyes drawn toward the dark marsh that loomed ahead. A heaviness clung to the air there, thicker than smoke, a weight of expectation that seemed to press against the skin.
Kenshin cracked his neck and smirked, though his eyes were hard. "Bet this where the fun starts."
Drathan tilted his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as the wind carried the faint reek of damp rot from the marsh. "Yeah. Fun."
Velra's voice cut through the gathering tension, steady and commanding. "Form ranks. No one wanders. Whatever waits out there, we face it together."
With that, the combined parties stepped from ash into shadow, the ruins falling behind them as the marshland swallowed their path forward.
The march south was a steady grind. What began as cobblestone roads soon bled into dirt paths, the smell of charred wood and blood hanging heavier the closer they drew to the ruined village. The landscape bore scars of the attack—splintered fences, fields trampled flat, and here and there the blackened skeletons of houses still smoldering faintly.
Velra led from the front, her cloak snapping in the wind, every so often glancing back to make sure the squads kept formation. "Keep alert. If the orcs and ogres got this close, we're already in their hunting grounds," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the morning fog.
Drathan dragged his feet with lazy swagger, his void energy swirling faintly at his fingertips like smoke on a breeze. His half-lidded eyes drifted across the group, noting the tension in the younger squads—wide eyes, nervous grips on their weapons, shallow breathing as though bracing for a fight with every step.
Seme's gaze was fixed dead ahead, shoulders squared, every step like a soldier marching into war. She cracked her knuckles against the hilt of her greatsword and muttered under her breath. "Been too long since I stretched proper. Let's hope they show soon."
Kenshin walked with a restless bounce, sparks occasionally flickering across his fingertips, the smell of ozone mixing with the charred wind. He glanced sidelong at Drathan. "Bruh, bet it's a boss-level monster runnin' this circus. Otherwise, orcs don't move like this."
Mira's tail swished nervously behind her. She sniffed the air, ears twitching. "They're restless. Smell it? Blood. Fresh. Not just from the village… from each other."
That made several adventurers glance at her sharply, unease crawling into their eyes.
The first signs of pursuit came not from sound, but vibration. A faint tremor ran through the dirt path beneath their boots. Drathan's lazy expression sharpened the slightest bit. "Something's movin'."
The brush ahead erupted in a spray of dirt and grass as three orcs charged out, tusks glinting, eyes bloodshot and wild. Foam caked their mouths, and the veins along their necks pulsed like they were about to burst. Their movements were jerky but fast, reckless with no regard for their own safety.
"Positions!" Velra's shout cut through the air like a whip. Shields slammed forward, spears braced, spells lit the morning gloom with harsh light.
The orcs didn't roar as usual. They shrieked—high, guttural screams like beasts in agony, each swing of their axes carrying brutal strength. The first shieldman who met the charge stumbled back, arms buckling under the sheer force of the blow.
"Yo, what the fuck?" Kenshin snarled, lightning sparking brighter across his hands. "These ain't normal orcs—look at they eyes!"
Drathan flicked his wrist and a swirl of void energy caught one mid-leap, warping the air with a sickening WHOOMPH before spitting the creature out against a tree trunk hard enough to crack bone. Still, it dragged itself up, bleeding but unbothered, clawing forward with manic frenzy.
Seme met another head-on, greatsword ringing out in a harsh CLANG as steel struck steel. "They're stronger too!" she shouted, boots digging trenches in the dirt as she forced the beast back an inch at a time.
Velra's group fought with practiced coordination—her voice barking orders in sharp rhythm. "Left flank, reinforce! Casters, don't overextend—stagger your spells!"
Mira darted between shadows, twin daggers flashing. She slashed across one orc's hamstring, but instead of dropping, it twisted on its other leg, trying to grab her with animal ferocity. She barely rolled away, ears flat against her head. "It's like they don't feel pain!"
The squads quickly realized it wasn't a normal skirmish. Every orc they struck bled heavily yet kept moving, every wound only seeming to fuel their frenzy. Their shrieks echoed through the treeline, answered in the distance by more guttural howls.
"Fuck me, they callin' friends," Kenshin muttered, charging a bolt so large it lit the entire path with blinding blue. With a snap, he hurled it forward. KRRRAAAK-THOOM! The blast split the air, frying two orcs where they stood, the scent of scorched flesh rolling thick through the field.
For a moment, silence hung—only the crackle of fading lightning filling the void. Then, faintly, the brush all around rustled again.
Drathan sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Here we go. Whole pack's in a frenzy."
Velra's voice rose sharp. "Form up tight! Everyone keep your heads—this isn't a brawl, it's survival!"
The woods erupted with movement, shadows darting between trunks. Red eyes glimmered from the underbrush, dozens of them, every one wild and unblinking.
The squads braced, weapons raised, hearts hammering. The frenzied monsters had found them, and the march south was about to become a warpath.