On the outskirts of the Death Forest, a region whose name alone was enough to make veteran adventurers tremble, the morning's silence was shattered by the rhythmic thumping of hooves and the clatter of iron armor. A massive, fully-armed force under the banner of Marquis Sylvestre slithered toward a remote settlement like an iron serpent: Noive Village.
Their presence did not go unnoticed. A villager gathering wood at the forest's edge froze at the glint of metal in the distance. Without wasting a second, he ran at full speed, leaping over ancient tree roots until he reached the heart of the village.
"An armed force! They're headed this way!" he cried out, gasping for breath.
Noive was no ordinary village. Its inhabitants possessed sharp, honed instincts. Some closed their eyes, feeling the air vibrate with a foul stench. "Negative emotions... a thick, suffocating hostility." whispered an old woman, sensing the malice radiating from the approaching army.
Keywiln, the authoritative village chief, immediately took charge. His face was calm, but his eyes glinted with resolve. "Everyone, stand ready at your houses. Remember, do not show hostility first. Let us see what these city-folk want."
The army arrived shortly after. Dust billowed as the riders pulled their reins right at the village entrance. In the center of the formation, a luxury carriage stopped, and out stepped Marquis Sylvestre. His expression was cold and stern, yet burning with rage.
"Come out, all of you, commoners!" shouted one of the commanders. "Marquis Sylvestre Alloire Varda comes!"
The villagers emerged from their wooden homes with an eerie calmness. They did not tremble in fear as the Marquis had expected.
"To what do we owe the honor of your visit to this forgotten corner of the world, My Lord?" Keywiln asked in a low, resonant voice.
Marquis Sylvestre stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "Don't play dumb! I am here for the parents of those bratty boys, Keyzier and Donovan! Bring them forth now, or I will level this slum to the ground!"
Confusion rippled through the village. From the crowd, four people stepped forward, their faces pale. They were the parents of Keyzier and Donovan. Donoran, Donovan's father, met the Marquis's gaze boldly.
"We are their parents, My Lord. But what is the meaning of this anger?" Donoran asked.
The Marquis looked at them with pure disgust and hatred. "Because of your insolent sons, my daughter has fled from home! My family's reputation is tarnished, and as their parents, you will bear the consequences!"
Donoran frowned. "Your daughter fled? My Lord, our sons went to Antrows City to become adventurers, far to the south. It makes no sense for them to be in the Varda region to the south. It is hundreds of miles from here. How could they possibly be involved?"
Marquis Sylvestre paused for a moment. He hadn't expected commoners in the sticks to know the geography of Varda, the heart of his power. However, the shame of being questioned by a peasant made his anger explode beyond reason.
"How dare you lecture me!"
Shiiing! Zrash!
With a sudden, lightning-fast movement, the Marquis unsheathed his sword and slashed Donoran's chest. A gaping wound opened from the man's shoulder to his waist. Fresh blood sprayed, soaking the dry earth of the village.
"Donoran!" Theresia, Donovan's mother, screamed hysterically as her husband collapsed. She immediately cradled his blood-soaked body. "Why... why would you commit such a cruelty?!"
"I do not tolerate commoners talking back to me! I am the law here!" the Marquis proclaimed arrogantly, wiping the blood off his blade with a silk cloth.
The atmosphere grew chilling. The people of Noive began to clench their fists. Their once-calm eyes now flickered with a dangerous light. Keywiln raised his hand high, signaling his people to hold back, even though their rage had reached its boiling point.
"Someone, heal him!" Keywiln ordered curtly.
A woman named Mira hurried toward Donoran. With a calm face that contrasted the chaos around her, she placed her hands over the gaping wound. A soft, green light emanated from her palms. Slowly, the parted flesh began to knit itself back together, and the bleeding stopped instantly.
The Marquis's eyes widened. "Healing magic? In a backwater place like this, there is a healer?" His eyes glittered with greed. "Girl! You are coming with me. You shall be my personal healing servant!"
Mira looked up, staring at the Marquis coldly. "I apologize, My Lord. I refuse. My place is here, protecting my people." She stood up, bowed politely, and turned to leave.
Feeling his pride trampled a second time, the Marquis signaled an archer behind him. "Shoot her!"
Splat! Woosh! Zip!
An arrow hissed through the air and embedded itself deep into Mira's back. The girl collapsed, groaning in pain on the ground. That was the breaking point. Keywiln, who had been trying to maintain the peace, now looked at the Marquis with a gaze that could freeze fire.
"We have been more than polite to you, Marquis Sylvestre!" Keywiln's voice now sounded like muffled thunder. "Yet you have harmed two of our kin without just cause. What is the true purpose of your arrival?"
Marquis Sylvestre laughed cynically, his face full of sickening arrogance. "To destroy this village, of course! Because of those two brats, I failed to secure a higher position at court! I lost face in front of my peers!"
He looked around with wild eyes. "Don't worry, your deaths will never be known to the public. Almost no one dares to visit this corner of the Death Forest. You will vanish as if you never existed."
"Just because of your failed political ambitions... you would slaughter an entire village?" Keywiln asked in disbelief.
"Correct! And that is enough for me!" Marquis Sylvestre turned toward his carriage, waving his hand dismissively to his troops. "Kill them all! Burn every house! Leave no one alive!"
The soldiers drew their swords, and the commander along with his two deputies spurred their horses forward. But just before the first blade could strike a villager...
Boom!